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Kalon
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Chapter Eight: Yalla
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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Barnak turns back toward Nekam slowly, tilting his head upwards to look down his nose at him. His eyebrow twitches unsteadily as a forced grin finds his lips.
“You wish to continue?” Barnak asks, but it feels like more of a challenging statement. His eyes give Nekam a warning.
“I do, my chief,” Nekam says, the fire in his eyes dances higher as he matches the stare.
Barnak laughs loudly, but the crowd remains silent. None dare to speak. All focus on the exchange.
“Very well,” Barnak says, waving for the next fighters to move forward.
Nekam returns from the mats, I want to ask him to fight, but his guidance before tells me to have patience. I can only hope he will let me fight. I must prove myself. All I can do for now is watch each fight intently, watching for the flaws in our opponents.
***
Hours have moved by and my frustration has built higher. Why has he not let me fight yet? I am limber and able. As I look at the other warriors in our tribe, I feel ashamed. They are covered in bruises and blood trickles from them, mixing with the sweat.
Each side has eighty-one spots now. Each side is battered from fighting, some of our warriors have begun to lose twice in a row. Nekam pulls them out, but he does not scold them. I could easily win ten fights against weakened opponents, maybe even twenty if I conserve my energy sparingly. Instead, he pushes our tired fighters until they can barely stand. Shaming me to stand on the edge, catching their gazes, some whisper insults as they pass me. Even Arrum is looking bad, barely winning a fight he would normally win in three moves. He is tired. They all are. The matches have become one of attrition. People are using the Maka stored in their body’s runes to fight now. Many bear the early signs of Netheric sickness, having expended too much. Not so much that they won’t heal naturally in a few days though. Barnak and Nekam would have stepped in otherwise. Pressing past the brink is beyond foolish, especially since our reserves of Etherium are low.
It is not sustainable.
“My chief.” I say, coming to his side, bowing deep “Please, let me fight.”
“Patience.” He says, giving me a stern look that says silence must follow.
Keno stands with his siblings sneering at Nekam from the other side of the mats.
“Nekam where has your vigor gone?” Keno laughs as one of our fighters collapses on the mat after only a few exchanges.
Nekam says nothing as he drags the fighter to the side and sends Arrum in to fight for the seventeenth time. Arrum keeps his distance, his legs sluggish, still he manages to win, only barely.
Of the twenty fighters we brought only five still stand, the rest lay on the floor too exhausted to move. The other side still has forty that stand. We will never win all the spots. It is impossible. We went from ninety now down to eighty-five. Nekam should withdraw with what our tribe has won. Yet still he insists they go on. Nevari is the next to fall taking us to eighty-two spots.
Arrum is the last to fall. Taking us to eighty-one spots. His face would be more upset if he wasn’t so tired. The other tribe has thirty that still stand, all of them look worn from the fighting.
“What is wrong Nekam?” Keno pokes, his grin becoming deeper “Did you really think you could win all the spots?”
Nekam looks upon him, rolling his jaw.
People in the crowd who support our tribe call for him to withdraw from the match.
“Eighty-one to eighty-one.” Nekam says, standing up straight “There is pride in this.”
“Your pride is why you leave with less than you could have.” Keno sneers.
“I wonder, how deep does my pride go?” Nekam asks, pensively scratching his beard “Deeper than yours?”
Keno shifts at this, cocking his head to the side.
“You offer something?” Barnak says before his son can reply.
“All of my eighty-one and all of your eighty-one.” Nekam begins, the crowd gasps, and my eyes blink twice as my mind tries to process.
He is betting all of our spots, all of it, on what? It must be on me. This is why he didn’t let me fight. He wanted to tire them out. My pulse quickens at the thought of all that pressure.
“I was wondering why you weren’t using your pet Ulima.” Keno says, waving his hand dismissively at Nekam “We will not fall for your tricks.”
Barnak raises a hand to his son, the crowd grows quieter, only whispers hitting the air.
“I would hear the offer,” Barnak says, mulling his beard in hand now too.
“Five against my one,” Nekam replies.
Five against one, my eyes look at their fighters, all of them still feeling the other matches. Spindles of red lines hit their runes. They have little left to give. My tribe did well against them. I am confident I can take five this weakened.
Barnak moves towards our side of the mats, looking me over.
“I saw him fight yesterday. It would not be a fair fight on our side.” Barnak says, shaking his head no.
There is grumbling in the crowd at this statement. Others seem to not agree with him, but he is smart to ask for more advantage, my body is fit and ready, most of his fighters are exhausted.
“What do you propose, my chief?” Nekam asks.
“Ten of ours versus your one.” Keno blurts out.
Barnak pulls at his beard shooting a look at his son. There is anger in his eyes.
“We accept.” Nekam says, then turning to the chief “What say you, my chief?”
If Barnak does not accept, it will make him look weak. This much Nekam knows, Keno has hurt his father with this offer.
“We accept.” Barnak says, then looking to Nekam “No tricks or you lose all.”
“Understood, my chief.”
Barnak nods, giving me a glance one more time before moving towards his side of the mats and picking those with the most strength left. Nekam comes to me quickly, pulling me in close.
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“I have bet everything upon you, do not fail me.” Nekam says, now grasping my shoulder more firmly “Show them the depths of despair, hold nothing back.”
“Understood, my chief,” I say, my hand is shaking now, so I clench it tightly.
Everything my tribe has earned falls upon my shoulders, if I lose then we are all committed to the mines. Many may die as a result of my failings. Sekat. My eyes blink fast as I take measure of my opponents. Among them, I see Henek at the front and the shorter red-haired brother beside him. What if I fail? There are ten of them and one of me, what if…
“Yalla!” Arrum yells in the old tongue from the edge of the mats, he rises slowly to his feet with Nevari’s help.
The others of my tribe begin to yell the same, their words fill me. Its meaning to find the calm within resonates as I drop my blades to the ground. Closing my eyes, I find the calm with deep breaths and the slow exhale. All of my opponents have fought many matches today, I am well rested. Nekam would not have chosen me for this if he did not think it possible. My blade's song begins to hum inside my ears until the chorus becomes a roar. All of the frustration and anger of having to watch presses up, folding into the calm that fills me.
“Begin!” Barnak yells.
My eyes are still closed, I hear the slamming of feet upon the mats as they charge to meet me. Whoever brings me down will have won their tribe victory. I feel the hopes and desperation to prove themselves in the momentum of wind around me. Still, I do not open my eyes. Not until I become… the calm.
“Ahhh!” the first yells as they are within striking distance of me.
The toes of my foot grip one of the blades I dropped as I roll backward, launching it toward the voice. There is a choking sound as the owner of the voice slams into the mats. My eyes open finally as my hand grips the other knife after my roll is finished. The one who yelled first grips their throat tightly, black ink drips from it. I do not stop moving to observe it further. There are nine more I must fight, nine more who must hear the song my blade wishes to sing.
They come wildly without form, each has greed to be the one to mark me. Each screams their intentions to my eyes with their movements. I dance between them, causing them to mark each other in the process. In the first exchange, four are marked.
“He is only one, come together and strike as one!” Henek yells to the remaining six.
As they press closer together, forming a wall, I lean down and pick up my dulled blade which dispatched the first. I am careful this time to not get close to the edge on their side of the mats. They expect me to wait for them to come, so I explode my pace and launch an offensive. They stumble backward in surprise as I rush into their lines. Wild swings catch only my shadow as I roll between them, changing directions by shifting my weight. One of them drops their blades and tries desperately to tackle me, another does the same trying to grab my wrists. Rolling my arm, I break the grasp and use their inner thigh as a foundation for my foot to leap. Narrowly avoiding the other who tackles the wrist grabber. Before I land, I throw both of my blades at their back.
They howl in pain as it strikes their kidneys firmly. As I land, I grab two more discarded blades and throw them in quick succession at the next attacker. She deflects one but the other hits her in the chest, between the ribs where her heart lies. Her eyes look down in disbelief. Barnak says nothing as she smears the mark and continues the fight.
The crowd screams in protest as others who have been slain rise up to meet me again. I am not surprised by this, I expected it. They will not catch me off guard this time. My positioning is cautious. I only turn my back to the crowd on our side of the mats.
“Sekat.” Henek fumes as he smears ink along his arm's artery.
There are only three that I have not marked, yet only one of the nine still remains near the edge. The one who struggles to breathe.
“Break them,” Nekam says to me as I pass by, evading a knife being thrown. My jaw flexes at the command.
Though I know he is right, I do not want to harm those of my clan. Some of them may be like me, being injured, they may be sold or abandoned. My jaw tightens as I harden myself against their plight. My own tribe must come first. Failure is not an option.
The cold of the calm flows into my mind, suppressing my empathy for their plights. My focus shifts from causing pain to breaking them one by one. If they were rested, I do not think I would even have a chance to win this. If they had not expended all of their Maka reserves on the previous fights, I know I would not have had a chance. Nekam’s plan to wear them down and bet it all on one fight seems to be working. Their sluggish movements are a testament to it.
The woman whom I struck with a thrown blade earlier comes first, the others move in her shadow, waiting to strike. I throw both of my blades into the air at them, and they move, breaking rank. Leaving her alone to lunge. As she does, I move to the side and grab her wrist. My jaw clenches tighter, it must be done.
Twisting her wrist fully as I throw her with her own weight. A sickening crack follows as she screams in pain. She does not stop though, she fights through the pain, and so when she lunges again, I break the next wrist, as I must. Slamming her on the ground with it. She moans in pain but tries to rise up, bitterness in her face as she looks at me. She is a warrior, so I treat her as such and kick her in the jaw. Knocking her out cold.
The next come as three. They are wary of me, not wanting to lunge as she did. I do not have blades to deflect their’s, so I must be cautious. They try to encircle me, but I cut their line and roll through them, kicking off the knee of one. They buckle to the ground as I kick again from the other side, the knee folding to the side unnaturally. This one crawls to the edge, yelling so loudly it can be heard over the crowd. My stomach churns but I do not stop, I must not stop. I cannot fail. I will not fail.
The other two from the group of three join the other five, making seven left I must dispatch. Their eyes show weakness as they look upon me, my eyes return only the coldness of the violence I will bring them. The one on the farthest left moves like they want to exit the match, but Keno yells at them to engage. His face matches his father’s, anger flows from them steadily. Almost so much that their eyes might glow from it.
“Come Ulima. Face us fairly. Enough dancing, fight us head-on.” Henek says, his lip is bleeding, yet I did not strike it today. His anger is getting the better of him again.
The crowd laughs at his remark, though I do not think he realizes it is at him.
“I will remember your words,” I say, though I have no intention of fighting them fully head-on, not yet. They still have numbers, when they are fewer, I will give him what he seeks. My fist aches to meet his face.
They try to encircle me again, throwing blades at me into the crowd. Some of the crowd on their side throw them again at me. So I slide them off the mats towards my side. As I know they will not count any of my marks. The anger is rising in me, our Clan Chief does nothing to stop this. Yet I know if a single blade from our side is thrown, the match will be over, as a loss for us. Calm fills me again, now is not the time for anger.
Within two minutes, I have broken two more. I am becoming more tired, but so are they. Without runes, my body does not hold Maka well, so there is little for me to pull from. There are only five left. If I can break them, my tribe will win. There has never been a tribe that has won so many spots before, blooded or unblooded alike.
Another five minutes pass and it is only Henek and the shorter red-haired brother left. They are exhausted by now. So am I. My body is slick with sweat as the steam rises from it to meet the air. Only two left. Pulling everything I have left in me, I finally meet them head-on. I do not try to twist and bend limbs or kick knees until bent. I strike with my fists, pummeling the shorter brother until he is unconscious. Before I finished him with an uppercut to his jaw, he managed to strike me twice in the face, dazing me a little.
Were he fully rested, I would like to fight him again, I felt great skill in his stride. There is much I could learn from him. My focus turns to Henek now who keeps his distance. He is panting.
“Get up! Help me!” He yells to those on the edge, they turn their gaze from him, nursing their wounds.
“Cowards!” Keno yells at them, he moves to take the mats himself, but his father Barnak throws him back to the side.
“Come Henek, fight me head on… enough dancing,” I say as Henek runs to his side of the mats, hopeful that the crowd will help him cheat me.
“Keep my name from your lips, filthy Ulima!” Henek spits, but he does not come to meet me in the center.
He is barely upon the mats, others in the crowd are more on it than him, but still, the Clan chief says nothing. They wait for me to approach so they can grab me. I will not make the same mistake as before. Since I cannot go to him, I move to the center of the mats and sit upon the floor, and begin to meditate. Waiting for him to make a mistake.
“This coward will not come and fight me!” Henek yells to the crowds.
Only his side echoes his words, all of the other tribes say nothing. Though they whisper things that make the Clan chief even more mad.
“Come coward! Face me!” He yells.
I do not reply, I focus on my breath, trying to take in the Maka that coats the air. In the way that the Sage taught me as a boy. My moment will be like threading a needle during an avalanche, I must be ready for it.
Someone from the crowd throws a dulled blade toward me, and Henek soon does the same. Each time they do, I grab them by the hilt as they come. Taking the discarded blades and laying them in a line in the center of the mats where I still sit. Only when I have twelve blades laid before me do I stand, because my moment has come. However, they have not realized it yet as I hang my head low, looking at the blades at my feet.
“If your Ulima does not engage I will declare him the loser,” Barnak says plainly.
Nekam gives him a look, one that speaks a thousand words without a whisper.
“You hear that? The coward’s going to lose.” Henek says.
I do not respond, I stretch my arms and make myself limber.
“He will engage or he…” Barnak begins, but Nekam interrupts him.
“He has already won.” Nekam says, a grin moving across his face “My chief.”
Henek looks towards his grandfather, waiting for his response, as do all the others. Barnak’s jaw rolls as he opens his mouth to speak, his mouth stops as his eyes move towards me, they grow wider as they see what I am doing. Two blades are already streaking through the air towards Henek.
Keno sees the same and leaps through the air and swats them before they strike his son’s face. He lands on his belly, trying to get to his feet. It is too late however, my feet kick up blades as fast as my hands throw them. Ten more blades sing through the air. Barnak moves to stop one, but will never reach it in time. Two more are stopped by another who tries to block them. My blades were not aimed in one place though, they trace where Henek will stumble as he is pushed to safety.
Two of my blades strike him in the face, one nearly claiming an eye as it smashes his cheekbone and the other slamming his jaw so firmly that I am sure it is broken. His limbs go stiff and then limp as he falls to the ground. Unconscious, with blood drooling from his slack jaw.