Caj sat in his high-backed chair, staring at his shaking hands, and considering his quaking thoughts. Every time that he went to see Nat, he messed up. The idea of fornication wasn’t generally viewed with disgust by the people in Whoid Stria, and their god, The Reaper, did not seem to really have any specific laws regarding it, or anything else for that matter. Mostly, the Path of the Reaper just involved attempting to be a half-way decent sort. No, it wasn’t some cultural pressure that Caj was feeling, it was a personal one. Narm, when he had become old enough to speak about such things, had always told him that intimacy was best had with someone you genuinely loved or cared for. Caj had always thought Narm a very wise man. Right now, he was reflecting on that wisdom, and what it meant for him. He didn’t love Natalia. He knew that, sure as sure. He didn’t hate her, and he cared for her as a person, but he didn’t love her, not yet at least. He liked her, and he might love her if given a year or two, but he certainly didn't posses such feeling right now. What did that make him? Twenty years from now, Caj would probably look back on this moment and chuckle, but just now, he didn’t have it in him. All he had in him to do was to stare at his shaking hands.
What if she were to get pregnant? What if we were caught? What would that do to her reputation? What would it do to Bietre? What would he think of me? Thoughts rattled around Caj’s young, inexperienced mind. For all his skills, he was still only a lad really. Hardly 20 years of age he had to him, and he’d no real experience with the world at large. He tried to think of what Narm would say, and to his surprise, his mind went back to a conversation that he had long forgotten.
***
He was probably only 7 years old, and he had just gotten his quarterstaff. It had been a long and tiring day, and Narm was teaching him a variation on the game of Stones. Specifically, the version that was played in the northern portion of the Vencheng Empire, where the men were said to be 8 feet tall, and 4 feet wide, and covered in hair. It was said that they would drink a magic potion before they ran into battle, one that made them unable to feel pain or fear, and made them fearsome to behold. Caj was old enough by now to realize that this was likely an exaggeration, but his young mind still liked to imagine it. Currently though, his attention was taken up by one of the myriad different leather game mats that Narm had (The Undertaker was something of an enthusiast). This board was different to ones he had seen before, though. It was dyed in a pattern of a grid, 13 by thirteen squares. Oriented on 4 sides were 8 black pebbles, with 7 on the back edge, and one centered in front of them. In the center of the board were 16 red pebbles, one of them slightly larger and with a crown roughly carved into it, which sat in the center. Surrounding this was a box made of 8 of the red pebbles. From the center from each side of the box, two more pebbles stabbed outwards, forming a cross of sorts with the king piece, at least that’s what Caj assumed the larger piece was, at the center. Narm called the game “The Kings Table” and it was unlike any other setup for a game of stones he had ever seen, and he was quite interested in it. He was keenly listening to Narm’s explanation of the game.
“… so, the defender seeks to get the king to one of the corners, in order to escape the board, taking enemies prisoner as necessary. The goal of the Attackers is to take the King, therefore destroying the morale of the Defenders troops, and winning the day. To take a piece you must surround it on at least two sides, and then engage it in battle, where you roll these dice.” Narm pulled out a pair of wooden dice and rolled them on the floor somewhat theatrically. “The attackers roll between two and four dice, depending on the number of attackers. The defender rolls one dice, unless he is the king, in which case he rolls two. If the defender rolls higher than the total sum of the attackers die, he rebuffs them and is safe from those enemies for a turn cycle, by which point he must move. Pieces can only move in straight lines up and down the grid, no diagonal lines.”
“Like the tower in Chaturanga?” Caj asked. Chaturanga was the Pewhoasil version of the game of stones, that involved two sides facing off each-other from across the board. Caj liked the game well enough but wasn’t the best at it. Narm was very good at the game, but didn’t much care for it. Narm gave a tightlipped smile around his perpetually smoking pipe.
“Exactly like the Rukh in Chaturanga.” He replied, using the correct tern for the piece, rather than just calling it ‘the tower’. Caj looked at the board in front of him. Despite the complex set-up, this seemed like an easier game than Chaturanga. He said as much, and Narm’s one eye seemed to twinkle in glee. Even at 7 years old, Caj knew he must have said something wrong.
“Very well then,” the aging undertaker said, a smile threatening to break the rock statue that was his expression. “Make your move. Since it’s your first time, I will let you use the attackers. The advantage lies with them in this specific setup.” Caj wasn’t at all sure that Narm was doing him a favor, but he snorted confidently anyways and moved a piece towards Narms. It was taken within the next turn. Caj berated himself for missing the obvious trap and tried again. Once more, he was easily rebuffed. Caj watched, aghast, as Narm dismantled his fourpiece assault within ten minutes, taking 18 of Caj’s 24 pieces, and easily putting his King in one of the corners. Caj himself had only managed to take 6 of Narms 16 pieces. He leaned back with a huff.
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“I don’t much care for this game.” He pouted. Narm just snorted in response.
“Of course, you don’t. you don’t know how to play it. Yet.” Caj scowled at Narm frustratedly.
“I don’t see how it applies to life at all, so it doesn’t really matter.” Narm smiled and leaned back in his chair wistfully.
“On the contrary Caj, life is just a succession of games of stones, where the players are the pieces themselves.” Caj opened his mouth to retort, but Narm rolled right over him. “In life, you make mistakes, just like you do in the game of stones. Sometimes, you make the same mistake over and over, even though you know what mistake it is. Sometimes you are too inexperienced to recognize it as a mistake. But the important thing is this: at some point you correct the mistake. You recognize it, and once you do that, you start making it less and less, until eventually, you don’t make it at all.”
***
Caj stood from his chair, feeling slightly better about life. Perhaps there was a way to stop making the mistakes, even if he couldn’t step into the past and change it. He looked outside and realized the time, swearing to himself. He was going to be late for his practice session with Bietre. He scooped up his weaponry and ran for the door.
***
Maxim couldn’t wait to be home again. It had been nearly 4 years since his last visit, and he was anxious to be back in his own home once more. He also wanted to see what had become of that scrappy young boy his father had taken to training. According to his sister Natalia, Father had actually taken him on as an Uchinek. Maxim had trouble believing it, since Father had always sworn up and down that he would never take an Uchinek, because he thought most students wouldn’t be worth the time. Valerna had confirmed Natty’s claims, however, and sent monthly updates by mail about what she was certain was a potential romantic relationship developing between their younger sister and this mystery man. Maxim thought it more likely that Valerna was imprinting her own desire to bed every eligible man under the sun onto Natty, but he could be wrong. He smiled as the ship pulled up to the dock, and prepared for the smell of home, as sweet as he remembered it to be. Maxim inhaled deep through his nose, smelling bird shit, fish guts, spoiled fruit, and all the other suspiciously foul smells of the lower docks. Okay, so maybe it wasn’t quite as sweet as he remembered it. He grinned anyway, like a mad loon, as he practically sprinted for home.
Maxim dashed right past the carriage that was waiting for him: Natty had apparently been made aware of his coming this time around, but he didn’t care. He dashed up the streets with a smile splitting his face wide open. He passed old haunts and hangouts, a brothel he once went to here, the alley where he first had hard liquor there, the house of Mathilda the milkmaid. He flinched on that least one. He really did owe her an apology. Maxim was a Randy Git, he knew that, but still, sleeping with your partners sister was a bit much, even for him. Finally, about 20 minutes after making land, he reached the gates to his family estate.
Upon entering the main courtyard, he heard sounds coming from off to the right. He went to investigate, and found a practice bout in session. It was a curious sight in Maxim’s eyes, as the courtyard was his father’s private place for practice, and his father was no where to be seen. Instead, he saw a rather confusing combination of individuals. The first person he noticed was his father’s Uchinek. Cage, was it? No, Caj. Caj was there, wearing an old, battered looking leather cuirass, but no weapons. Maxim’s eyes tracked to one of the benches on the sides of the cobbled practice area, where a short-sword and longsword leaned against the wall, both with a familiar engraving of three cresting waves on the circular pommels of each. Seated next them was what looked to be a bored girl about the age of ten or eleven, with a surprisingly thick volume open on her lap. As his eyes continued to the last person there, he nearly leaped out of his skin.
The last occupant of the courtyard was a monster. Not a real one of course, but one all the same. The boy couldn’t be more than 15, but one half of his face was badly burned, all the way down the side of his head, and tracing its way down his neck. In addition, his eye on that half of his face was a dull and murky gray, with the pupil undialated. His left hand ended in a stump that was currently covered by a leather cuff that connected to an iron buckler. In his right hand was what Maxim recognized as a Jitte.
Maxim felt a little sick to his stomach looking at the boy. He had seen scars before, but never ones so… ugly. The boy’s face was made even more hideous by the fact that it was covered in sweat and dust, and his hair was a mess. He and the boy made eye contact. They both jumped in surprise. For the boy, this proved to be a serious mistake. As Caj stepped inside his guard easily and cuffed him upside the head while sweeping his legs. The burned boy hit the ground with a grunt, but drew himself back up to his feet even as Caj began speaking. Caj had an odd accent, like a softer version of the speech used in Gold Stern, his voice seeming to have been colored slightly by Great River.
“Distraction is death Rai. Your instincts are good, but you pay too much attention to your surroundings when you fight an opponent. I know I told you to use your head when you fight, but don’t overthink it, you don’t have enough practice for that.” With that, Caj turned on his heel to see what distracted his student. His eyes landed on Maxim, who was still staring at Rai with horror. Caj’s eyes pointedly tracked from the man in front of him to his ward and back. His expression darkened. Maxim noticed.
Maxim watched Caj’s face go from inquisitive to deadly in a second, and, although he hated to admit it, he was slightly unnerved. The look that Caj gave him was a stony one. It was a still, cold, fury-filled look that honestly just scared Maxim. It was ruthless. Suddenly, Maxim thought that maybe Valerna hadn’t been exaggerating when she said that Caj Donovan could give Father a run for his money in combat. That was the look of a warrior if Maxim had ever seen one.