---Challenge---
---Victor’s perspective---
“Don’t be mean, Bassie!” Tuun says to her towering, older sister with tightly plaited, uranian blue hair.
“I’m joking, Tunie! He’s not upset… are you, Victor?” the woman says, with the same grin as I get from Mouse (and which Twila inherited from her(!))
“Nah… I’m alright!” I answer… not entirely honestly.
I’m definitely speaking with a nonchalant confidence I don’t feel.
One moment, at the feast, I’m chatting and laughing, the next I’m shaking hands and agreeing to take part in a ritual!
Mead is a hell of a drink(!)
Of course, Tuun said she ‘didn’t mind if we didn’t do this yet.’ but the way she said it made absolutely obvious that she actually wanted to.
Don’t think I would have agreed, otherwise.
I suppose, this will be an interesting experience to put on and then immediately cross off my bucket list, at least(!)
The three of us approach a mansion sized house at the far edge of the field from the one me and Tuun entered on, earlier.
There are two armoured guards flanking the doors. Not wearing durasteel of course (wearing heavy armour would cancel out Don’s one major advantage in a fight) but, I’d guess, duralumin? They’re not shrugging off bullets in that armour but it’d handily protect them from stab wounds.
I’m guessing these two are not a permanent fixture here(!)
I don’t think the number of Don on this planet would allow for two full time guard positions to be filled!
These guys must just be here because of the ceremony.
The lightskinned guard, on the left (who must trace to the ‘sunward’ side, based on what Tuun told me, earlier) looks at Baasa and opens his mouth.
She cocks an eyebrow and his confidence instantly disappears.
A moment of hesitation before the two of them wordlessly open the doors for us.
“Told you…” smirks the woman, as we walk through the entrance hall.
We pass beneath a curved staircase leading from the ground floor, up to the first, to a large set of doors.
The honour guard follow behind us.
Tuun and Baasa stop before we get to the doors. I follow their lead, stopping as well.
The guards come forward, one on each side of us, and open the double doors.
We step into a multistory room. The upper levels seem like a library, with shelves full of physical books being visible on the far side of the walkways from the railing.
Most people just read books on their holos, these days… or have their holo read the book out to them. I mean, physical books of ink and paper are nice and definitely have a, sort of… archaic-aesthetic value… they just come with too many downsides for most people to bother with!
All the books in this library would easily fit on one person’s holo, even without them having net access, for one thing!
On the ground floor there’re no books, nor bookshelves, just a wide, open space.
At the edges of the room stand about thirty Don, all with the same dark blue skin, silky white or light blue hair and glowing white eyes that Tuun and her biosiblings have.
In the middle of the room stands the only man (apart from me) who’s less than 3m tall, next to the only Human here (apart from me).
They’re Tuun’s adoptive sister (who's also her sister-in-law) and her biological brother (who's also her brother-in-law).
Both of them have angular, black lines tattooed across their faces and hands. It’s pretty easy to guess that the rest of their bodies are tattooed as well but, right now, they’re both wearing fine clothing that leaves that fact to the imagination.
Ástríðr has definitely inherited some of Katrín’s stature! She’s as tall as Samus (though, doesn’t have Samus’s physicality!)
She has tawny blonde, tied back hair and I’m just about able to see that her eyes are blue, in the dimly lit room.
She has a sweetly smiling face that gives off a motherly vibe.
In contrast, her husband, Vol, has a face that suggests that he experienced an emotion… once, a looooong time ago, and found the experience so unpleasant that he resolved never to repeat it(!)
She teased that ‘he manages to make DonAvu sound monotone(!)’ at the feast, the other day.
Baasa nonchalantly strolls to the wall, to take her place beside men half a metre taller than her, who’re giving her dirty looks. She pretends she doesn’t notice.
The 2.8m tall Ruler speaks, loudly. He has no translator equipped.
I see what his wife meant; as a language with 15 distinct tones, it’s obviously not actually able to be monotone but, when he speaks, he manages to so completely avoid injecting any passion into his words that the effect is that it comes across as if monotone! Like someone speak-singing while extremely bored!
His wife translates into English for me (which I’m glad is allowed).
“A challenge of Uluanvo’al Tan has been issued. You, who seek to make the Clanchief’s sister yours, must now prove that you have the strength to defend her. As the challenged, Clanchief Vol, son of Vuun, son of Tuls, rightful Ruler of Clan Oria, has elected to fight this bout unarmed and has waived a portion of his preparation period entitlement… Challenger Victor, son of Oskar, son of Lars, are you ready to fight?”
“I am.” I answer, simply.
“Then all noncombatant parties are asked to stand clear of the floor for the match to begin.”
She and Tuun go to stand with their sister.
I square up to the gigantic man (gigantic to me, despite growing up in deathworld gravity having robbed him of what looks like a full 30cm).
Judging by how much taller and more heavily built he is than Tuun, I would guess he’s closer to my weight than hers!
He begins unfastening his princely jacket before pulling it off, followed by his stylish, short tunic.
His sleek, slender, muscular chest now exposed, I’m able to conclude two things; 1) his tattoos cover at least his chest and 2) he’s heavier than I initially estimated.
With that muscle, I think he may be as heavy as me!
He’s definitely the most physically imposing Don in the room, despite his shorter stature!
There’s no way he doesn’t flog himself to death, maintaining that physique! That doesn’t come just from growing up on a deathworld!
I wonder if it’s a social expectation of Don leaders that they maintain their physical strength?
He brings his four arms up into an impenetrable looking guard.
I bare my upper half to match my opponent, perform a bàoquán (which I have been assured is allowed and doesn’t breach tradition in any way that matters) then bring up my guard.
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“Tuuneh, vels em’ia an ta nnul?” intones the man, still sounding bored.
Tuun steps forward and raises her, four fingered, hand and shouts “K’UUT!”
Not yet.
She puts down her little finger leaving her thumb, middle and forefinger still up.
“OV'T!”
She puts down her thumb.
“OL!”
Her middle finger goes down.
“E!”
Her entire hand comes down with the word “OMV’UIL!”
The man flies at me, viciously!
I know better than to try and outmatch a Don on speed and definitely not on reach!
He’s much slower than his sister but what he lacks in speed, he makes up for in power!
Where getting hit by Tuun feels like getting punched by a 9 year old, getting hit by her brother feels like getting punched by an 18 year old who started hitting the gym twice a week a few months ago! There’s enough power there to mess you up if you’re not careful!
The combination of his extra hands, his enormous reach and his power, make me think my best bet is closing the distance and turning this into a grapple (where I think I’ll have an upper hand) to begin with but, when I charge him, he just dodges nearly effortlessly before punishing me for my closeness with a series of three, lightning fast, punches to my ribs!
Fuck, those are gonna bruise!
I reassess, concluding that there’s just no way I’m beating him while he’s got juice in the tank…
One option presents itself: Hang back and let him tire himself out while I defend, making use of the thing my species has more of than any other; stamina!
Not exactly an honourable strategy but it’s the one that gives me the greatest chance to land the one punch I need to end this fight.
This man’s got nearly 80cm on me and it makes judging his reach a little difficult (I was always the tallest practitioner, at my guǎn, so all my skill in estimating reach is pretty useless on such an inHumanly tall man… Not to mention, I think Don have arms that are just a tiny bit longer than Humans’, in proportion to their bodies!)
I step far enough back that I’m, for sure, out of his range.
I stand still and drop my guard slightly. Enough to make my face an appealing target but not so much that it’s obvious that I’m baiting him.
He takes the bait, charging forward to throw a punch that definitely would have broken my nose, if it had connected. Thankfully my guard snaps shut just in time to deflect his strike but it still connects enough that it’ll leave a bruise on my forearm!
It’s absolutely worth it, though; that little manoeuvre got me his range! I now know exactly how far away he thinks he can hit me from.
I begin dancing at the edge of his reach, never throwing a punch but tantalising him into thinking he can hit me.
He realises what I’m doing, after the sixth or seventh punch he throws that I dodge or deflect, and tries to close the distance.
I evade, continuing to hang just on the edge of where he might be able to hit me and watch, as he slowly but surely exhausts himself.
He definitely lasts longer than his little sister ever has but I can both see and feel his blows losing force.
If I were fighting him for real (as in ‘for my life’) I would definitely let him keep exhausting himself but, because this is an honour match (happening in front of what I assume is the most influential 10% or so of his Clan) I decide to let him keep his dignity and not reduce him to a wheezing mess.
I step inside his guard, batting aside his, now, anaemic strikes and level a half strength punch into his gut.
He grunt’s and his upper left hand flies above his head.
“Ort’ul!” he shouts.
“The Challenged has yielded! Victory belongs to the Challenger, Victor!” interprets his wife.
“Vo’t armal, dolv ta Doneh Imak’a, nnur’t!”
“The Clanchief asks the men of his community to bear witness to his defeat and to the fact that he is no longer his sister’s defender!” translates the Human woman.
Every Don man in the room brings their four hands to their lower face, leaving their eyes exposed.
All except one.
“You shame yourself, Vol!” says the lone dissenter, speaking with a translator equipped, letting me understand him “To relinquish your sister to this outsider after a single blow is disgraceful!”
Vol says nothing nor does he react at all to the accusation that’s just been flung at him.
“Do’adia… Read the room!” says Baasa, disdainfully “It’s obvious that these two are head-over-heels for eachother and what point is there in asking your Clanchief to get beaten half to death to prevent a match that he has no reason to disapprove of?!… Tell me!?”
The man turns on her, fangs bared and spits “You’re lucky your brother allows you to be here, woman, but do not be mistaken! You have no right to interfere in the business of men!”
She gives a mirthless smirk “Oh, you’re right… but let’s review what your options are, shall we? You can a) volunteer to take your Clanchief’s place, against his wishes, and see how much you feel like fighting the deathworlder (with abs you could grate cheese on) after he’s hit you once or b) cover your face and accept the outcome.”
He looks at me, I give an amused shrug of ‘happy to oblige, if you wanna go for option a)’, he scowls and brings his hands up over his lower face.
I offer my hand to Vol and, after a moment of hesitation where I wonder if I’ve just done something taboo, he takes it and we shake.
Me and him get dressed while everyone (who’s neither a sibling or partner of Tuun) files from the room.
“I apologise for my subordinate’s words.” says the man I just fought, in flawless (though monotone) English.
I shrug “I’ve been called worse than ‘outsider’(!) Don’t worry about it.”
“I recall him reacting similarly when VoVo challenged my mum for me.” sighs Ástríðr, giving her husbands hand a squeeze “Tried to find any excuse to invalidate the result; there’s no precedent for an Uluanvo’al Tan fought against a Human, you can’t fight one against a woman, Katrín yielded too easily, you should have fought my brother, my brother saying he wouldn’t fight brings the whole family into such disrepute that a Clanchief should consider them beneath him, on and on and on!”
“I think what he really wanted was for you to choose his daughter, instead!” adds Baasa, with a smirk “Never mind that she’s 10 years older than you(!) Nor that she’s no contact with him(!) Nor that, at the time, she was planning her own wedding with the girlfriend she met at the uni he didn’t want her to attend(!) Trivial details(!) I’m sure she would have come running if he’d told her he wanted her to marry you(!)”
“…Do’adia’s main concern has always been maintaining the traditions of our community.” says Vol, seeming like he’s never heard the phrase ‘damning with faint praise’!
“Well, never mind all that!” beams Ástríðr at me and Tuun “Congratulations, you two!”
“Thanks, Ássi!” beams Tuun, back at her adoptive sister, while holding my arm.
“I'm now a guy who can honestly say he's fought a King in single combat, which is pretty cool(!)… Funny thing is, earlier the same day you suggested this, Vol…” I say with mild embarrassment “…Katrín basically recommended taking it slow and not rushin' into anythin'!… I pretty much said ‘Thanks for the advice, Ma’am, I shan’t let you down’ then was agreein' to this, 5 horns of mead later!”
“Don’t worry, Victor!” soothes a smiling Ástríðr “This is a precondition for engagement but it isn’t, itself, an engagement! Nothing irreversible has happened! When VoVo challenged my mum for me, he did so with the express intention of making me his wife but that’s not what you’ve done here. If you two ever do break up then, by DonAu, defendership of Tunie defaults, automatically, to her brother! All this means is if, in a couple of years, you decide you’re ready, you don’t have to come halfway across the galaxy to do this in order for our community to consider it a legitimate marriage! Honestly, it was sharp of Vol to realise that this would probably be the best time for this! I wouldn’t have thought of it, at all!”
I give the man an appreciative nod. He returns it but so extremely subtly that I could’ve missed it, despite looking right at him!
Clapping her hands together, Ástríðr says “Right! Lets go to the lounge where we can chat for the rest of the day! First, though, I have something very special I want to show you guys… but, before I do, I need you to tell me something, Victor…” she points a finger at me in tongue-in-cheek accusation.
“W… what’s that?” I ask, pressing my hand to my chest as if she might be talking about another Victor.
“How good are you at keeping secrets?” she grins.
“I… err… I can keep a secret… so long as I don’t think whatever the secret is makes you a danger to yourself or others…”
“Ah! Someone’s been to therapy, I see(!)” she smirks, causing a miniheart-attack… until I realise that that probably means she’s also been to therapy “It’s nothing like that…” she continues “…can you promise not to tell anyone what I’m about to show you? Assuming you’re satisfied that it doesn’t make us a ‘danger to ourselves or others’, that is(!)” she smiles.
“Yeah… your secret’ll be safe with me.”
“Perfect!” she says, turning to lead the way.
We’re lead from what appears to be the ‘public’ part of the house, up stairs, along halls and through doors that are clearly checking who’s coming through before they open.
“Here we are!” smiles the blonde, gesturing around the door she just went through to something the rest of us can't see yet.
Vol wordlessly goes to stand with his wife.
Baasa passes through and laughs “You bastards! Why is this the first I’m learning about this!?”
Tuun enters and gasps “Oh my Gods! Congratulations!”
Bringing up the rear, I walk through the door and look to where the secret is indicated to be.
On a low, sturdy table I see something that I’ve seen pictures and footage of, many times… though I don’t remember ever seeing one in real life.
It’s around 50cm tall and has a diameter of about 30cm.
It’s filled with a clear nutrient solution.
Even though the contents are clearly visible to us out here, from the inside it would seem pitch black and the display glass would seem totally opaque! The inside is illuminated by light outside of the Human (and, in this case, Don) visual spectrum which is shifted into the visible as it passes through the glass.
The result is, we can see but can’t be seen.
What floats inside the artificial womb… is a baby. Already larger than I think a Human newborn would be, though looking like she still has some gestating to do.
The features of her face are perfectly designed to look halfway between those of a Don and a Human.
Her ears are long but have a blunt tip.
She has skin that's halfway between the dark blue colour of her father and the pale, pinky peach of her mother.
Her hair is a platinum blonde colour that looks just a little too silky and iridescent to pass for unmixed, Human hair.
She has her eyes shut but it’s not too much of a stretch to imagine that they’d, likewise, be a halfway point between her mother’s blues and her father’s glowing whites, perhaps against ‘greys’ of her eyes as a compromise of her mother’s whites and her father’s darks.
She has four arms, like a Don, each ending in five fingers, like a Human.
Her feet are each equipped with five of the most adorable, little, baby toes that I’ve ever seen!
“Baasa, Tuun, Victor… meet Liv Volsdóttir.”