Chapter 3

The day was blisteringly hot. Quite literally. Kuma looked over at the prisoner closest to him, a naturally fair-skinned man who was now so badly sunburnt that he had small bubbles popping up along the upper portion of his back. Most of the prisoners, Kuma included, had taken their shirts off several hours ago. Kuma whispered a silent prayer to Kokebi, giving thanks that he was born a Khendalian and therefore had a short layer of fur that covered his body. He was probably much hotter than some of his fur-less comrades, but at least he wouldn’t have nearly as much trouble sleeping tonight.

After that confusing fiasco with the guard captain that morning, Kuma was actually grateful to be working in the quarry. The sharp thud of the hammer against the rock, over and over again, really helped him ease his frustrations. He still had no idea what that ridiculous conversation, or the over the top food, was all about. It didn’t make any sense to him, but in all honesty he wasn’t thinking about it very hard. He tried not to think too much about the motivations of anyone in here, it just made confused and depressed.

After he had left breakfast, on his way to the quarry, Kuma must have had at least six different death threats. He massaged his side with his hand. One particularly bold prisoner had even stolen up close to him and punched him in the ribs. Kuma was sure that if the prisoner had had a blade then he would have gotten stabbed and would be in the infirmary instead of the quarry right now. Scratch had noticed the assaulter’s approach and had alerted the guards before he could land more than a couple of blows. The bloke had been a hard hitter though, Kuma was sure the guy had bruised a couple of his ribs.

The heat beat down and the inmates split rock. The violent offenders were given hammers and chained to the ground. They would work a section of the granite, then the guards would move them to a different area and the lesser criminals would come in, load the stone into wheelbarrows, and haul it down the hill to the waiting wagons. The curriers would then take it down to the town where a liaison from the prison would sell it wholesale to various merchants; they would then sell it to contractors to build temples and other buildings, giving a portion of the proceeds to the Governor as taxes. The quarry was the reason why this particular prison received so much more government funding than many of the other prisons in the country. It was a good business for the prison and brought in much revenue to the town, but it also put the prison Warden in an exceedingly aristocratic position. Not many citizens had nearly as much political pull as the Warden of Greystone Prison.

For this reason, many of the prisoners were shocked to see him walking leisurely through the middle of the quarry. Several inmates stopped what they were doing and began to stare at him, wondering what reason he could possibly have for being here. Kuma had never seen the man before, not many of the inmates had. It was rumored that he never left his office if he could help it. He didn’t like to associate with the lower-class society.

Kuma briefly paused his work to give him a glance. He was a stately man of average height with a portly belly. He had a meticulously trimmed beard, probably done by a professional. Men of his social stature didn’t often shave themselves. He had a smile of serenity on his face, as if nothing in the world could ever touch or bother him. There was nothing physically impressive about the man. He wore a decadent, tailor-made three-piece suit of some obviously extravagant material; looking perfectly out of place surrounded by the filthy, sun-blistered prisoners. He also walked with an intricately carved wooden cane that he obviously didn’t need, considering the way he casually kicked the end of it up with every other step. He gave off an air of someone who was used to the finer things in life.

Kuma didn’t look at him for long as he immediately recognized his company: the Guard Captain. Kuma met his eyes and quickly looked away. Not before noticing, however, the Captain lean over and whisper something to the warden and gesture toward Kuma. “Oh no,” Kuma thought, “there’s no way this can be good.” He busied himself with the rock he was working on. His eyes fixed on his job. He could sense them coming closer to him. He felt exposed, weak. He didn’t need this, not now. Not in front of everyone again. He could hear their voices now as they got closer. but couldn’t make out what they were saying over the clang of metal on stone.

Ultimately his anxiety was in vain. They walked right past him without a glance. Kuma breathed a sigh of relief. That was a close call. He watched the Captain and the Warden continue along the quarry, the Warden asking questions and the Captain pointing out various details of the operation. Maybe that whisper from the captain wasn’t about him after all. Maybe Kuma was just still worked up from this morning and putting his own meaning into their actions. In any case, he was clear now. He could do his work in peace.

Kuma enjoyed working in the quarry. The physical exertion helped the days go by faster and was a good outlet for his frustrations. Pounding the rock, over and over again, was a special kind of rhythmic catharsis. With each blow it felt as though he were pounding a piece of his pain away. As the day wore on his arms grew numb from the exertion and the vibrations of the hammer. The numbness seemed to seep into his soul and ease much of the remorse he felt about his actions that led him here. At first, he thought about (name) and wondered what his life was like now. How long his recovery had been, if he were now able to live a normal life. But with each rhythmic strike of metal on stone, those thoughts became more and more vague until, towards the end of the day, Kuma’s mind was almost completely blank, lost to his work.

This must have been why he didn’t hear the guard right away.

“Hey! I’m talking to you!” Kuma felt a rock strike him in the shoulder and he started, looking around, blinking. There was a guard standing not far off, glaring at him. Apparently he had called for him several times and Kuma hadn’t noticed.

“Hey stupid, yeah you, they need you in the back to help haul some particularly large pieces. Slide over hear so I can unlock you and take you to section B.”

This was a fairly common occurrence. The back end of the quarry was less excavated than the front portion and produced the larger stones that would be sold to make up the foundations of buildings. They would often call on Kuma and some of the larger prisoners to haul the them out using hand carts that were significantly bigger and sturdier than the wheelbarrows used in the front section of the quarry. Kuma could see that there were already several other inmates that were standing by the guard, ready to go back to section B.

Kuma slid his way along the chain until he reached the guard who promptly pulled out a large, jangling keyring and unlocked him. The guard lined the prisoners up in single file and took the rear, instructing them to lead the way. Kuma was last in line, with the guard directly behind him. They walked for a while down the wide path, rough hewn walls of grey stone towered on either side of them as they made their way along the man-made canyon. Now and then the procession would pass small outcroppings with prisoners working the stone. After a few hundred yards the path started to widen and turn to the right towards section B where the larger stones were harvested. Kuma expected the group to turn in that direction, but when they came to the intersection the leader continued moving forward, past the entrance, and instead turned down a smaller path to the left.

“Interesting” Kuma thought, “I’ve never been this way before.” Suspicion crept upon him like a spider on his neck. He wondered if he was about to be ambushed and “taught a lesson” by some inmate who didn’t like what they saw in the cafeteria. This was worrisome, because Kuma loathed the idea of any kind of combat. What would happen if he lost control? He almost had with the guard not even eight hours ago. He didn’t know if his mind could take the stress twice in such a short time. He resigned himself to take whatever beating was presented without defending himself. What other choice did he have? If he were to lose control and accidentally kill someone, he would either be in this prison for the rest of his life or be hanged. But what if they were leading him here to kill him? Should he defend himself then? Could he?

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“If I know, for certain, that I am going to die, would it be permissible for me to defend myself knowing full well that I will lose control and be taking the life of another to save my own?” Kuma reasoned to himself. “Kokebi, is this okay? If I am to be hanged for defending myself to death, will that be a suiting punishment for my actions?”

There was no reply. No celestial light from heaven heralding a simple answer to his prayers. Just the grey stone, the heat and stink of the prisoners, and the regular jabs from behind by the guard. The procession slowed a bit and turned to the left again into one of the alcoves. They continued all the way to the back. Just as they reached it, Kuma realized that the gurad was no longer behind him. He looked around just in time to see him pushing a cart into place, blocking the way they came.

“I was right”, thought Kuma, “here we go.”

He turned back around and, sure enough, the four prisoners he came here with stood facing him, arms crossed. They were accompanied by the inmate from breakfast who threatened to kill him. He must have been waiting here for some time.

“I’m sorry” Said Kuma, trying to sound as apologetic as possible. Meekness and humility seemed to be the safest option in this situation. “I had nothing to do with breakfast and I’m not friends with the guard captain. I swear. I don’t want any trouble.”

“Ha! Sure you ain’t want no trouble! I’d says that too if I’s about t’ get blasted by five men in a corner!” The speaker was a squat Khendalian with dark matted fur, there were bald spots around his face where old scars had healed and left patches of barren skin. As he spoke, he moved sideways, positioning himself behind Kuma. Kuma became aware of a second prisoner moving the other way, the two had effectively blocked any attempt at retreat. He was now surrounded.

The leader smiled and walked forward. “I understand your position Kuma, I am dreadfully sorry that we have to do this; I don’t want to, but I have a reputation that I need to uphold. We won’t kill you, you have my word, we just need to bloody you up a bit.” The man was large, well built from working the quarry for many years, and seemed to have too many teeth in his mouth. He had an honest face and an honest voice. He must only do this for the protection that his reputation offered him, maybe he would listen to reason.

“You don’t understand,” Kuma pleaded “I’m not worried about myself. I don’t know what will happen if you attack me and I don’t want to hurt any of you.”

“You don’t want to hurt us?” screeched the dark furred Khendalian “you hear that? E’ don’t want to hurt us! Who in the bleedin’ filth do you think you are?” With that last syllable he lunged at Kuma and tackled him backward.

Kuma stumbled and fell over, the other Khendalian clubbing him repeatedly over the head with clumsy blows. Kuma put his arms up, protecting his face as the other man mounted his chest. He sensed the other four prisoners tightening the circle and he braced himself to be kicked in in the ribs at any moment.

He didn’t do it on purpose, it was purely instinctual, but Kuma’s training had come back to him and he inadvertently accessed the akasha network in the surrounding area. He inhaled deeply, pulling as much of that life-essence into his lungs as possible, and focused it into a useful substance. Starting at his elbows, Ice slowly crawled up his forearms in a kind of armor, protecting him from the fists of his assailant. The other Khendalian yelped in pain as he punched the hard ice, feeling his knuckle crack. He grabbed his hand and rolled backwards off of Kuma.

The akasha alarm was going off. There was a wailing sound ringing in Kuma’s ears and boots stomping on various parts of his body. He felt a blow hit him in the calf, and his muscle immediately cramped. He felt several more land on his back and stomach. Kuma could only protect his head. He wanted to vomit. As he lay on the ground, fetal and nearly senseless, he could barely make out the conversation of his attackers over the cacophony of the alarm and the boot-blows, a symphony of chaos in his throbbing head.

“The blighted fool set off the alarm!” screamed one of the assailants, a large bald man with a dent in the side of his head, “We need to get out of here, this cove will be swarming with guards any minute!”

“Hold!” commanded the leader. “We still have the guard outside by the entrance, he’ll be able to keep out any others for a few minutes. That’s plenty of time for us to finish our job.” He bent down closer to Kuma. His breath, hot and rank, filled Kuma’s lungs; the stench made his stomach writhe and churn until it threatened to retch, but he held it back. From this close, Kuma could see that the man did, in fact, have extra teeth protruding from his upper gums. A deformity, no doubt, that he could not have afforded to get fixed as a child. He grabbed a handful of Kuma’s hair with his left hand, and with his right he reached around behind his back. He brought forth a set of iron knuckle dusters, lined with a rim of spikes. A brutal, violent, and very personal weapon. He contemplated his weapon for a moment, and then spoke into Kuma’s face; loudly so he could be heard over the alarm. His voice dripped with malice.

“I wasn’t going to do this, but now I’m looking forward to it. You just had to go and set off that damnable alarm. I’m gonna get thrown in the hole now, on account of your stupidity!”

With that last word, he struck Kuma across the face. Kuma felt his jaw crack against the blow. The inmate brought back his arm for another strike, and Kuma brought his frozen arm up to block it. Iron spike collided with ice and the ice shattered. A shocking pain reverberated along Kuma’s arm, and then it went numb. He felt the iron sink into his ribs and, and this time he did retch. His vomit splattered against the rock ground.

The final blow struck Kuma in the side of his head. He felt the iron spike in his scalp and the pain of his brain thumping against the inside of his skull. He could hear the jeers of the other assailants in a circle around him and their leader, and the incessant wail of the alarm.

“No…” he whispered feebly. Then everything faded into quiet darkness.

The inmate leader looked down at the bloody mess that was Kuma, laying there broken, his white fur soaked red, and smiled with the pride of a job well done. His comrades patted him on the back and they began to discuss the best way to get out of the cove before they got caught. Just as the leader was standing up and putting away his knuckle duster, he noticed Kuma’s eyes slowly start to open back up again. There was a feeble, ethereal light in his eye that wasn’t there before, and an unnatural grin stretched across his bloodied face.

“Thank you.”

Kuma’s mouth opened too wide and crystalline fangs shot from his gums, dagger like in his mouth. In a flash, he grabbed the leader’s leg between his jaws and tore away his calf muscle. The man screamed and fell to the ground. Three of his followers, terrified as they were, closed in on Kuma. One stayed with the leader, pulling him out of the melee, attempting to stop the bleeding in his leg.

The three came as one at Kuma. Crystalline talons split through the ends of his fingertips and he kept them at bay with the swipe of a hand. The dark furred Khendalian tackled Kuma to the ground while the other two came up on either side, attempting the grapple-and-stomp technique they had used before. This time it was much less effective. As the couple hit the ground, Kuma brought his left hand upwards and stabbed all five taloned fingers into the Khendalian’s torso. He tore his hand free with a spurt of blood and bile. The other two landed stomping blows on Kuma’s head and shoulders, but they seemed to glance off of the scales that had grown along his skin, under his fur.

“Monster!” one of them screamed, “Fiend! What is this?” and he tried to run away. A swipe from Kuma’s hand stole his face from him and sent him sprawling into the rocks. Kuma turned to the last standing prisoner and stalked towards him. Blood dripped from his hand, gore incasing it up to the elbow. And he still seemed to be chewing on bits of the leader’s leg, the same unnatural smile splayed across his fanged and bloody face.

The inmate backed away in terror, having seen nothing like this before. He turned and ran towards his last comrade, who had successfully drug their leader back to the entrance. In his fright he stumbled and fell onto the dusty rock. He could hear the approaching footsteps behind him. He rolled over onto his back and saw Kuma pounce. Taloned hands outstretched, and fanged jaw opened unnaturally wide, going for his throat. The prisoner prepared himself for the blow, he closed his eyes, ready to die.

But the strike never came. With a crash, Kuma landed in a pile on the ground next to him. He had been shot, mid leap, with a net. It had obviously been blessed with some kind of akasha because blue light crackled in patterns along the threads. Kuma lay there convulsing, his fangs, talons, and scales slowly receding away leaving him wholly natural.

“See” said the guard captain, addressing the Warden at his side as the two sauntered up next to the horrified prisoner to take a look at Kuma. “This is a good one. I told you I know what I’m talking about.”

“It really looks like you do.” Said the Warden, obviously impressed. “Clean him up and bring him to my office this evening. We’ll have a little chat. And get the physician and the surgeon down here to take care of this lot.” He gestured to the mauled inmates nonchalantly. “My gall it’s dusty out here!” He then turned and walked away, back towards the prison, kicking his little cane with every other step.