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talesfromthegraavim · 1 year ago

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THE FIRST GRA, AND THE BIRTH OF THE GRAAVIM

When the Old world was just barely molding in its grave, and the New World was not yet walking on steady feet, there was a man named Deepdog. Deepdog was a strategist to Colonel Joe Moore, a veteran of the Oil Wars, and a hero of the Water War. Deepdog was Joe’s Right Hand, and did many evil deeds in his name, and always when Deepdog looked back he saw his footprints in blood. One day, after the Conquering of The Citadel, when Joe had earned the name Immortan, Deepdog was sent out to scout the surrounding area for other clans, villages, and resources. Deepdog traveled for many days and nights alone, until he happened upon a Green Place, which were not so rare then as they are now. Deepdog liked to ask questions of the Universe using a deck of cards that he had once used to teach his son who was lost to the First Ravagers, and in the dead of the night, under the Full Moon, he asked the Universe to give him a taste of the future of these lands. The Pink Pig, the Pink Heart, and the Orange Rectangle were his answer. Bounty and Fullness, Surprise Gift, and Opportune Task. A further three cards fluttered to the ground as Deepdog shuffled the Cards to say goodnight: The Jar, the Rectangle Clock, and The Snake. Keep it secret, Move fast, and Betrayal/Danger.

Deepdog did not understand the full weight of the last three cards, but he believed their warning and hurried back to the Citadel to give The Immortan his joyous news. As he raced the sun he dreamt of a satellite town where he might grow plants and people and all the gifts of The Beforetimes. He dreamed of a safe place, which he would call PigHeart, and defend to his dying day. A Green Place, where all would be welcome and she could live as herself. He could live as himself. He did not dare acknowledge his true nature even in his own head until PigHeart was safely delivered and settled as the Triumvirate now was.

But when he returned, it was not to cheers and applause. The blood in the sands and the screams of the tortured future-dead echoed in his ears, forever would the stench of burning bodies and books be etched into his nose. He did not have time to find The Immortan and tell him of PigHeart, for when he arrived he saw The Immortan Joe wrench a babe from the breast of its mother and empty its innards onto her upturned face. The Woman’s screams were choked off by her infant’s blood, silenced by the crushing hands of Immortan Joe around her throat, and Deepdog knew that if The Immortan were to hear of PigHeart he would rape it for its riches and leave the bones to rot. There would be no raising of crops, or happy children, no songs, no teachings, no history.

And so Deepdog made a choice. He would spirit away a handful of slaves, steal a vehicle in the chaos, and make his pilgrimage to PigHeart. But Joe’s Warboys, in the rapture of pillaging and conquering, did not recognize Deepdog. They thought he was a deserter, traitor to The Immortan, and they shot him. The bullet did not pierce his skull, but merely grazed his eye, and so Deepdog could pretend to be dead and escape The Immortan. The slaves he had tried to save were slaughtered, and the warmth of their blood was terrible on his skin, but their lifeless bodies covered his breathing and the shivers of shock until he was himself again. He nearly lost his nerve, nearly gave himself away, when the Warboys displayed him before The Immortan and he heard his former friend’s howling grief. It was all that Deepdog could manage not to flinch at the snapping gunshots that ended their lives, but he managed it, and he managed it still when The Immortan lowered him into a shallow grave and bid the Warboys to stand in ceremony of his passing, orating from the aquifer what a great man Deepdog had been, a great strategist and a great friend to the Immortan Cause. Deepdog was awarded entrance into Valhalla, as all dead warriors were, and gifted in death, all of his worldly possessions. His Sandwalking Gear, his weapons, even the Bike he had only just ridden back to the Citadel were staked and chained above his grave as a marker, that no man but he should possess them.

When the moon was high, still full and white, and the sands that trapped her had chilled, a nameless woman crawled from Deepdog’s grave, wearing the clothes that Deepdog had been buried in, and still bleeding Deepdog’s blood. But this woman was free. Immortan Joe had decreed to one and all that no living man would disturb Deepdog’s grave, but she was a man no more, and took with her all the things that had decorated his grave. The bike was full with guzzoline- the better to speed her on her way to Valhalla- and the pack was full with water- that she may never thirst on Valhalla’s Fury Road. Only bare, unfavorable rations lay inside, for while The Immortan would stand on certain ceremony for his dead friend, they did not have food to waste on the dead as they had water and guzzoline. But the woman was grateful, and she crept on silent feet, pushing the bike away from the Citadel and The Immortan’s bloody clutches.

For days and nights she wandered, not daring to ride on the Sands with only one eye, an eye which throbbed and burned under the light of the sun. After some time her knees buckled and she sprawled in the Sands, content to die for she had named herself. She would live for this moment, and die by her true name, which represented all she wished she had in her first life. The woman was called Grace.

As Grace lay in the sand, wearing a dead man’s clothes and bleeding sluggishly a dead man’s blood, she heard the roar of an engine and thought it would be the last sound she would ever hear, but it was her salvation. A young woman, named KT Concannon rode a red bike and offered her healing, despite Grace’s clear markings as one of the Immortan’s creatures. In these times all were wary, none more than KT herself, but she had listened to the whispers on the wind and watched this strange woman who cried “Grace! I am Grace!” until her voice was hoarse and labored. KT brought Grace home to her people, The Vuvalini of Many Mothers, who nursed Grace back to health and taught her all they knew of medicine and planting and womanliness.

In time Grace grew her hair, and adjusted to being a single-eyed Road Warrior, she crafted herself into a Healer and an Oracle - her cards ever by her side, for they had not steered her wrong yet. For a while was content among the Vuvalini who knew her only as Grace, called Gra by the Mites. She was content, but in all the many hundred days she spent among the Vuvalini she never forgot about PigHeart. And so, one day, she ventured out with a small group to confirm its location and existence once and for all. The Vuvalini she took with her gaped in wonder at the flowing water in its caves, the Green Things that grew beside them, and when they returned to The Green Place Grace begged the Vuvalini Elders for seeds and chickens to make PigHeart true Oassi. Grace was granted a handful of Young Mothers and their husbands, precious seeds, chickens and two pigs with which to make a new start, and Grace sent them off to begin the planting with a song in her heart.

She sent them in her place because Grace had once been Deepdog, right hand and strategist to The Immortan, and no place would be safe unless she could spirit away his best commanders and see what he saw from his High Castle. And so she slipped fully into the skin of Grace, prayed that her Cards had not steered her wrong and set off into the Citadel. After many days and nights, she arrived and breathed a sigh of relief when every familiar set of eyes slid over her face. In the Citadel she was just another woman, poorly aged by the sun and the radiation, and even the Immortan himself did not See her when he stood above them, scanning the Wretched for girls beautiful enough to bear his sons. He had pointed her out to one of his generals and laughingly said, “Send that one to Horsehead and Fuzz, she’s mannish enough for them to enjoy. All my generals should have sons, even if they have to get them on pig-ugly women.”

The general, whose name and face she did not know, did as he was bid. He wrenched her from the crowds by her arm, and steered her roughly to the door of two men she had hoped to see. Horsehead and Fuzz were the only two people in her Before life to whom she had ever suggested an inkling of her true nature. They had never known Grace, only the whisper of her fetal ghost, and they had accepted her as openly as they were able. Horsehead was Joe’s head Mechanic, a gifted man that had saved Rigs that should have been beyond saving, and had a particular love for musical theater. He’d often been derided by Joe for carrying an ancient, heavy record player and six surviving records, but Horsehead fought off anyone who attempted to challenge him for going soft and keeping them. Fuzz was slightly more pragmatic, but dutifully indulged his secret lover, because that music was some of the last surviving, and it brought him fond memories of the Beforetime. Fuzz was Joe’s new Chief Strategist, a brilliant engineer, and most shockingly a gardener. When Grace was brought before them, handed off by the new general with a sneer and a snide remark, they barely contained their gasps, but were hushed by a single finger pressed subtly against Grace’s lips.

After they had wrapped her in hugs and praised the beauty of her true self they asked her name and how she had survived. Grace told them her tale and her plan and they agreed, after some discussion, to steal away with her that very night. Fuzz suggested that they might even be able to bring a young woman named Jive with them, who was an unwilling wife and assistant to the Organic Mechanic. Grace promised that one day they would come back for Jive, but they had to leave immediately in order to escape the notice of The Immortan. Horsehead and Fuzz packed quickly and sparely, Horsehead stubbornly clinging to his player and records despite the impracticality. The three stole for their Rig an unattended truck, loaded Grace’s bike and the Gear beside unlabeled crates and disappeared into the night like so much smoke.

For many days and nights they rode to PigHeart, whispering winds blessedly covering their tracks, and when they finally stopped they opened the crates and discovered greater boons than they had thought to hope for. A young breeding pair of goats, seeds that would become rice and wheat and beans, beets and sweet potatoes, even sprouted herbs! They joyfully watered the goats and the plants and continued in haste toward PigHeart, driving in shifts through the night. When they reached the site they were greeted by guns, but Grace revved the truck’s engine and called up to the spotters “I am your Grace, come home at last and with boons!”

#tales from the graavim #Birth Of Grace #Founding Of PigHeart

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