Hakkam had never felt such humiliation before; not even when he had failed the Right of Assimilation on his age-coming. Trapped behind iron bars; the strength of his body useless against even the simplest of forged steel. He growls low, and the three dusk-borne look at him with sharp eyes, huddled together in the corner. He means them no harm. They have been in the cage as long as him. He would even call them kindred, if they would allow it. They would not. He never understood the other races; those who see the Hrakka as monsters simply for being given the gift to respect life. He puts his large hand on his arm, feeling the muscle underneath. It atrophies from the hunger. He brings it further, feeling the trophy of his first kill, a long slit on his forearm than conceals a long, whip-like blade made of sharpened bone. Or it did, until they removed it, tore it from his flesh as he screamed. He smiles, extending the blade anyway. These freedom-takers, never did realise that you cannot never take a Hrakka from his trophies; they are part of him, body and soul. Remove it, and it will regrow.

He looks at the front of the cart, above the Duskora, and into the back of the head of the fat-human, the master of the broken and the breaking. He is no master. He has not triumphed in test of arm or test of skill. It stops. This is to be the next breaking place. The next working place. He does not understand it. Swinging dirty metal only to obtain more, even dirtier metal. He puts a hand his left pec, where his bone-white-knife should be. Taken from his first kill. They. Took. It. Rage builds in his heart. Staal will be disappointed. The fat man moves. He suppresses the urge to take his head clean from his shoulders. He could eat, cook the fat man on a stove. But killing him now leaves him trapped in the cage. He growls in frustration, clicking is tongue together to say his own name. Tlac-kkam, Tlac-kkam. He cannot forget.

His head swivels. His sight takes in movement; practised eyes sharpening in an instant to focus. Then his ears begin to cry out, and he slams his hands on them, desperate to cut out the sound. What happens? Why?

The girl is screaming… it hurts. He points his whip towards her. Make it stop. The horse-beast kicks out, and a human guard-enforcer smashes into the iron, rocking the cage and making Hakkam topple back. He looks back to see the girl joined by another human. Not so small like the others, but not so big either. A flash of light brings a long bright spear, and he drives it so deep into the cart it rocks back and forth for a few seconds. He reaches over for the screaming moth, dragging her from the horse-beast and muffling the shrill scream. The relief floods thorough his body, but something makes him snap his eyes to the human. He utters words of absolutes! Words of command, not to be repeated by any other or ignored by who he deems!

The insect girl tries to speak, but her mouth seals shut. A wave of fear runs over him, and the nature screams out in strange joy… and agony. She takes a hammer from him and comes towards the back, smashing it down with weak arms. He horps, a cry of exultation and respect as she brings it down, regretting the aiming of the whip. But her face is terror, and she brings the hammer down half-heartedly, each time weaker and weaker. The Duskora shimmer their strange dust from their bodies, filling the air with strange scents of fear and ecstasy both. He looks back at the human. He can smell it… the growing weakness, the loss of the Pordu. He is weaker than when he started. The slaver garbles and the men advance on the now-weak-human. Hrakka stands, shaking the cage; but they don’t even notice. He hears a sound from behind, and rounds to see a man sneaking up on the insect girl. He bares his long fangs and growls a deep growl, an absolute warning. The man stops, and looks to the fat man who shout something in excitement. The outnumbered human backs slowly. He will help him, he puts himself up against the cage, putting his hand out to the insect-girl, pulling her arm up and down and nodding and nodding. Hakkam looks back — only to see the human let out a burst of blinding. He looks away, rubbing his eyes, but hears a click. He pushes open the cage, jumping out and rushing past the girl, charging forward, letting out a deep growl as his feet shake the earth. Anger and bloodlust overtake him in waves of deep fury… and then the human is stabbed by light-spear. Hakkam clenches his fist and screams out, slapping his arm out and willing the whip-bone to extend, piercing through barely-healed flesh, creating new wounds.

He snaps it round as the man pulls the spear out, sending it seeking his neck. Blood gushes like a fountain and a bone-skull drops to the floor. Knees give way, and Hakkam rushes over. Deep wound, deep death. But the human does not die; he does not fall into the earth beyond. Small tendrils of light peel at his flesh and his visage turns to wordless screaming; a pain more fire and lightning than ache or hurt. The girl comes up besides him, and she puts a hand on his head, stroking his hair. One of the Duskora walks over, holding dust in her hand. She lowers herself, letting the dust fall into the wound. The boy seems to scream a little less. She gives Hakkam a wary look, then a courteous nod to the moth. The boy-that-died shapes a light-blade, barely a skinning knife, and swings it. Hakkam catches the hand, putting his fingers on the blade and snapping it in two, before saying a word of comfort. “Dulor.” He grabs the boy’s arms, and the girl mumbles something, a cry of worry. He smiles, perhaps having the opposite effect, and lifts the boy, carrying him on his strong shoulders. The girl grabs the handle-grips of the horse-beast, and pulls it along, watching the boy so very closely as they flee the oncoming militia.

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Hakkam devours bread, the first time he has eaten without a knife at his throat for months. The boy-who-lived threatens to become dead. His skin is as pale as the Duskora are dark; his breathing is shallow to Hakkam’s ear. The man-in-armour watches Hakkam eat, then tries to speak in Hrakka. “Warrior? You are?”

“Is speak nature-language. You Hrakka, not so good.” He says, and then lets out a jolly laugh, hoisting a simple canteen of water up to his mouth and drinking greedily. The man’s eyebrows raise. “You speak Godgiven? I thought the Hrakka abhor it?”

Hakkam lunges for another bite of bread, tearing the slightly stale thing apart. “Godgiven not nature-language. Nature-language Hrakka and earth.”

The man blinks as Hakkam stares at him, taking another sip. “Understand?” He asks. The man puts his hand on his cheek. “No. Not at all.”

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

Hakkam shrugs. “Talk no. Eat yes!” he says, and then finishes the bread, picking crumbs from his leg. “Good. Freedom-eating, good. Hunt must be next; unworthy creature of trophy, only for food.”

“Ah, okay. So you plan to go back to Hrakka?” man-in-armour asks. Hakkam nods. “Dulor made free. I must regain coup. Not in weak-lands. Brother seeks giant, massive beast. You money-killer?”

The man takes a minute to think. “A Mercenary? Yes. I am.”

Hakkam nods hard. “You kill money — big creature, big money.” He says, then licks his lips. “Big beast flesh. Come east?”

The man smiles. “I’d love to.” He says, but then looks at the boy. “But for some gods-unknown reason I feel I should stick by the kid.”

Hakkam puts a meaty, grey fist to his chest, smashing it. “Tribe stay together; tribe stay strong. I get.”

“Hmm. Not exactly sure I’d call him my tribe. I go between hating his guts to respecting his fearlessness about every day.” Man-in-metal says, and then looks at the girl that sits by boy-that-lived sleeping side. “She doesn’t want to seem to leave the bastard… and she reminds me a bit too much of my little one to just let her stay in his company alone.”

Hakkam puts a hand on the log, pulling a piece of bark from it. “Boy strong. Boy… dark. Have to be; surviving that pain. I felt. Deep, bottomless. Would have died, Duskora helped.”

He prods the fire with a stick, moving a piece of wood aside. “The Duskora? Not like them to care for humans.”

“Pain-make-go powder, gave to boy-that-lived. Make him survive? I do not know. Help him? Yes. Dulor lives.”

“I’ve been to the City of a Thousand Tents and Thousand Warriors, but I’ve never heard that word. What does it mean?”

Hakkam puts a hand on his chin, staring off into the endless-sky-sea. He finds his sky-sailing Father, and points up at it. “He not time to pass to next part. He is this world, not to sky-sail yet. Still… nature-bound. Still here. Worthy of respect; worthy of here.”

“So you’re saying he’s not someone you want to kill?” man-in-metal misunderstands. Hakkam shakes his head. “No… Not unworthy to pass… but should not. Still worthy of here. Still worthy to hunt, still worthy to ride, but worthy to pass too. One to respect.”

“I think I understand.” He says, and Hakkam rises. “You worthy of here too; but you not Dulor. Sorry.”

With that, Hakkam turns and stalks off into the woods.

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I wake up, my heart racing as I remember what happened. My head snaps around the room, searching for threats, and I throw the furs from my body, lurching back until I hit a log and pulling myself up on it. I Conjure a blade, holding it out in front of me. My breathing is heavy so I swallow and try and calm myself down. There’s a fire… furs?

I look to the side. Pyra is looking at me, a look of concern on her face. Kairos is in front of her, a stance ready to defend if need be. My eyes dart around, and Kairos intercepts my thought. “We’re safe. We’re safe. Calm down, lad.”

My breathing slows. I let the sword drop to my side, and I wallow in shame. I was defeated. Again. I let my guard down, didn’t anticipate the attack. I was a fool beyond fool. I scream at the ground, then throw the sword at it, where it digs deep into the dirt, piercing the furs I was laid on. I slump backwards onto the log, the heat of the fire barely registering at all. I feel… stiff. Like I haven’t moved in a long time. “How long?” I ask, and Kairos walks around the fire and sits opposite me on another log. “You know?”

I flex my hand. “Of course. For one; I have Light when it was almost certainly gone. There’s not a chance it’s the same night as when I fell unconscious.”

He shakes his head. “Three.” He says, then looks at the fire. “Three days, you’ve been completely out.”

My stomach rumbles at the information. Three days. Repair heals organs, bones, flesh, skin — but I must have lost even more blood. Blood I didn’t have after he sliced my neck open. “I nearly died. I would have been fine… I could have taken them, if you hadn’t killed me outside the tomb.”

He clenches his jaw, visible through his taught skin, but he doesn’t say anything. Pyra steps forward, grabbing my hand. “We gave you water, but you wouldn’t—“ I wrench my hand away, then stand, rounding on her. “You are not blameless.” I say, shouting. “What did you achieve? Did you even save them? Where are they now? Dead?”

She shrinks in on herself and Kairos rushes forward and grabs my arm, pulling me to look at his face. “Stop.” He says, and the command sends a spike of rage running through my body. I feel the same power as before run through my body and into my throat, feeling like Power sparking Light into motion, but so, so much more. Deeper and richer than anything that came before. I speak, and my words are like iron. “In the name of the Arbiter, release me.” I command, then pull at my hand. He doesn’t release. I falter, and his eyes narrow. “What…” He start, then stops the sentence and starts another, looking at Pyra. “That’s what she told me you said before. She couldn’t open her mouth for an entire day.”

I look at her. See the terror in her eyes, see her put a hand up to her jaw and test if she can still move it. She can. I sit back down on the log. “I don’t know. It just happened.”

Why did it work on Pyra, but not Kairos? It is a matter of strength, experience? Will? After that display, I’d call her pretty gods-damned wilful. I take a glance at her, but sigh instead of speaking. “I need to eat. I can feel the emptiness of my stomach.”

His turn to sigh. “I’ll see if the big grey monster left anything. Bastard acted like he hadn’t eaten in days.” He says before reaching into a sack and pulling out a waterskin. He gives it me, and I pop it open, smelling the inside. Some kind of broth, it would seem. No meat. “Gods-damned winter. Makes game so damned rare.”

He nods. Pyra sings ever so softly to herself. “We’ve made decent progress. I figured you’d want to move even if it meant you woke up feeling like hell.”

“Good. How many days are we?” I ask. He chuckles. “More than we should, but we’ll get there… 3rd of Somaitaius. Enough time to get shelter for the winter.” He says, then looks a Pyra before talking to me in a low voice. “What was that? Tell me truthfully, Kyallan. I think you owe me after the village.”

I shake my head. “Even if I knew, I wouldn’t be telling it to you. You’re loyal to coin, nothing more. You’ve not sold me out yet but I’ve caught you looking at me.”

He smiles a faux smile, then looks at Pyra. “I’m loyal to other things. My word, for one — and I said I’d get you into the Great Valley. I’ll even set you up with a guy I know up there; might have some odd-jobs for someone with your skills. Then I’m going southeast, take Pyra home, to the City of Song… if she’ll stop clinging to you.”

I feel uneasy. I must be still quite tired. “That’s fine.” I say… and then I find myself wanting to say more. “What will you do after that?”

He smiles. “Even if I know, I wouldn’t be telling you.” He says, then draws from his own soupskin. I suck mine down, swallowing the stewed-to-the-point-of-collapse vegetables, then fall back down carefully, pulling into the furs by the fire. Its imperative for me to stay warm. I find myself glancing at Pyra. It’s good that Kairos plans to take her. She’s not cut out for travel. Not cut out for the things that’ll happen if she follows the me. The Arbiter. Not one bit.