G) This is G. I write, not to speak, but out of fear that I will forget.
I have long resisted using this slave's tongue. Yet in my dream, my comrades accused me in this tongue, and when I tried to speak in my own I could only do so haltingly, with language from this other country mixed in. I used the slave's tongue to state my place, and I do not regret my decision. I do not think I want to use it much, though.
I had a nightmare. Maybe the first dream I'm had since the world burned.
I dreamed my comrades awoke in a different world, a different place, to serve the gods and bring it to its knees for their glory. It was similar, very similar, but there were differences. Not bad ones. My spirit sent messages, and I received them, and I was reborn in new flesh.
Lugha'Du was there, and others who I have known, even though their names flicker and fade in my memory. I spoke with Lugha in the hut in which I awoke, and gradually grew used to my new flesh and to speaking in my Clan's tongue again, and watched others outside.
He spoke with a strange urgency, and when there was a moment of respite, I read the messages I had received from those other than him.
When the world burned, everyone and everything become ash. I have valued our history and heritage more than most, and that stubbornness may have cost us much, but when a huge treasured portion of it was pushed into my limbs, I burned and it burned and my spirit went to this place, to wait and plot its conquering.
My comrades are, likely, in different worlds right now. I know not what they do. I lived and died in one world, in one Clan, and if our gods give me this one to conquer I will not seek out another. Especially... especially if memories are lost, and the world I came from is denied. We travelled, once, to Siege Perilous. It was not an experiment that lasted long. However, what happened in my dream may have been similar. It was not reality, but if it had been reality it might have been worthwhile. --but there is no way that Lugha would have been there, or so many of my other comrades from that time, so many cycles ago.
In my nightmare, the messages accused and scorned me for the loss of the hut with which I was entrusted. The hut which no one remained to be entrusted with, when I too died. The messages spoke of the great blow to our Clan's history and heritage, of a great Elder who lost everything and returned to holding nothing more than a Gruntee, of a younger comrade who had cheered me and defended me to others and was betrayed by my actions, all his pride crushed.
My spirit was in this flesh, and this flesh slept on the strange human replacement for a bed of straw. No slave was typing. Right now, and in my nightmare, and in the messages, a slave's flesh was typing, but there was no slave and no world for a slave to be in. I was not in flesh like this one, but in a world like the old world whre a slave's typing is necessary, and there was typing, but no typer. That is how I can be sure that it truly was a dream, that my spirit was not in another world while this slave's flesh slept. That, and that Lugha could not have been there.
I looked at what the messages said, the cold disdaining words. They said things that I will not repeat, and which I am already beginning to forget.
I looked at their words in the slave's tongue, and thought on my own halting grasp of my own, and turned to this tongue to speak and tell them of the burning of the world, and of myself. Not to beg, but to proclaim and defend and show myself as the self that arose to my rank, the one they knew and the one that betrayed no one, the one with a heart of fire that will never die. And then I awoke, in this slave's flesh.
This was a nightmare born from my sadness and shame at having been entrusted with something that I could not protect or pass on to another before my incineration. I am almost surprised that it was not a nightmare about other things that I regret about my time with my comrades.
The world burned, the Clan died, and I do not think there are any who record or remember what happened in its last throes. If there are, I will proclaim my righteousness to them without fear and without flinching.
I am Ghul'Ruk, Wa'Lusk-R of a dead Clan, a member of the noble Thrak'Ghaash, and the last Namakh of my people.
I will not waver.