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Kalon
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Chapter One: Ulima
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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I never understood people’s fascination with their gods, as by the time I was twelve, I stopped believing in Hempki, the god of my Clan. Now that I have watched the twin suns set for many seasons, I see it for what it is—a salve to the despairs of reality’s embrace.
I have heard stories of people making pacts with their gods to obtain great power, but I do not believe in these tales for children. I do not believe in the Gods, nor their teachings, if they do exist, they have long since left this place of eternal suffering.
“Kalon,” Nekam says, calling me by my name.
Fickle thoughts slip from my mind as I turn to face him. Strands of his deep black hair dance over the scar just above his steel grey eyes. His large, calloused hand beckons me closer, leaning in now, speaking just above a whisper over the crowd's voices he says “Shame him.”
My jaw tenses at his words. The command is simple, yet it will make me a target for reprisal with the other tribe. Nekam is my tribe’s chief though, I do not have the right to refuse him, nor would I—not after he took me in as a child. Such a thing is not easily forgotten, especially among my people.
“Understood, my chief,” I say giving him a small bow. My eyes take in the room, there are more people here this year, more that are desperate. More that will be left wanting.
Nekam does not ask things of me that have no purpose, regardless of the risk, I will not defy him. There is a time and a place for feeling sorry for oneself a wise man once said to me. My people called him the Sage, but to me, he was more than his wise words, he was a guide through the hells that life brings. In the nineteen years since my birth, I have never known anyone to be as wise as he was. He would have told me to be temperate and follow my chief’s request. Yet, in the same breath he would have told me to understand the deeper meaning behind it.
As I approach the area I must fight, sweat trickles down my brow, the cold sparring mat drinks it up greedily creating a slick sheen. Across from me is a warrior around my age, the one I am meant to shame. He will be the third I have fought tonight, all for the right to be on the surface crew. Among my people, one must always prove their worth. Even more so when they are like me, an Ulima.
We stand at opposite ends of the sparring mats, in my Clan’s main chamber, the Yul Clan as others know us. Sheets of insulated metal welded into patchwork line the floors and ceilings. Dull flickering lights cast deep shadows from the ceilings. The smell of sweat and blood hangs in the humid air, though the chill from the frost beneath the floors keeps the room cool. The room is fit to house hundreds at a time, the crowd is thick and full of loud voices. Most are from other tribes, they came here for the same reason we did, to earn spots. Those who do not earn enough will have to work the mines for the summer, just to survive. Only the surface crews can thrive. My eyes focus on my next opponent.
Blood mixes with sweat on the forehead of the man across from me, his previous matches were harder for him than mine were for me. I do not show that I am strong though, my shoulders hunched, my gaze low, I never show strength unless I must. My leg feigns a limp as I square off with him and give a weak customary bow. His eyes trace towards my false injury, as is my intention. A trick I learned from my tribe’s chief, always show weakness where there is strength. Those who take advantage deserve the deception.
Barnak, the high chief of our Clan steps forward between us. His dark brown eyes watch us intently as he scratches his thick grey beard. His face is marred with scars, a testament to what it takes to be the Clan leader. He moves to each of us, checking that our blades are dulled, blood taken with the intent to kill among Clan members has consequences. When he is satisfied, he coats the edge with black ink so we can mark where we strike. After he has measured us and our blades, he steps back and says “Begin.”
The man across from me wastes no time as he charges, moving towards my feigned injury. I pretend to stumble backward from it, luring him in further. When he is upon me and his body is fully committed to striking from that direction, only then do I plant on it and turn, spinning behind him and knocking him off balance. I do not stop as he stumbles, I press the advantage and strike him thrice, leaving black ink lines under his arm along where his arteries are and a pointed circle in his back where his left kidney sits.
My eyes glance over to Nekam, his arms are folded in front of him as he gives me the nod. It was not enough that I beat him soundly, Nekam wants him to feel more shame. My teeth grit, but I extend my left hand outwards and drop one of my blades to the ground and put one arm behind my back. There is murmuring in the crowd and laughter from some of the other tribe chiefs.
The man spits on the ground then pulls himself to his feet and comes towards me again in a fit of rage. He overextends and I strike him twice, between the ribs. He swings wildly around, I parry the blade and plant my foot between his, pushing him to the floor with my shoulder. He stumbles to his feet as I trace around him slowly, my breath even. It brings me no pleasure to beat him in such a manner, no pleasure watching his face turn from shame to anger.
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
The iris of each of the man’s dark brown eyes starts to glow dully as he glares at me. Our people are born with eyes that glow with bioluminescence, it happens when we experience extreme emotions. Fear, pain, sadness, and anger are the most common. It is considered shameful to let them glow without purpose. We, the Kuwathi as my people are known, pride ourselves on control over our minds, and the emotions inside us. My eyes flicker over to Nekam, a suppressed grin on his mouth.
“Ulima.” My opponent growls, his jaw clenched so firmly that blood comes from the corner of his lip.
In the old tongue of my people, Ulima means - The Forsaken. They call orphans and outcasts by this. Some use it as an insult, like this man and many others, but I have grown to embrace it. Being Ulima has made me more aware of everything. Being Ulima has helped me survive.
The man squares off with me again, ready to strike, even though he has already lost many times over, the ink upon his skin proof of it.
“Enough!” Barnak roars as the man lunges again, grabbing the man by the shoulder pulling him back.
It is rare to see our Clan’s chief yell. He is normally more composed. The crowd of hundreds becomes quieter as the whispers begin to rise. Nekam’s intent for me to shame my opponent seems like it is having an effect, perhaps he wished to get a rise out of the Clan’s chief, the man’s grandfather. Though such a thing is dangerous, it makes me wonder what his goals are.
“I demand a rematch.” The man says after a time, he points to my leg “He cheated me, pretending to be injured.”
“You are in no position to demand anything, Henek.” The Clan chief says sternly, then pointing to his eyes, he says “Control your emotions.”
The man, Henek nods to his grandfather and closes his eyes, controlling his breathing. When they open again the glow is gone. The crowd has grown almost silent except for the whispers. It is even more rare for the Clan chief to chastise the tribes in his inner circle, those of his blood. I begin to see the machinations of Nekam now as the pieces begin to move. Though his current goal I am still not sure of.
“He may not be in a position to demand, but I am, my chief.” A gruff man says, stepping forward, giving a light bow to the Clan chief “Winning through such means is a shameful thing.” The man turns now towards Nekam “Surely you would not be satisfied with a shameful win, Nekam.”
I recognize the man, he is Keno, Henek’s father and one of the tribe chiefs of our Yul Clan. Nekam and Keno have been rivals for many seasons now. There is a grumbling in the crowd as he speaks. He is not favored by many other tribes. Keno is the Clan chief’s second son. His tribe and those in the Clan chief’s inner circle often receive benefits others do not.
Barnak, our Clan’s chief scratches his beard, giving an eye to me for a moment, then looking out amongst the crowds. He does not answer one way or the other. A wise decision, one I can respect, he will let it be settled between the tribes. Leaving none of the blame on himself.
My eyes glance over at Nekam, my tribe’s chief. There is a glint in his grey eyes as they meet mine, one that I recognize. He sees an opportunity. An opportunity that he wonders if I will earn on his behalf. I nod to him in agreement, though there was never really a choice. A grin slides over his mouth for a brief moment as he steps forward.
“You are not satisfied with your son’s failure and seek a rematch.” Nekam says pacing slowly around the mats, then turning to look upon Keno he finishes with “What do you offer?”
Nekam means to take more than a single spot from them. It is a bold move, one that if Keno refuses will make him look weak. Either way, Nekam will win something. Another lesson he often teaches us, when your enemy seeks something, you must seek more. I only wish that I did not have to be the one whom he uses to achieve whatever goal he seeks. Such is my lot though.
“Two spots to the winner.” Keno says, lowering his gaze level with Nekam’s “None to the loser.”
Nekam scratches his beard pensively, then stops pacing and looks to the crowd, many give him nods and grins. He is well-regarded amongst the other tribe leaders, unlike Keno.
“Would it not be shameful, by your logic to take from you twice? Your son has already proven himself… unworthy.” Nekam says, now only a few paces from Keno “Perhaps we could spar and settle it between us?”
There are cheers from the crowd, Keno’s eyebrow twitches at the provocation.
“There will be no fighting between my chiefs, this is not the Madricka, it is for surface crew rights only,” Barnak interjects, breaking his silence finally.
Nekam nods to him respectfully, he already knows this, we all know that tribe chiefs may only fight during the Madricka. It is held every five years. Nekam wished to shame Keno when he refused. There are few foolish enough to fight my tribe’s chief, fewer still with such a large crowd to witness it. Barnak made another smart move here I realize, keeping order among chiefs and the Clan while protecting his son’s honor, in the same breath one could say his own as well.
“What do you propose?” Keno asks, his jaw flexes even though he tries to hide his anger.
The murmuring in the crowd rises as some people laugh. Keno does well trying to hide his anger, he is more tempered than his son whose fists are clench and eyes threaten to glow again. Would that he could understand that I do not wish to shame him. There is no choice in it for me. No pride for beating someone less skilled.
Nekam raises his hand in the air extending some of his fingers “Three of your spots.”
“Three of my spots?” Keno asks, turning to look at Nekam fully. His jaw rolls as he thinks about it. He turns to his father the Clan’s chief but he says nothing.
“Are you afraid?” Nekam dares to ask, then doubling down “Are you not confident in your own son?”
Keno’s eyes widen at the blatant provocation. My jaw tenses, Nekam will anger the Clan’s chief if he continues.
Nekam laughs loudly, and the tribes who do not like Keno join him. Every laugh builds the shame higher. Barnak shoots Nekam a warning glance, and Nekam’s grin loosens a little as the laughter stops. Barnak moves towards his son Keno and whispers something in his ear that I cannot hear and slips something inside a pouch into his hand.
“I am confident in my son.” Keno says with a grin now, a grin that I can see makes Nekam wary as his eyes try to see what’s in Keno’s grasp “I wonder if you are as confident in your pet Ulima.”
Nekam’s jaw rolls now as he treads more carefully “What do you propose?”
“Five spots to the winner, none to the loser,” Keno says, his grin deepening.
Nekam paces again as the whispers grow louder, people pointing to Keno’s hand. We all know what could be in it. I can tell from Nekam’s face that he wonders if it is a bluff. Using such a thing for the sake of one’s pride would be a double-edged sword. However, Nekam has left himself no recourse, if he refuses he will look to be the weak one. Another move made by Barnak which shows how he became the leader of thousands.
“I accept,” Nekam says finally, his grin having faded and his eyes narrowing at Keno.