With drawn faces, the seven elders emerged from the infirmary. They each carried with them a single small stone, held within their right hand. Every stone was a different color. These were the Stones of Wisdom, the symbols and tools of The High Priest. The individual colors were all representative of a different human quality. Only the High Priest was allowed to hold them all together, all at once.

The stones were raised into the air for all people to see. By this, they would know that Arulis had ascended beyond their plane. They would know the High Priest was dead. The elders turned as one then, and strode gravely toward the waiting sons of the deceased man.

The People of the Wind fell silent. They waited in hesitant anticipation. Pausing before the two sons, the elders bowed briefly then extended their arms and offered the stones to Cha’arin. Stunned, he meekly accepted them. Cupping them within his hands, he then lowered his head with extreme reverence. Nearly all those assembled erupted with cheers of delight. There were some dissenters, believers in and of tradition. They were supporters of D’arrls and believed that under his leadership they would be granted certain favor. The majority of the crowd however, appeared considerably relieved by the appointment of Cha’arin.

D’arrls seethed in disbelief and rage. Those stones were supposed to be his. This was unacceptable. He started to shout a protest. He rapidly realized over the noise of the celebration, his voice would never be heard. He had to get away. He had to think. Surely there must be a solution of some kind. He refused to cower before his brother like the rest of them. They were sheep. He was a lion. He was stronger and more decisive than his brother. Being first born, D’arrls had earned the position. He deserved to be their leader. He did not understand how his father could have made such a mistake or how the Gods could have been so blind as to allow this horrendous manipulation of fate.

He bolted for the infirmary and threw open the door. The force with which he did so, nearly took it from the hinges. Storming inside, he began cursing the deceased man. He cried out nearly every foul word he could recall. He pounded his fists upon the chest of the hollow shell that had once been his father. He demanded to know why. He wanted answers. Screaming in fury, D’arrls grabbed the wispy white hair and lifted the lifeless head. He shook it violently. He wasn’t expecting a response, so when the eyes opened and the pasty lips began to move, he recoiled in shock and horror. The released head fell back down, rolled, and directed hollow empty eyes his way.

“What troubles you my son? Why do you address me with such venom?” The voice sounded pained and distant. D’arrls took a breath and a moment to feed upon his anger.

“You have wronged me Father! Why have you given away my birthright?” He demanded. “Why was Cha’arin named? I was first born, the next in line! It was supposed to be me!”

“I do not understand,” the hollow voice said. “I named you, D’arrls. The elders must be responsible for this. They have abused their power and must be punished. You must, my son… you must speak the words. Call upon… him. Call upon Me… Mer… Meridious.”

D’arrls did know the words. He knew he wanted revenge. He knew he craved restitution and retribution. He did not know Meridious had been asserting his limited influence. With minute tricks of light and sound, Meridious was able to convince D’arrls that his father’s lifeless form once again housed the spirit of Arulis. Indignant and full of self-righteousness, D’arrls spoke the words the imprisoned being had waited so long to hear. He spoke the words… and he set Meridious free.