Liila stepped out of the bubbling hot pool feeling much refreshed. Her skin still bore the black and blue marks from the very real and dangerous wrestling match she had endured that day. Telani had been wise and stronger than Liila had expected, but in the end the old clan leader's age was her own undoing. One bruise in particular spread in sickly yellows around its blue center, making Liila's tattooed butterflies appear somehow misshapen and discolored.

Liila spread her arms wide and the bright green and blue beads in her hair rattled against one another as her black hair shifted over her shoulders. Her forearms glistened with sapphire blue dragonflies that lit upon a forest of green vine tattoos. The fresh-water Goupra decorated the backs of her hands and the tops of her feet. It was her own personal design from a nickname that she had had as a child. It literally meant swift-fish, as her father had so fondly dubbed her.

Whenever she could get away from the boredom of her mother's official capacities, she would sneak down to the river where her father carved the light wooden Wahali's - water craft that eased their tribe in trades amongst those of the Dalmite Nation. She would often swim next to the craft with great speed and alacrity whenever he put one in the swift currents for testing. She did it partly for the sheer heart-pounding joy of racing down the river, and partly because her mother had decreed that her daughter would never ride where she could swim, or walk, and never walk where she could run.

Two young girls whom Liila did not know stepped forward from the crowd of Ramdden watchers. It was always so with the Rites, or so her mother had said. Liila would have to become completely trusting of those whom she governed, and quickly learn that there was no such thing as modesty in one of her position. That part was all about the Chaos, about Nydelik and Naeria. She had one personal Rite before the little death, as was custom as well. When the girls held out the single grass-wrap that was to be her death-shroud, she noted that they were still too young to be fully inked. Their clan tattoos were merely outlined in the familiar winding vines that highlighted her own skin.
How old she suddenly felt. The weight of responsibility took its first real bite into her inner consciousness as she lowered her hands over the dried grasses of her garb to address the crowd. They were expecting her to speak of course.

"By Personal Rite, I decree that Telani, former Clan Chief of the Telantha Clan, former ruler of the ten tribes of the Gailmai Wood, and beloved mother, be honored amongst you as my first, should the little death take me; and that she shall take upon her shoulders the full burden of my position, and see to my proper burial."

A few nods of approval ran silently through the crowd as a natural alleyway began to form of Dalmite bodies that lined the sides of the small dirt path that led away from the pool. It was rare that a leader who had won her position through the tradition of wrestling, that honored the God Asurin, should call upon her predecessor as her First, but all within the Gailmai Wood knew of the special relationship between these two.

Liila followed the path of painted bodies to its short end; stopping in front of a gnarled old man whom she had heard was named Diamo. His tattoos marked him from the Uflera region, in the Borderlands, and the reddish stones that decorated his throat further hardened his menacing features. Around his eyes, ochre painting flared up like the licks of flame that so tortured Dalmite nightmares from childhood on. It was all she could do not to catch her breath at the sight of him. But she had been warned.

As deposed Clan leader, Telani could not attend this portion of the Rites, but as Mother Kainna, she knelt to the left of Diamo, who acted as Adralis, naked but for single leather covering over her loins. Her breasts and stomach were painted with great circles, her hands dipped in green dye, and her hair dyed a vivid sky blue. She represented the earth mother, as the birth mother, and it was she who would guide Liila to the great death should the little death take her.

Liila gave a small nod and knelt as well, facing Diamo who gave no rodomontade but went straight to his work. Taking a knee, he mixed the contents of two bent leaves together in a single ceramic bottle painted with the ceremonial symbols of his tribe. A slight stench issued forth as the contents interacted and Diamo shoved the small container towards her lips, passing its tiny spout between them and tipping it straight up. Liila gave no thought to resistance, knowing that this was only the second step towards her acceptance, and that if she failed to accept, it would mean everything so far had been for naught. Her mother's fat lip and bruised body spoke for the effort she had put into this endeavor, and she wasn't about to hesitate now.
The rank contents slid down her throat like molasses, gagging her with its thickness, but she swallowed it as quickly as possible, wetting her mouth with spittle and swallowing that as well to attempt to wash out some of the taste. Liila's head lolled back almost immediately as she slipped from consciousness. Diamo paid no heed to the dying woman though as he tossed aside the poisoned bottle and prepared the antidote. One moment too long in his preparations, and the great death would whisk Liila away into the boughs of her life tree to be forever cradled there. But he was well practiced and efficient, and had never lost a clan leader yet.

In the moments that passed the ceramic bottle was retrieved by a pair of hands that quickly passed the bottle down to the next, and the next. This too was tradition, and part of the Rites. Later, Liila would have to face the realization that all who would come before her had access to the poison. It was also a way for them to know for a certain that their leader faced the little death. The smell of the poison was singular.

Diamo rolled the gummy portions of the antidote together into a nut-sized ball and passed it to the Mother, whose lap now cradled her near-dead daughter. It was always the Mother who gave life.
She pressed the ball into Liila's cheek after spitting upon it in her own hand to start the digestive degeneration of the drug. When Liila began to stir, her mother pressed on her jaw, encouraging her to masticate the ball, then rubbed her throat to help her swallow it. Well she knew from personal experience how even the throat muscles willed themselves to lassitude under the effects of the little death. She peered into Liila's mouth and nodded towards Diamo who clapped his hands loudly in front of the reclining woman.
At his clap, Liila startled, and Mother's arms lifted away, releasing her child. Diamo stood and backed away a single pace. It was all on Liila now. Struggling mightily, she pushed off of the Mother's lap and into the kneeling position, bowing her head towards Diamo. It was only a little bow, because she felt if she pressed her neck into more action, she would surely vomit on the spot, but it would have to do.

"I die to give my life to the Clan." She croaked, placing her hands in front of herself to steady her wavering body, then slowly, painfully, stood and addressed the Mother. "And I take life again that I shall ever remember my debt to the Mother."

A collective sigh arose from those who did not realize they had been holding their breath as they watched, and it was joined by the sudden breeze which flowed through the tree branches as each leaf passed against its neighbor in a speech of joy. Kainna's children seemed to speak their approval.

Liila fell to the side only to be caught by her mother who was immediately joined by her father in lifting her off of the ground and carting her safely away. As she recovered, all of her tribes would fast this day from food and drink to honor her trial and to make ready for the feast that would be prepared the next evening. They departed quickly to tell all that the Rites had been fulfilled, and to start their preparations.

When Liila was able to recover a more coherant use of her lips, she spoke her single regret to her mother, who hovered over her with more care than Liila had ever witnessed in all her 20 years. "I'm sorry mother." She said weakly, trying to stop the tear that threatened to roll from the corner of her eye.

"Shh, little Liila. Don't you know that this is the proudest day of my life? It is only to you that I could peacefully see the Clan turn to for guidance. Now calm your thoughts and hear me well. Float like the butterfly above the winds of your discomfort and remember what you must do tomorrow."

Liila nodded slightly, abiding the guiding words of her mother as she focused on her cerulean eyes.

 

The following evening found Liila's belly rumbling loudly for food, and her lips pasty and parched. She had recovered quickly, but with a burning hunger unlike any as she had felt before. She sat upon the single chair of office that the Telantha Clan afforded its leaders. Fashioned in much the same method as one of their riverboats stood on end, and was cut cleanly off at the top. The inside of the wood was cut to make a seat and smoothed with days of rigorous sand rubbing. All around her the ten tribes of the Clan gathered, foodstuffs in hand, with grass mats covering nearly the entire forest floor. The tribes approached by size, largest first, pledging to her and offering food as they did so. For each, she took a single bite carefully chewing and swallowing as the tribesmen watched on. After each she sipped of whatever drinks were brought to her by those people of Ramdden who gathered nearby to join in the ceremonies.
They spoke to her in respectful tones saying "Our Pledge and Our Offering", to which she always replied, "My life in your trust." Some came to her wary, wondering if this young woman could lead them to the same peace and prosperity that her mother had. Others joyously, and others still disgruntled, but she never fell to the phantom warning of poison. Such was the final trail of Chaos. All had touched the poisoned bottle, and all had the choice of good or evil. Thus were Nydelik and Naeria appeased.

When she had tasted the last, she stood from her chair and announced loudly, "let us all share of the bounty that has sustained me this day!"

The tribes raised their arms in a single hail with voice and clattered wood pieces, then pressed forward to begin the feast. Liila sat back again. It was all so real, and so profoundly humbling. Tomorrow she would begin her days as Chieftess of the Telantha Clan, and leader of the Ashtao Tribe.