The old Man Garnachi waved a hand, then started again. “When the chieftain Killian died, our father, who had shown his prowess and wisdom during the war, became chieftain. Killian had lost both his sons during the fighting, and without an heir, leadership was handed down to the greatest of the young warriors. As was set in our laws. It was a grand day for our family, and the celebration went on for two weeks. I was a toddler at the time, but even now I can remember the pride on my father’s face during those days of happiness.

The joy of the occasion was quick to disappear as the reality of leadership set in. Though we were young, both Mashda and I could see the changes that came over my father and mother as weeks turned to months with my father as chieftain. Father, who had been an integral part of my life up until that moment, soon faded away to act as a background character that was used to keep me in line and punish me when I stepped over it.

Instead of someone I knew, loved, and respected, he became, for me, the epitome of authority. Someone I feared, hated, and wanted to become, all at the same time. For every story, my mother would tell me of his feats in battle, I would train, imagining I was in his place but better at it. For me, he was some god whose respect I dreamed of, yet feared winning.

It was different for Mashda. When he wasn’t out creating mischief and mayhem with me and the other boys of our age, he was following our father around. He watched his every move. I used to ask him constantly why he would perform such a dull task. It was not as if our father did anything but walk around and talk. I even tried to explain to him that he was wasting his time on the talk of adults which was useless to us. But his only reply would be to leave him alone, and that I was a stupid child who knew nothing about the world. Perhaps it was the lessons he received from the doctors, but he was always like that. I had already learned that arguing with Mashda when he got into these types of moods was a hopeless cause. So, in the end, no matter how annoyed I became, I would eventually end up leaving him to his own devices, taking myself to the training yard, where I could fight to release my frustrations. And perhaps the headaches that always came when I tried to convince Mashda of anything.

This continued for years until I reached a point where I gave up trying to convince Mashda to play with me at all. At that point, we only saw each other maybe twice a day. Once when we woke up, the other when we fell asleep. It was around the same time that I grew tired of the other boys, for they had become mindless followers of my brother. Giving up like that gave me far more time to train and become the warrior I wanted to be. That decision is still the biggest regret I have had to carry throughout my life. I find myself lying awake many a night, worried about what could have changed if I had tried just a little bit harder to convince him. If I had in some way, distracted him from his obsession.

Garnachi sighed and shook his head, “Perhaps, perhaps not.”

Garnachi paused there again, taking a drink of his tea before continuing. “Time passed, and I grew in strength. On our nineteenth birthday, I was given the honor of being the leader of the hunt that year. At the feast that night, we ate a bore that I had killed with my spear. It was supposed to be a glorious night celebrating my martial prowess. If my brother had not written such a stupid piece of media, it would have been. The piece was titled, ‘A Treatise on Demons: Examining the outsiders that we have allowed to destroy our society.’

To this day I’m unsure if Mashda meant it as an accusation of our father’s poor leadership. But given that Father had been a strong supporter of our tribe, finding a way forward in our new environment and succeeding in it, I know it was taken by the tribe as such. I mean, Father had negotiated five different trade deals with the neighboring cities up to that point. We had created businesses within the tribe that our forefathers had only heard of, in stories about the distant past. We now had dyes, sewage systems, and food with flavors we had no word for in our native tongue.

But as with all humans, with luxury comes boredom. And with boredom came laziness. Survival was guaranteed within the tribe, making life easier for all of us. For the minority of us Narjee, they saw this as the tribe’s strength dying. What some saw as our tribe becoming more like that of our once-prosperous civilization, others saw only that our children were growing weaker. They believed the demons around us were simply waiting for us to weaken enough so they could come in and kill us all.

Such matters I only learned about years later. What I did know was that after the Shalor feast on our nineteenth birthday, Mashda separated himself from the family. Whether it was his decision or my father’s, I do not know. But the result was that he went to live with those of the separatist faction. Things were fine for a time, but then the atmosphere within the tribe broke. Fights would break out nearly every day between the different factions. I saw more broken bones in those months than I did in the decade leading up to it. No one died, but it felt like it was only a matter of time before someone lost control. Of course, I, being the incompetent fool I was, noticed what was happening, but did not bother to worry about it. Nor did I wonder why such a thing would occur. Instead, I continued to train and lead hunts, neither speaking to my brother nor my father about the issues that were tearing the tribe in two.

For six months this weird atmosphere prevailed over the tribe. Then, on the seventh day of the new year, my brother formally announced Pasha before the council. This is an ancient tradition of the Narjee. It occurs when a man, believing the chief is driving the tribe into ruin, challenges him in single combat for the right to lead the tribe. There are of course requirements for such a duel to take place. Among other things, three of the nine current tribal elders must second the challenge. When I first heard my brother had done such a thing, I was confused and angry. Who wouldn’t be?

I immediately rushed over to the residence where Mashda was staying. At least twenty warriors were guarding the entrances, but none dared stop me. I believe they knew they would not be able to, even if they tried. So angry was I, that I wished one of the guards would, just so I could tear him limb from limb with my bare hands. Remember, I was nineteen at the time. Such a hot-headed age. And though young, there were only a few warriors within the tribe who could push me to my limits.

For all of that, I was worthless in a situation like the one I found myself in. I stormed into the building Mashda was staying in, to find him lying comfortably on a couch made from hides and eating fruit. As soon as I walked in Mashda asked, “What took you so long, brother? I have been waiting for you for at least an hour.”

I was confused by Mashda but went ahead with the speech I had prepared on the way over. “Mashda, you can’t do this. Don’t challenge Father, he’ll win, you don’t have a chance. I love you, but you must know better. All that awaits you in the dueling ring is embarrassment, defeat, and possibly death. Even if our father doesn’t kill you, accidents happen. You could be crippled, then what? There are no positive outcomes for this scenario. Go take back Pasha.”

Mashda held up a hand while yawning, “Garnachi, peace. Come and take a seat. Have some of this delicious fruit. And let us speak like the civilized Narjee that we are. We have much to talk about. And you looming over me, like a bear hungry after a cold winter, is putting me off my appetite.”

I let out a growl in frustration at my brother’s behavior and angrily sat down. Doing so, I knocked down another chair as I went. The sound of the falling chair hitting the ground was loud in the empty house and it made Mashda jump. Which helped relieve the tiniest bit of my anger.

I eyed him with suspicion, “So, what is it that you want to talk about? Aside from the suicide you are planning.”

Mashda sighed, “It's like talking to a block of wood sometimes with you. Look, I don’t know if you are aware, but the tribe is close to civil war. Surely, you’ve noticed the strain between those who respect tradition, and those who are letting greed and sloth control them. Father is doing nothing about it. He is more worried about making sure his foreign masters are satisfied with the tributes he is sending them.”

Such a declaration took me off guard. As I assumed all of this was about Mashda taking power. “Mashda what are you even talking about? Father is the chief of the tribe. He does not have any superiors or masters.”

Mashda shook his head and gave me a pitying smile, “Brother of mine, I need you to pay more attention to what is going on around you. Life is more than that little practice field you go to, or the hunts you carry out. Sometimes, it is not about how fast you can attack with that spear of yours. It isn’t about how many animals you can kill with your bare hands. It’s about information and what you can do with it.

What I’m talking about when I say, ‘Foreign Masters,’ is the deal that Father has made with the cities surrounding us. We have a trade agreement with them. But it is worse than slavery. We are allowed to trade with them only because we have agreed to lend out a thousand of our warriors, for up to six months every year. Our people are dying in the conflicts of creatures unworthy of washing our feet.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

It might be different if we had new warriors to replace them, but the younger generations are not taught the ‘Way of Wandering’, instead, they are educated with schooling that is not even of our culture. But instead, it is something we have adopted from the demons. Our children are too weak to replace our warriors, and our warriors are being killed off one by one in wars that are of no consequence. There is no growth. Our honor which was of the highest importance, has been lost. We have become slaves to foreigners. And while our warriors die, Father grows fat off the profits. Do you have any idea how much money he is paid every year? And the only reason you haven’t been sent to fight is because your father wants you to grow stronger before sending you there. Since the stronger you are, the more money he makes. Eventually, you will be sacrificed to his foreign masters as well.”

“Ummm,” I said, thinking aloud, for all of this was new information to me, “Mashda surely you are seeing the world too cut and dry as you often do. Acting as mercenaries is a good way to keep our warriors strong. And it also increases our relationships with the cities that border us. Do not forget Mashda, what we were taught about this so-called war against demons. While we were winning, the reason Killian signed a treaty in the first place, was because they had too many people and too many resources. At the beginning of the war, we caught them off guard and unmanned. But if they were to bring the might of their entire empire against us, there would be too many even for us to stop. Think of what it would look like for a hundred thousand soldiers and ten thousand of their wizards to march against us. We had to sue for peace. We had no other choice.

Do not forget how many doctors we had to sacrifice, to defeat their magic men in the battle of Bolkan. Do not forget how warriors died as they carved their way through swaths of enemy troops. We would have been wiped out if we had not signed that treaty. I may not know everything that happens within the tribe, Mashda. But I know enough to think that you are rushing towards something that should not be done. Maybe someone is filling your head with nonsense to hurt father. Why not wait and grow like I have done, before challenging him? Perhaps maybe in a few years, Father could hand the tribe over to you? There is still so much we both need to learn before we should participate in tribal affairs. Why must you rush this?”

I knew everything I said went in one ear and out the other for my brother, even before I finished speaking. Mashda had started shaking his head thirty seconds into my rebuttal. And by the time I finished, he was smirking, just the way he did as a child when preparing to call me stupid. “There are many things you do not understand, brother,” began Mashda. “Every word out of your mouth shows your ignorance in those important tribal matters. But as your brother, I shall remedy that, I shall. So, you understand what exactly is at stake in this situation.

To begin, not everything you were taught as a child about the war is true. The doctors you mentioned that died in the last battle; did you know that all of them were in strong opposition to peace with the foreigners? That would just be an interesting fact, if not that it was the exact opposite for doctors that approved the peace treaty. Not a single doctor who was for the treaty died. Not even one!

There are, in total, only three doctors from the last generation who were against the peace treaty and managed to survive the war. Do you think that is a coincidence, Garnachi? Those three doctors of a particular opinion survived the war, but over a hundred of the other side stand healthy at our father’s side. Do you believe that is a coincidence?

Why is it, Garnachi, that any warrior who questions the authority of the tribe is sent off to fight as a mercenary? Why is it that he must either return, believing in the treaty, or die under mysterious circumstances? Garnachi, earlier you asked me why I was in a rush. How can I not be in a rush when our people are dying? And father is killing everyone that stands in his way. Every year, the warriors I see able to swing a sword decrease in number. It is making us weaker as a tribe. All of it is.

It's not even just the killing of political adversaries and warriors wanting to rebel, it is the foreign education that is forced on our children. It is the goods full of poison, the trade, and Father forcing everyone to learn the ‘common’ language. All of it is taking away what made us the Narjee. All that made us cursed people. We are becoming something less than we once were.”

We sat there for a minute or two, looking at each other. I was trying to think up some response that would convince Mashda that he was being ridiculous. As for what Mashda was thinking, I have never been able to figure that out, either as a child or as an adult. I will tell you, I felt frustrated with my brother's retort. It all seemed like nonsense at the time. I knew it was nonsense, and I think Mashda knew some of it was nonsense too. It was just that the argument was the fastest way for Mashda to become the leader of the tribe. If he believed he was doing the right thing, he could convince other people to do the ‘right’ thing as well.

That is not to say, there weren’t foundations of truth in what he said. I look back on everything as an old man and can see that half of what he said was true. My father was forcing his political enemies into the front lines. As for how our children are raised, that is a philosophical question that cannot be answered in one generation. And as long as even one of the Narjee learns the old ways, such a thing is reversible. My son is working hard to do just that. He is separating the children into two groups through thorough testing, putting one group into modern education, and the other into the way of wandering.” The old man coughed, before stopping his pacing and finally taking a seat.

“I sat there for a while with Mashda, thinking and trying to jumpstart my mind. Eventually, I gave up trying to think of something clever and asked him the question I had been meaning to ask from the very beginning, ‘Mashda, why did you decide to challenge Father now, and why were you expecting me?’

The knowing smile on Mashda’s face faded at the first question then returned with brilliance at the second, ‘Ahh Garnachi, always one with such straightforward thinking. You have brought us back to the crux of the situation. The truth is, I challenged Father because he was about to send a large regiment of warriors and doctors to assist the city of Durglow against the sea wolves. They will be attacking with the spring wind as they always do, and Father has promised Durglow our assistance. I and all those who have supported me, including the three elder doctors who have been protecting me from Father up until now, have been named to go there. He has sent us off to die.

Garnachi, the laws of the Narjee are straightforward. If the chieftain has given me an order, I must obey it. Loyalty above all. I will be sent to fight, and I will die. Garnachi, you know I am no fighter like you. And the worst of it is that Father would rather see me dead than have anyone, including his own son, question his rule. Don’t you see brother? I had no choice but to challenge him. I am dead either way, better to die on my terms with little chance of survival than be tossed into a war with no hope of survival.

I shook my head, feeling sad. “Mashda, you will die. There is no hope in this fight. It would have been better to go to war. There, you could hide behind your supporters. Instead, you decide to duel with the strongest warrior of the last generation. This will accomplish nothing. Maybe I can go speak to Father and see if some different plan would be possible. Come with me, we can go see Father together. I am sure we can come to an understanding if we all sit down and speak to each other.”

Mashda laughed at my concern, before then growing serious, “Brother, do you think so little of me that you believe I would not have a plan in mind for my survival? Where does my talent lie, Garnachi? That is why I’ve been waiting for you in my tent for the last hour. My survival hinges on the choice you make right now.”

I, of course, had no idea what he was talking about. I rubbed my eyes to stave off the migraine that was threatening and asked. “Mashda, how could your life be decided by me? Unless you decide to talk to Father, I don’t see how I could help at all.”

Mashda sighed, “Garnachi, I’d like for you to take my place in the Pasha.”

I stared at him, incredulous. “Brother, there is no such thing as substitutions for the Pasha. You should know this. No one can fight this battle for you. Just like no one can lead the tribe, no one but you fight the Pasha.”

My brother grinned at me, “That is what you think. But you are me and I am you. How many within the tribe can tell who we are if we replicate each other’s mannerisms? Mother perhaps is the only one who could do so easily. For the rest, there will be doubt, sure, but not definite belief.”

My temper flared, as I sat listening to my brother’s schemes. “Everyone will know as soon as we start fighting. How many warriors taught us, and trained with us growing up? All of them will know it is me in the battle. What a silly thing to say.”

Mashda laughed at my frustration, “I do not care if they know, Garnachi. I just need some small doubt to exist, and it will all be fine. Just a tiny amount of confusion and I will be victorious in my endeavor. I know how you act, and you know me. It will not be difficult for us to trick them a little bit. Please Garnachi, if this does not work, I am dead. I need you to save my life. What is more important? That Father keeps hold of the power he has gathered? Or the life of your twin brother? What would mother say?”

I, Garnachi, saw no way out. Mashda would not give me a way to escape the situation, even if I wanted to. Snarling in frustration, I said “Mashda you are a deceitful snake. To sit here and put ideas in my head, all to make sure I reached the decision you wanted. Had you no faith in your brother, that I would choose your life over Father’s power?

I either go against our Father in a duel for leadership of the Narjee, or I sit back and watch my brother die. But if I do win, you take control of the tribe and destroy everything Father has worked to build. On top of that, I would be dishonoring the Pasha by bringing deceit into something that is held sacred to our tribe. Mashda, you do not know what you ask of me. You are asking me to give up my honor as a warrior. To toss away what I hold dear, to save your life and give you power. Mashda, you truly are a manipulative bastard.”

“Does that mean you’ll do it?” my brother asked with a smile.

“Yes, what other choice have you given me, brother? I cannot let you die.” I replied with a heavy heart.

Mashda stood up, rubbing his hands together, “Good, the Pasha is set for tonight. You have six hours to prepare yourself. I’ll take care of everything else.”

I clenched my hands together, then slowly released them, as I tried to drive the thoughts of strangling my brother out of my mind.