They arrived back home before noon, the boar draped over Dene’s shoulders. She spent barely an hour cooking their lunch, a plate full of cured venison. The boar itself would take longer to prepare, and she got to it as soon as she cleaned out her own plate.

Meanwhile, Jon forced himself to eat. He found it hard to keep himself from throwing up again, even more so when he thought of her skinning the carcass and removing the intestines outside.

Before, he never really had any strong opinion on it other than finding it yucky the way she pulled out the guts with her bare hands. After killing one himself, Jon had a change of heart and he told his mother when she walked back into the cabin. “I didn’t like killing the boar.”

“Nor should you.” Dene wiped a knife clean with a rag and then placed it atop the dinner table.

At the far end of the table, almost touching the wall, were three wood figurines arranged side-by-side. The two at the sides were carved from the same darkwood, but with different clothing.

Hunter Oxossi, the one at the left, was a lean figure crouching with a white knife strapped to his hip. The skirt and cape were also white, contrasting with the dark circle of shadows painted around him.

Standing up straight at the right was Warrior Ogun, his clothes a striking black and red. He wore no armor other than an open helmet made of iron. In his hands were two iron swords barely the length of his muscular arms. Dene intentionally left the knife in front of it.

In the middle was a white figure, both in skin and robes. Only those she deemed worthy knew her name, everyone else referring to her as the Benefactor. Her whole eyes, rather than just the irises, were pitch black along with her straight hair.

Those were the three Orishas who looked over the mighty Yao tribe. A tribe that had been destroyed years before Jon was born.

Dene pulled a chair and faced her only son. “We kill because we have to, not because we enjoy it. The world is a harsh place and we need to be harsher to survive.”

“I… I keep thinking about it squealing. The blood flowed out of the wound, and then the boar stopped. Dead.”

“That’s temporary. Tomorrow you will wake up and the memory will be a little fainter. Details will be forgotten and you won’t feel nauseous when it is time to eat.” She glanced at his bowl of food still half-full. “Again the day after that. More and more until you are no longer affected by what you did today. Then it won’t matter if you remember or not. Time heals everything eventually.”

Jon had no experience to speak of, so he could only take her word for it. He was only ten summers old, and she had four or five times that of age. Part of him hoped she was right and he wouldn’t feel like this again. But another part feared what sort of person he would become if that didn’t affect him anymore.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

“Have you ever…” He began to ask before catching himself. Of course she had. Instead, he asked, “How many have you killed?”

“As many as I had to, and only that.”

“Even people?”

She confirmed with a nod. “Do it enough times and it loses significance. The next time we go out hunting you won’t feel it as much as you do today.”

Jon felt somewhat doubtful, and Dene seemed to notice it. She extended an arm, index finger touching a large bump in between his right eye and where his hairline would have been. Yesterday, while teaching him how to wield the weapons, she jabbed a stick at his forehead which she later claimed he should have dodged. “Does it still hurt?”

He nodded.

“Worse than yesterday?”

Jon shook his head, and so she pressed hard on the bump. The boy grimaced as his head flared up in pain.

“Treat these memories like wounds. They hurt a lot at first but eventually get better, leaving you a little bit numb to it. Keep poking and prodding, though, and it will never heal. It will keep hurting for the sake of it.”

Dene unfastened her tunic. A gray cloth was wrapped around her chest, leaving her stomach and shoulders bare. From neck to hips, wrists to the back, every inch of skin not on her head and left hand was covered in intricately designed scars.

There were diverse runes, depictions of animals, clashing swords, and even words written directly on her skin. Those were the Yao tribe’s markings, each of them a point of pride to those who received it. Each of them was small and already stood out on their own. Together, they became a work of art.

These could go anywhere other than the hands and face. Marking the right hand was a privilege reserved for the greatest warriors of one’s generation. The left hand was for the hunters, and the face for the chief of the tribe, which was Dene's father. If he was still alive.

“Pain is a double-edged blade. It can either destroy or strengthen a person’s will, the distance between the two razor-thin.” She gestured to the markings on her body. “These are proof that a Yao warrior fears no pain. I won this one after casting my first spell. This one after my first successful hunt. And this one…”

Dene pointed to three concentric circles on her right shoulder. Representing greatness, the Adinkrahene was the Yao tribe’s emblem. Behind it was a pair of crossed swords. “This one I won after becoming a Fighter, my first step on the cultivation path.” She grabbed the knife from the table and twirled it in her hands. “Are you ready?”

Jon was not, though he still took off his tunic. “Why do I have to get these scars?”

“It is our tradition. Only those carrying it are accepted as full members of the tribe. You’ll be allowed to marry, to carry the tribe’s name, and even grow out your hair.” She brushed the right hand over his smooth head. Every week she’d personally shave it off.

“But you told me that the tribe was destroyed.”

“Destroyed, yes, but not dead. As long as even one of us is alive to carry the dream, then the tribe will live on. And if the tribe lives on, then so do its traditions.” She put a hand on his shoulder, and Jon clenched his teeth without thinking. “Remember, a Yao warrior fears no pain.”

In her hands, the knife moved steadily, while the firm grip on his shoulder ensured Jon didn’t move. The blade tip cut through his skin like butter which, thankfully, meant the ordeal didn’t last long. The outer circle, the longest of the three, was done in a couple of minutes. Once the Adinkrahene was finished, she proceeded to cut the pair of swords behind it as well. Hilt and crossguard poking out from one side, sword tip from the other.

When it was finally done, Jon breathed a sigh of relief. Dene wiped the blood coursing down his arm with a clean cloth. “The scar will become permanent with time, not even spells able to remove it.” She gave the mark a light slap, causing Jon to wince. “From this day forth you’re no longer just Jon. You’re Jon Yao.”