by SC Huggins
Dago opened his eyes, releasing him from the hold and he fell in a heap on the square. For the first time after a match, silence reverberated around the square rather than the usual joy that followed a once in a year festival. Rork adjusted until he was on his hands and knees, eyes watering and painful from the sand, he could hear the whispers.
Dago ran towards him and dropped down until they stood facing each other. Rork could smell his confusion and shock.
“Why didn’t you fight back?” he asked, wiping off the sands from Rork’s eyes with his fingers.
“I didn’t want to,” he said.
“What do you mean you didn’t want to, you agreed—”
“Are you sure that’s the real reason?” Tafik’s voice interrupted them.
Rork lay there, eyes stinging and painful. To add to his shame, the grains of the sand caused his eyes to water even more, so he looked to be in tears.
But there was something more important than his tears in his uncle’s voice.
“He’s gone, I am taking you to the stream,” Dago said, already raising him by the shoulders.
“No,” Rork pushed him off blindly. “You won, go and enjoy it.”
“You—” Dago began in an angry voice.
“Here,” some villagers had gone to bring pails of water to brush off the sand.
“Even when you lost, it still looks like you won, see how all the girls are gathered washing off the—”
Rork kicked him and rose, wet and defeated.
He looked to the Dias, but Father and Mother were not there.
“They left sometime ago,” Dago said quietly.
Later, Rork walked home with slow hesitant steps, not his usual run.
His mind was blank and he trembled from head to toe. Dread was a bitter taste on his tongue. When he turned in the direction of home, he had to force his legs to move. He walked in on a meeting.
“He has no power, if we needed confirmation, we got it today,” Tafik said.
“Before the village no less,” his mother returned in an anguished tone.
“What do we do?” she asked her Qiga. “Surely everyone knows now.”
“No,” Tafik said a tad smugly. “I explained he didn’t wish to hurt his friend with his greater magic.”
“Greater magic,” Father repeated tonelessly.
“Yes, I had to say something and they believed because really, it is something only Rork can do, protect his friend at great cost to himself.”
“You better come in and stop hiding like the coward you are,” Father called out to him in the gathering gloom, disgust weighing down his words until they landed like stones in his heart.
Rork stiffened his shoulders and walked in, stopping before them, he dragged his eyes up until he met his father’s eyes.
He saw the hatred and disappointment and didn’t flinch. Why cower when he had already lost the fight and the respect of the villagers. Nothing he would do now could change anything, so he might as well keep his head up.
“So, you can meet my eyes fearlessly after that that...” his lips twisted- a frightening sight since he had big ugly lips, “you disappointed me,” Father continued in a quiet voice. He rose until he stood over his son. “You just jeopardized our rulership with your cowardice. A son of mine pinned in place by an offspring of old Pena?”
Rork never saw the blow coming. Father lashed out and he fell to the ground. Silent and calm, he picked himself up. He deserved the beating, he knew, he understood. He would bear it.
“You let a small boy pin you down, hurl sand at you and defeat you with a childish magic trick,” Rami said in a tone so forceful and harsh spittle ran from his mouth to trail down his bushy brown beards.
A warm trickle of something ran down his nose to the corner of his mouth. Rork wiped it off, glanced at it absently, ignored the blood and waited.
Father spat, it landed on his forehead, warm and hot and sticky. It trailed down over his eyes and nose and chin, but Rork never flinched. He ran his eyes over Rork slowly, before finally meeting his eyes.
Rork flinched.
At that moment, he understood what his mother’s searching glances over the years meant, the comments he hadn’t really understood. The satisfied looks Tafik gave him.
He would never forget that night. He had slept outside till the morning after Mother’s beating. The next day, he changed their sagging roof made from tightly interwoven leaves with fresh ones. The days to follow he lived on the farm. The roofing and the farm work were normal, he had to work to eat. But the look, that look, he never forgot.
The same look father was giving him now.
“Come. Your mother awaits,” Rami drew out dramatically.
Rork shook off the memories. There was nothing to be gained in reliving the past.
With a carefree attitude only possible in one so young, Rork ran ahead of his father towards home while The Qiga followed at a more sedate pace behind his son. Brownish shaggy brows furrowed, Rami couldn’t help puzzling over his son. It was galling to admit, but Rork was unremarkable. Puny of form, he wouldn’t even make a great warrior, let alone having enough powers to rule.
See what had happened at the last Dance of the ganga.
The only qualities he had to recommend him were his height and intelligence, Rami thought sourly. His bushy beards twitched as his lips turned down, of what use was intelligence when raw magic was needed? Which was easier, killing a man using brute strength or just willing his death? The answer was clear enough; Rami thought with a grimace as he came within sight of their simple home.
Rami needed his son to know magic from myth, understand the difference between magic and reality and be able to use it as a weapon when necessary. But at eleven, Rork still had not even manifested the basic magical arts. Without power, he could never rule, no one in the village, in the Wakay clan, would accept a powerless Qiga. Regardless of how much they loved him.
HOME RESTED ON A SMALL rise on the outskirts of the village, a position befitting the prominence of the Qiga’s family. The more prominent families were located on the periphery, while the least prominent ones built their home more inward, almost centrally.
The hut had a basic plan that remained unchanged over the centuries. It was constructed with rough wood and thickly interwoven leaves for its roof; it comprised a ‘throne room’ and a one-room hut located just behind the throne room where the family lived. Major decisions and meetings with council chiefs took place in the throne room.
On entering the hut, Rami saw his wife, Jani cooking the evening meal. As befitting his status as the firstborn of his family, and a future Qiga, his late parents arranged a mutually beneficial marriage with an equally powerful family from a far-off land he had never visited. For a moment, he studied her. She was plain to the point of being ugly, how two unattractive and selfish people managed to birth a sweet handsome boy like Rork was a question only the great Mother could answer.
Without looks, the most important thing his wife brought into the marriage were rumors. The rumors said her family had great chances of descending from the same line as the great Matriarch from the lineage of some distant relative. So, all the unmarried young men had pursued her with a single-minded purpose- perhaps a union with her would see the birth of the most powerful witch yet.
She gave him Rork.
Mild mannered and blessed of a sweet disposition, Jani turned to greet her Qiga, nearly stumbling because Rork stood in her way, regaling her with the outcome of the game with his father. From the corner of her unremarkable eyes, she saw the twitch of Rami’s beard as he grimaced. She understood his irritation at their son’s powerlessness when boys his age were already taking on future responsibilities with the help of their magic. Rami stopped to stare at his son with an unmistakable disgusted air. Ever attentive to the undercurrents, Rork trailed of awkwardly. Smiling to defuse the sudden tension, Jani stepped up to her Qiga.
“I need not ask how it went, do I?” she asked him with a light laugh
though her incredibly light gray eyes were serious.
Smiling slightly, Rami reached out to push her light blonde hair behind her ears, marveling anew at the uncanny resemblance between mother and son. Her blonde hair was dull, almost the color of the white sands along their local stream. With her unremarkable eyes and blunt tipped nose, Rami had not agreed to their union for her great beauty. What she lacked in beauty, she more than made up for in her loyalty to the family and her cooking. Nobody in the whole village could cook like she did, especially with the meagre ingredients available since he was always too busy with council matters to work. But if Rork prepared a farmland and was paid or agreed to sell the meat from his hunts rather than giving them away, they’d eat well.
“No,” he said, looking away from her, he glanced down at their son, who was silently following their exchange. Rami mock-frowned at him, trying vainly to develop some sort of connection with his own son. He swallowed his sigh as Rork looked away with a carefully expressionless face. Whatever happened between them, it wouldn’t be his fault, he had tried. A powerless heir was no heir.
“Your mother will need water to cook, are you conjuring it or fetching it?” He commanded half hopefully. He never ceased to hope his son would do something magical to surprise him, to stay his hand in the course he had set it. Ya, when he was Rork’s age, he was both conjuring and creating magic.
Rork understood. His young face grew pinched under their eyes and with jerky movements, he turned away to move towards the pail. One thing the boy had was uncanny intelligence and spatial awareness, Rami could see he understood everything- both what was said and those left unsaid. As he walked towards the pail, he looked as if the movement cause him pain. Good, Rami thought, maybe he would try harder.
Rami studied his son’s defiant pose, the gritted teeth, raised chin and expression so fierce that it was almost ridiculous in one so young. He narrowed his eyes. Between them, Jani tensed as she waited, eyes roving from one to the other. Then, Rami smiled, so widely his bushy beard stretched out with the smile. Jani bent to push a wood farther into the fire and a look of relief softened her hard features.
Rork’s leg had barely crossed the door when Jani turned to Rami. “I-I-I do not think putting our son through all this pressure is a good idea,” she said haltingly.
Lowering his head to meet her eyes, Rami caught her hands in his. “Do you think I enjoy doing this?” He bit out forcefully, craggy face getting more lined with every exhalation.
Jani lowered her eyes demurely and Rami gritted his teeth to control the urge to strike her. That was the problem with marriage, you get to know each other so well that you could easily predict the other’s actions. Jani knew he was enjoying his son’s misfortune just as he knew she was only putting on act. He’d always been jealous of the people’s devotion to Rork, they gave his son something they never gave him- love. But the boy was his heir- the one Jani gifted him with, he thought sourly.
“What do you think the other families will do when they realize the heir to the ruler ship cannot conjure magic let alone fight?” he spat in renewed anger.
Biting down on her lip, Jani looked away, she knew he was right.
“But,” she began, “a power tussle has never happened at least not since...” she trailed off, knowing better than to voice it. “Why should it happen now?” Jani continued, still puzzled. “Or is there...”, she trailed off at her husband’s look and bit her lip to stem the rush of questions.
Gently cupping her jaw, Rami rescued her lower lip from the ravages of her teeth and soothed her lip with his thumb. She shivered slightly and Rami wondered snidely if it was in disgust. Meeting her searching gaze, he started, “That it has never happened does not mean it won’t ever, our responsibility is to protect our son and his heritage,” he reminded her.
After a moment, Jani nodded her assent jerkily, only for her eyes to darken as Rami continued.
“I might not have the gift of prophecy, but I have intuition, and my instincts are screaming. Something is coming, an evil is fast approaching, our son has to learn how to protect himself,” he finished.
Jani nodded and glanced at the door, Rork should be here with the water already, unless he was eavesdropping. Rami also glanced towards the door as they both waited. Finally, he trudged in, struggling under the weight of the water. Rami thought to lecture him about eavesdropping, but changed his mind when their eyes met. Yes, Rork understood, perhaps more than he envisaged.
It was simply beyond his power to do anything about the events to come. Jani squeezed his hand in support and moved to continue preparing their meal.
Every Qiga prided himself on his willingness to live a simple life. Power took precedence over everything including wealth and family. Power could get him anything he wanted and take him wherever he wanted too. As a result, the family home of the Qiga could best be described as sparse, their meal this evening was also simple, reflecting the home where it was prepared. A bedding laid on the hard floor, the simple hut constructed with mud and palm fronds, and the sturdy fireplace where Jani prepared their meals made up their small space.
They ate quietly, with nary a word being spoken and Rork thought of his friend Dago, whose father, Old Pena was one of the richest in the village. With an exception to their lost gift of the five-edged sword, they had small magic, but they had coin. Though, their power of five-edged sword died out thousands of years ago, father uncharacteristically mentioned once that Rork’s grandfather used to lament that it had been a frightening sight to see the blades with their five edges embedded in the skin of their chest like it belonged there. What was the use in having magic if it wouldn’t help you eat better meals? Rork wondered silently.
Adjusting the wooden spoon in his grip, he brought the broth to his open mouth, glanced up and met his mother’s gaze. He struggled not to flinch, for it was almost as if she could read his mind. Carefully, he lowered his gaze and slowly swallowed the surprisingly delicious broth. Only mother could take their non-existent farm produce and make this delicious broth.
Even his friends tried wangling an invitation to dinner occasionally when they could spare a game- which was rare. When he raised his eyes, he met mother’s gaze again and their eyes clung, this time he couldn’t suppress a shiver. It was ridiculous, the gift of prophecy and Hikea, the gift of resurrection had not appeared in thousands and thousands of years. Among his age group, they were even speculating maybe it had never existed at all. But still, he couldn’t erase the strange feeling mother knew exactly what he had been thinking.
Uncomfortable, Rork rose abruptly. Father raised his head, surprised. “You are full with that?”
“Yes,” he said and began picking the plates. He rinsed his plate along with the others mother used in preparing the meal, carefully dried it and placed it neatly in the woven basket. Methodically, he swept the single room with the broom made from thick branches of the fira tree. As he moved the broom in back and forth motions over the floor, Rork decided to go beyond the highlands to the forest where the fira tree could be found. They needed the coin and since the village hunters rarely ventured far down into the mountains, there were usually less competitors in the market for his brooms. It was ironic that he made the most coin from something as harmless as sweeping, he would have made more from meat but he gave away more than he sold. Moments later, he prepared his bedding in his corner and went to sleep. Tried to sleep.
As he waited for the hands of sleep to claim him, images from the day’s activities ran through his mind’s eye as it always did before he slept. It was something he fought every day, to no avail. The dreams as he called them, started in flashes five years ago, and he lived with it, reluctant to complain lest father say he was weak.
As the images came through one after the other, he stopped at a particularly puzzling one. Father’s expression as he looked down on him while he lay on the grass after their game. He hadn’t given it much thought then. But now, for no reason, it bothered him. Dark blond brows fu
rrowed, he sought to understand what his expression meant.
With a sigh, Rork turned from his side to look up at the sagging palm roof, still disturbed, he cursed silently under his breath. Mother would make sure he ate ona, the bitter but highly medicinal fruit as punishment if he didn’t get more palm fronds to cover the sagging roof soon.
A blur of white flitted behind his eyelids and Rork groaned at the pain that accompanied it. The annoying thing about these images was that it gave rise to many questions but no answers, never any answers.
With the image of his father to keep him company, his eyelids slowly drooped and he slept.
“MOTHER!”
“That is hardly appropriate given you are betraying her!” Ager snapped at the Deji who shouted. Yet, he also felt like howling.
Through the watery deep, they could just make out the black stone. Since they arrived on Uwan, they’d searched dedicatedly for the powerful object- and now they had located it. Yas was strutting around and muttering smugly, but Ager for once thought his arrogance was warranted. Never! He never believed they’d succeed to this extent.
“Why has Mother not reacted?” Ager whispered.
“She can’t, perhaps she is not as powerful as we think,” a Deji said carelessly.
Ager stared. “So, it takes a little victory to turn you foolish—”
“Ager,” Yas smiled, “this is hardly a small victory. This is the black stone, the most powerful objected created after Uwan or before, who cares?” he sucked in a breath. “An object we never knew existed before now—”
“I am still worried about Mother,” Ager insisted stubbornly.
“You heard the Matriarch, she wants to create a young fool to fight a matured Deji,” Yas replied.
The Dejis burst into laughter.
“And where’s the Matriarch?” Ager asked.
“Don’t worry she’s with us—”
“Truthfully, I don’t care about anything, not Mother, not the Matriarch, not the fact we had to use so much of our powers to find the stone and can’t return to the ancestral realm anytime soon.” Yas paused. “We have the black stone and with it we can control everything in existence.”