Necropolis (Book One of Book One) by Penn Fawn (the false prince .TXT) 📕

do what they said,” Keita remarked. “It will be difficult, but we should try to get some rest. I’ve no doubt there’s a lot more that will addle our minds which is yet to come.”

The combination of the day’s adventure and not getting much rest last night proved to be too much for them. Consequently, it was not long before they fell asleep.

They were deep into it when the chief members of Kimbilio met to discuss the latest developments.

Their preferred area for discussing critical or important matters was about a quarter mile away from the village homes. The location was a bit remote. It was a natural clearing where they had large rocks native to the area arranged in a semi-circle.

There was a larger rock facing that semi-circle. This is where Oba took up a position to discuss the goings-on with the forty-eight representatives before him.

Six of Oba’s chief confidants and advisors, three apiece, sat on either side of him.

“Time is already against us, so I am, and I am sure you probably are, very eager to get right down to the reason for today’s meeting,” he began.

“There is not a man in the village who hasn’t seen or at least heard about the Shetani coming by this area, not once, but twice. We believe the first appearance was by happenstance. The second, not so.

“We believe having noticed we’re here, they returned a second time to get a better survey of the area.”

He took a deep breath.

“Of course, no good can come out of this. None of you needs to be reminded that they are our nemesis and sworn enemy. Whether they will be back to do us harm is not a matter of if. It’s a matter of when.

“What we have to do is get prepared. The detail of this preparation is principally what we want to discuss.”

“Why are we here? Do we have any say in this, or have you already made up our minds for us?” Oluso remarked.

Oba looked at him sternly. “We’ve made no decision,” he replied.

“A first!” Oluso interjected.

“If I may be permitted to finish, please,” Oba added.

Oluso said nothing.

“There are only two options,” Oba continued. “Resist or relocate.”

Oluso looked to the left then right of him at the other representatives. Mbou and Zaeim were on his left. Dalia and Noor, the youngest person to have ever been elected to such a high post, were on his right.

A wooly blond-haired fellow there, a rarity among them, who claimed to be a common sight at certain islands back in Primordia, focused his eyes on the ground. He, too, was on Oluso’s right. All there bore countenances as firmly as one may render to figures etched in stone.

Oluso redirected his attention to Oba. “Resist or relocate, huh? A nice way of saying resist or try to run. And, how long do you plan or think we can do that for? I will flee to nowhere,” he said. “I will fight.”

“And, you will die,” Oba said, and he instantly regretted his snappy response.

“So, that is your decision then?” Oluso returned. “Or, the decision?” he added, stressing on the word ‘the.’ “Is that what your party thought of and came up with?”

“Pardon me, Oluso. I shouldn’t have snapped like that. We’re not here to debate. We’re here to determine what is it the people would have us do.”

“And, I gave you my opinion. My vote. I’d rather die here than flee and risk being killed anyway. I will fight,” Oluso stated.

“But that’s certain suicide,” Mbou remarked. “They are too strong an enemy.”

“No one lives forever,” he replied. “Unless maybe you believe there is another tier to this place.”

“We can live forever here, and you know it, provided, of course, we’re never mortally harmed,” Alpha, the blond-haired fellow, said. “It’s something to think about, I think.”

“We’re never totally safe from harm,” Oluso replied. “Sooner or later, this day was going to come. We are always going to be hunted or on the run.

“Many moons ago, I suggested we ought to try to blend in. I suggested we abandon all ideas of so-called modern architecture, meaning that which has become so ingrained and familiar to us based on the lands from which we came. I said plainly we should forsake any ideas that call for clear-cutting the forest and instead make dwellings that are complementary or harmonious with nature like the Shetani do, but no one would hear me.

“If you had listened to me, they would never have so easily known we are here. There would have been no massive clearances, no telltale signs from above.

“What we would have had instead were dwellings that blend in beautifully, if not seamlessly, with the environment, which our adversaries would say—and I do agree with them here—should be the natural order of things.

“That type of action would truly have been something progressive, as opposed to what we have today. Those were my words to you, but you . . . you never listen to me. Ever.”

He paused and waited to hear if someone would respond. No one did.

“We’re always going to be hunted. If not by Shetani, then we will continue to forever have to be on our guard from the ghouls of the forest. I’m not going to run anymore. I’m tired of it,” he added.

“And, I’m tired of it,” Zaeim said. “And, once upon a time, need I remind everyone, we were the ones who hunted.”

“This is not Egangeles or Primordia,” Oba stated. “’Tis the devil’s domain. For us, there’s no desire to hunt anything here except for target practice.”

“Then, why not use the curses of this land that are meant to sour our spirits and subdue us to our advantage?” Oluso replied.

What he meant by that, alluded to, was immortals in Kimbilio or at any other part of the underworld ate nothing because they never felt hunger. They drank nothing because they never felt thirsty, yet they never died from a lack of sustenance.

“And, to you, Zaeim,” Oluso added. “I hear