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Kalon
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Chapter Four: Hakashen
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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The Yul Clan assembly hall's main door stands before me, a large disclike shape with the Clan’s symbol etched deep into it. My eyes follow the deep grooves, wondering after the hands that shaped it. It is said our clan is nearly four hundred years old. It's one of the oldest I know of. Yet in nearly four hundred years we have never breached the city’s center walls and taken refuge with the greater clans. It would seem we have always been content with being on the outer shell, battling the frost. Still, to have survived this long, there is merit in this. As my eyes trace the deep grooves in the door, I can’t help but admire the craftsmanship. The flourishes in the metal speak to a better time.
Arrum comes to my shoulder, having finished dressing faster than the rest, like me. His eyes dance across the design as well.
“Do you think we will see one when we join the surface crew again?” Arrum asks, touching the grooves of the creature depicted in our clan's symbol.
“Pray that you don’t.” Nekam says, coming from behind us “The Shakal beast is not one to be trifled with.”
We give him a small bow as he steps in front of us, now turning to look around the room, his eyes almost searching for something among the crowd.
“Anything that survives on the surface is to be feared.” Nekam says, then raising a hand and spinning it in a circle he finishes, now addressing the group “We move.”
The twenty warriors our tribe brought all answer in unison with “Hakashen.” In the old tongue, it means simply – Your will is my command.
When all are ready and in a tight grouping Nekam pulls his Clan Talisman and inserts it into the door. The symbol of the Shakal beast illuminates as the thick door begins to recede into the wall, the cold air whips against us immediately, stinging our faces as we move onto the walkway. The door closes quickly behind.
“We move swiftly,” Nekam says, opening his stride. He takes point with his hand on his blade's hilt.
We cross the chasm that divides our Clan hall from the lower residential district. The thick metal is slick as we move, and icicles dangle from the side railing. It is a narrow bridge, better for defending raiders. Beneath the walkway is darkness, the depths where we mine during the winter months when the snows bury the surface. What lurks in the depths is often close in all of our minds. My breath tightens as I focus on the present.
Looking at Nekam who is across first, I see there is wariness in his eyes as he scans the surroundings. He knows what we know, Keno and his tribe may try to slay us on the journey to our lodgings. Though the distance is not far, there is an opportunity to strike.
My eyes flick to a noise behind us, but there is nothing but shadows in the dully-lit walkway. Stone blocks line the streets that we walk, and grooves notched in the blocks help us walk even with the frost that coats them. Though there is little wind that blows in the undersurface city, when it does blow it chills the bone.
“Hold,” Nekam says raising a fist in the air, we all immediately turn and look in different directions, waiting for his next command.
My eyes turn to meet the noise and I see an older man moving towards the edge of the railings. His clothes hang loosely on his body, face sunken. He turns to look upon us. There are glowing red etchings running down his neck, where his runes once lay, spindles of darkness ebb from the lines. His left eye’s iris is half red, the whites of his eyes now swirling with deep shadow.
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“Netheric sickness,” Arrum says quietly. We all know the signs, we have all seen it, and some of us have even felt its embrace.
The gaunt old man looks towards Nekam who clutches his blade’s hilt in one hand and something in his pocket with the other. The man’s head tilts quickly towards Nekam’s pocket. He can feel what it is, the Etherium shard, the sickness has heightens his awareness to Maka.
“You will only find a blade, move on,” Nekam warns as the man takes a step towards us.
A glow of his eyes says he understands the threat, yet he does not turn away easily, nor would any of us, were we he. There is desperation in his stance. By the looks of him, he does not have long until he loses all reason, perhaps a day, maybe two. The Etherium shard that Nekam took from Keno would help him, we all know this, yet Nekam will not give it, and the man knows he cannot take it. Yet we are wary of him still. The desperate do not always see reason. It only takes one wrong move to find a blade in your back. If we lived in a world where we could give it to him, we would, but we do not, such things of value we must horde for our own. Lest we become like him.
“Move on,” Nekam warns him again, drawing his blade now, the side of the blade is notched many times. One for each life it has taken.
The man sees the grooves in the blade and rolls his jaw, now moving to the side slowly with his hands raised. Nekam moves his hand for all of us to follow him and we do, leaving the man. Yet we know it may not be the last we see of him.
The walkways are mostly empty as night fast approaches. Only the desperate and the newly forsaken line it, huddling for warmth by the large steam pipes at the connection points. When Arrum and I were younger, before Nekam took us in, we did the same. We are careful as we move by the less fortunate, a blade can come from anywhere at any time.
When we reach our lodgings Nekam pounds on the door, a slit pulls back and he speaks with the guard, giving him the passphrase. The gear-shaped door slowly pushes forward and rolls to the side, warm air greets us as we move inside swiftly.
“Welcome home, my chief.” The door guard says to Nekam.
“Any visitors?” Nekam asks them as Arrum and I move past.
“A member of the Dekarn Tribe.” The guard replies, handing Nekam a folded and sealed note.
Arrum stops in his tracks looking back after hearing the Tribe's name, the girl he is smitten with is one of them. He hesitates, but I pull him forward.
“Don’t block the walkway brother,” I say.
“I wonder what it is about,” Arrum replies, moving with me into the main chamber now.
Our tribe’s lodgings are less than half of the Clan’s assembly hall, yet the compactness of how we organize it fits our needs. Many eyes come to meet us as we enter, they look us over, meeting their loved ones with embraces and retelling the victories of the day. Arrum and I make our way to our bunk which we must split. Being Ulima we have not earned our own yet. We do not complain though, as we are the only Ulima in our entire tribe. We are lucky to be in the warmth.
Were Arrum not Nekam’s nephew by blood, I do not think he would have taken us in. Arrum’s father betrayed the tribe many years ago to marry Arrum’s mother. After they both died, Arrum and I traveled here, where we spent many nights in the cold waiting for Nekam to give us a chance to prove ourselves. In the last five years, we have done well, though he seldom says it.
After we remove our heavy furs and hang them from the side of the bed, we move to the center of the room with the nearly three hundred others of our tribe. As I wait, I feel a tug at my arm from behind, turning I see the smiling face of Nevari. Some of her braids are fraying from the fighting earlier, I did not see her matches, but Arrum told me she won easily.
“You fought well, Kalon.” Nevari says to me, then while twirling a strand of her unbraided hair “Though I expected as much.”
“I heard you fought well also,” I say giving her a light bow, as is the custom when talking to your betters. Though she would never say to, she is one of the few who speak plainly with me and Arrum.
“Cousin, you did well too,” Nevari says to Arrum, though he does not reply, his eyes are still on Nekam who reads the note from the Dekarn Tribe.
Nevari turns to me again, this time more quietly so only I can hear “If you keep doing that well, perhaps someday…”
A whistle in the room stops her before she can finish, I am glad for it. Her words are sometimes dangerous, it is a fine line I must walk as an Ulima.
“Gather round,” Nekam says with a booming voice as he steps toward the center of the room. He looks towards Nevari then me.
The lingering of his eyes on mine, tells me to tread carefully. It does not need to be said, that there is no future for me and Nevari. She and Neeba are Nekam’s only children and they have a duty to the tribe. They will marry with other tribes to strengthen ours. It is our people’s way. As an Ulima, I have nothing to offer the tribe other than my life and blade. Even though I know this, there is still some bitterness in me. Yet I do not let it show. Nor do I stop her advances when they come, even if it is folly.
“We will talk later,” Nevari says as her hand brushes mine. She moves quickly towards her grandmother on the other side of the room where Neeba and Nekam’s sworn brothers stand.
When the room is gathered and the voices are quiet, Nekam begins telling everyone of the victories of the day.
“We earned thirty-three spots tonight. By the end of the week, we must earn one hundred.” Nekam says, there are some whispers in the crowd at this statement.
One hundred spots for a single tribe that is not of the Clan Chief Barnak’s blood would be a feat. If we accomplish this, it will surely cause strife. There is wariness in the crowd’s eyes because of this, yet none say it.
Nekam’s eyes narrow as he looks at each person, before finally saying “I have a plan to accomplish this.”