Bone Keepers

All eyes upon you, sadistic stares
all night aware, albeit a few.
The fire's breathing, a homely hearth
thoughts stew their worth,
ideas teething.

There's not much worse than being alone in a crowded room. We were born here, we'll probably die here in a pool of mixed bloods, waiting for the passage. Wed could wait our lives for the passage. It may never come as it was told to us by our fathers from their fathers, fathers, fathers. We will still train daily. We learn to spill our blood and still float on. We learn to exist, not only here in this sacred place that is our birth right, but anywhere our mind can take us. Freedom comes from within. Illusion comes from outside.
At night we sit in circles, backs together awaiting communiques for the other clan. Their intent will not come as words, but their message will be understood and will stain the floor on this night with the oily black blood that keeps the mines going. It's that blood that keeps us all going, striding confidently into the future. WE know that what has been done to us, the life we have been allowed to live, is a blessing in the form of a curse. We know our purpose as the Salomon knows to swim upstream in the late autumn where he will meet his end before giving a new beginning. We know our place. We accept it, but our destiny will also be met on our own terms. We will decide who is allowed to continue their gene onto the bell and off of Kellar into the deep black sea that separates us from the failed star that we once called a planet. Our lines are endlessly sent out to return again. This could very well be the last cycle before exodus. The culling and the champions passage to come is the most important one in our history, so it is said. The ink of the elders has stretched into their various puzzle pieces that make up our clans. The ink is the birth right of the champions offspring and the trophy of the victor. The champions, once initiated, become the illustrators. They will tell their stories and our whole story through the hollow bone and blackened liver. It is all we are, it is all we have.
Another night on watch with the other bone keepers, our clan is expecting trouble from the night bleeders. We sit together, but we are all alone and miles apart, each wondering if we will pass the test or if our short time in this cycle will come to an end.
There have been words spoken promising an uprising from those not chosen as bone keepers. They intend to take our place in the passage of champions, to overthrow our ancient birthright and ascend in the bell in our stead. They will have to kill every one of us to succeed. We are bound to each other and will live and die with the same breath and the united tenacity of the schools of no extinct fish on Ere that will only ever be bed time stories to us. I can picture them swimming strong against the current their beautiful scales shimmering in the sun light as they crest the surface of roaring waters. I imagine I am at the front of their charge. My comrades picked off aside me one by one until only a hundred remain. We lucky few will take our spoken history and our living canvas to the distant points of light once the great black sea fairer is completed, as the fish also found their great reward. Word has come down from the station that the time is near and the heavy work is almost complete.
I wonder if the others are as excited as I.
I wonder if there is fear behind their still fingers and icy eyes.
Do they think of themselves as leading the charge and tasting victory as I do, or are they just trying to convince themselves of that end?
Many of my comrades will be lost.
Most of us know who will make the passage and who will not.
The ones who will not must also know, but they are bound to us all in the dark silence and will go crashing into their final breath as legends.
We are proud. Even those of us that know we will not make it.
Am I just fooling myself?
Will I be one of the first to go when the passage opens?
The thought chills my already shaking hands as I wring them out apprehensively awaiting a mid moon attack. If that is so, I still will not take my last on this stop.
I will survive this mid moon, of this I am certain.
My father told my stories passed from his fathers father of proud tribes on Ere that could read their destinies and their histories from the small points of light we will travel to. The words unfolded themselves in something called the night sky. It is hard for me to imagine what that is. i wonder if those stories will be there once we arrive.    
They sat around burning trees in holes in the ground and told stories as we still do. They had possessions called instruments which produced something called music. Some of the elders can still imitate these possessions with their voice. This "music" also told their stories from one cycle to the next, from one clan to another.
I also find this hard to imagine as they must have a hard time imagining their lives without these stories.

Stay alive! Stay alert!
My run is just begun..