Kalon
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Chapter Two: Maka
Galactic Quadrant: Darna Quadrant
Ruling Government: Talum Merchant Federation
Solar System: D-447
Planet: Ora
Location: Beneath the planet's surface, Naro City, Yul Clan Assembly Hall
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Keno beckons his son to him as Nekam beckons me, the crowd is louder now, anticipation high in the air. Nekam grabs my shoulder and leans in to speak.
“If he has what I think he has, keep your distance until he expends it,” Nekam says, then turning to look at Keno and his son Henek. There is a wariness in his eyes as he says “Do not show them your true abilities, when you get it from him, send it towards me.”
I nod to Nekam. Now remembering the words of the Sage and his guidance, he used to tell me that misunderstood abilities can be seen as a liability to those who covet power. If they knew my truth, they may try to sell me, or worse yet, slay me. I am lucky that Nekam is not like them, or else he would have sold me years ago.
Keno turns his gaze towards us now, his hand clasped on his son’s shoulder. A grin rises on my opponent’s face as he grips something firmly in his hand. I take the time to stretch my body, if he has what we suspect, I will be at a disadvantage, I must be limber and ready for what is to come.
“You have accepted the terms, yet I am not an unfair man,” Keno says, his chest puffed out, his pride returning to him even against the grumbles from the crowd at his statement, as he is known to be a particularly unfair man.
Behind Nekam, I see my best friend Arrum coming towards us. His brow is heavy with sweat, he must have won his match as well, his face wears a grin as he nods to me. The crowds gather more now as other sparring matches end and everyone comes to see the commotion. Hundreds of sets of eyes searching for what will happen next. There is eagerness in their eyes, I can feel it.
“I wonder how deep the faith you have in this Ulima goes,” Keno says sneering at me before looking back to Nekam.
“Speak plain or not at all,” Nekam says, standing next to me, crossing his arms.
“My three versus your one, or my one with what is in his hand versus your one,” Keno says.
Nekam’s jaw flexes, Keno is trying to change the dynamic and keep everything in his favor. In making it Nekam’s choice, he attempts to shift the shame of using unfair advantages. My eyes move towards my chief as he mulls it over for a moment. Before he speaks, Barnak the Clan chief gives him a look, one that says tread lightly.
“Three times the fighters, three times the prize,” Nekam replies.
Fighting three would be easier than fighting one with what they may have. Though I am wary of the numbers, I am glad to have an alternative.
“Agreed.” Keno sneers through his unkempt brown beard, the whiskers hang over his lip, nearly hiding the voracious smile sliding across his mouth. The depth of it makes me uneasy, but I do not show it.
Keno snaps his fingers and two men a few years older than me move through the crowd. My eyes take in their strides, trying to glean their movements before the match begins. They give me nothing, making me more uneasy. I feel a tug at my arm as my friend Arrum shifts towards me.
“They are brothers.” Arrum whispers to me, his gaze fixed on the two men that Keno called “I fought the taller one, his right knee is injured from our fight. Exploit it.”
I look towards the taller brother, he does not show it pains him, but I trust Arrum with my life, so I nod. Across from us no more than twenty paces, Keno raises his hands to silence the crowds as the three square off with me. The two brothers and Keno’s son. Three of them versus me. If I win, Nekam will surely reward me. If I lose…
“I give you one chance right now Nekam.” Keno says, the smile thick through his beard, his brown eyes glinting in the flickering lights “Forfeit the two spots you owe me, and you won’t lose fifteen.”
“Let the blades decide,” Nekam says, folding his arms once more. The crowd roars in approval.
Barnak steps forward before Keno can reply, the crowd grows quiet again as he moves to inspect our blades, coating the edges in fresh black ink. His eyes meet mine for but a moment, there is something hidden behind them, but he does not show what it is. My eyes focus back on my opponents, the two brothers stretch and prepare in earnest, meanwhile, Henek stares at me with bitter determination. He is angry, a mistake. Anger when working with others can cloud the flow of battle. I will exploit this as well, as I must if I want to win against three.
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The two brothers converse quietly when they finish stretching, one tall and one short, both with short red hair, tied back in braids. Their eyes are blue like ice. Scars upon both of their hands and arms tell me they are accustomed to real blades. They must be like me and Arrum… Ulima. This makes me wary of them, more so than Henek, as like me they have had to survive using their hands, as their blood was not enough.
I must learn the breath of their strides, so I keep my distance even before the match begins.
Barnak moves back from the sparring mats, the air thick with building expectations as he raises his hands into the air, looking back and forth between me and the three of them.
“Begin!” Barnak roars.
Henek moves first, the others rolling into his shadow. My pulse quickens as I feel the first notes of their blade’s song. There is disorganization as Henek charges though, yet still, I keep my distance, if they encircle me, it will be over before it begins.
“Do not run Ulima!” Henek yells as he lunges, I parry his strike meant for my chest. The two brothers move after, giving weak jabs to test my defenses.
These two by themselves would have posed more of a problem for me than with him added. He subtracts from their fluidity, like oil added to water he churns between them, murking the melody of their blade song.
I cannot remove him first though, I need him to win this. They are wary to outshine him, I can feel it in their stride, he is their chief’s child. Yet they know if they fail they may be truly forsaken… it is the same for me. If I do not perform, Nekam may abandon me to the cold. I would not blame him for it. It is the way of my people.
My emotions temper as I harden myself against their plight, my own must come first. One cannot survive with empathy alone. My eyes glass over as my heart hardens and my feet trace towards them, I exist in the moments between the chords of their song now, all other worries pressed from me. I begin to feel the battle's rhythm.
Their blades cut at the air, finding only my shadow as I turn and strike them after a roll. They look to Keno who shakes his head no, Barnak his father, and our Clan’s chief says nothing of the black ink that drips from where their arteries flow. My jaw flexes, but as I glance at Nekam, he does not seem upset, perhaps he expected this.
They retaliate with a chaotic chorus of uninspired movements, all singing to me, all screaming their intentions… intentions I intend to usurp. When I truly find the rhythm… the tempo changes between us. My strides match and mix into theirs, moving between them now, I have found the melody that my blade sings to find theirs.
I unleash a flurry of blows, left then right, then right again, feigning another right and crossing with a left. The back of my blade drags across the shorter brother’s throat, ink drips from them as their eyes widen. He steps back from the fight, showing he understands he is slain, as is our custom. I hear Keno spewing at him in the old tongue, but I cannot be distracted by it.
The tempo demands my pace increase, I move onwards to the next who will hear my blade's melody, three stabs between the ribs of the taller brother. After I parry the jab and slide my blade down his wrist, I roll to his back and kick out his knee, sending him to the ground. Arrum was right, his knee was weakened.
My focus turns towards the last one, Henek, the grandson of the Clan chief, the son of the rival of my tribe’s leader. His eyes flicker back and forth at my work, not believing what they see. As I move forward to close the gap he stumbles back, I see fear in his eyes as they glow lightly, the bioluminescence swirling in them as his chance of winning circles the drain.
Then suddenly I feel a strike at my back, hitting my head, sending me in a daze forward as I instinctually roll. As I recover on my feet, I see something that surprises me.
The two brothers that I dispatched are on their feet, ink mixing into their sweat. My jaw flexes as I realize they do not mean to honor the game. My eyes shoot towards Nekam, his gaze is upon Barnak the Clan leader. There are yells from the crowd, calling them cheats, yet Barnak says nothing. He will not accept victory unless I beat them more firmly. A move I do not respect. The Sage once told me that power is fluid, the more someone tries to grasp it, the less they control it.
The two brothers abandon their previous attempt to not outshine their leader's son and come at me in earnest. My head is still dazed I am on the defensive, their melody has changed. I roll back twice to increase the distance, I feel a strike at me from the crowd hitting me in the head once more. My eyes look back and I see Keno sneering at me.
“You will say nothing my chief?” Nekam says loudly, his arms unfolded. Yet Barnak says nothing, pretending not to notice what has happened.
Anger is rising in me rapidly. It was not enough that they dishonor the customs and pretend my blade's ink is worthless, now they unfairly strike me from the crowd. I must be calm, anger is not what I need here. Moving between them I strike again and again, but they do not honor my blade's cuts. Whirling around, I move so Keno is not behind me as I move towards the edge of the mats. There are roars of outrage, yet no one dares interfere without the Clan chief’s permission.
Another strike, again from behind, my head turns and I see another of Keno’s tribe holding a metal rod. I feel warm blood trickling down my hair and rolling down my neck. My vision is blurred as I stumble forward, my head feels concussed.
The two brothers grab me, pushing me to my knees after a series of blows, my eyes move to Henek and my jaw flexes as he holds up a clenched hand.
I feel it in the air before I see it. A stirring in the very fabric of existence, a pulse of energy as he draws power from the object in his hand. My people know this energy as Maka, though the ones who rule above us call it by their own word… mana. In his hand, there is no doubt now, he holds a shard of Etherium. One of the things we risk our lives to mine in the deep tunnels. To use it for such a thing is unheard of outside the Madricka fights.
The lights in the room begin to flicker faster, bright blue light erupts from the cracks in his hand’s grasp as runic lines begin to etch upon his skin. I struggle to rise, but they have pinned me, twisting my arms behind my back and stepping on the backs of my knees. I see Nekam and his son Neeba holding back Arrum who pulls fervently to come to my defense. I shake my head no to him, yet it does not stop him.
Nekam’s eyes do not reach mine, he knows what I know. There is nothing he can do to help me, they are going to teach Nekam and other tribe leaders a lesson… using my body as the canvas for their painting of cruelty.
“Sekat.” I curse under my breath.
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