Frigid Visions

The beat of drums synchronized with the beat of his heart. It spoke to him, called to him. It pushed him further out into the sea. Jal felt the sand beneath his feet. It squished beneath his toes.
He inhaled purposefully, deeply, letting the scents wash over him. The fresh smell of water engulfed him. Wet and rotting wood and vegetation hit him next—finally, damp earth - pungent and alive.
His eyes were closed, but he could see it all. His village’s cove; their sacred cove, lay before him. Beyond that the waters of the Flor Ish. Behind him lay the longhouses of his village. Chimneys belched forth woodsmoke, outdoor fires smoked fish. In front of it all stood his entire Clan; Clan Waverider. They beat the drums and chanted low, ready to call forth the Salarshavta.
The cold water nipped at his toes, sending a shiver up his legs. He stepped out further. Splashing in the shallow waters. The water engulfed his ankles. He breathed slowly and deeply, letting the smell guide his vision.
Jal had always been able to see, even with his eyes closed. Today, he came to see the Salarshavta, the Totem god of the dolphin clan.
The water was cold on this Holaresh; it always was. The sun did not rise high enough in the sky to warm the Flor Ish—the Great Lake. It would still be a few moons before the Flor Ish warmed.
The cold did not bother him. It awakened his senses, made him feel alive. He did not worry about the frigid waters, the Waverider would protect him, just as it always had.
A few more steps into the water and it washed over his kneecaps. He could now feel the push and pull of the great waters against him. The water lapped against the beat of the drums, filling his vision with the waters that brought life to his people.
He knew the way. He had walked it many times before in his years. Several more steps into the waters brought it up to his waist.
Almost there.
The drums beat faster. The Chanting rose higher.
Something circled Jal, its passing stirring the water around him. Now another. The Heralds of the Salarshavta. He knew not their names; only their presence. They had always been here to meet him. They circled him, guiding and protecting him.
The Heralds pulled him deeper into the lake, deeper into the trance, deeper into the vision. When the waves lapped against his tattooed chest, the current of the water was irresistible. It pulled and pushed him where it would, and Jal was at its mercy. But the waters of the Flor Ish were an old friend, and even its icy waves were a warm embrace for the old Speaker.
In those waters was solace, purpose, and clarity.
He considered today a blessing—there had been years when the ice had to be broken to even get in the water. Those were days when his faith and body were tested, but Salarshavta was always found true.
More Heralds arrived now as Jal floated on the precipice of their holy place. Two totems, adorned with intricate carvings now flanked him. He could see them, even with his eyes closed. They had been there long before him and would stand long after him. Their permanence soothed and reassured him - the Waverider would always care for its people.
He treaded water, with his spirit guides swimming gracefully around him. He reached out to them in welcome and thanked them for their presence and guidance. They would lead him to the Salarshavta.
He thrust two fists out of the cold water and into the air, a signal to his Clan that he was ready to begin the ritual. The drums increased their beat, and he let their rhythm take him further into the trance.
He remembered the stories that his people had carried for many lifetimes: Of a body of water so vast that it had no end, of the Redshield invasion, and of his people's flight away from their Totem god and the warm waters of their ancestors.
Generations away from their homes burned anger in him, but he was a Speaker, a leader of his people. He led into the future, not into the past. Today, on this shortest day of the year, he sought a glimpse of the future from the Waverider, tidings of the new sun.
At once the drums behind him stopped, and the Dolphin's Call was taken up from his people on the shoreline.
Ee-ee-ee-ee-ee-ee!
He felt the call reverberate through the water around him. Their voices galvanized and energized him. The heralds swam faster now, racing around his body. Jal gave himself to the water completely, submerging himself in the inlet between the two ancient dolphin totems erected by the first settlers on these shores.
The darkness of the abyss took him, swirling around him as his spirit left time and space. He could no longer feel the cold waters, nor did he need to hold his breath - his body was in the hands of the heralds, and his spirit floated free in the water to search for Salarshavta.
Salarshavta had taught him long ago that no matter where Jal was, or near what body of water he called home, he would find him. Today, It proved itself faithful once again.
Jal did not need to look very long for Salarshavta. Salarshavta came to Jal and greeted him as an old friend. And though Jal would never treat his Totem god in such a familiar manner, it always warmed his heart and soothed his spirit to be greeted as a friend by a being so powerful and so revered.
“It is a dire hour, Jal Waverider.” Salarshavta’s voice rang loud in his mind. It was full of worry and conflict. “Your gift of diplomacy is needed now more than ever. I am with you in this endeavor. You will rekindle old allegiances and forge new friendships. Then - after that will be a time of war. It will test your Clan’s strength like nothing before has, but I will see you through, and those lost will rest with me beneath the waves. The Stillwater Confederacy will stand as long as you are faithful to me. Let me show you what you must prepare for.”
Jal’s world went black, and he lost sight of Salarshavta, blurred out of existence.
Jal now sat in a small canoe, al tree-trunk vessel made by his people. A carved dolphin raised eloquently on the prow of the small boat. He was alone, without a paddle, drifting on rough waters. Before him, a great conflagration began. A small flame grew large and engulfed the entire shoreline. In the shadows jal watched people running to and fro, their longhouses devoured by the flames. The wailing of his people filled his ears.
Darkened by the flames, Jal made out a tall ship of the stone-dwellers moored nearby. Jal could not speak, could not call out, and could not paddle to assist his people; he was helpless as he drifted by.
He screamed into the fire-scorched darkness.
Reality bent, and darkness turned to day. Jal was out to sea, still in his canoe, and still helpless against the crashing waves around him. In the distance, a group of tallships floated on the waters. Their white sails flapped in the breeze but the ships remained motionless.
Jal’s boat was carried into the mass of ships. He saw that they were broken and battered. Great pieces of ship floated all around him. Some burned, while others slowly sank beneath the waves.
Bodies dotted the surface; the casualties of a great struggle. Jal could see there was no winner - only carnage. The flags of his two Stone-dweller neighbors - Falkaar and Haradel, floated in the water, tangled with each other. Jal called them both friends - it had been his diplomacy that had united the two neighbors and his people in peace.
Jal watched in horror as both flags sank into murky, blood-stained waters. His peace had been for nothing.
The world grew dark again. Jal shivered, unable to speak or comprehend fully what he had been shown.
Then he saw a ship, a tallship of the Stone Dwellers. Its sails were the color of blood and carried the ship swiftly through the rough, cold waters. Salarshavta’s voice boomed in his mind again.
“The sparks of this fire have already been cast, Child of the Water. Two great nations go to war this very day. The red sail hearkens death to your shores. Prepare your people, Jal Waverider.”
Jal gasped the cold, fresh air as his body exploded above the waters of the sacred cove. He flailed for a moment, out of breath and shaking with his body’s sudden awakening into reality.
He was plucked from the water by a canoe full of warriors and two of his novice mystics. He was panting and shaking. A blanket was offered to him, and a rock warmed in the bonfires from the shore.
Jal denied them both, pushing them away. All awaited the pronouncement of the vision from Salarshavta, but their faces grew grim as they looked upon Jal’s countenance.
Finally, his breath returned to him enough to speak. He panted between words, his eyes wide and his face set with determination.
“The Tribes must be told.  Gather them all.  Call the Pa’alacha. Send word to every tribe and every clan. War is coming. The Red Sail War is coming.”