The rage is flowing into me like a venom, why must we continue the cycle of pain. Before me is the man who tried to kill me, his brother kneeling next to him. Their faces are battered and bruised, more so than my own. It is like Nevari said in her last message, they beat them daily. Their flesh testament to her words. My stomach churns, my jaw clenched as it holds back the words that seek to cut instead of bind. My people claw at those who help them to rise. They resist change so readily, I think to the being swathed in light, the feeling it gave me. Letting that feeling rise up through the despair.
“You have returned.” I hear a woman say, moving through the crowd now. As she draws nearer, I realize it is the fierce woman Korra, her hands are free of blood unlike most of the others.
“What have I returned to?” I ask not to her, but to the others as I spin in a circle.
“Alakin.” A man says in the crowd. Its meaning simple – Chosen.
“We punish him for what he has done, he tried to kill you Alakin.” Another man says.
“They are Ulima.” A woman says spitting towards the man and his brother.
They do not defend themselves, they allow themselves to be ridiculed.
“What did they do to you?” Korra asks coming closer to inspect my wounds.
The medibot and the Bipki are closing in on me now, approaching slowly to tend to my wounds and watch what I do, no doubt.
“What did they do to me you ask – but no one speaks of what has been done to them?” my voice growing louder as I walk among the crowd, brushing against them. The anger in my eyes burns brightly, but it is not wild in its blaze, it finds focus through the chaos.
“They are Ulima, you may have forgiven them, but the others do not.” Korra says meeting my gaze.
“They all call me Alakin, why is this?” I ask her, coming closer.
“Because – they believe you returned by the gods will, protected by them even.” She says, her brow furrowing a little “Those that witnessed it have spread the story.”
“Because you told us all T’Akor!” someone shouts from the back.
“It was carved, it saved our lives. You saved our lives Alakin.” A woman says coming close and touching my shoulder.
Pulling away from her touch, I shake my head walking over to the men who kneel.
“Korra, you were there. What did I say?”
“You said we as a people must rise.”
“T’Akor!” the crowd yells.
My mouth strains as my tongue holds back the bile, sifting the muck and only allowing words that will bind to come forth.
“You want us to rise?” I ask of everyone.
“T’Akor!” they yell.
“You speak of these men as though they have wronged you.” I say.
“They have wronged us. They are Ulima now.” A man says, trying to touch my shoulder.
“All of us are Ulima now!” I yell, spinning around and grabbing the man by his shirt.
His eyes do not understand. I move to another and grab them before I speak, putting a finger in their chest.
“You are Ulima.”
I go to the next and say the same, until I have said it to all of them. There is confusion on their faces, some whisper.
“We are all forsaken, how can you not see this?” I ask them, returning now in front of the kneeling men.
“Alakin, this cannot be so.” One of the crowd says.
“False prophet.” Another whispers.
“We the Kuwathi die for the amusement of others, we are made to grovel to survive, and you would step on your brothers and sisters to feel better?” I ask pointing to the men “Are we not better than this? Can we not rise?”
“They tried to kill you Alakin.” One says.
“Forgiveness is weakness, false prophet.” Another hisses.
Turning to the man who said it, I grab him firmly and put my face close to his.
“You say forgiveness is weakness, but forgiveness is why you still breathe.”
He does not understand, he struggles to be free, but my grip is firm on him.
“These men that you beat, making them the object of your scorn – are the very men who saved you.”
There is a hushing to the crowd as I say this, and I begin to kneel in front of the two brothers. Grasping out the hand of the one that tried to kill me. I show to them the flesh that is still torn from carving the words that saved them.
“These hands are the first that carved T’Akor, the first that bloodied themselves so that the next wave might fair better. You say forgiveness is weakness. If I did not forgive him, if I chose to slay him – where would you be?” I ask them.
No one gives an answer, for a time there is silence in the crowd as they take in what I have said.
“Vitar Ul Ilem.” I say to the man with the torn hands, he turns and looks up to me, there is hope in his eyes “What is your name?”
“Daki, Alakin.” He says, his lips are parched and the words barely fall.
“Daki, a good name.” I say with a smile, it is a name I have been called before. Daki – Little Demon. Looking at his brother I ask him the same.
“Maki, Alakin.” He says almost as a whisper, Maki – Big Demon.
“Big Demon and Little Demon, strong names.”
I feel Neeba at my side as he kneels next to me, with him he brings a wet towel and begins to wash the blood from their faces.
“Vitar Ul Ilem.” Neeba says to them, giving me a nod.
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
Korra is next to kneel with us, repeating the phrase and helping to wipe their blood. After her, others slowly follow, swallowing their pride and saying the words. Those who called me a false prophet are the last to lower themselves, I can see in their eyes that their hearts begin to soften as they say the words. However there is still apprehension in them.
Vitar Ul Ilem – Strength through Forgiveness.
When all have said it, the medibot finally approaches and tries to do its work on me, but I point to the demon brothers. The medibot surprises me and moves to them first. Injecting medigel and spraying foam that hardens on the cuts of Daki’s hands and the cuts on Maki’s forehead.
Only when they are finished do I remove my tattered clothes and let them work on me. There is a Bipki that seems to be watching me closely, I cannot help but wonder if Warden Akaria watches through it. My words were also meant for her, my hope that she might listen to them.
When they finish, I see Nekam using Nevari as a crutch coming to me now. My jaw clenches as I see he is missing a leg, finally understanding why his children messaged me about him. Sekat, in his eyes I see a hollowness – one that only forms in a person who has lost their will.
He moves past me, giving me a weak nod, his face seems older now, the stress wearing on him. He moves to the men and lowers himself down slowly with Nevari and Neeba’s help, saying the phrase as well. There are more people coming from the other rooms as the whispers of truth find their ears. People who had vented frustration upon those that saved them, coming to ask forgiveness. It stirs something in me to see this, the Kuwathi are a proud people, they do not apologize easily. In the changing of their hearts, I begin to see a future for our people. One that will become etched deep within every stone.
***
It has been an hour since I returned, having since managed to wash the dried blood from my body and find fresh linens. My pace is slow as I round the corner, there is a tightness in my chest as I see the stump where my chief’s leg used to be. He stares at the wall, the inner peace seems to be gone from him. Even when he said the phrase with the others, it felt like he was going through the motions.
“My chief.” I say, kneeling down next to his bunk.
He does not turn to meet my gaze.
“My chief.” I repeat a little louder. He turns slowly to look at me.
“There is no chief before you.” He says turning his head back.
“Whether you feel it or not, you are still my chief.” I say to him, I would not abandon him so easily. He may have been tough on me growing up, but he never sold me, others would have. Others like the ones who sold Warden Akaria.
“I cannot fight, a man who cannot protect his own – is no man at all. He is waste.” Nekam says hanging his head.
“Is there nothing we can do?” I ask him.
“They told me, ask my sponsor. But no one will sponsor someone who is already dead.” He chuckles, not joyously but spitefully.
“My chief…” I begin.
“Leave me.” He interrupts.
My chest tenses and feels tighter, there is pain in the way he says it. Something will need to be done to help him. Perhaps I can ask the Keeper for advice.
Making my way into the main room now I see Keeper Dargo still sits upon the pedestal in the center of the room meditating, as I move to join him - I am pleased to see nearly everyone doing the same now. Looking for peace within. Taking a place next to Nekam’s children, I begin to try and find my inner peace. Thinking of all the events that have transpired. It is not long after I have sat down however, that Keeper Dargo begins to stand.
“That is enough for today. Practice amongst yourselves and rest well.” He says to the group.
There is a deep respect given to him by my people as they bow to him and spread out, a respect he earned through sheer ability and wisdom. Some taking positions to practice, some returning to their bunks to find sleep. As I stand, I see he is walking amongst the crowd giving pointers to those that seek instruction. Until finally he begins walking towards me.
“Follow.” He says as he walks by me, I do as he bids, walking in his shadow.
He takes me towards the pedestal in the center, people begin to point and whisper as he bids me stand on it with him. It slowly begins to rise upwards, the silver dome begins to retract bringing us into a room. There is the smell of incense burning around us, the lights are dimmer than the assembly hall. There is something else I notice that is strange. There are no Bipki drones in this place, no one to observe that I can see besides us.
A carved statue atop a shrine is on one side of the room, it seems to be the focal point of the room. The statue is of a woman who holds her hand outwards as though to help someone up. I have never seen the likeness of the statue before, but it strikes me like I have seen the face in a dream I can’t recall. In the center of the room is the pedestal we stand upon. Dargo motions with his arm for me to follow him. We move near the shrine, there are two pillows sitting across from each other, a table in the middle.
On the table are two small black metal cups and a kettle made of glass, filled with water. He bids me to sit on one of the cushions opposite the one he sits on now. We sit in silence as he pulls from a drawer in the table a small ornate box, painted black with intricate lines of silver inlaid into it. He opens it and pulls out a dried black plant of some kind, it looks to be a flower as I examine it closer, but I have never seen one like it. He mixes it into the glass kettle. The water begins to boil shortly after, the plant tinting the water a deep purple hue. The glass kettle seems to be heated by some source inside the table that I cannot see, curious to my eyes, but not as curious as the weapons I see upon the walls.
Never having seen such craftsmanship of blades I cannot help but stare at the them, ornate flowing lines everywhere I look. My attention draws back to him as he pours into the black cups, sliding one towards me. As I look within, I see small speckles of silver glinting in it. So small that I would not be able to see them without the contrast of the black cup.
“Drink, this tea will help your weary bones.” He says taking a sip slowly from his.
Raising the cup, I smell it, there is no odor from it. The only other tea I have seen was made from desert flowers. I take a gulp and there is no taste either, it is strange. There is a warmth that burns gently in me as I drink from it. The warmth flowing into my bones, calm begins to follow.
“Do you know why I called you up here?” he asks after I have finished my cup, his hand now pours another for me.
My pulse quickens, does he know what I gave to Korra to hide? Sekat, I had forgotten to ask her about it when I returned, distracted by the demon brothers and my chiefs injury. After some more thought, I don’t think it is that. Korra would have been punished already, surely. Taking pause to think on it more, remembering that Keepers are also liaisons with sponsors, my next thought is “Did my sponsor lodge a complaint?”
He chuckles at this taking a sip from his tea. His chuckle reminds me of the Sage Artemius. I wonder if the two of them would have gotten along.
“They did, but what you wish to do in regard to them, is no concern of mine.” He replies after taking another sip.
“Then why Keeper?” I say, finishing my cup, I feel a warmth in my tendons now.
He sips slower this time. Then refills my cup again. The warmth now spreading past my tendons into my muscles, the soreness begins to dull and fade. I examine the cup more closely, what is in this tea that it causes me to feel this way?
“You speak of forgiveness to others, yet I cannot help but feel your view narrows only to encompass those you see as your people.”
My jaw flexes, a wave of anger ripples at the notion of forgiving the masters. His words reminding me that he is one of them, even if his demeanor is different.
“Can you not open your heart to all who would seek its refuge?” he asks me pensively. I can’t help but feel this is him speaking again between the words.
“Keeper if you would speak plainly, perhaps I could answer better.” I say.
He finishes his tea again before he speaks, but he does not refill it this time.
“You do not ask aid from those who willingly seek to give it to you, when they can help those whom you seek to save.”
“You speak of my sponsor, yet you said it was not about them.” My jaw tenses.
“It is not just your sponsor who seeks to aid you, but starting there perhaps will help you to open yourself for more.”
He pours the last cup of tea for me, which I find myself drinking quickly, there is a warmth in my skin now, pushing outwards.
“That is all for today.” He says standing now, motioning to the pedestal.
Feeling confused I ask “Was that all you wanted to say?”
“For now, when you are ready to hear it – I will say more.”
Stepping on the pedestal, I feel it shake as it begins to lower downwards into the assembly hall once more. As it lowers, I see Keeper Dargo kneel before the statue in prayer. What kind of Goddess does he worship, that makes someone as formidable as him kneel before a simple likeness of them.
“Sekat.” I curse looking upwards as the ceiling closes. Frustration rises in me as I realize I forgot to ask him about helping Nekam, I was so distracted.
My pride groans as I move my wrist upwards to my holopad, flicking open the Sponsor tab. Thinking on the words of others, sponsors are there to help. Mine said they had sent me gifts, I still haven’t figured out how to receive them. I will have to ask Neeba and Nevari how it works.
Dargo’s words beginning to weigh on me. My fingers trying to resist the pull as I send a simple message to them, similar to the first they sent to me.
Hello