Where can I listen to this podcast?

This podcast is available on 6 platforms including Apple Podcasts, Spotify, and more. You can also use the RSS feed directly.

Does this podcast accept guests?

No, this podcast does not typically feature guests.

Can't Hold The River Podcast

Claim This Podcast

by 7th Ward Swamp Opossum

44 episodes

Updated Weekly

Accepts GuestsHas Sponsors

Podcast Authority

Beta

PoorBased on show quality, social media presence, reviews, charts, and more

Quality42

Social0

YouTube0

Engagement27

Learn more

Podcast Overview

Ethnographic Fiction, journalism, zoology, botany and who knows all else in time. <a href="https://cantholdtheriver.substack.com?utm_medium=podcast">cantholdtheriver.substack.com</a>

Language

🇺🇲

Publishing Since

5/8/2024

View on Apple Podcasts RSS Feed

🇺🇸 Charts #3

Outreach generated

Apple 142

Spotify 827

Instant mention tracking

Perfect fit!

Unlock The Full Podcast Authority Score Report

See how your podcast performs across key metrics

Podcast Authority

Beta

PoorBased on show quality, social media presence, reviews, charts, and more

Quality42

Social0

YouTube0

Engagement27

Learn more

Excellent Areas

Good Performance

Growth Opportunities

excellent

Episode Length

18 minutes

Performing excellently!

good

Publishing Consistency

Every 10 days

Recommendations available

Unlock the full report to see detailed tips

poor

Episode Thumbnails

Recommendations available

Unlock the full report to see detailed tips

+16 More Metrics

Unlock comprehensive insights including:

• YouTube presence analysis
• Social media reach metrics
• RSS compliance scoring
• Podcast 2.0 features
• Technical standards

What's Included in Your Full Report

Detailed Analytics

Complete breakdown of all 19 authority metrics
Personalized recommendations for each metric
Industry benchmarks and comparisons
Technical RSS feed analysis and compliance scoring

Growth Strategies

Step-by-step action plans for improvement
Quick wins to boost your score immediately
Pro tips from successful podcasters

Get your free podcast insights report

See how your show performs across every key metric

Instant delivery

No spam

Attract Better Guests

High authority scores make your podcast more attractive to industry leaders and influencers who want to appear on credible shows.

Secure Sponsorships

Sponsors look for podcasts with proven authority and engagement. Your score demonstrates your podcast's value to potential partners.

Grow Your Audience

Understanding your strengths and weaknesses helps you make data-driven decisions to expand your listener base effectively.

1 verified contact email on file for Can't Hold The River Podcast

Pitch yourself as a guest, propose sponsorships, or reach out directly to the host.

See contact details

Recent Episodes

June 2, 2026

BloodMoon

This body of work has been manifested with support from LOUD Queer Youth Theater and Bulbancha BeHolders.<a target="_blank" href="https://www.loudnola.org/donate">Donate </a> to LOUD Queer Youth Theater and Follow LOUD on <a target="_blank" href="https://www.instagram.com/loudtheater/">Instagram </a>Blood MoonBy Keyshia-Pearl DeGruyWhen; Generations after the War of the Fallen.Where; White Bison Bayou: an outskirt of New Silver City; a metropolis criss-crossed by canals, bayous, woodland, farm land, and urban settlement.Characters;* Sam BlackBird (he/him); A prominent young war captain of the Oba Shaas.* Quil BlackBird (he/him); A younger cousin of Sam BlackBird.* RakShah BloodMoon (she/her); An elder wolf woman, over 100 years old. Her hair is silvery white, her eyes are blue and black, and she wears deep crimson.* Shaastaa BloodMoon (he/him); Chief of the BloodMoons.* Silver Lynx (they/them); The Scorpion Healer.* Shonii Blood Moon (she/her); The Blood Moon Princess.* Naanii Khaalii (she/her); The 444 Phoenix of Protection.* Sabaa Lusaa (she/her); The current Black Wolf and 777 Phoenix of Polarities.* Kasaii (they/them) ; A Teshiikaana Warlord* Prince Nooka (he/him); The current Sky Fire Prince, aka Pitch Black Wild Cat.* The Big Falayaa; A Warlord of the Underworld* O-Maal; The Emerald Moccasin; Keeper of Okwaa-Tii-Kaa* Khaalikii Yaaknii (they/them); A shaman and keeper of the Star Swords of Niikanaatkin.Chapter One Sam BlackBird assumed the world’s favor as he approached the great lodge of Shaastaa BloodMoon. He was accompanied by his cousin; Quil BlackBird, and other warriors of the Oba Shaa order. He was dressed in worn armor of navy, black, gold, ivory, and brown; same as his comrades. They were intercepted on their way by warriors dressed in black, ivory, and crimson, with tattoos of the same colored inks across their bronzed and brown skin. They carried long bows, guns, machetes, and decorated spears. They were keepers of the BloodMoon Lodge, loyal to Shaastaa BloodMoon and his family. They told Sam Blackbird that he would not travel any further with his weapons, nor with the full host of warriors at his back. Sam found this strange and affirmed that he’d sent word to Shaastaa BloodMoon weeks earlier that he was coming. He did not understand either why Shaastaa would demand he leave his weapons and his company behind, as he never had before. Shaastaa was a godfather to Sam who’d spent much time across his life at the lodge as an honored guest. He asked the BloodMoon warriors for an explanation but they gave none, insisting that if he wanted to continue, he’d do as he was told. Sam was weary of what awaited him; a trap perhaps? But he’d come a long way, and he did not want to seem too cowardly or suspicious of the chief, whose favor was necessary for Sam’s long pursued objective. He disarmed himself as was asked, and left his weapons with his warriors. Only Quil Blackbird, his lieutenant, was permitted to continue with him to the lodge. The Great Lodge of Shaastaa BloodMoon was situated atop a ridged bluff of a bayou tributary. It was early winter, and the grass was short or sparse over red clay soil, and the trees were shedding their leaves. The bayou water was low, and animal activity was minimal. In the sky above the lodge were many black and turkey vultures, and some red tailed hawks. There was the soft chirping of small song birds as Sam was led toward the earthen mound at the center of the lodge; at its base were garden beds, walk ways, and smaller houses and other structures. Farther inland was the broader community connected to New Silver City, however the lodge existed at the edge of woodland within the borders of the Narrow Land; a corridor of wilderness and water ways stretching from the edge of the Mountains to the North West, to Bulbancha in the East. There was a stairway up the mound to the entrance of the Bloodmoon temple; roofed with arching mastodon tusks and bison bones over a large dome. Sam noticed a tusked deer grazing near the base of the stairs; the species was a steed of warriors from the Sun Tribe. He took a deep breath of anticipation, glancing at his cousin Quil, wearily, before following the BloodMoon warriors up to the temple’s entrance which was guarded on either side by two statues of snarling silver wolves, as well as two very real soldiers with crossed bladed long weapons. They uncrossed their blades to let Sam and the others pass through. The first sight upon entry to the temple was the BloodMoon banner; a large tapestry hung from the ceiling depicting a black bison, slashed and bleeding, surrounded by a pack of white wolves against an all red field. Sam was led further on, to the main hall of the temple where there were many present. The heads of the BloodMoon families, as well as other house, clan, and tribal leaders of what persisted of the BloodMoon Confederacy had come to witness. Among the assembly were healers and warriors; both active and veteran. There were dream seers, builders, hunters, conservationists, storytellers, agriculturalists, doulas, and hospice and death keepers, and other guild masters. Ahead and at center, sitting exalted on a raised dais was the Great BloodMoon War Chief; Shaastaa. Shaastaa was a large man dressed in fine robes of crimson, black, and ivory. He was adorned with jewels, crystals, ivory, silver, and gold on his wrists, fingers, around his neck, his ears, and various piercings across his brows, nose, and lips. His skin was etched with black ink tattoos. He wore a high hat, fashioned with arching green and black and patterned pheasant and rooster feathers. Some of Shaastaa’s teeth were capped in gold. In his youth he’d been a renown warrior who achieved security for his people in the cross cultural war games which persisted as an alternative to all out war across the southern territories since the degradation of the Star Fallen Empire. As he was then, in his senior years, he preferred the stability of the lodge over the rigor of battlecraft. To the left of Shaastaa was his grandmother Rakshah BloodMoon, and his daughter Shonii BloodMoon. Shonii’s amber eyes glanced briefly into Sam’s own, and he felt at once calmed and aroused in his spirit. Shonii was the gravity of his heart’s compass; the reason for his journey to the lodge. But strangely, there was a foreign warrior to Sam’s left, kneeling before the BloodMoon Chief. Shaastaa beckoned Sam forward across the distance and he took his godson’s hands in his own, affirming his expectation of his arrival, thanking him for his punctuality, and asking him to have a seat at the front of the assembly. He sat as instructed and Shastaa asked the foreign warrior to sit as well, before he was introduced to the assembly. The man was not very tall, though he was dense in his build. He was bronze skinned with dark brown eyes and jet hair cut low in waves. He wore a black ao dai suit of fine and embroidered silk. He was adorned with gold. Around his neck was a starburst gold amulet. His name was Nooka, and he was the Skyfire Prince; the second son of the Sun Chief who ruled at the Sun Palace in Bulbancha. Sam hadn’t needed an introduction though; he’d encountered this warrior before at a tournament some years prior. He was known among warriors as the Pitch Black Wild Cat; both for the consistency of his black attire and his mystical ability to transform into such a shape, as well as that of a raven. Nooka glanced at Sam with even eyes that one could discern no particular emotion from before he looked at Chief Shaastaa and inclined his head with respect.Finally, Shaastaa began to speak on the matters at hand; He addressed firstly, the long term betrothal of his daughter Shonii and Sam BlackBird. The BlackBirds were a longstanding close ally of the BloodMoons for many generations. Sam’s uncle, Dante Blackbird was present at that very assembly, as a commander of the warriors stationed at the lodge, and a chief guard of Shaastaa. Sam BlackBird was the son of the BlackBird chief, who commanded the BlackBird army which controlled a vast territory on the great plains. Shonii BloodMoon was born when Sam was about ten and as early as then, Sam’s family and the BloodMoons had been coordinating toward the eventual marriage of the two of them. Many of the smaller tribes and clans that comprised the confederacy were in support of this marriage alliance and had been planning accordingly toward the future. Still, though Sam had the favor of his people, Shonii’s hand was not simply promised to him. Across his early life he trained and studied extensively in horse keeping, cattle herding, bison conservation and prairie ecology, diplomacy, and war craft. When he came of age he was initiated into the order of Oba Shaa to serve as a steward of the bison, cattle, and mustang herds the confederacy depended on both economically and culturally. He was also defender of the Narrow Land and their expansive territories. At the present moment, Sam was thirty-one years old, and Shonii was twenty-one, and he’d been serving as an Oba Shaa for over 15 years. He’d finally developed his confidence and stature as the most prowessed warrior in the region. He claimed the rights to a great herd of mustangs and cattle, and he’d contributed significantly to the preservation of the remaining bison herds so sacred to both his people and to the BloodMoons. He’d sent word to Shaastaa that he was ready to formally propose to Shonii and begin the course of their engagement and support Shonii in her transitions toward marriage. The vast territory that was Shonii’s dowry; the great pine forests, the coastal water sheds, and the southern plains west of the Atchafalaya Basin would be inherited by Sam BlackBird’s children, and the BloodMoon and BlackBird lineage would be merged, securing generations of security and peace for their people. Everything seemed according to that long term plan which had spanned the course of much of Sam’s life… but there was something strange in Shaastaa’s eyes, and an anticipatory and nervous pulse on the hearts of the assembly…why was Prince Nooka there, on the day where all had gathered to witness and support Sam Blackbird’s proposal to their cherished princess?Prince Nooka had come on behalf of his father and House Lomaasii; the dynastic sovereigns of the Sun Tribe. They governed the Atchafalaya Basin, and the coastal delta of the Great River. Their territory was not massive, but it was dense with resources; fertile soil and sediment rich waters, and lush forests. Their placement at the mouth of the Great River meant they benefited from jurisdiction of all the trade and travel that flowed through Bulbancha, from across the continent and beyond. House Lomaasii commanded one of the largest military forces in the South as well, and they were in good standing with the Ghokaan Empire whose governors were situated up river at Zion. The Lomaasii war lords, having secured their region, were interested in expanding their territory westward. They’d sent Prince Nooka to propose to Shonii BloodMoon. Upon this revelation, the assembly shifted and spoke amongst themselves. Samuel BlackBird took this news difficultly, but held his tongue to hear Chief Shaastaa’s further thoughts. Chief Shaastaa gestured for three chests to be brought forth, each filled with gold pieces, gems, and crystals and other valuable artifacts collected from the Lomaasii’s vast treasury. The content was to be distributed generously to the houses gathered at the lodge on behalf of the Sun Chief’s intentions of alliance and union. Sam’s family was not rich in possession of gold. He’d been prepared to present offerings according to the traditional currencies of the west; 500 horses, 200 heads of cattle, and several of the finest specimens of bison from that year’s breeding season. He’d been made to leave his offerings behind. Sam looked upon the gold and was not impressed, but he could see that Shaastaa was swayed by the currency of the East, his curiosity drawn there. Shaastaa expressed his interest in considering Nooka’s proposal. The assembly bristled. Many were unsettled by the prospect, though they did not outrightly challenge Shaastaa. Sam however, could not bear to further hold his tongue. He addressed Chief Shaastaa, “Great Chief, I fear I’ve lost your favor and your support…” Shaastaa answered as a chief who does not owe apology, only honesty, “You have served our people devotedly Sam BlackaBird, and I cherish you as an ally and godchild. I don’t deny that you’ve been groomed from childhood to marry my daughter, but the prospect of alliance with the Lomaasiis was not foreseen…now that it’s been proposed, I must consider it on behalf of the greatest good of Shonii, my family, tribe, and territory at large. Prince Nooka might afford her a life and purpose beyond what any of us may have imagined for her…we might see great progress across the generations. You have not lost my favor or my support, and I will see to it that you are rewarded immensely for your bravery, loyalty, and dedication.” Sam could tell, Shaastaa was not merely considering Nooka’s proposal, he had already decided. Further, Sam sensed a subversive context; the Lomaasii’s proposal for alliance was tinged with the undertone of threat. If Shaastaa and the BloodMoons consented to the marriage between Shonii and Prince Nooka, then all might be well. But if they refused, and favored her union with Sam, the Lomaasiis would not simply concede their ambitions of territorial expansion. The Sun Tribe would come back to the temple, as a martial force, and they would expect no less than war for refusal to comply; this was the way of empires. Perhaps, Shastaa truly did resonate with Prince Nooka’s proposal, or maybe he was just afraid. Either way, Sam felt something like a strom brew in his heart. He glanced at Shonii; more beautiful than dawn, dark as shadow, and mysterious as the stars. He’d been fighting for her for a long time, asserting himself over many warriors who coveted her submission, her womb, and the magnitude of her dowry. He’d been so close…so certain…he wanted so badly to touch her, but he knew he could not, and, that had been bearable, when it seemed clear that eventually, he would. But suddenly, this potential reality of losing her to this foreign prince before he could was unbearable. Sam spoke,“Prince Nooka is wealthy, and a formidable warrior… but he and his people are not horse masters. They do not know the plains. They do not speak our languages or follow our customs. They are not bonded to the bison,” Sam’s words were loud enough for all to hear, “this man would rule us… from a far and unfamiliar distance…Great Chief, indeed, I have served, I have fought, I have lived, breathed, bled, and sweat for the inheritance of our territory… I am sorry, but I would not stand for Shonii to marry this man.” There was a shudder through the assembly. Shaastaa BloodMoon’s eyes were unwavering on Sam’s. Simply put, Sam had threatened war. Following his protest, others of the council; warlords, shamans, and healers alike, proclaimed their support for Sam, and their refusal to buckle to the Sun Tribe’s slick manipulation. But there were as many who were in favor of Prince Nooka and the alliance with the Sun Tribe. And suddenly, the assembly was in an uproar as the factions argued. Shaastaa and Sam engaged each other directly and Prince Nooka affirmed the likely consequences of his father’s disappointment. As the tension rose, Shonii observed. She’d been still and silent, observing and listening as these people bartered over her. Her great grandmother was close to her, holding her hand. Shonii could sense the inevitability of violent conflict, and her mind flashed with images of destruction; to her people, their culture, and their ecosystems…She foresaw the second mass desecration of the bison…she saw the ruin of not just one tribe, clan, or house, but of many, engulfed in flame and blood. She reached within for an answer, and her ancestors spoke a solution through the veil. Shonii stood, calm and steady. She did not need to project her voice to call in the assembly’s attention as they steadily noticed as she walked to her father’s dais. Their arguments stilled and their eyes stayed on her. She looked upon Sam BlackBird, and Prince Nooka, and when the hall was fully silent, she said, “Let me be very clear; I will not be earned through war and destruction. I would make no good wife for either of you, and I’d certainly not bear your children, if my lands burn, and my waters are polluted with blood, and the women and children and elders of my territory suffer.” Shonii’s voice was soft as her words were clear; she was not making a threat, she was establishing a promise. Nooka nor Sam or any others in attendance were foolish enough to mistake her for bluffing; she asserted a refusal to endure unreasonable degrees of grief. Shonii was fearless enough to take herself from a world which assumed she could or should not. “If my dowry is the subject, let it not be determined by my elders, or those from a foreign tribe. I exercise my right to determine how it is claimed?” She asked her father, who obliged her to continue, “Rather than suffer an all out war, I propose that a ritual duel be held between the two of you, Sam, and Nooka. Let it be fair, publicly witnessed, and sacredly ceremonial. Allow fate to decide whether my dowry will serve the west or the east, whether my children will be BlackBirds or Lomaasiis. You are both great warriors, I don’t take either of you for being reluctant to meet this challenge?” Shonii asked. Sam nor Nooka protested Shonii’s proposal. “A Year from now, at the next winter solstice, a tournament will be held on neutral ground. The fair and true victor will have my hand in marriage without protest.” Shonii turned to her father, then to the assembly, “Is this an acceptable compromise?” The assembly deliberated briefly, before they gave their collective gestures and proclamations of consent. Nooka and Sam were in agreement, and they departed the BloodMoon lodge to prepare themselves for battle in a year’s time.Chapter Two The year passed since Prince Nooka Lomaasii and Sam Blackbird agreed to the terms established by Shonii BloodMoon over her dowry. On the winter solstice there was a great gathering in a neutral dimension. Officials and citizens from BloodMoon and Sun Tribe territories convened at the Brackish City of Okwaa-Tii-Kaa; an aquatic dimension beneath the waves Bulbancha’s Okwaata; Wide Water. They were hosted at the palace of O-Maal; the Emerald Moccasin. The assembly came to witness at a battle dais, where drums rolled and incense burned as the shamans and mystics prepared the space. Sam BlackBird was ushered into view, and there was a great roar among the factions which supported him. He was armored and armed. Shonii BloodMoon and her family were situated near the dais, and he met her gaze briefly before refocusing on this mission at hand. Sam awaited the Sun Tribe’s presentation of Prince Nooka, but became perplexed to see Prince Nooka move through the crowd; he was dressed in armor, and his attendants carried his ancestral garfish sword, but he did not come to the other side of the dais; instead he sat with his father and other Sun Tribe officials, as if to witness. Sam sent his cousin Quil to inquire. Quil returned with news that Prince Nooka would not fight Sam, not initially. The Skyfire Prince had chosen a champion to fight on his behalf, and only if Sam defeated that champion, would he be cleared to face Prince Nooka directly. Sam was infuriated and offended, as this was not the deal he’d agreed to and prepared for. He moved to protest, but he was stilled by Quil, who insisted that technically, Prince Nooka was in his right of bounds. Just as Sam was about to ask who this champion would be, the Sun Tribe presented a warrior to the height of the dais. The warrior’s name was Kasaii; a War Lord of the Sun Tribe as well as the Underworld. Sam’s grip on his sword handle tightened, for this warrior was one he had bad blood with. Kasaii wore armor of silver, ivory, black, and crimson. Their eyes were amber, and their hair dark auburn red. They wielded a slender rapier blade, pommeled with a silver cobra head. They were a Teshiikaana; a serpent incarnate; their kind were arch nemeses of the BloodMoons and other bison hunting groups. At O-Maal’s signal, the battle between Kasaii and Sam BlackBird ensued, and at the start there were drums rolling, chanting and cheering encouragement from an anticipatory audience. Sam and Kasaii were both formidable warriors, and they met each other blow for blow, swing for swing. Their steel clashed and sang, on and on, until the drums diminished, and the roar of the crowd was exhausted. The duel was dragging on as both warriors coursed their staminas. Neither of them could land a hit on the other…as if their swords were averse to each other’s flesh. They fought until their muscles fatigued and they were dripping sweat. They both breathed heavily. They seemed to be evenly matched … so matched in their strength and prowess, that eventually, neither of them could continue the fight, and they both knelt at either side of the dais. As overseer of their duel, O-Maal stepped forward to discern their states. He proclaimed to the gathered witnesses that neither warrior could continue their battle, declaring a draw. The crowd anticipated what this meant for Shonii’s dowry. O-Maal went to consult with his own associates and then with the Sun Chief and with Shaastaa BloodMoon, before returning to the center of the dais, and proclaiming; “Prince Nooka’s rank and prowess are known to be greater than that of Kasaii. The draw between Kasaii and Sam BlackBird constitutes that if Sam cannot overcome them, then he cannot and will not defeat the Pitch Black Wildcat in battle. By default of this draw, Prince Nooka is therefore the rightful victor, and heir to Shonii BloodMoon’s dowry.” At this proclamation, many BlackBirds and BloodMoons erupted in an uproar of dissent, challenging the validity of the victory and accusing the Teshiikaana of using sorcery or witchcraft to increase their strength against Sam BlackBird. But they were silenced with a command from Shaastaa BloodMoon to show respect for the sanctity of their ritualistic war customs. He affirmed that there’d been no trickery, that the rules had been followed, and Prince Nooka was victorious. The Sun Tribe celebrated with applause and comradery, and the Great Sun affirmed his son’s success. And so was the end of this chronicle… or so it seemed, until Shonii BloodMoon stood, as she’d done a year before. She went to speak directly and quietly to O-Maal, whose brow furrowed with perplexity, and then intrigue, before he reigned in the attention of the audience. “Chief Lomaasii, Chief BloodMoon, I stand corrected. This trial is not complete, and Nooka may not yet be declared victorious.” Dissatisfaction flashed in the Sun Chief’s expression, and he asked what the matter was? Before O-Maal could answer,Shonii BloodMoon replied, loud enough for all those present to hear, “I call on my own champion, to fight on my behalf. I intend to secure my own dowry.”Chapter ThreeContext of time; a month after Sam and Nooka agreed to Shonii’s terms at the BloodMoon Lodge. Samuel BlackBird journeyed to Bulbancha; The Land of Many Tongues. He kept a low profile as he crossed the green swamp city; he was not supposed to be there. To minimize the risk of calamities which might lead to war, Shonii had encouraged both Sam and Nooka to remain out of each other’s territory, until their duel passed. But Sam secretly went to Bulbancha out of necessity. A duel of such epic proportion called for the manifestation of armor worthy of the occasion. As a Skyfire Prince of the Sun Tribe, Nooka was inherent to the dynastic wealth of generations, and could simply commission the finest armor makers in Bulbancha to manifest his suit. For Sam, this task was more complex. His family’s wealth was livestock and prairie and farm land, and though he could secure the service of an armor maker from his tribe, none of his own people were particularly renowned armor sewers. Among the BloodMoons, there were no finer sewers than Shonii BloodMoon and her great grandmother, Rakshaah. Sam could not however, ask Shonii or her family to support him in any way, in the procurement of her dowry, for risk of greatly offending them and disgracing the sanctity of competitive ritual. The greatest armor makers lived in Bulbancha, but many of them were already commissioned, or their costs were more than the BlackBirds could afford. But Sam could not face Prince Nooka in sub-par armor; not only would it be dangerous, but worse, it would dishonor him and his people. He considered one person who might help him, though it was a great challenge to his ego to request the aid. To meet the armor maker, Sam went to the Temple of Omoyaa. The Temple of Omoyaa was a sanctuary of rehabilitative healing and protection for the recovering, lost, and ostracized until they were strong and brave enough to face the challenges of the dimensions beyond its walls. Outside the temple was a great and looming oak tree, fashioned with many blue, green, and brown glass bottles to ward off evil spirits. There were many roosters and hens across the grounds who slept in the tree’s high branches at night. The entrance of the temple was guarded by two golden statues of phoenixes. Omoyaa was kept by a faction of wolf-women, loyal to the Sun Phoenix; Naanii Khaalii. They vetted Sam at the entrance of the temple and then went to inform the one he sought of his intentions to visit before returning to permit his entry. The wolf-women led him to one of the many rooms of the temple where the door was already open. The room’s layout was relatively simple and minimal. The floor was centered by a tapestried rug, and to the right was a floor mattress next to a closet. Beneath a window that let in the natural light of the eastern morning was a desk, decorated by a blooming orchid plant. At the left wall of the room was an altar of lit candles and sacred objects, photographs, crystals and other elements. There was a sword stand, though the swords were not there. Sitting at the desk and gazing out of the window was the one Sam had come to see. As he entered the room, its occupant turned around, and as their eyes met, both of their hearts pulsed with a strange median between joy and grief. They had not seen each other in years. The individual’s name was Khaalikii Yaaknii. Khaalikii had marbled two toned skin and hair, and two toned amber and black eyes. They wore all black, in the fashion of the temple. They stood from the desk, and gestured for Sam to sit down on the rug as they set to making tea for the both of them. When the tea was ready, they placed it before Sam, and lit incense with a small spark from their manicured finger. As the frankincense wafted, they both sipped their tea, and let the hot liquid calm their nerves; as much as it could at least. Though Khaalikii had been expecting Sam, his proximity was still an intense experience. There was so much unresolved tension between the two of them. Sam felt a complex range of emotions as well. It was strange to see Khaalikii bound to that temple. For so much of their lives, they’d been bonded through near constant communication, mutual protection, acts of service, prayer work, and exercise. Khaalikii had trouble looking directly at Sam for more than a second at a time. Sam refrained from initiating any physical contact. Khaalikii and Sam coursed through some small talk, before Sam finally shared why he was there; his intention to marry Shonii BloodMoon, his mission of defeating Prince Nooka, and his need for suitable armor, to achieve those goals. He asked Khaalikii to consider sewing his suit across the course of that year. Khaalikii was quiet for a long moment, considering the magnitude of the request. See, the task of making a warrior’s armor was not as simple as the organization and binding of textiles. It was a commitment in spiritual and emotional binding as well; to be physically proximal and in relation. To make Sam’s armor, would be to enter a state of perpetual consideration and contemplation, collaborative design, and prayer ritual. While Khaalikii sewed the developing armor, they would keep it at their bed side, praying over its pieces, imbuing it with energy and ancestral fortitude. When the time came for this battle to occur, Khaalikii would go with Sam, to attend to him and his armor and his weapons and his mission, as a familiar. In years passed, Khaalikii had served Sam BlackBird as a war familiar, across his many trials, tribulations, journeys and tournaments…but they’d left that reality behind and their destiny had seen them to the Temple of Omoyaa. Khaalikii took a deep breath, sipping more tea to calm their nerves. They were impacted by Sam in a singularly powerful way; his skin was the dark umber of the earth, his eyes the coal black of a dark sky, his voice the rumble of thunder, and his hands the iron ore of mountains. This man’s spiritual presence was monumental, and Khaalikii felt drawn to him from deep in their chest. They wanted to touch him, to embrace him, to bond with him and be close to him in all ways…more than anything, they’d wanted bondage and submission to this man…and it had been so long, since they’d known the embrace of a man of their own culture…the embrace of home. Khaalikii knew that serving Sam as a familiar might bring them close…they thought of the ways they might manipulate this warrior, to serve their interests of intimacy and devotion…how they might bargain for his affection through the commodification of their armor making. Khaalikii’s service was valuable and necessary… and yet, the union of service would be inevitably temporary, and when the mission was complete, Sam would have no need for them anymore.Khaalikii would not face such grief, not after everything they’d gone through to be free from it in the past. Khaalikii asked Sam BlackBird if he truly loved Shonii BloodMoon? Was she worth all he was prepared to sacrifice?“Of course.” Sam affirmed that Shonii was the most beautiful woman in their dimension, her dowry was the glory and survival of their peoples, her lineage ancient…all practical conclusions. Khaalikii took a long moment to think of a considerate and empathetic response before they found the strength to simply say, “No.” As they said it, their courage rose to look Sam in his eyes, and they held his gaze. Sam took a breath. “You won’t even consider it?” Sam asked, and Khaalikii said, “I have considered it, many times over Sam. I will not serve as your armor maker.” Sam glanced at the sword holders, void of their artifacts, and looked back to Khaalikii. He knew the troubles which had brought Khaalikii to the Temple of Omoyaa in connection to their loss of their most treasured ancestral mantles; the star words. “If you were to support me in my defeat of Nooka, I could help you to win the swords back.” Khaalikii looked at the empty space where the swords were supposed to be, and they felt a pit of grief in their stomach…they wanted little more than to see the swords returned. But their intuition was consistently affirmed, and they said to Sam, “You are no match for Prince Nooka, you will not beat him Sam, and in that event, you will punish me for the defeat. You will blame me for not sewing your armor well enough, and you will not help me.” “You’re wrong, I can and will defeat him.” Sam said, but Khaalikii did not respond, knowing better than to argue with what Sam had decided was the truth. They looked at Sam with a most infuriating expression of pity, and Sam projected that Khaalikii was as selfish as they’d ever been. They were disassociating from the devastating consequences to come from Shonii’s marriage to Nooka Lomaasii, for their people. The bison hunting tribes would succumb to the rulership of a foreigner, and Khaalikii would have done nothing to prevent it. Sam projected further that Khaalikii was still punishing him for what he could not provide to them. He spoke a multitude of other projections, which Khaalikii did not counter. Maybe the things Sam said about Khaalikii were true, maybe not. In the past, they would have argued their case, as the loss of Sam’s favor would have been more than they could bear. But in that moment, they knew that their refusal was a finalization of their separation, and though it hurt a part of them, it freed so much else within their spirit. “It’s time for you to leave.” Khaalikii said, and when Sam challenged their direction, Khaalikii asserted, “I do not have to deal with you here, Sam BlackBird.” Sam replied, “Well, I am sorry to be something you struggle to deal with…” Sam looked away from Khaalikii, to the sound of birds chirping outside the window, before they turned back and said, “Your loyalty is with that snake. I should’ve known you wouldn’t help me.” Sam stood then, and turned to leave. But Khaalikii asked one final question of this man they’d once loved so fiercely, “What is her favorite flower?” Sam sneered at the question, “What?” “Shonii, what is her favorite flower Sam?” Sam’s silence was a reckoning conclusion to their brief interaction. Neither of them said anything else to each other, and Sam departed the temple of Omoyaa, to find someone else to sew his armor. Khaalikii reconciled the grief of losing a friend.Chapter FourContext of time; Three years before Sam BlackBird battled Kasaii at Okwa-Tii-Kaa. The ceremonial rituals, presentations, and feasts of the Spring Equinox were in sway at the village of the Seven Feathers in Bulbancha. The Seven Feathers were allies of both the Sun Tribe as well as the Blood Moon Confederacy. Historically they inhabited the southern prairies spanning both BloodMoon and Sun Tribe territory, and in late winter, their wolf women would support the Oba Shaas in stewarding the great herds from the BloodMoon lodge to Bulbancha, where the Oba Shaas would remain until Spring, when they would begin to drive the herds back up north. The Seven Feathers maintained a stronghold in Bulbancha, on the ridged land near the Sun Tribe’s palace, where they served as the Sun Tribe’s horse and tusked deer keepers, and sometimes, as their armor sewers. The Oba Shaas were in attendance, as well as Shaastaa, Rakshah, and Shonii BloodMoon who’d traveled from their home to celebrate and honor their sister tribe. Sam BlackBird was there, sitting among his warriors; they were all joyous with the light of recent victories in the war games that had passed days before. They’d secured territory, armor, weapons, and glory for their house and community, and they were full of pride. With the Oba Shaas was their head war-familiar; Khaalikii Yaaknii. Khaalikii remained as familiars were traditionally; organized, calm, observant, and submissive. They were so still and quiet it was easy to forget they were there. They’d supported the Oba Shaas as they’d travelled with the bison and competed in war games since they were a child. Sam BlackBird was older than them, and Khaalikii had been assigned to familiarity so they might develop toward shamanhood. This celebration marked the milestones of Khaalikii’s own initiations; They were ancestrally both BloodMoon and Seven Feather as well as Malaanii through their father and mother’s lineages. Their mother was a powerful scorpion healer of Bulbancha named Silver Lynx. At Saint Joseph’s night, Khaalikii had been gifted the sacred mantles of their mother’s bloodline; The Star Swords. Khaalikii was their generation’s incarnation of the prime light, as well as a dream seer and preservationist of their people’s culture and the wilderness. Sam BlackBird was very proud that his familiar and armor maker was of such an honored and sacred position among their peoples. Khaalikii was presented with many praises, congratulations, and offerings to honor their progress and their long time service to the Oba Shaas and the preservation of the bison. All seemed well as their cultural traditions progressed. But then, Khaalikii shuddered with a chill as they sensed something arriving with the wind. There was a passing of a murder of crows, and the horses around them shifted and winnied. The dogs barked. Silver Lynx noticed Khaalikii’s sensing, and touched their hand to inquire on the matter, as the crowd began to turn their attention to one side of the field where they were gathered. The music and laughter and play began to die down as the crowd parted and watched wearily as a visitor arrived. He was heralded by a host of warriors from the Sun Tribe as well as escorted closely by two Skyfire demonslayers. Khaalikii drew a breath of anticipation, for they recognized the individual approaching. They were tall and densely built, with large hands and sharp eyes; Kasaii; the Teshiikaana. They came bearing gifts of gold as was customary for the Sun Tribe’s emissaries. They congratulated the BloodMoons, Seven Feathers, Blackbirds, and ObaShaas on their successful migrations. The tribes did not return the smile of a nemesis, however, Kasaii’s service to the Sun Tribe and the Skyfire Prince meant these smaller tribes were to abide by their presence, especially while in Sun Tribe territory. Kasaii was asked the reason for their visit. They expressed that the war-familiars of the bison stewards were renowned for their skill, dedication, and loyalty in battle, armor making, healing, and space keeping. The Skyfires had been assigned a potentially perilous, but very important mission. Kasaii needed a familiar and armor maker and keeper. The BloodMoons bristled at this. Their cherished princess; Shonii, was still young and developing, but across her life she’d attracted potential suitors. Powerful warlords, merchants, chiefs, and other figures of power, wealth, and status, who wished to marry and possess her. Of all those who’d proposed though, none had ever been a Teshiikaana. Shastaa BloodMoon expressed that he would face the fires of any and all consequence, to keep Shonii from Kasaii. But Kasaii showed their palms, and shook their head and said, “I have no doubt that the young Shonii is talented, and whoever she ends up serving will be blessed beyond measure, but I am not here to inquire about her. I’m here to call on Khaalikii Yaaknii.” Shock coursed through the crowd as they turned surprised glances in Khaalikii’s direction. Sam Blackbird tensed, gripping his weapon, as the other Oba Shaas did the same. Sam spoke, “Khaalikii is my familiar, and they serve the Oba Shaas. You must be mistaken, serpent…” “I am aware of Khaalikii’s circumstance as your familiar, up to this point. Still, I call on them.” At that, the warriors gathered all rallied to arm themselves, for this offense was so great. Favored by the Sun Tribe or not, Kasaii had overstepped and greatly insulted these people. But none could have expected for Khaalikii’s confession, “I want to go with them.” They spoke loud enough for Sam, their mother, and the BloodMoons to hear. Sam’s expression was affronted as he said, “Khaalikii, you are my familiar, bound to me through sacred vows.” Khaalikii turned a dark glance on Sam that sent a chill up the Oba Shaa’s spine. “Vows I made as a child, before I could imagine all I now desire, all which you will not give to me. Kasaii is wealthy and strong, and they see me, and they want me… tell me that your heart has changed…tell me you are ready to give me the love I want and deserve…and I will reject them.” Khaalikii felt tears well in their eyes, as they released the last sliver of hope that Sam might change his mind… but the Oba Shaa was set in his truth, and he could not bring himself to lead Khaalikii’s desire for his love on… as Khaalikii looked away from him, disassociating from the fantasy, Sam spoke with judgement and pain, “They are Teshiikaana, enemy of your people…” “Khaalikii…were you expecting this?” Silver Lynx asked, and Khaalikii met their mother’s eyes and the truth was there. Silver Lynx asked Khaalikii why they would do this? Why, of all people, Kasaii? The reason was complex. Khaalikii was thirteen years old when the BloodMoon and Seven Feather councils assigned them to serve as Sam BlackBird’s familiar. Khaalikii was to learn, train, and serve under Sam’s direction and protection, sew his yearly armor, tend his weapons, and support the Oba Shaas across their trials. Sam taught Khaalikii to fight, to keep horses, to be a warrior. Khaalikii shared dreams with Sam, exchanged secrets, and went to the edge of death and back, many times over. At every victory, Khaalikii had been there, and at every milestone, Sam had been for Khaalikii. But Khaalikii grew, as did their prowess, self esteem, and sense of worth. They began to change in their spirit, becoming ever different from the Oba Shaa. Khaalikii became increasingly interested in love, intimacy, and the prospect of home making. As they were so close to Sam; entwined into the fabric of that warrior’s world, their spiritual imprint intensified with longing and desire. When Khaalikii came of age, they worked up the courage to express their heart to Sam; their want for attention, intimacy, and investment beyond the condition of their armor sewing and support in war… Sam was taken aback by Khaalikii’s confessions; they were close, indeed, spiritually bonded as warrior and familiar; but Sam did not process Khaalikii in a romantic sense. He asserted that he could not give Khaalikii the kind of love they wanted; he was clear that his investments and intentions for worldbuilding would be directed to a cis-gendered woman, as would his physicality, affection, and emotional vulnerability and intimacy. He would continue to care for and support Khaalikii, but only platonically, and in relation to their purposes in warcraft and conservation. Khaalikii accepted Sam’s truth, though it was painful…not only that Sam did not want them, but that it seemed their incompatibility had everything to do with the reality of Khaalikii’s body and not their spirit. For a while Khaalikii tried to convince Sam, as well as their self, that they didn’t need the physicality and affection; that perhaps, they could build a life together, aromantically…but that didn’t make sense for very long…Sam’s attention could not be pulled or earned…and Khaalikii’s voids were too gaping to be neglected. Khaalikii continued to serve the Oba Shaas as a familiar, and after a while, it was as if they’d never proposed intimacy to Sam, who openly engaged his female prospects. But spiritually, Khaalikii’s soul yearned and their heart called out. They dealt quietly with the pain of rumination, fixation, and addiction as they coped with intimacy deficiency. They manifested hyper functionality in their work, which masked the severity of their grief to the Oba Shaas, who believed all was well with their familiar. Khaalikii came to a point, where they went to an altar at the BloodMoon temple, and they prayed for any kind of love the universe might send to them…they just wanted to be touched, and seen, and desired, not as a comrade, but as a lover. Khaalikii sensed the coming answer to their prayers in their dreams, deja-vus, visions, and intuitions. They were approaching something…or, maybe, something was approaching them; strong, intense, and destined. One night, they dreamed of intimacy with an energy of silver light, smooth to the touch, with steel like strength, and sharp intent. They woke up in a sweat and heard whispers on the breeze. The second dream was the first time they saw the warrior, in a swirl of cosmos. They sat together in a galaxy, and they talked. The dream visitor asked Khaalikii what they wanted and what they needed. The visitor expressed that they lived in an intense and volatile reality, full of danger and unpredictability, but much passion and excitement. It intrigued Khaalikii, who thought anything beyond their current reality with the Oba Shaas might be a welcome change… above all else, Khaalikii craved change. When they’d been designated as the Oba Shaa familiar they’d been so young, caught up in the favor and encouragement of their ethnicity, they did not think to protest or reject it, but as an adult, their niche designation was making them weary, for it was not only Sam who was aloof to their needs, but all the Oba Shaa were the same; spiritually engaging and cherishing of Khaalikii in their war aspects, but boundaried and avoidant with intimacy as well as averse to emotional reckoning. Who was Khaalikii, to beg them to change? It was ever strange to be venerated as a war incarnate, but tabooed and exiled as an intimate being; The Oba Shaas seemed to know that Khaalikii’s needs were great, and they all began to hold them at such a distance. So, when Kasaii finally materialized and began to court Khaalikii in secret, they did not reject. Indeed, Kasaii was a Teshiikaana, and certain things made Khaalikii weary, but how could they judge this individual, who seemed in every way, wanting to love them. Kasaii presented gifts and was confident with affection and robust with promises. They made Khaalikii feel seen, and wanted, considered, and remembered…. So, when Kasaii made their move, and deliberately called on Khaalikii in front of all their people, Khaalikii did indeed, express their desire to leave with them. Khaalikii stood, to Sam’s severe dissatisfaction; though Khaalikii knew Sam was less upset that they were leaving, as much as he was offended that his familiar was being taken by a blood rival. Khaalikii started toward Kasaii and felt their mother’s hand grip their wrist. They looked down at Silver Lynx, whose eyes were pleading, “Khaalikii, whatever they have promised you…you are making a mistake, please…” Silver Lynx felt the shame of having just passed the swords down to Khaalikii on behalf of their tribe, believing, as they all had, that Khaalikii was ready for the responsibility…but here they were, throwing their self to a future she was sure they could not comprehend, blind with lust and youthful desire…and her grief was so intense with understanding…she knew, exactly how her child felt, and she had made her own mistakes in youth and she could not bear to lose them this way… but Khaalikii turned from her, insistent in their decision. Before Khaalikii could reach Kasaii though, Chief Shaastaa BloodMoon called out to his warriors, to block Khaalikii’s way, “They’ve been bewitched by the Teshiikaana, do not let them leave.” At that command, the wolf women who were present changed their shapes, and went four legged and fang bared to stand between Khaalikii and Kasaii. The warriors of the Sun Tribe had been calm up until that moment, and they drew their weapons. A disaster of violence was imminent… until someone came forward. No one had known she was there, as she’d been blending into the crowd. She walked calmly, though the wolves stepped back in submission to her approach. She glowed with the otherworldly light of the auroras. Her hair was ink black and her skin was russet brown. She was a living ancestor; Katlaha Sabaa Lusaa. She did not live in their world, but in times of need, she would manifest her form through the veil. The gathering bowed their heads with respect as she approached Khaalikii. She touched their face, and looked them in their eyes, reading all the pain and longing that swirled within. She looked at Kasaii, knowing that the serpent was dangerous, but destined. Then, she looked to Sam BlackBird, and to Chief Shaastaa, “Khaalikii may not be possessed by any faction; their path is to course by their own free will. If they wish to leave with Kasaii, then their decision will be respected.” Sabaa Lusaa said. “But Kasaii is Teshiikaana, our most ancient and sworn enemy…Khaalikii is our war familiar, our shaman, incarnate of the prime light… they will be used by this demon…” Shastaa protested, but Sabaa Lusaa replied, “The path they have chosen must course. Believe me, it will be more disastrous to bind them to your fears than to release them in as much faith as you can muster. Khaalikii,” Sabaa Lusaa said as she turned to Khaalikii, “follow your heart, and remember to never succumb to fear. Where you are headed, you will need courage most of all.” With that blessing from Sabaa Lusaa, Khaalikii went to live with Kasaii, and the bison hunting tribes were left to reconcile the loss of their most beloved Khaalikii.Chapter Five Khaalikii and Kasaii consummated their union beneath the light of a brightest full moon. Their physical bonding was like a thousand bursting stars colliding. Khaalikii’s body, mind, soul, and spirit became intertwined with Kasaii’s and they were ever more in-sync. Khaalikii set to serving Kasaii; keeping their armor, their weapons, and their house, as was customary for a familiar in submission. When the time came to depart on the mission that required Khaalikii’s service, they and Kasaii departed from Bulbancha in complimentary silver and black armor. Kasaii was charged with retrieving a number of lost and powerful artifacts which had been scattered across the underworld. Khaalikii voyaged with Kasaii to Naas Durell; The Dead City with several other Skyfires. Khaalikii protected Kasaii between the battles they fought at tournaments held at the tower of the Big Falayaa. When Kasaii’s armor was damaged, Khaalikii would mend it at their residence at the Temple of Six Snakes, where Kasaii was venerated as a warlord; a member of the council of 13. Kasaii’s power in the underworld as a Teshiikaana was ten fold, and they were a powerful agent of the Sun Tribe. When they fought, they almost always won, and secured an artifact to be sent back to the Sun Tribe. When Kasaii lost, they were certain to recover, train, calculate, and return to win. It was a reality that Khaalikii could bear, for in the first few months, there was a balance between the time they spent between the Underworld and Bulbancha. Khaalikii poured their intention and effort into service, and Kasaii excelled in victory, and in the downtime they had between their trials, Kasaii delivered Khaalikii potent and satisfying intimacy and investment. They became one in their niche, and Khaalikii at times, forgot about their people, and about Sam, as they were absorbed into this alternative reality. But, strangely, the success of their union was starting to become condemning. Kasaii was assigned more frequent missions to retrieve the most coveted artifacts; rings of power, cursed swords, ancient texts… and the greater the prize, the more dangerous their trips became; they were entering the underworld to compete in tournaments, but their constant success was drawing attention and danger to them, as the lords of the Underworld began to send assassins, challengers, and other horrible entities to stop Kasaii and Khaalikii from reaching the Big Falayaa. As Kasaii’s protector, it fell upon Khaalikii to defeat these demons with the star swords, until Kasaii could face their designated opponents in ritual combat. Once they achieved victory, they’d return home to Bulbancha, but it was not as before. They both would have to recover from wounds and ruined armor…and beyond just physical healing, they had to work through the spiritual illnesses that came from constantly entering and exiting the underworld… entities would sometimes follow them home, and Khaalikii would have to expend much energy to banish the demons back to the pit. Almost as soon as they’d recover, they’d be sent back, to do it all over again. Khaalikii grew weary. They were not receiving the care and devotion that Kasaii had courted them with. They were once again facing the pangs of intimacy deficiency as they reconciled this familiar state of loneliness that pulled them to the edge of depression and mania. They spoke to Kasaii about their sorrows, and every time, it seemed that Kasaii understood as they swore to honor Khaalikii’s needs for well being. They promised change. They promised a recommitment to developmental intimacy. But the truth was that Naas Durell had a greater hold on Kasaii than Khaalikii could have predicted. Khaalikii encouraged, and at worse times, pleaded with Kasaii, to refuse the missions into the underworld… and Kasaii would insist; one last time. But it was never the last time, and again and again and again, Khaalikii was following the warrior back into the fray, for fear that if they did not, Kasaii would be destroyed. Kasaii seemed to develop an addiction to the traumatic rush of danger and substances of battle and its atmospheres. In Bulbancha, Kasaii was as other mortal warriors, but in Naas Durell, the great Teshiikaana warlord was venerated like a god, and they could not get enough of it. They broke their faith with Khaalikii, and eventually, Khaalikii could no longer trust them with their physical submission…though, they imagined for a while, that there might be a way to turn this downward spiral around… but things just got worse, and worse, and worse, until finally, Khaalikii established a boundary. Kasaii was preparing for a duel at the temple of the Big Falayaa; they’d been losing, consistently. They’d been bound to the underworld for weeks, because Kasaii kept being defeated; they were full of potions and spirits, so their prowess was decreased considerably. Kasaii allowed theirself to succumb to the Dead City’s sway, because, as a Teshiikaana, they could come and go from the underworld as they pleased, so they did not consider urgency. But Khaalikii was mortal, and they were dependent on Kasaii to achieve victory, to return to the living world, so, until Kasaii could win a tournament, Khaalikii was stuck at the Temple of Six Snakes. Khaalikii resented Kasaii’s indifference and lack of consideration for their efforts in service and the constant task of having to mend the armor Kasaii damaged…. torn, bloodied, and soiled… Kasaii was not honoring the sacredness of Khaalikii’s work, or their submission…in those moments of bitterness, Khaalikii thought of home. They thought of the sunlight on their hands as they sewed beads and prayed in breaths of incense. The day came, when Khaalikii had enough. They waited for Kasaii to be sober, because then they were reasonable… however, as well as charming, seductive, and soothing. They knew how to provide Khaalikii with just enough stability and affection, to make them feel like there was hope…and Khaalikii would push their resentment down, and submit their soul. But the veil had been lifted from Khaalikii’s senses, and they would no longer be fooled. When Kasaii came to them with energy in their hands and desire in those amber eyes, Khaalikii could not disassociate from the liquor on their breath, and the smell of ash, and blood on his skin. Khaalikii demanded that Kasaii purify theirself before touching them…Kasaii found Khaalikii’s dismissal amusing at first, mistaking it as an invitation to chase and test the boundary as foreplay. But Khaalikii asserted their seriousness with aversive body language. They allowed theirself the grace of an attitude, no longer masking their feelings, for the sake of Kasaii’s ego. They no longer cared if they threw off the serpent’s mood, and impacted their prowess or decreased their desire. When Kasaii got to the point of their approach; to ask Khaalikii to mend their armor, and tend to their wounds, Khaalikii refused. Kasaii stepped back, understanding where Khaalikii was, in a cycle the Teshiikaana was all too familiar with, with their lovers. Khaalikii took the moment to express their grief, their dissatisfactions and disappointments, their anger at Kasaii, for forsaking their bond. Kasaii, ill, but honest, conceded that they did not know how to remedy Khaalikii’s pain, for a lack of understanding how to heal their own… but at least, in their sober state, they seemed to respect Khaalikii’s grief. Khaalikii told Kasaii that they wanted to separate, and sever their bond of familiarity, and further, to return to the mortal world. They demanded to not have to wait for Kasaii to win a tournament to do so. Kasaii took Khaalikii to the Tower of the Big Falayaa, because the Big Falayaa held jurisdiction over who entered and exited the underworld, as well as the matter of the severance of Khaalikii and Kasaii’s soul tie. The Big Falayaa delivered a heavy truth; Khaalikii could not simply leave. The Big Falayaa asserted that Khaalikii would have to defeat Kasaii in battle to sever their bond, and free their soul from the underworld, as Khaalikii had sworn vows to Kasaii at the banks of the Great River for all the spirits and ancestors to witness. Khaalikii did not feel daunted at first by this, until the Big Falayaa clarified further, that Khaalikii could not use the star swords to fight Kasaii. They would have to submit the star swords, and win them back. Khaalikii’s spirit despaired in that moment, for the challenge was impossible and purposefully made so they would fail. If Khaalikii fought Kasaii, and lost, they would be bound to the underworld forever, and the star swords would enter into the possession of the Big Falayaa. Khaalikii was distraught, for they could not under any circumstance forsake those swords to the Big Falayaa. Kasaii, whelmed by Khaalikii’s grief, offered the clearest course of reparation they could, to hold the star swords on Khaalikii’s behalf, and defend them, with all their might, so Khaalikii could at least return to the world of the living, until they figured out a way to retrieve the swords again. Khaalikii struggled with this proposition, but their options were limited, and strangely, they sensed Kasaii’s promise was genuine… The one way they could love Khaalikii was through a commitment to battle; what the Teshiikaana did best. Khaalikii needed relief, as they were not merely homesick, but plagued by madness, and suffering the most severe mania, depression, and susceptibility to demonic harassment. Kasaii insisted that they return to the world of the living, and Khaalikii, though they were afraid, knew they had no other choice. They left Kasaii and the Star Swords behind.Chapter Six There was a rush of excitement, when Khaalikii returned home to their mother’s people at the village of the Seven Feathers. None had known if they would ever see Khaalikii again after they’d departed with Kasaii. But the excitement was reduced to ruins of grief and disappointment, as they realized that Khaalikii; shadowy, traumatized, and ashamed, was without the sacred heirloom Star Swords. Khaalikii asked their mother’s people for help, and later, the BloodMoons, and even the Oba Shaas, for any support in retrieving the swords. They needed a champion to fight for them… but Khaalikii’s people dismissed and shunned them, angry and disappointed in their recklessness. They would not help Khaalikii, and they did not want them around. Shaasataa Bloodmoon went as far as to banish Khaalikii from the territory. Those few relatives who remained kind, were still hurt, and disappointed. Khaalikii was grasped once again by the depression and loneliness they’d tried to leave behind in the Underworld. It seemed their grief was unescapable. They did not know where to go. They did not know a place to call home. In the darkest depths of their mania, Khaalikii attempted self harm, and their family, though they were still angry, prayed to their ancestors for support, and guidance for Khaalikii on their journey. Khaalikii’s ancestral godmother; Katlaha Sabaa Lusaa crossed the veil to communicate with Khaalikii. She advised them to seek rehabilitation at the Temple of Omoyaa. Khaalikii then went to the temple of the Sun Phoenix; Naanii Khaalii. Once there, they were able to settle spiritually and physically in the safety of the temple, and the demons that plagued them could not harass them with such malice. Khaalikii took time across several seasons to pray, to heal, to study, and to train. They developed some self esteem, beyond the limitations of familiarity and spiritual bondage to someone else. They prayed and practiced communication and veneration for the earth, the trees, the waters, the sky, the sun, the animals, and their ancestors. They rooted theirself in the vast wealth of their spiritual and cultural practices. They still grieved for their separation from Kasaii and the loss of the star swords, but they were developing healthy coping mechanisms toward potential solutions. Khaalikii heard from some of the wolf-women who travelled to and from the temple of Omoyaa, that Sam BlackBird had finally went to propose to Shonii BloodMoon, but that Prince Nooka Lomaasii also proposed, and that they’d settled on dueling for her hand in marriage. Khaalikii was surprised, though, when Shonii BloodMoon visited them at the Temple of Omoyaa, weeks before Khaalikii was visited by Sam. Shonii sat with Khaalikii, and discussed her circumstances, and checked in with Khaalikii about their own. “Why did you leave with Kasaii, Khaalikii…could you not see what was coming; the truth of the serpent?” Shonii asked, and Khaalikii replied, “I could see… but I guess, I was holding on to the hope that maybe a different reality would manifest…There was a chance to get the love I wanted, so I took it. I’m not happy about losing the swords, Shonii, not at all. But there were experiences within that darkness I just couldn’t bear to miss anymore… It shouldn’t be so, but, Kasaii was the only space where I could find the love I needed… at least, it seemed that way at the time.” Shonii, who’d been coveted by men for many years then, had such choices in intimacy that desperation for a man’s love had never been fathomable. But Khaalikii expressed that, as being of power, there was nothing they wanted or needed that they could not manifest through prayer and action; but the touch of a man, the devotion and care and intention and desire of a warrior, by true and non-manipulative means, was absolutely out of their control, as the willful participation of another was necessary. To have the love Khaalikii wanted, they needed to be chosen, and they’d sacrificed so much, with hopes that eventually, they would be. Now, as they were bound to the Temple of Omoyaa, with their soul still tethered to Kasaii and the swords in The Underworld, no closer to that ideal relationship…it all seemed a silly dream. Shonii shared what brought her most profound joy was not the love of others, but the affirmation of the earth beneath her feet, the sun on her skin, and the wind in her hair. She dreamed of freedom, not of bondage, though her people wished for her to submit herself to a life of submission in marriage. She shared with Khaalikii that she was not resonant with the prospect of being a wife, or even a mother. She dreamed of the wilderness. There was when she asked Khaalikii for support. “Khaalikii, when Sam, Kasaii, Nooka, or any warrior this year, comes to you and asks for armor, I need you to refuse.” Khaalikii considered this strange request, and they struggled to make the promise. They’d left Sam for Kasaii, and they had indeed told Kasaii they’d not make their armor, but those decisions were on Khaalikii’s own terms. There was still a degree of freedom for Khaalikii to change their mind … still space, even if it was marginal, for these relationships to reconcile… Even after all the grief, Khaalikii found some comfort in knowing there was still a tether to both warriors. But if they obliged Shonii, they knew that if either warrior came to them, and they refused, absolutely, without any room for manipulation or compromise, then it might be the true end of those relationships. The prospect of such finality was suddenly whelming. “Why do you hesitate Khaalikii?” Shonii asked, and Khaalikii took a deep breath, exhaling, “I have love for them, Shonii, I … I’m not ready to release them … I wanted to process this in my own time.” “But they do not love you Khaalikii, they do not consider you, or your preservation. There is no time, there is now, this moment. I’m coming to you, and I am asking you to help me, because you are the only one in this world who can make the difference. Please, Khaalikii, do not support them in fighting for my dowry.” Shonii clasped Khaalikii’s hand, and held their gaze. “Promise me, Khaalikii. Promise me, you will refuse.” And so, Khaalikii did find the strength to refuse Sam BlackBird, and any other warrior who would call on their aid on behalf of Shonii’s dowry. And as the year coursed, so too did their healing. It was Autumn, at the approach of the Days of the Dead, when Khaalikii was visited by Naanii Khaalii. She’d observed their progress in healing, and proposed a path which Khaalikii had not imagined for theirself. Naanii Khaalii had been without an Okiinamaa Lusaa for some time, and she felt Khaalikii might make a compatible war familiar and steward of Omoyaa. Naanii Khaalii offered Khaalikii Nguailii; the ring of dawn, and the Bright Fire Sais. Khaalikii considered the proposal seriously, because it was so significant. Just as they’d stopped trying so hard to manifest that ideal dynamic of familiarity, there it presented itself, from one of the most powerful warriors of their universe. Khaalikii knew that Naanii Khaalii would be true to them and would not dishonor them as Kasaii, and would not neglect them as Sam. The gravity of the ring of power was tempting, and Khaalikii imagined theirself in the crimson armor of Okiinamaa Lusaa… but they were changed by their rehabilitation at the temple. The prospect of being someone’s war familiar, did not resonate as it once had. Khaalikii had begun to imagine a life of freedom, of exploration, flight, and expansion. They dreamed of star light and magic and adventure. They shared with Naanii Khaalii that they’d seen theirself in an ancient form of sleek flexibility and calico, though they were not certain what they were discerning. Naanii Khaalii, with her ancient memory and divine understanding, took Khaalikii to the roots of the bottle tree and its sacred spring. There, Khaalikii aligned with an ancient power, which manifested once in many generations of prime light incarnates. Naanii Khaalii then presented Khaalikii with a gift box, which Khaalikii opened to reveal an artifact; the Indigo Star Scarf; Dark River, heirloom of the Malaanii. The second gift to find, was a suit of calico armor, beaded and shimmering, laid with crystals and imbued with prayer, which had been sewn by Rakshah and Shonii. Lastly, there was a note, written by Khaalikii’s mother, whose grief over Khaalikii’s loss of the swords had settled into forgiveness, Fight, with all you are. Naanii Khaalii affirmed further, “The swords were only ever an extension of your power, never the source.” Khaalikii took these blessings, and went forth from Omoyaa, to commit to their own freedom.Chapter Seven The coming of the days of the dead thinned the veils between worlds, and Khaalikii voyaged to Naas Durell. They arrived at the Tower of the Big Falayaa, where a tournament was being held for the star swords. Kasaii had managed to defend the swords across the course of the year, defeating every challenger who attempted to claim them. When Khaalikii went to face the Teshiikaana warlord though, they found Kasaii much different then how they’d left them. Kasaii was riddled by mania and rage and possessiveness over the swords. The weapons were of such power, that they corrupted Kasaii, who could not use them as Khaalikii, but only hoard them. It pained Khaalikii to see Kasaii in such a state, and the Teshiikaana did not embrace Khaalikii with love. They’d become bitter and resentful, and they no longer fought on Khaalikii’s behalf. Kasaii’s tormented spirit wanted the swords for theirself. Khaalikii had not believed theirself to be powerful enough to face Kasaii without the Star Swords before. But they were changed. Their armor gave them strength, and the indigo star scarf flowed as starry liquid, static with electricity and elemental force. Khaalikii and Kasaii battled, first in their human forms. They were both very powerful, and Khaalikii struggled, but held their own against the Teshiikaana. They coursed water, fire, wind and lightning, using the scarf like a whip against Kasaii’s rapier sword. As they fought, Khaalikii could feel the pain of their curses breaking and their soul tie severing. Khaalikii had made vows to Kasaii in submission, under the impression; or the internalization rather, that Kasaii was the greater and more dominant warrior. Just as with Sam, Khaalikii had given such energy, to make theirself small, amiable, and passive, taking pain and discomfort, and accepting an existence of subordination, so these warriors they loved would feel large and confident and secure. But Khaalikii was no longer responsible for Kasaii’s ego, and they did not reduce their strength to cure the Teshiikaana’s emasculation. As Khaalikii’s power surged across thresholds, they felt their heart changing. They accepted that their might was of such profound magnitude, that there may be no warrior they would ever truly submit to, that there was no love they would ever preserve through suppression of the primelight…and the more they accepted it, the freer they felt, and the greater their strength was. Their battle with Kasaii shook The Underworld at its core, and even the Big Falayaa grew nervous to witness this duel of epic proportions; a great force of the universe had been unleashed through the form of Khaalikii. Kasaii, succumbing in their human shape, changed into a silver scaled giant viper. The form was imposing, and certainly, almost all other warriors may have shrunk beneath the might of that serpentine form. But Khaalikii met Kasaii’s change with their own, and light burst with a super nova’s brilliance, before Khaalikii’s truest shape was revealed. The sleek, flexible, sharp toothed, curve clawed, and long tailed Calico Star Lingsang. They met Kasaii’s coils with tooth and claw, and still, they wielded Dark River, cracking lightning, wielding water, coursing wind, and torrenting fire. With a final strike, Khaalikii’s might severed their binding to the Teshiikaana, and Kasaii could not overcome the Star Lingsangs ferocity. The battle won, Khaalikii reclaimed the star swords, and Kasaii was freed from the exhaustive weights of their stewardship. When Kasaii’s spirit returned to stability, they were released from the karma of Khaalikii’s bondage as reparation was achieved. Khaalikii and Kasaii separated with no desire to merge their spirits again, but no ill will or regret either, for the lessons they’d both learned and coursed, made them who they were, evermore. .…… The assembly at Okwaa-Tii-Kaa was stunned as Shonii called forth her champion. No one had considered that she might have objections to the choices of her elders. Sam BlackBird and the others looked to see the figure moving through the crowd, and there was a collective breath of near disbelief, to see Khaalikii Yaaknii, the exiled Shaman, step forth, dressed in their calico armor, and wielding Dark River and the Star Swords. It was revealed that not only had Shonii asked Khaalikii to refuse armor making for any warriors who asked, but also, that they would fight on behalf of Shonii’s dowry. Why? Because Shonii and Khaalikii were blood siblings, both of them were children of Shaastaa BloodMoon and Silver Lynx. Sam had never seen Khaalikii in such a state; glowing with the light of the cosmos, hard eyed, and statured with esteem. Khaalikii was no longer a familiar. They were a force of nature. Khaalikii asserted that they were there to fight for Shonii’s dowry, and again, Prince Nooka looked to Kasaii to face his challenger. But Kasaii, having recently battled Khaalikii in The Underworld, knew this was not a battle they would win. They told Prince Nooka that he’d need to fight Khaalikii himself. The Sky Fire Prince armed himself then, with his garfish handled sword, and faced Khaalikii at the dais, and just as Kasaii, he was not able to surpass Khaalikii’s might. So, according to the fair victory, Khaalikii was awarded Shonii BloodMoon’s dowry, but instead of holding it, Khaalikii transferred rights back to Shonii, thus establishing their sister’s inalienable and indomitable sovereignty over her body, her inheritance, and her descendants. If any individual or faction felt such a strong opposition as to protest Shonii’s sovereignty in independence, then they would have to face the wrath of Khaalikii to sway her destiny. Through strategy and willfully purposeful refusals, and the hard work of prayer and practice, and honoring of the sanctity of responsibilities held between siblings, Khaalikii and Shonii were able to free themselves from generational strongholds and spiritual bondages. Shonii BloodMoon left the destiny of submission in marriage behind, to join the wolf women in their journeys across the plains and forests of their territories. Khaalikii chose the shape of the Star Lingsang and was free across cosmic, spiritual, and elemental dimensions.<a target="_blank" href="https://www.patreon.com/posts/bloodmoon-159483477?utm_medium=clipboard_copy&utm_source=copyLink&utm_campaign=postshare_creator&utm_content=join_link">Exclusive Character Designs Here</a><a target="_blank" href="https://docs.google.com/forms/d/e/1FAIpQLSfaiCaXKMdI51U8KdfWwtWgnWoyloHM7wuhpV6JzZG_pM7ovA/viewform">BloodMoon Order Intake Here</a> Get full access to Can't Hold The River at <a href="https://cantholdtheriver.substack.com/subscribe?utm_medium=podcast&utm_campaign=CTA_4">cantholdtheriver.substack.com/subscribe</a>

July 23, 2025

The Omega Episode Five; Earth Sun

Earth-Sun Have you ever fallen so deep into sleep, that when you woke up, you had to remember who, why, when, and where you were? That was the sensation, of opening his eyes to the grey air of his bedroom, lifting his head from his arms that were folded over the white cloth of his prayer altar, where he kept his journal, pictures of his family, friends, and ancestors, holy water, candles, crystals and other trinkets. His ears were ringing and he touched his chest, like he was catching himself from falling from a high height. A sudden knock at his bedroom door was startling… his hand reached for a weapon that wasn’t there…strange. “You good?” The voice was familiar, and nostalgic, like it had been a long time since he’d heard it… His mind was still making sense of what it could see, smell, and hear. He must’ve taken too long to answer, because the voice proclaimed its intention to enter, and the door was opened. “What are you in here doing?” Jaheim asked, as he stepped gently into the bedroom, coming to sit on the edge of the bed. “I was praying…”“For two hours?”“I… I fell asleep…” Jaheim took a deep breath, “Did you decide?” He turned around to look Jaheim in the eyes…recalling then, the meeting held between himself, his father, Jaheim, Jaheim’s father, and the Gong Chichumba. He was all the way back there? On that pivotal day. He could not yet answer the anxious Jaheim. He stood shakily, and went to his dresser mirror…he touched his face, his arms, and his chest…he was not transitioned… he braced against the top of the dresser, as the flood of visions coursed in his mind, of the years of life he’d experienced, all reduced in that moment to a dream? He felt nauseous. He could still hear the whispers of that other dimension, the smell of stagnant water still strong. He felt strange all over, hard of breath and shaking his head…maybe this was the dream? Strange trick of the universe? Was he dead? Jaheim, sensing that his lover was in a quiet distress, stood, to place his hand on a shoulder. The touch was like rain water after drought and there was a sharp breath, before he exhaled, “Jaheim…what, what is my name?” At that, Jaheim had turned his face up at such an odd question at a pivotal moment, “What is your name? D…D…” Jaheim’s hand lifted, as he processed the strange sensation of not being able to recall his lover’s name… “I don’t know…I…I can’t remember…” “Neither can I.” Nameless admitted, hopelessly, and he struggled to take exhausted breaths, as he flopped back onto his bed. He was overstimulated, trying to make sense of what hadn’t been a dream… he’d just been in a different world, a different time, and now he was inside of the past…a man stood before him whom he’d grieved ...a man his own sword had slain… Not a dream, it had not been simply a premonition…he was, all he’d been, in that parallel dimension…as he was now, merged with this self, cast back in time, to reconcile the past with the prospective future. “I don’t understand, how can we not remember that?…” Jaheim asked, perplexed and worried. He glanced once at Nameless’s altar…at the candles that were lit, at the journal that was open with a pen resting on the pages. Jaheim went to check the journal, and the ones previously filled. He checked for any place where a name might be…he found only the absence of one where he was certain it should’ve been. “What happened…did you do something…what could you have done in the last two hours… I don’t understand.” Jaheim said again. Nameless, still breathing through his overstimulation, placed an uneasy hand on Jaheim’s arm, “And I don’t think you will… at least not for a while…not until I've reconciled everything myself…” “What about what we talked about? What should I tell Steel Skull?” Jaheim asked, ever fixated on that task at hand. He wanted that reassurance so badly. He wanted Nameless’s agreement to the challenge. He wanted to know that he could remain a Spy-Boy, without sacrificing his love. “I can’t answer that for you right now…i want…i…i need you to leave.” Nameless said, and Jaheim, concerned and wanting to remedy Nameless’s disorientation, struggled to abide the request, but Nameless insisted, “I cannot be responsible for you…not for your mind, your heart, your body, or your strength…until I at least reconcile all that I am owing to myself. I know this is sudden…or, maybe it’s not… look, just, don’t burden yourself, trying to make sense of me…you won’t.” As the words left his mouth, Nameless felt himself go faint. His body was weak, sweating and overheated, dizzy… he would’ve hit the floor if Jaheim hadn’t caught him. Jaheim called Daviida, who realized that just as Jaheim, he could not remember his own child’s name. Whelmed by grief, and at a loss for energy, Nameless shed tears at the sight of worry in Davidaa’s eyes. He suffered nausea and hallucinations…seeing all manner of demonic figures and shadows in his room, trying to pull him back to the realm he’d been delivered from. His vision blurred and his words slurred. He was hounded by the curses of sinister entities through the veil and he endured the flashing of memories…he could smell the tinge of blood and felt the shadow of rot all around… he was vaguely aware of his father’s voice and his hands, trying to pull him back. But Nameless was not truly free from the danger of the other place. He could not see her, but he could feel the presence of Naaktii in the shadows. She still possessed his name, and no teleportation of his soul would so easily sever that tie. He was still in danger…He did not have the sword Onyxis anymore. He did not have the body he’d grown accustomed to. He felt called back to that place though, and he resisted with all his might. Everything became blurry, and once again, Nameless lost himself to the darkness.…… Sabaa Daviida was restless with worry. His son was stricken with a sudden and strange illness. He’d been fine that morning of their meeting with the Gong Chichumba, but something happened between getting back home and when Jaheim checked on his child, whose name, no one could remember. Daviida had asked Jaheim directly what had happened, had he done something, said something to trigger his son so terribly? Jaheim insisted that he’d done nothing, and that Nameless had simply succumbed to some force. Daviida contended with a chest tightening guilt…they’d pushed Nameless too far…they proposed too great a challenge and he’d been spiritually overwhelmed… Daviida felt lost and beside himself. His son was in and out of consciousness, refusing water and food for several days. His room was shrouded in a veil of static and darkness. Daviida tried everything; holy water, incense, candles, prayers to banish evil…but none of his own power seemed to have any effect. He called on support from another Hard Head, an older warrior who was a proficient oracle and spiritualist. In his youth, when he still fought, he’d been known as the Mockingbird Brawler, and where he lived was kept by many of the feathered songbirds. His name among those who knew him well, was O-Paa Ko, and he dressed in grey, green, ivory, and gold. He visited Sabaa Daviida with a chain of shells in his hand. He wore rings on his fingers, and his hair was cut in a low gray fade. He entered Daviida’s house, and sensed immediately that there was a disturbed presence in the house… the air was saturated with static and buzzing… O-Paa Ko was not rushed. He sat with Daviida for a spell, though Daviida was anxious to see his son treated, O-Paa Ko insisted on a game of dominoes, usually played with loud outbursts and competitive squabbling… but this game was calm, not purposed to victory, so much as calming of the nerves. O-Paa Ko lit herbs and inhaled and exhaled medicinal silver smoke. As his buzz settled, he said that there were many battles being waged across dimensions, over the fate of this nameless child. He prayed over the space and lit frankincense, wafting the smoke over Nameless. When O-Paa Ko touched Nameless’s hand, the young Sabaa tensed, and groaned in a drowsy discomfort. O-Paa Ko felt a surge of dark energy. He breathed in deep and instructed Daviida to brace his spirit in case of any projections. He spoke to Nameless, evoking bravado through an intentional and inherited power of speech, as he took his hand in his own. “Know that we are here in peace, and support. We are loving, and caring for you. Whatever entity has taken hold of your spirit, we intend to free you from it. Help me, to understand what has happened,” O-Paa Ko tightened his grip on Nameless’s hand, and reached for Daviida’s with the other. The Hard Head Oracle inhaled deep, and he saw a flash of light, and felt the sensation of saturation, and he saw a story materialize through the veil. He witnessed the course of events in a parallel dimension, where Nameless agreed to what was refused, in their own world, only days prior. He saw the fish woman; Naaktii, steal the name. He saw the death of Jaheim, and the conquering of the Temple of the Mysteries, the fall of the Gong Chichumba, the rise of the army of the dead, and the sword; Onyxis. When the visions were coursed, and the portal closed, O-Paa Ko breathed back into his present moment. He looked at Daviida, and they shared a knowing revelation; they were blessed, that in their universe, Nameless had the strength and sense, afforded to him by immense pain and grief, to refuse the challenge proposed by Jaheim and Daviida. They were able to diagnose the sleeping sickness, however, they reconciled their combined inability to cure it. They had no way to retrieve the name that was lost. Daviida suggested finding the fish woman called Naaktii… asserting that he did not fear any demon on behalf of his child. O-Paa Ko stilled the Bone Collector’s impulse to rally… knowing that if Daviida riled up the Hard Heads, then so to would be the Gong Chichumba; and once a Dragon was roused to reprimand a misbehaving entity of nature, the battles could prove paradoxical. And further, if the combined might of Steel Skull and the Hard Head warlords saw an end to Naaktii’s existence…there might be no way to ensure that she wouldn’t take Nameless’s soul to the underworld with her, lost forever. O-Paa Ko affirmed, that before reckoning was unleashed upon Naaktii, that they should call on the one person, of whom Naaktii’s magic may not have been able to touch. She arrived early in the morning. She dressed simply in jeans, tennis shoes, and a baggy white t-shirt. She was adorned with silver and ivory jewelry. Daviida had not seen her in person for some years. O-Paa Ko sensed the entities that swarmed around Nameless, shuddering in the presence of the daughter of Kolaa; Owuro Dalaanii, the Miino of Faith. She did not reflect the stressed tension of Daviida, but her eyes were set and her disposition fierce. She acknowledged O-Paa Ko respectively, he’d been a friend to her, when she’d been bonded to the Bone Collector as a familiar. She sat with them, and O-Paa Ko transferred the visions of context through touch. After seeing all that Nameless had experienced, Owuro took a deep breath. She shook her head and shed a tear, “That child was born from grief… I was depressed throughout my pregnancy, grieving the loss of my mother…” She glanced at Daviida. Though she’d bypassed him years ago, she still loved him, for the war they’d endured, the intimacy held, the child manifested… They tried to make things work a lifetime ago, but… her postpartum was a greater challenge than anything the Bone Collector had faced… “he’s been hurting all of his life…but…the pain he’s in now…it's different…he’s lost himself, near completely…” “Can you deliver him?” Daviida asked, and Owuro crossed her fingers, “I cannot,” She said, and Daviida’s heart dropped before she continued, “but I have something that may help him to deliver himself.” Owuro reached in her bag, and retrieved an ivory carved case, laid with emeralds and onyx. O-Paa Ko felt a chill up his spine. That case was connected to an energy…an ancestor, present as the three of them in that house…though they could not see her visually. Owuro stood, and picked up the case, “Take me to my son.” …….When Owuro stepped into her son’s bedroom, there was an illumination at the retreat of shadows in her presence. She walked with the energy of her lineage. She went to sit at his bedside, and she touched her child’s temple. At her touch, Nameless breathed awake. He was surprised to see his mother. He struggled to meet her eyes, ashamed. But she nudged his chin up, and she said, “You look terrible.” At that, Nameless laughed, with what energy he had. He started to explain where and how he was, but Owuro hushed him, “Reserve your energy. I know. You are Nameless.” The absolution of that statement, spoken by her voice, rocked him to the core. “You don’t remember either?” He asked, and Owuro replied,“Naaktii’s magic is strong, but I am your mother, she could never take my memories… but your name… the truth is that, I did not give it to you, your father gave you the name you offered up… I am sorry.” Nameless reconciled this, and they sat for a quiet while. “I can’t say that I understand your struggles,” Owuro said, with specificity to Nameless’s transness, “but I do know, what it is to hold a spiritual longing, that can feel compromised by your physical reality…to be limited… I know what it is to want something so badly, that you can hardly see anything else… Do you remember the stories your father and I told you about your grandmother’s death?” Nameless affirmed that he did, “I never told you about the trials that followed. Myself, and my sisters, set it upon ourselves to reclaim the Temple of Kovaango. We were certain we were ready, that we were strong enough, wise enough… but when we entered the fray, we encountered darkness beyond anything we could’ve imagined or prepared for. We fought with all we had…I, within an inch of my life, but it was not enough…as much as i wished it so, God did not will for it to be time, to complete that mission. My sisters and I lost the temple, so we felt sure….we were the ones to deliver and reclaim it….but my sister, Kalaafiia, was lost. Hekima could not bear the grief. And I reconciled the death of a hope that was…like losing my very identity, like losing my heart… I had to stop chasing what was lost, to begin to pay attention to all I did have, before I lost that too.” Owuro shook her head, and Nameless looked at his mother with a profound curiosity, as he was not used to such vulnerability from her. She continued, “The Hard Heads pride themselves on their connection to the Gong Chichumbas. The river dragons are born from their bloodlines. To incarnate as Gong Chichumba is the greatest honor…a power that is deeply yearned for and aspired to. Those who are not born as dragons, but are proximal, reconcile purposes of service and fellowship. Your father was born into a league of warriors, who for generations have given everything…their own egos and ambitions and their wills and their blades, to the Gong Chichumbas. He was trained, and groomed, to serve, absolutely the will of his chief, to fight ferociously, and die in service, if so called, with no greater honor to achieve. I waited for your father to choose me, as I see you now, waiting… I used to watch you as you watched your father, as he beheld the Gong Chichumba…. You lost yourself, trying to emulate men who are striving toward dragonhood, basing their standards of achievement on their nearness to that level of power which touches, very few, in every lifetime. My dear, I will say what no one else may have the heart or wherewithal to tell you… you will never be a dragon…you will never be a Gong Chichumba, as you will not be Spy Boy, and as you will not inherit your father’s mantles, as it will not be supported or respected…” Nameless processed the truth of his mother’s words…but there was still this deep grief, like being trapped between a rock and a hard place… should he just give up? Disassociate from his culture… turn his back on his father’s legacy? All his years of work to earn the mantles of warriorhood… to walk in manhood… his mother’s words were cold on his spirit. He closed his eyes, as tears streamed, and Owuro reached for his hand, “You will never be a dragon, but that is not the same thing, as being destined for nothing at all. The legacy of Shujaa and dragons runs in your blood, but there is more to you than this.” Owuro presented the ivory case, and she placed it on Nameless’s lap. “I know, it’s been difficult for you to recognize me…because i remind you so much, of all that obstacles you from your missions…but i implore you, my own child, to remember that the inheritance that is yours, through my blood, and the blood of your grandmother, does not define you as man, or woman… it is, just, there, for you to make of it what you will… not a dragon,” Owuro placed his hand on the case, “but something…beyond what I think you’ve ever graced yourself to see…” “I am Nameless.” He said, with a defeated absolution. Owuro arched her brow, “Perhaps.” She said, meeting her son’s eyes, and she said to him, “when you were young, and we could see that you were different, that despite your flesh, your spirit was inclined to your father’s form, I sensed that you’d come to face challenges that would be beyond us. Your power would attract entities who would play on your grief, and your struggles to reconcile your identity. I let your father name you…but I sat one day, alone, as the birds were singing…and then it started to rain, and as the thunder boomed and the lightning struck…I heard my mother’s voice…she sent a name for you, for me to hold…” At her words, Nameless felt a chill of resonance up his spine, and there was an electric pulse from the case his hand was on. He had a vision of a roaring leopard, black as pitch, bringing forth the earthshake of a storm. The name Owuro had received was Oshaaka. She then told Nameless to open the case, and inside were the cherished mantles of his grandmother, Kolaa. A black gemmed Gen Nyame medallion necklace, and the ring named Solianamayaa; Earth Sun, gold banded and emerald stoned, radiated a warm pulse. Owuro placed the ring on Nameless’s finger. Hekima had given it to Owuro, to steward, after their failure to deliver Kovaango. Owuro had held it, for all those years, toward that moment of transference to her son. She told him that the name, and the ring, were to be held with utmost care, that they were priceless, and no matter what fear gripped his heart, to never ever, exchange either mantle for any cost. She said for him to take his time, to settle into both the name, and the power of the ring, to pace himself in the manifestation of his new reality. Owuro’s words were a blessing of power from a core of pure faith, “You will know power now, Sabaa Oshaaka. Be well with it. May you never lose yourself again.” Owuro embraced her son, and bid him well, leaving him to rest. ……Sabaa Oshaaka was etched across a piece of notebook paper for the tenth time in a row. It had been some time since Owuro Dalaanii had visited her son and delivered him a new name, along with his grandmother’s mantles; a gen nyame medallion and the ring of power called Solianamayaa. He sat on the front porch of his father’s house, burning incense as the mockingbirds chased each other out front. He watched green anoles bask on the concrete porch steps. He closed his notebook at the arrival of Jaheim Akamaa. Jaheim came up on the porch and reached out to hug Oshaaka. Oshaaka did not reject Jaheim’s display of routine affection, but he also didn’t resonate with or submit to the embrace gracefully. It had only been weeks ago, in that dimension of Oshaaka’s conscious past, that he and Jaheim had engaged as secret lovers. But Oshaaka carried in him the memories of the world he’d left behind to be sent backward into this one, and he could not disassociate from the intensity of his memories. When Oshaaka was his prior self, he’d held Jaheim as a priority, from the moment he opened his eyes in the morning until he went to sleep. He gave himself up to the fulfilment of Jaheim’s needs. He cooked for him, cleaned for him, checked on him, supported him, prayed for him, listened to him, cared for him, compromised for him and submitted to him. It was jarring across the last few weeks, for Jaheim to reconcile Oshaaka’s absence. But Oshaaka knew it was cruel to keep the Spy Boy in eternal suspension, so he invited him over once he felt stable enough to communicate about the complex matters at hand. Jaheim sat down and asked, “How are you feeling?” Oshaaka studied Jaheim’s eyes for a moment before he said, “I’m better than I had been. How are you?” Jaheim shrugged, “Aside from worrying about you, I’m pretty alright.” Oshaaka took that in, remembering empathy. This man loved him…or at least, he loved who he used to be. He would do his best to be kind. “I guess you want my decision about your proposal right?” Oshaaka asked and Jaheim looked him over like he was the strangest thing he’d seen. Oshaaka was so different…in his posture and the set of his eyes. There was an absence of the warmth of curiosity he’d grown so used to. Jaheim thought to make a joke or flirt, to draw out a laugh or a smile, but he was afraid of this figure, who was stoic as a storm. “Yes, I’d appreciate that.” Jaheim said, and Oshaaka replied with little hesitation. “No.” Jaheim adjusted in his seat and asked, “No, you won’t give me a decision?”“No, is my decision. I will not participate in the trial proposed.” Jaheim took a moment to reconcile Oshaaka’s words, “Are you sure? It may be the only way for us to be together? The only way you might ever be initiated as a Shujaa.” Jaheim said and Oshaaka replied, “It’s not the only way for us to be together. It is the only way for us to be together while you maintain your rank as Spy Boy.” “Are you suggesting that I forsake it? I’ve trained my entire life for this…my family has held Spy Boy for generations, you can’t expect me to just give that up?” Jaheim asked, and it was clear by his sneer, he thought such a prospect was ludicrous. “No, I’m not suggesting that and I don’t expect that, I would never ask that of you.”“Then how could you say no? How could you reject the opportunity to elevate your station? How could you just refuse the chance to become what you’ve always wanted to be?” Jaheim asked, and Oshaaka replied, “Jaheim, you could’ve said no to Steel Skull. You could’ve chosen to be with me, as I am, but you didn’t. You chose Spy Boy because you hold it sacred over all else. And so be it. We can’t be together unless I submit myself to an intentionally near impossible challenge… So be that ultimatum, as will be my own absolution in refusal to endure. Jaheim, hear me now. I do not want to be a Shujaa. I will not earn the right to my own father’s mantles. Just as I will not prove my worthiness of your hand in marriage. I do not want to wear my father’s armor. I am not a Hard Head, and I never will be…at least not in the way you and my father are. The opportunity to fight you is not so, it is a trap from which none of us will ever escape. If being Spy Boy is what you want above all else, then that is fine. I don’t pray for you to change your mind, I pray for your to reconcile within yourself what it means…if it is to mean, absolutely, that you will not marry me…that you will either marry who the council chooses or take no lover for as long as you serve…because that is the way of the faction you choose to submit to. I pray for you to reconcile, that after years of playing in the dark, so you would not be burdened by the inconvenience of loving me in the light, that you make peace with the impossibility of holding the mantles of Spy Boy and having me in your spare time. You will not have both, Jaheim. And I pray you would not resent me…I pray you would not syncretize me with the guilt, and the rage, and loneliness, as you lay in the arms of women you do not want, in loyal service to the men who rule your will. It will not be my fault Jaheim, if you are not happy…it will not be because I refused to fight you…refused to earn you, it will be because these men forced you to subject me to an impossible challenge, so you might maintain that which you were indoctrinated to chase, and measure yourself by a capacity to capture… and further, i’d not have you choose me, over your heart’s surest desire, because if you did, sacrifice your purpose, just to hold on to me, I know you would punish me for that sacrifice. I’d be forever locked in a cycle of breaking myself to be worthy of what you left behind…and I am certain that I will fail to fill that void.” Oshaaka’s words were clarifying and exorcizing like the rage of a river. Jaheim heard Oshaaka’s words, and felt the vibration of his voice like thunder. Oshaaka continued, “I’ve committed my life to manifesting a place among the Hard Heads, all in a subconscious veneration of men like you. I’ve served, emulated, and subjected myself to every standard of ritual and measurement. And across these years, I have failed, again and again, to situate myself in the light of Chichumba's eyes… The dread of the rigor…” Oshaaka shook his head and stood, reaching for incense that he lit, and wafted smoke across the proch. “I thought, if I would not be a Miino as my mother, and I could not be a Hard Head Shujaa as my father, that i might just dissolve into nothing at all…. That always seemed so rational and absolute. I thought I might change your minds…please you into tolerance, be the first of potentially many to come, after me. It was always rigorous, but I never believed it was impossible, so even if my chances were slim, it’s like, well, if i am that exceptional force to achieve victory, then that makes me valid right? Without a doubt… but now I just see that sliver of possibility as signifying over two decades of the lot of you ignoring me…making no effort to make it easier, resting ever comfortably in not wanting me, and never lying about it.” “I’ve wanted to serve you, to honor you, to belong with and to you…and it’s like…the more you reject me, the more I try, the harder I fight…and that has made sense to me…but it doesn’t anymore. I have no interest in belonging where I'm not wanted. I have no interest in trying to be what the lot of you vehemently do not want me to be. Now I ask myself, if I want to fit in at all. If I fight tooth and claw, to break down a wall, and insert myself into something which had not considered me in its foundations…then what? Would it be my responsibility to foster tolerance among the warriors of our ethnicity? Would I become responsible for cultivating their mercy and their respect? No one wants me to be what I wanted to be so badly… So I’m done trying. I’m going to be something else…soemthing that makes sense, to me.” ……Sabaa Oshaaka began his days with God. He proclaimed gratitude to the Most High for his blessings, and called on the wisdom and capacity to maintain and cultivate those blessings. He’d initiated a routine of visiting with O-Paa Ko, the Hard Head oracle. The elder did his work at the Okaliqii shrine located at the base of the Temple of the Mysteries. Many in the community went to see O-Paa Ko, who gave them medicines, incense, and talismans against the forces of sickness and evil. As a demonologist, O-Paa Ko was sought to perform exorcisms, bless homes, and pray over children. Many Okaliqii; warriors and civilians alike visited O-Paa Ko when they were in need of advice on challenging matters. O-Paa Ko would use his cowries in meticulous discerning rituals. He could look into the past, the present, as well as the future. His hands were also blessed, with both medicinal and martial power. O-Paa Ko, who’d been known as the Mockingbird brawler in his youth was a master of hand to hand combat, legendary among the Okaliqii for his seldom use of bladed or firing weapons; his choice was a set of brass knuckles, and fingers adept at triggering pressure points. Even at his old age, O-Paa Ko’s hands were certifiably deadly. But they were also full of restorative power, guided by his intentions. He could soothe, mend, and purify tension into ease. He could diagnose and remedy ailments of the bone and muscle. He allowed Sabaa Oshaaka to study under him at the Temple of the Mysteries. Sabaa Oshaaka aided O-Paa Ko across his aging years. He tended the shrine by cleaning it, replacing sacred water, burning incense and candles, logging in patients, engaging them while they waited. He swept the floors and honored the artifacts of the shrine. He always felt the presence of ancestors in that space. He would listen to O-Paa Ko’s testimonies of his own youth. He was old enough to remember when Steel Skull’s grandfather was the Gong Chichumba of the Okaliqii. He taught Oshaaka histories of their people, of the land and the waters he might have never learned otherwise. He taught Oshaaka how to spiritually preserve shrine space, and what was necessary, to effectively serve as a hand healer. Oshaaka had to keep his mind, body, and spirit as clean as possible. He had to remain always reconciled with his ego; honest and vulnerable as he was sovereign and strong. He trained in alchemy and transmutation, to take negative energy out of people, absorb it, will it into a higher frequency, and direct it like soft lightning back into their bodies, purified by intention, deliberation, and skillful touch. Oshaaka listened, and observed, and served, and learned, and practiced, until the days came when the Okaliqii visited the shrine not only for O-Paa Ko, but for Oshaaka as well. Oshaaka reconciled his capacities as a psychic medium. He developed a foundation of trust in his own intuition, seldom questioning it or ignoring it. He became effective in his reception of messages through the veil by way of dreams, visions, patterns, and witnessing of miracles. He served as seer and speaker in his community, and the more he committed to rootwork the more potent and clear his visions were. The more he saw and heard, the more he knew, and the more knowledge he held, the more responsibility he held. The ring of power served to amplify his abilities as it heightened so many of his senses. He took time to engage the natural world. He knew sanctuary within the somewhat veiled space of urban wilderness. He was attuned to so much around him; grass was a complex ecosystem of small dramas between insects and worms and roots. His imagination wondered about the vast dimensions across the dark scape of the underground. The trees were elders, purifiers of air, temples for wildlife, and sentries; many species and every specimen of its own unique shapes and characteristics. He particularly resonated with the high cypresses and looming moss and fern covered oaks. These towering organisms did not speak with words but Oshaaka sensed knowledge, memory, and emotion. He touched their trunks, and he glimpsed into their memories of the swamplands before deforestation and irrigation for the sake of space for man made structures. Their stillness was not passive…their roots rebellious in the buckling of concrete, spanning beneath houses. The trees were essential in the prevention of flooding and wind damage when hurricanes and other foul weather passed. They kept the air clean. They offered shade from the southern heat. They were necessary, even if they were inconvenient and challenging at times, they would not be rid of. His sight drifted to the sky above the tree lines, making out images in the clouds and marveling at the saturation of hues at dawn and dusk. The sun was sovereign in its brilliance and its heat. He was like the reptiles he searched for, happy for the warmth and the light, grateful as the green and brown anoles, eager to charge beneath the heat of the celestial fire sphere. He would walk, and find sacred places hidden in plain sight. One day, he came to a canal, where there were many aquatic plants along its walls. There used to be a natural bayou in that place, but it had long been consumed by civilization… but the water remained in a different container and so did many of the animals the ancients knew. Oshaaka sat where he was for a while, on the edge of the great stone wall that isolated the canal ecosystem from the surrounding neighborhood. He did not sit, to find anything in particular, but he found himself among miracles anyway. First, he heard a familiar sound, a rapid call. His eyes followed his ears, and there was the caller; a Belted Kingfisher of navy blue, black, ivory, and russet, intent on fishing but unsure of Oshaaka’s presence in his place. He flew back and forth from one spot to another, watching Oshaaka, watching him. So focused on the bird, Oshaaka barely noticed the presence of an angel…or at least, he interpreted as much. The sun was at a point, and just adjacent to it, was a rainbow…not a great and splendid arch, but as a simple jewel in the clouds, like a marble in white. Oshaaka then looked down, at the water of the canal, and he witnessed a great school of fish, though they were small, and so they were all in his sight. Their fins glinted lightning blue in the sunlight. They were a small native fish, called sailfin molleys. And so focused on the molleys, he almost missed the grace of a large turtle, a spiny softshell, stalking the school of molleys and minnows and young perch, before it went to submerge into the dark water. He saw, just beneath him, on the bank of the canal, a large alligator that darted into the water, before coming to its surface and watching him. He saw, out in the deep channel, many spotted gar of varying sizes, stalking and catching jumping mullets. The gar would come and grace the surface and Oshaaka glimpsed their dorsal and tail fins. He saw black and turkey vultures circling, many crows battling a red shouldered hawk. He saw whistling and wood ducks, ibises and egrets and herons. He saw a water snake. He saw an eagle fly toward and right over his head…. God spoke to him, through the revelation of these beings of the wild, who persisted. Civilization grew, and concrete was laid…but still, they found a way, they found their place, they made sense and kept peace amidst a sprawl of chaos and development. Oshaaka thought, how profound it would be, to persist, as these animals, despite every obstacle to their survival in a contrary dimension. Some years after his rejection of Jaheim’s proposal, Oshaaka sat in front of his bedroom mirror. He adorned his wrists with beaded and gold and ivory bracelets he’d collected across the years; some purchased, some found, and some gifted. He could hear the intensity of drumming beyond the walls of his father’s house. It was St. Joseph’s night, and Sabaa Daviidaa had already gone out, attended by others in their family, to proceed to the gathering of warriors for their ritual dancing, chanting, and war games. Oshaaka was content to arrive later. He placed diamond studs in his ears and clasped the latch of his gen nyame necklace. He looked at his reflection in the mirror as he stood, and he was pleased with who he saw. Oshaaka had committed to hormone replacement therapy, discipline in his wellness, and exercise. His body was solid with muscle, and his shape pleased him. He’d undergone top surgery once his beard was well grown in. Sabaa Oshaaka wore a suit of black and ivory. At his forearms were jade gauntlets etched and emblemed with native animals and sacred symbols. He wore gold gar pieces over the black silk of his sacred regalia. He’d sewn this armor himself. It was laid with crystals in the fabric, to create a shimmering affect. He wore a needle-like bone accessory in his nose, accented by 4 feathers. His teeth were capped in gold. His hair was cut in waves. He’d inked his skin with tattoos across his form, and some of the black images peaked from under his collar. He wore a uniform emblematic of the Black Leopard. He adorned his grandmother’s golden mantles at the arm and thigh, and of course, the ring; Solianamayaa; Earth-Sun. He took a deep breath, nervous to engage his first night of publicly masking…he’d been intentional; he was not presenting as a Miino and he was not presenting as a Shujaa. He was simply, Sabaa Oshaaka. He grabbed some incense sticks, his chain of cowrie shells, and the feather of a cooper’s hawk he’d found on a walk. He walked to where the warriors were gathered to witness the mighty Gong Chichumba. Oshaaka stood at the fringes of the ceremony, not in fear, but in intention. He lit incense as he prayed for his father, who he saw, through the swirling of feathers and bodies as the war chants commenced to the beat of drums. The ancestors were evoked through the veil. Sabaa Oshaaka saw Jaheim too, and prayed for him as well. As far as he knew, Jaheim never did marry that princess, but he’d not returned to Daviida’s house looking for Oshaaka either. He maintained Spy Boy, and when a young warrior got up the courage to challenge him on nights like this, Jaheim would release his ferocity, as was his right and honor. Sabaa Oshaaka wafted his incense with the steady fan of his hawk feather. He passed through the shadows like the leopard he emulated with his suit, and he spoke prayers of protection over his people and over the land. He left offerings to ancestors who may have been forgotten. Took time to acknowledge the passing of crows at dusk. He thanked God for all that was a blessing. And as the drums rolled, he danced, content in the company of his own shadow. There were some drifters, who noticed him, and passed lingering glances. Oshaaka did not taunt or mock them, but he did not shrink before them either. Beneath the bridge on the neutral ground, the Hard Heads held their space of sanctity and masculinity. But the sidewalk was all Oshaaka’s own. It was known, more and more across the years, of Oshaaka’s private practice. Some challenged it privately, but no one, not even the Gong Chichumba ever summoned Oshaaka for discipline. Perhaps it was mercy? Tolerance maybe? Or maybe it was a sense of what Oshaaka knew within himself. All the skills he’d developed in that other dimension, training with Jaheim, was still with him. And his training with O-Paa Ko developed his prowess further. Oshaaka did not boast. He did not challenge. He held absolute boundaries to competitive sparring by hand or blade. He knew that after everything, he was as proficient, if not more adept in martial art than many across their community. But, by his release of the ambition to become a Shujaa, he’d freed himself from the burden of developing his strength and proving it on behalf of the favor of the men in his community. He did not need to show the world why and how he was a man and a warrior. Sabaa Oshaaka was a warrior. Sabaa Oshaaka was deadly. But his path was not that of a conqueror. He was not a chief, he was not as the Gong Chichumba or the Spy Boy. Sabaa Oshaaka made peace with his realm of overlooked matters. He saw, felt, and heard things which were often missed. He engaged those who might never be noticed. He accounted for much that the Shujaa were too occupied to sit or settle with. Oshaaka possessed the quiet but profound capacity to protect himself and his people, if such necessity arose. No one might ever know that his strength was parallel to the Gong Chichumba… Except, the Gong Chichumba himself. One Day, after about a decade or so since Sabaa Oshaaka’s re-entering into the world, he was visited by the Gong Chichumba at the Okaliqii Shrine. O-Paa Ko had passed on, and stewardship of the shrine belonged to Sabaa Oshaaka. Steel Skull, who also neared retirement, came to consult with Sabaa Oshaaka. It was surprising to Sabaa Oshaaka, because the Gong Chichumba had not spoken directly to him in many years. Steel Skull acknowledged and honored, that Sabaa Oshaaka had cultivated a niche for himself in their community. Many of the traditionalists were still weary of him, but none could deny the proficiency of his practices, nor the value of his knowledge of their ecosystem. Steel Skull said, “You are the Gong Kolukuu.” Sabaa Oshaaka had paused the pouring of tea for the Gong Chichumba, and met Steel Skull’s greying eyes. Sabaa Oshaaka’s identity as Gong Kolukuu was not something he liked to publicize. His power was sacred, but it could also attract the wrong sorts of attention. “You thought I didn’t know?” Steel Skull asked, and Sabaa Oshaaka conceded, that he’d not suspected that Steel Skull was privy to the power of birthright inherited from Kolaa. “I always knew, before you knew, I knew…” Oshaaka shifted, unsure of what to say or do, “Why are you telling me this now?” Steel Skull crossed his fingers, before he replied, “Because, I want you to know, that your ostracism from the Shujaa was not merely a matter of your sex… though, I leaned into that, to make the work of keeping you from it easier.” Steel Skull’s words were stark and honest…strange, “I promised your grandmother to honor her successor.” Steel Skull said, and Oshaaka asked, “You knew my grandmother?” Steel Skull replied, “That medallion you wear,” Steel Skull pointed to Oshaaka’s gen nyame resting against his chest, “was a gift to your grandmother, from me, on her sixteenth birthday. It is an heirloom of my father’s lineage.” Oshaaka thumbed the necklace, processing for the first time the absence of such a medallion around Steel Skull’s own neck, as so many others of the warrior class. “You were told about your grandmother’s final years at Kovaango. But, historically, the Gong Kolukuus have not served at Kovaango.” Steel Skull gestured to the space they sat in, “They served here, in this very shrine. Koala was born among the Okaliqii. She was raised from birth to serve the Bone Clan and its dragons. You see, to be Gong Kolukuu, is to be counterpart to Gong Chichumba. Your grandmother was bonded to me, and she kept this temple for years.” Sabaa Oshaaka looked around the shrine, and then at his own hands. He thought he’d been manifesting all this, from a space of personal gravity. But in that moment, he felt his grandmother more than ever. She’d been leading his intuitions, steadily, toward this moment. “Why did she leave?” Oshaaka asked, and Steel Skull continued, “The Ghokaans came to Bulbancha when I was just a child…They met the dragons, as well as their familiars. United, The Gongs and their Kolukuus were more than a match for any trespassers to the basin and the delta… but the intensity of their emotional, spiritual, and sometimes physical bonds made them vulnerable… The Ghokaans began to intentionally separate the Kolukuus from their Dragons… and, well, warriors as my grandfather were not strong enough to defeat the Ghokaan conquerors, so to preserve our land and our people, many dragons, my grandfather included, submitted sovereignty in exchange for peace. My grandfather’s familiar went to serve Uluga Khaan, until her passage from grief. And there was peace, for a good while…and it seemed, the Ghokaans were not as terrible as others who have oppressed these lands…but your grandmother came of age, and fate saw us bonded, intensely. We were strong. We gave people hope. And I want you to understand, your grandmother was a force of nature…an incarnation of the elements…fluid as water, free as air, stable as earth, and bright as the sun… but, Ulugaa Khaan was jealous. He’d witnessed your grandmother, and he decided that he wanted her, and she of course, refused him. I was recently initiated as Gong Chichumba after my grandfather’s passing. I was primed with power. I was ready to rally the Hard Heads and the Okaliqii to battle for her honor… but she forbid it. She said that, even across vast distance, our familiarity would still function… if we focused on our purposes and our commitment to the Most High… she left Bulbancha, to make clear that, Ulugaa Khaan would not have her, but, she would not challenge his wrath by giving herself directly to me either…she went to live at Kovaango…and i never saw her again…not until the day she passed. She visited me in my dreams, and she made me promise, that i would watch over you, until you’d reconciled your station.” Oshaaka processed the magnitude of revelations. “It’s by no coincidence that you inherit this shrine, Oshaaka. You are my familiar… you have been, since the day you were born.” “You rejected me, all my life… you made it impossible for me to integrate…why?” “Because I didn’t want history to repeat itself. I knew that if I’d had you raised at this temple, you would’ve been vulnerable. I would’ve been challenged, constantly, over your dowry. And though I’ve been certain of my strength in all else, I couldn’t bear to, by some cruel chance of fate, lose, and see you taken by the Ghokaans or who knows else…I could not bear to see your father endure such a grief… I felt you were safer, away from this temple, away from me, away from the Hard Heads…where you might develop naturally into your prowess, and you have…all on your own, with little to no help from me…” “I may have known peace…I may have served well…” Oshaaka said, and Steel Skull pointed, “And that, there, is where you must understand a degree of context…why I am here before you now. I sense an end is near…I will not be Gong Chichumba for very much longer. When the next sits the throne of this temple, Oshaaka, you must know…know why I refused your union to Jaheim so harshly… as Gong Kolukuu, you may or you may not serve this temple. You may or you may not bond to a dragon. You may or may not honor the hard heads…remember the difference that your choice in all directions make. You were near to making Jaheim your entire purpose, and the universe would not stand for it, why? Because your purpose is beyond mere submission to a warrior’s favor…even my own, I encourage you to bypass Oshaaka. Understand that your position, though you are not a chief, is subservient nor inferior to any who do not match your prowess. I do not need to see it demonstrated, I know the might of that ring…hear my words…you are not a chief of men, you are not a conqueror, you are not a king…you are not as I, a Gong Chichumba, you are a guardian of nature itself. Your realm is the fertility of our people, our harmony, our spiritual equilibrium. Not alpha, but neither are you beta, you are omega. Where the Gong Chichumba and his court stand at front, in full sight of the world, you Oshaaka, you keep the back… you set pace from behind. You will not know glorification. Many will never know the importance of your work. Many will engage you, as if you are inferior…so long as it is not of consequence, let them. Let fools be fools, so long as they do not challenge you…and when and if they do…assert yourself, but with proper direction and sense. Do not fight to prove or convince. Fight to preserve, to protect, and to defend. As the Gong Chichumba is sovereign of one realm, you are sovereign of another, light to shadow, yin to yang. Your freedom is crucial, for when the Gong Chichumba and all else fails, it is your strength that may succeed. You are our greatest, but most reserved defense…I fight for honor, for order, for the glory of the Okaliqii, but you fight for the Earth itself, for the waters, the trees, the animals…you fight for ecosysten…that is the difference, and the balance." Steel Skull clasped Oshaaka’s hands in his own, and looked him the eyes, “Your grandmother is with you, and when I pass on, so too, shall I.” With that, Steel Skull left the Okaliqii Shrine and Oshaaka in it. From that day on, Sabaa Oshaaka would be Gong Kolukuu as well as the Omega of the Hard Head Okaliqiis. …… I read a post one time; it was probably on Tumblr or Pinterest about the dynamics of hierarchy in wolf packs when they are crossing territory. When the alphas, usually the parents of the entire pack, are in their prime, they are the largest and strongest members. However, when the alphas get older, and their first born litter matures to full adulthood, those offspring may become the largest and strongest wolves in the pack, however, they maintain their positions as Betas to their parents. This zoological insight was particularly interesting to me because it sparked a domino sequence of thought. I thought of how the grey wolves of North America’s Great Plains were historically proficient buffalo hunters, especially in very large packs. I consider the sacred relationship between Plains Tribes, Buffalo/American Bison, and the grey wolf, historically. I have Southern Cheyenne ancestry on my mother’s side, and I am very intrigued by the relationship that Indigenous ancestors had with the wildlife of Turtle Island. I note that, before the indigenous people of the Great Plains began to hunt bison on horseback (before the arrival of European horses to North America) though i have heard some speculation that horses may have been on Turtle Island already; some vestiges of the Ice Age, but not to trail off, Indigenous people, pre European arrival, would have been hunting the buffalo on foot. And who was hunting the buffalo alongside these people? Wolves, of course. Now, what does this have to do with anything? Sit tight, because the point is coming. I am a native Black Indigenous Culture Bearer of Bulbancha/New Orleans, and here we have our Black Masking Indians, who walk in coordinated processions, structured according to a strategic hierarchy. The structure of the wolf packs when they are walking, is reminiscent of the Indians to me. And it is so interesting because Buffalo hunting tribes, like the Atakapa Ishak, were present as far south as Louisiana’s prairies, where there were both bison and wolves, and as the masking culture references these groups, it all just sings of serendipity to me. So, to paint the picture clearer, The Big Chief, though he is the head and leader of the tribe, it is not he who walks the front of the procession. The Big Chief, like the alpha wolf, walks behind any number of Betas; who are strong, powerful, and protective, younger, more agile, and ready for battle, as the Wild Man, Flag Boy, and Spy Boy, who all serve as obstacles between enemies and their Big Chief. The Spy Boy is symbolic of the most powerful and fiercest warrior of a tribe, hence why he walks the very front, far ahead. In The Omega Jaheim’s rank as Spy Boy positions him as a sort of prince, and prodigal son among his people. He is a living incarnation of masculine power and divinity. It is he, like a shining prince, that his people look to in times of war and diplomacy. The structure of the Indian Tribe’s procession, as far as I know, is derivative of African Traditional war and ceremonial hierarchies, however, I’m sure there must be some Turtle Island Indigenous influence in their somewhere, if not consciously, then by intuition of the blood. The similarities to wolf pack structures in movement, may be coincidental, but it is resonant and interesting to me, nonetheless. So, I will explore further, because, no, we have not reached our point, lol. There is further context on the wolf pack structure I'd like to note. While there are the Betas who walk ahead of the alphas at the front, there is another wolf, who walks the very back of the procession, behind the young, the old, and the sick, to watch out for ambushes that may come from behind. These wolves are the Omegas. Omega wolves have been characterized by researchers as being the lowest ranking members of a pack, however, their niche functions may be more complex, as might their status as low ranking. An Omega wolf may serve to ease tension in a pack by initiating play, and demonstrating submission. They serve as sentries and also act as diversions during hunts. Though an Omega may be low ranking, they may also be as betas, in size, strength, and age, and simply keep the flank of the pack. This phenomenon intrigues me deeply, and influenced me in the manifestation of The Omega; which chronicles the transformation of Sabaa Doriaan, a warrior’s son who is denied the inheritance of his father’s war mantles because he is trans. I consider that I've never heard much about any of the Black Masking Tribes holding a space of honor for a warrior who walks the back of the procession, a sort of counter part, a yin, to the Spy Boy’s yang. While the Spy Boy’s rank is to be earned and maintained through victory and domination in battle, the phenomenon of the Omega is preserved through the opposite. The Omega, does not earn his or her position through brute strength, or victory over all challengers. The Omega’s position is not necessarily noticed, they are not heralded…they blend in, at the back of a crowd… but they are important, aren’t they…for what is a first place, if there is not the balance of the last… and, though our capitalistic paradigm certainly paints last place as an infinite negative, what if, being last, could be just as fulfilling as being first, what if there was just as much to do, in the shadowy space, as there was to do, in the light of a mighty Spy Boy’s glory? The Omega is a dedication to Black Masculinity among the warriors of my ethnicity. It was inspired by one of my favorite films; The Grand Master (Wong Kar Wai 2013). It unpacks the complexities of the rigorous aspects of capitalism that influence our reality. This story reminds us to foster grace, as well as strength. To remember, that victory is not always as narrow as the trophy that everyone strives for, sometimes, victory is winning a prize no one else can see; the development of a character that only you, as an individual are inherent to. That’s all for now, because I could type all day. If there are more questions, I am happy to engage! Thank you for reading my story! Stay blessed, and true to you, Keyshia Pearl xoxoxo Get full access to Can't Hold The River at <a href="https://cantholdtheriver.substack.com/subscribe?utm_medium=podcast&utm_campaign=CTA_4">cantholdtheriver.substack.com/subscribe</a>

July 7, 2025

The Omega Episode Four; The House of Zion

Ulugaa Khaan's son Khadiijah rejects his expected role as a warlord, embraces femininity, and faces a succession crisis that threatens civil war, ultimately choosing personal peace over power, impacting the future of Zion.

44 total episodes available

Deep-dive analytics for Can't Hold The River Podcast

Frequently asked questions

Have a different question and can't find the answer you're looking for? Reach out to our support team by sending us an email and we'll get back to you as soon as we can.

What is Can't Hold The River Podcast?: Ethnographic Fiction, journalism, zoology, botany and who knows all else in time. <a href="https://cantholdtheriver.substack.com?utm_medium=podcast">cantholdtheriver.substack.com</a>
How often does this podcast release new episodes?: This podcast updates weekly.
Where can I listen to this podcast?: This podcast is available on 6 platforms including Apple Podcasts, Spotify, and more. You can also use the RSS feed directly.
Does this podcast accept guests?: No, this podcast does not typically feature guests.

Legal Disclaimer

Pod Engine is not affiliated with, endorsed by, or officially connected with any of the podcasts displayed on this platform. We operate independently as a podcast discovery and analytics service.

All podcast artwork, thumbnails, and content displayed on this page are the property of their respective owners and are protected by applicable copyright laws. This includes, but is not limited to, podcast cover art, episode artwork, show descriptions, episode titles, transcripts, audio snippets, and any other content originating from the podcast creators or their licensors.

We display this content under fair use principles and/or implied license for the purpose of podcast discovery, information, and commentary. We make no claim of ownership over any podcast content, artwork, or related materials shown on this platform. All trademarks, service marks, and trade names are the property of their respective owners.

While we strive to ensure all content usage is properly authorized, if you are a rights holder and believe your content is being used inappropriately or without proper authorization, please contact us immediately at hey@podengine.ai for prompt review and appropriate action, which may include content removal or proper attribution.

By accessing and using this platform, you acknowledge and agree to respect all applicable copyright laws and intellectual property rights of content owners. Any unauthorized reproduction, distribution, or commercial use of the content displayed on this platform is strictly prohibited.