Trekachaw

by B R Flores

  “Shit that stung. What the fuck?” Azha cursed.

  “I kicked you because you’re yelling and stomping on everyone. Why would you do that?” Zith snapped.

  “For a damn good reason. Training should’ve started weeks ago,” shouted Azha.

  “Did it ever occur to you that everyone was waiting for you to be ready? Not one Quizan wanted to rush your mourning for Rodia. You’re scary enough without doing that to them. You should apologize to everyone out there. And, what are shit and fuck?” Zith asked.

  Azha bit his lip, “Um, that’s difficult to explain. Huh, Human words meant to imply annoyance. Sometimes I think like a Human when I’m angry. I’ll try not to act that way anymore,” promised Azha.

  Azha had assumed the worst of the loyal little Quizans. Zith’s admonition made him realize he needed to be a tolerant leader that led by respect, not fear. Zith patted Azha’s shin, then hop-skipped out of his cavern into the center of the courtyard.

  “Hear me Quizans. Azha is sorry for his actions. He promised to restrain his violent Human-half from now on. Meet me tonight at Cavern Hall. I want everyone to consider whether we will, or will not, support Azha in the war against our enemies. If we Vox Populi to support Azha, we will be violating King Myosis’s rules. So, think about your decision and come prepared.”

  Later that same day, King Myosis marched into his son’s cavern demanding that he cancel the mutinous gathering. Sometime between his ranting threats and demands, Myosis realized that Azha was crouched on a ledge glaring at him. Clearly, he had interrupted their scheming to organize a rebellion to dethrone him. Myosis continued his rant waving his finger in the air. Moving a couple of steps closer to the door, the old tyrant forbid Zith from having any further contact with the abomination in the room. Yelling louder while shuffling a few more steps towards the door, Myosis ordered Azha to stop putting foolish ideas of war into his son’s head.

  Zith knelt before his father. “Forgive my defiance, but you’re wrong not to fight. Quizans will cease to exist if we do nothing but submit and hide.”

  Azha’s stripes were purple and his eyes glowed yellow as he stepped off the ledge towards the old Quizan. King Myosis stumbled backwards, “Can’t you see you’ll be the one who’ll destroy us?” He then turned to his son. “If you do this, I’ll ban you from the tribe and condemn your legacy.”

  Wiping tears from his face the young prince reached out to his father, but Myosis slapped his hand away. “Choose,” demanded Myosis.

  The young prince glanced over at Azha and then back up at his father. “I love you Papay, forgive me.”

  Hearing that, King Myosis bellowed, “You are no longer my son or a prince. Leader Noyac is loyal to me. He’ll heir when I ascend.”

  THE SUN WAS SETTING, AND nightfall was around the corner. Most of the clan were waiting inside Cavern Hall. Many of them had already agreed that Azha was their best hope for survival. Young Prince Zith walked in and sat down on the same high ledge held by his father for over two-hundred years. The crowd parted, allowing Azha to pass as he positioned himself beneath the King’s ledge. Full of promise, Zith stood up and clapped his hands, “Silence, I would like to introduce our savior, Azha.”

  “Thank you, King Zith. The rumors you’ve heard are true. My Human’s name was Cole. On Earth, Cole was a fierce police warrior who protected his species. Join me tomorrow morning in the courtyard and I’ll teach you how to be a warrior. Together we can fight the Gystfins. I can see by your faces, you have questions.”

  Several hands shot up into the air and chaotic chatter filled the hall. Azha pointed to a Quizan, granting him the first question. The crowd separated leaving him trembling and standing alone to face the giant.

  “Are you more Quizan, or Human?” He mumbled.

  “Neither, but my merge with the Human has made me stronger and wiser.”

  Zith pointed to another Quizan who was bouncing up and down.

  “Will you return to Earth, or will you stay with us on Palatu?”

  Ever since Rodia’s death, Azha wasn’t sure how he felt. For now, he must say what they wanted to hear.

  “Palatu is my home,” Azha said with confidence.

  “How do you plan on killing a Ryquat?” Choan asked.

  “Good question. Those willing to fight, will learn tomorrow,” replied Azha.

  Zith floated above the crowd, “I am Zith, son of King Myosis. I command from now, until the end of time, Quizans that merge with a Human shall be called, Trekachaw.”

  Zith ascended and bowed before Azha, “See his yellow eyes as our guiding light, for he is our deliverance through this dark night.”

  Dancing Quizans sang homage to Azha, as they spun in circles. Faster and faster they whirled, sending sparks of light onto the black cave walls. Heartbroken, Azha refused to dance without Rodia. She was his last anchor connecting him to his Quizan-half. Accepting this allowed him to embrace the strength and intelligence of his Human-half, yet he loathed those random thoughts of brutality, power, and lust. Looking around he no longer recognized himself as one of them and was becoming a stranger in his own world.

  The celebration continued throughout the night with whimsical acts of slaying their enemies. Watching the naive Quizans pretend to conquer the enemy worried Azha. His arrogance may have triggered an unrealistic confidence. Tired, Azha graciously thanked everyone and begged his farewell. Walking home was lonely without Rodia by his side. At times like this, he missed her so much his body ached.

  That night, Azha lay awake thinking about the Gystfin spaceship and how he had lied to Belton and Roon. In truth the ship was not difficult to navigate; he’d simply lost track of time daydreaming about his life on Earth. For hours, he had stared out a portal window trying to imagine what Ginger was doing at that very moment. Surely the oxygen affected his mind. Once, he even considered leaving Palatu and flying the ship to Earth, knowing full-well Humans were not the answer. On the other hand, neither were Quizans.

  Azha recalled how startled he felt when he saw a silhouette of a man walking on the bridge. When he moved, the silhouette moved, when he stopped, it stopped. The silhouette in the mirrored wall was Cole. Stark naked he turned sideways to examine the once familiar body. Intrigued by the Human’s penis, he wondered why it had been so important. Cole had many pet-names, but mostly he called it… Johnson. Whoever Johnson was, he must have been very important to Cole. Azha closed his eyes wondering if the oxygen had caused him to hallucinate. Peeking out from one eye, Cole was gone. Had his mind played a sadistic trick, or for a fleeting moment was he Cole? Afraid to look at the mirror again, Azha concentrated on programming the ship to its new destination, Europa, one of Saturn’s moons. Someday he’d return to Earth and use the Gystfin ship to transport Humans safely to Palatu. Azha wanted to believe, had to believe, Humans would welcome the chance to merge with a Quizan.

  With his destination set and confirmed, it was time to leave. Azha turned into energy and allowed the massive ship to pass through him. Of two minds, he floated in space watching his spaceship disappear into the void.

  seven

  ANTE BELLUM

  AWAKE and restless, Azha waited for the first hint of dawn to search for a suitable training site. He stepped outside into the dark and, lo-and-behold, hundreds of Quizans filled the courtyard eager to start training. Choan, Duro, Zith, Belton, and Roon volunteered to be training leaders. That was encouraging; it felt good to be busy and have a purpose. Azha waved his hand, directing the crowd over to a flat, open area at the north side of the village.

  “Choan, Duro and Roon, you’ll be Sergeants. Your first assignment: split the Quizans into three groups. Each group has a title, Squad #1, Squad #2, and Squad #3. Choose your squads wisely and share the stronger Quizans amongst you.”

  In short order, three squads were assembled with far less confusion than expected.

  “The rest of you are called soldiers. Training will continue until everyone is combat-ready. If some of you take longer
than others, that’s okay. What I want and expect from all of you is your best effort. As you already know, our enemies are much stronger, and they have advanced weapons. To prevail, you must be faster and wiser. If possible, fight in numbers and at a safe distance. I will show you how to defend yourselves, ambush, distract, and kill the arrogant aliens. Zith has sent messengers to neighboring villages inviting them to join our training and crusade,” said Azha.

  Azha pointed at Belton. “He is called Lieutenant and has authority over the Sergeants. I’m called Captain and will not answer to anyone other than Zith.”

  Azha held a rock up and called out to his Sergeants, “Have your squads collect rocks about this size. Stack the rocks into three separate pyramid piles. We will need a lot of rocks, so get started.”

  Roon leaned over and whispered to the other Sergeants, “That size rock is called a damn, frickin rock. Bet you didn’t know that?”

  The sergeants were pleased, “Oooh… so that’s what it means. Do you know what a pyramid pile is?”

  “No, I’ll ask.” Roon ran over to Azha and whispered, “What’s a pyramid pile?”

  “Its rocks stacked on top of each other until the pile comes to a point at the top,” advised Azha.

  “Oooh, like that volcano over there, except smaller?”

  “Yeah, exactly.” Roon mumbled something as he ran away.

  In no time, three large piles of hand-size rocks were perfectly stacked, and the Sergeants were eager to begin the next task. Not sure how to proceed, Azha figured the best instructors to imitate were his Police Academy Training Officers. He marched in front of the three squads, clicked his heels together, snapped a quarter-turn, and faced the future cavern soldiers. “Attention!”

  Everyone looked confused and a few turned in sharp little circles.

  “No, stop. Watch what I do,” he shouted.

  Azha started over, giving a detailed demonstration.

  “When I shout ‘Attention’… stand up straight with your arms to your side. Cup your hands inward, like this.” Giving them a few moments to prepare, Azha shouted, “ATTENTION.”

  Some were looking down at their hands and trying to cup them, while others were looking back and forth watching those who were attempting the hand-cupping example. Azha threw his hands up into the air.

  Speaking louder he continued, “Everyone stop what you’re doing and look at me. We’ll practice attention later. Right now, you need to learn how to work as a team. Being prepared could make the difference between life and death, so train as if your life depends on it. First lesson is to throw a rock at a target. Everyone will take turns until you hit the target perfectly every time.”

  Azha set up a series of rocks spaced evenly apart on an open ledge. Aware of Cole’s excellent baseball skills, Azha felt confident that he could hit his mark. From the top of the pile he handpicked a nice round rock, then stood sideways and tossed it up and down in his hand while staring intensely at his mark. With precision, he threw it hard and fast, knocking the target off the ledge. The Quizans let out oohs and ahh’s.

  “Now, that’s how I want you to throw a rock,” boasted Azha. “Everyone takes a turn until they’re gone, then reset the rocks and start over. Rotate until your Sergeant tells you to stop,” he instructed.

  Azha was flabbergasted at just how badly the Quizans threw rocks. Half the time they couldn’t even hit the ledge. More than a couple of times, they pinged each other. Rock training was going to take a very long time. Even so, they practiced relentlessly day after day until they mastered the fine art of throwing a rock accurately. In the end, not one soldier complained or quit. Given free will, they were moxie little creatures.

  Early morning on the 26th day of training, Lt. Belton requested Azha’s presence for damn, frickin rock evaluations. Rock skills were competitive, making the demonstration nerve-racking for the new soldiers. After several grueling hours, the sergeants and soldiers passed with flying colors. To celebrate their success, Azha announced that every soldier would receive one Gystfin fang. Honored, yet curious about the extraordinary awards, Sgt. Choan asked Roon, “How’d Azha get Gystfin fangs, or should I ask?”

  Roon was more than happy to share. “A couple of days ago, we snuck back where the Gystfins are buried. It took us all morning to remove the damn, frickin rocks. They were disgusting, kind of gooey, and stunk even worse than before. We bashed their jaws into pieces, well, Azha did most of it. Anyway, did you know a Gystfin has over two hundred fangs? Afterwards, Azha said we earned some R & R – that means fun time. Anyway, we flew to the ocean. I’ve missed swimming in the ocean. Do you want to know what the best part was? Azha made me the official Range Master of Damn, Frickin Rocks. Yep, I’m the only Range Master. Anyway, did you know Gystfin stink goes away when you swim in the ocean?”

  “Ah… no I didn’t,” said Choan.

  Zith pushed his way between Roon and Choan with a stern look on his face and hushed them, “Shhh, everyone can hear you.”

  Choan gave Roon the stink-eye, “Roon was the one talking, not me.”

  “Doesn’t matter, race you to the Hall,” Zith challenged.

  Zith yelled at the spectators to clear a path as they slid through the doorway into the crowded Cavern Hall. Azha waited for the room to calm and began the presentation by giving one large fang to Lt. Belton and Zith. The remaining fangs were neatly displayed on the training ledge for all to admire. Walking in single-file, every sergeant and soldier selected their very own trophy. However, unlike past practice, there were no celebrations planned for that night. Phase-two training was scheduled at the crack of dawn.

  AZHA AWOKE LONG BEFORE ANYONE else. Convincing himself that others would want an early start too, he visited one cave after the other to rouse his Sergeants and Zith. Grudgingly and half-asleep, they sat in the moonlight listening to Azha’s master plan. Just after day break, Zith led five soldiers into the forest to search for long, sturdy sticks and green vines, while Belton and Choan’s squads flew to the top of a volcano in search of flat, black rocks.

  By mid-morning, the squads were assembled for phase two training. Each soldier received one stick, one long vine and two volcanic rocks. Finding a comfortable spot to sit down on, Azha waited for the soldiers to stop talking. Spear Class was officially in session.

  “Can everyone see and hear me?” Asked Azha. “Good, watch how I strike two rocks together to chip off small pieces. Do it until it looks like this.” Azha held up an example of a sharpened spearhead.

  Bang, whack, bang, crack, thwack, chip, bang, it sounded as if everyone was working on a chain-gang. Entertained by it all, Azha covered his ears and watched as the Quizans created their first spearheads.

  The rest of the afternoon dragged on, waiting for each of the soldiers to complete their first spearhead. Upon inspection, Azha made sure to compliment their excellent work. Next, he demonstrated how to wedge the spearhead into a slit at the end of a stick and then wind a long green vine repeatedly around the shaft. By the end of the day, the soldiers had produced strong, sharp spears with razor-sharp tips that could pierce the thick leathery bark of a Sopa tree. Training the soldiers how to throw the spears accurately required little time due to their proficient rock throwing skills. Azha was pleased to discover that a soldier on Sgt. Choan’s squad had created a weaved tote-bag for carrying extra spears. Eager to share his creation, he worked tirelessly into the night helping other soldiers create their own bags. Azha was impressed by the beautiful design, and that the bags were functional with straps that draped comfortably over the shoulder making it possible to carry heavy loads.

  The soldiers were as ready as they were going to get. It was time to be the hunter, not the hunted. But all was not perfect. The entire village had rallied in favor of the training, except King Myosis and his seven Leaders. Despite the King’s best efforts, he had failed to de-rail their spirit or allegiance. Traditionally a King’s reign among the clan was sacred and replaced by death alone. As far as Myosis was concerned, t
he entire village were mutinous radicals, including his ungrateful son.

  SGT. ROON’S SQUAD #3 WERE given the first assignment. Their orders were to scout the immediate area for Gystfins or Ryquats. If any were found, they’d covertly stage at a safe distance to observe. A scout would return to the village and report the location along with any intel. Wide-eyed and enthusiastic, Squad #3 bid their farewells and disappeared into the trees. The two remaining squads were given the prestigious Roon R & R break. Pleased with themselves, they took turns congratulating each other for their successful graduation. Azha stopped counting after about the fifth round of congratulations. Sgt. Duro had just lay down to take his break when a red-streak of energy broke through the trees. Mid-air, the scout morphed into body form, flying so fast that he crashed into a couple of soldiers on the ground before coming to an abrupt stop. Dizzy, he stumbled to his feet and limped through the courtyard spitting out gibberish while frantically waving his arms. Azha tried to calm the hysterical scout to no avail. At best, he understood every other word.

  “Gystfins by Ayak nesting volcano. Breaking, smashing, horrible bites, huge one laughing.”

  “Stop! How many Gystfins are there?” Azha asked.

  “Two, no three… I don’t know.”

  Azha’s stripes flashed bright purple. “Belton you’re with me. Zith, Choan, Duro, meet us at the Ayak Volcano and bring as many rocks and spears as your squads can carry, and hurry.”