Chapter Eight
The Great Yeomen Purge of 1751
Part Two
The fire in the large circular pit burned bright against the cloudless sky. The pale moon helped with the mood, coupled with the crackling of the wood, mesmerized the onlookers into silence. Each member of all the tribes in the nearby areas was represented. They were seated along the long expanse of the circle.
The tip of the fire reached new heights as Clayton placed more firewood on top of the previous ones.
Each of the eight representatives was seated close together. The outer banks of the circle were housed by the oldest to the youngest.
“Thank you for meeting with us,” Clayton said to Maryl and Sol.
“We were happy to meet with all of you and thank you for allowing our members to this significant meeting,” Sol said solemnly. He looked around. “I don’t see your father, Tarson, Clayton.”
“He is here but is inside. He did not like you being on our soil.”
Sol looked at Clayton but said nothing.
Maryl dipped a thick stick into the fire and moved wood around. Ashes erupted around the perimeter. “Sol and I are incredibly curious about this meeting. Grady and Markus said they did not know what the topic was.”
Some ashes flicked on Clayton’s pants. He absently brushed them away. “We appreciate you coming. We have some important business to discuss.”
“Always to the point, aren’t you, Clayton? Can’t we relax and let the fire’s ember restore the unbalanced vibes I am getting from you?” Maryl said as she smiled her even white teeth.
“I am balanced. My sense of urgency is not made up.”
“All right, Clayton. What is so important?” Maryl said as she put down the stick and looked his way.
Clayton looked at Sol and Maryl, trying to gauge how they would react. “I will come to the point. My six tribes are in trouble, and we need the help of both Sol’s tribe and your tribe, Maryl.”
Maryl and Sol looked at each other. Maryl gave a sly smile. “That surprises me, Clayton. Your six tribes have ruled the lands for quite some time now. The potent bloodline you all have inherited have never needed our small band of bloodsuckers help before, excuse the pun.”
“Times change and opportunities present themselves, even to our rivals,” Tabatha remarked calmly.
“Poor word choice, Tabatha!” Maryl said with uprising anger. “We were never rivals! We always had to submit to your ways, your rules, just because some of your kind can consume blood from every human, and ours cannot!”
“We know the potency of our blood has made some of you hate us,” Clayton said carefully. “But I want to make amends.”
“How and why, after all these centuries?” Sol demanded.
Clayton had not talked with the other tribe leaders about his proposal so desperate he was, but he knew the King’s army was not far. “I propose boundary lines for each of our kind so we can live in peace.”
“What?” Tabatha said out loud. Other tribe leaders followed suit.
Maryl looked around the fire pit. “I take it you did not put forth this proposal with the leaders of the other clans, Clayton?” she said humorously.
“No, but I want to show you the importance and respect I have for your two tribes.”
“You can’t just impose new laws without the other council members agreement!” Tabatha yelled.
“I can, and I will. It is my right as the leader of all the tribes.”
“You are invoking the primacy law? In a thousand plus years, it has never been used!” Platov said incredulously.
“This is getting interesting,” Sol remarked. “You’re giving away concession after concession.”
“I say we hear him out,” said Eli. “After all, he could have killed me over two hundred years ago. He let me live when I and some of our brethren attacked his village.”
“Despite Eli not being an elder, I respect his opinion. I will hear Clayton out,” Maryl intoned.
Clayton could see the open anger on the elders and the rest of his tribes, but he knew they would never rule against him nor retaliate against him.
“I offer lines being drawn all across Great Britain and beyond.”
“How would we know where one boundary ends, and one begins?” Maryl asked.
“We would mark the trees, the lands themselves, and other structures with our blood. No matter how old the blood becomes, we would always be able to smell it. And we can smell over great distances.”
“And what of centuries to be?” Sol asked.
“I don’t understand,” Clayton said with uncertainty.
“When our respective tribes branch out, and new territories are claimed, even across the pond in the Americas, how are we to discern whose territory is whose?”
“I have with me maps of the Americas and beyond. We can draw the lines in blood right here and right now.”
“Why are you so desperate that you would divide the lands of the entire world between the eight of us?” Maryl asked.
“Because we require your help,” Clayton responded quickly. Even now, he could hear the army approaching a couple of kilometers away.
“I suggest you tell us what you need from us before we commit to an answer. I simply will not offer any assistance of any kind without knowing what mine and Maryl’s tribe's responsibilities are,” Sol said sternly.
The two tribes nodded in agreement.
“Fair enough,” Clayton said as he looked around the fire—open hostility registered on some of the elders. “King George’s army is fastly approaching and plan on attacking us and taking away our land. We need your help in defending us.”
“Why? Aren’t your type able to easily stop them?” Maryl asked with fake sincerity.
“While we are considerably stronger, there will be too many of them.”
A silence followed. The hissing and popping of the firewood were a distant memory as the ramifications of Clayton's appeal sunk in.
“You want us to help fight alongside you against the King?” Maryl asked doubtfully.
“Yes.”
“In exchange for boundary lines across the globe, so we needn’t fear any attack or acts of aggression?”
“Yes, that’s exactly what I mean,” Clayton said with renewed hope that all was not lost.
Maryl turned to Sol.
