CHAPTER 31 — THE BRUTALITY OF EXILE
“Good evening.”
The voice was clear and not confrontational at all. This clued Mitakahn into the possibility that he might be dealing with professionals. “Now, you look like one of those Z-city socialites…am I mistaken?” A slender, but not necessarily tall, man with a big nose and long blonde hair shaved on the sides walked into Mitakahn’s camp. He wore nice clothes that Mitakahn could see right through and identify as mismatched sets from different kingdoms. The dark-bristled fur vest was clearly from out east in the MassifLands. The snakeskin pants are unmistakably from the Komodo Maze. He himself looked like he could be of lion or gorilla allegiance. Mitakahn could not make him, but he knew one thing. He is too calm to be acting alone.
“What gave it away?”
“The amount of gear you have packed to set up a simple camp.”
“I am but a humble traveling merchant. My gear is my trade. I am on the road to meet with my brother…and his companions.”
“I used to live in Z-city, that place knew how to keep the rich rich and the poor poor and still make it look like the king was doing good. Are you one of those do-gooders?”
“Are you going to kill me if I’m charitable?”
“You have a sharp tongue for a merchant. I am merely easing you into the transition.”
“I don’t understand.”
“To be blunt, me and my gang are going to rob you of everything you got. If you don’t struggle-”
Before the thief could finish Mitakahn was on his feet and attempting to draw his sword. He could hear the footsteps close-in around him. He was outnumbered. He managed to get his sword free before they attacked him. One went for the sword and another kicked Mitakahn in the back of his legs, bringing him down to his knees. They threw his sword away, and both kicked him repeatedly, bouncing him back and forth on the ground until he stopped fighting back. They followed up with a couple stomps on his back to discourage any further retaliation. He was now ready. They grabbed each of his arms. The rest of the gang came out of the brush and began taking apart Mitakahn’s camp and rummaging through his belongings.
“That was a mistake. See, at first I liked you, with your quick wit. It would have made for a fun encounter, but then you went the way of the warrior like a fool. Now you’re going to pay for it severely.”
The leader kicked Mitakahn in the stomach causing him to cough and keel over. He picked Mitakahn’s face up by the chin with one hand and clenched his fist with the other. The leader punched Mitakahn across the jaw. The exiled prince tumbled away onto the floor in pain. The two henchmen picked him back up while he struggled to catch his breath.
“You could have been an entertaining mark.”
Mitakahn took a deep breath as he saw him wind up for another punch. The second blow to the head sent Mitakahn’s vision backwards. He looked out towards the road hoping to see an ally. “You could have been a funny mark.” The beating ensued as he gave his spirit to the gods and prayed for their intervention, maybe one of his friends, one of his cousins… “You could have been a high value mark.” Perhaps Anilithyìstad or Cel’a or his brother. “You could have been an easy mark.” Maybe Chronis or Echo, or even a good-willed passerby. “A boring mark doesn’t seem like it was ever an option.” The sad truth was clear. The one person Mitakahn prayed for was long gone. Mitakahn was alone. His father was dead. Nothing could stop what was happening.
“Doesn’t really matter because now you are going to be a dead mark,” the thief smirked.
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Mitakahn raised his hand for mercy. One of the men holding him up thought he heard a whisper. “I think he wants to say something, boss.”
Mitakahn caught his breath and gathered his energy to speak.
“Well, what is it?”
“The gods won’t let me get killed by a man whose hair looks like he lost a fight with a chimp and a pair of clippers.”
The men around him tried to hide their impulsive chuckles. Mitakahn stole the boss’s smirk. He could feel the right side of his face swelling up with each passing moment, slowly covering his eye and impeding his sight. The leader of the gang stepped back, ready to kick Mitakahn again.
“Boss, take a look at this.” A henchman in front of the one going through his bag had found the mandrake mandate on the ground.
“That is definitely worth something. Take special care of it.”
“What about this, boss?” the thief with Mitakahn’s bag pointed out.
“It looks like a jar.”
“Could be valuable…”
Mitakahn no longer cared how beaten-in his face was. He listened to them casually talk about the container of his father’s last breath and panicked.
“It’s an empty jar, you idiot. They are a coin a set.”
Mitakahn summoned what was left of his strength to try and break free of the grip the two thieves had on him.
“I don’t know, boss, it could be some fancy jar.”
The leader briskly walked up to the henchman holding the jar and Mitakahn knew he had to make his move. He punched one of the guards between the legs and tripped the other slamming his head into a rock on the ground. The leader, now startled by Mitakahn’s rage, turned, and ran away. Mitakahn stumbled forward clumsily, cocked his fist, and tried to punch. It turned into more of a tackle than a punch, but still had the same effect on the thief holding the jar. In their scramble the jar rolled away onto the floor, narrowly missing rocks jagged enough to puncture its glass.
He kicked away from the thief and tried to crawl over to the jar. The thief clawed at his feet and then jumped forward. Mitakahn timed it perfectly in his wounded haze and kicked the thief directly in the face. He cradled the jar closely and exhaled. The thief was no longer moving, he could be dead, but most likely he was just knocked out. It mattered not. The jar was safe once again. Mitakahn looked at it in his hand.
Back in a flash, the leader came crashing down on him with Mitakahn’s own sword breaking the jar into a hundred pieces in Mitakahn’s hand. The pain was excruciating. The broken glass thrashed his hand. The sharpness of the pain caused by trying to turn it made it nearly impossible. Mitakahn screamed in utter frustration. He finally brandished the hunting knife given to him, and plunged it into the leader’s leg, bringing him down to Mitakahn’s level. With little hesitation or resistance, he took the knife out of his leg and stuck it in the thief’s chest.
The leader exhaled, releasing Mitakahn’s sword. The other henchman rushed over to their fallen leader. Mitakahn threw him towards them and backed away waving the bloody knife. They stayed away from him; none brave enough to exact revenge. Instead, they rushed away. Mitakahn could hear them as they scrambled off.
“Cass is gonna kill us.”
“We can’t go back without him.”
They took with them everything Mitakahn had except his sword, the clothes on his back, and his father’s hunting knife. Mitakahn waited as long as he could with his back against a giant rubble rock. He stayed awake and kept his sword out, expecting them to return and finish the job. He could not remember when night fell or when he fell asleep, but he made it through alive. Thankfully, for him, they never revisited the scene of a crime. He had survived a robbery on the road.
Mitakahn’s mouth filled with blood. As he slipped into unconsciousness, he slid down the rock and his face wiped the blood along its rough surface. The blood smeared and dripped down the other side. He landed roughly causing an upswept gust of dander and debris spotted with the prince’s blood. It caught the current and lifted high enough to lose sight of the ground. The gust of wind carried the scent back to the city under the very nose of the lioness of the royal courtyards. Gabriella recognized it immediately and some primordial trigger unleashed her upon the world. That night the royal guard spotted the lioness climbing over the city walls north.