Kaza could breathe without hissing anymore. His throat that had been swollen and constricted from Justeen's punches could take in air though with slight difficulty. He'd been bedridden for four days and now he could see through slits, the swelling of his eyes having receded enough to allow for sight, meager as it was, Kaza was grateful.
His mother had been by the bedside for the better part of four days, sat on a wooden stool that must have taken four clients to afford, feeding him fish broth and wiping him with wet cloth. She'd talked as he drifted in and out of consciousness, she thought she couldn't be heard so she spoke of things she normally wouldn't have. But Kaza had heard, and he remembered though he'd been unable to react, it hurt to move his tongue, his teeth and gums hurt too. It saved him agony to stay silent. Eyes swollen shut prevented his mother from taking note of the fact that he was aware. Breath coming out in rasps prevented her rage from transcending her worry.
Raco had called him a fool, an idiot who'd stepped into the Dragon's discern to see whether he could startle a Dragon. "How can you afford to pick a fight at a time like this?" She'd complained. "We need the bronze coins now more than ever! How can I attend to clients with you in bed? You need to think, Kaza, think less of your pride and more of the consequences of your actions!" Kaza had wanted to open his mouth to proclaim his innocence. He hadn't started the fight with Justeen, he never started anything but somehow reality shifted to ensure he suffered the brunt end of life.
The more his mother berated him, the more he felt himself deflate, anger pressing down on him, smothering him with the fact that it wasn't his fault that the villagers all hated him. He wasn't the one partaking in a profession of Sin, it was her actions that led to them being ostracized. Though he found no fault in her choice of profession. As he believed, his mother's sin existed not as the act of a singular person but of two, and the fact that only his mother got the blame just went to show how unfair life was.
Life was unfair. Others had fathers yet he didn't have one. Others could live their days comfortably without lacking in anything, yet he always lacked. Others had round yellow eyes yet here he was, dark slits for eyes. The contrast between his life and those of others was sharp, and yet he counted himself lucky despite all this, for as he lay bedridden, the woman who'd birthed him did not leave his side. And he found himself wondering what life would have been like if she wasn't there to begin with. If he'd been totally alone.
On the fifth day he lifted himself out of bed, felt the sharp jab of pain down his neck as he twisted himself to stare at his mother. He found her seated on the stool, chin resting between two palms supported on her knees. "Mother." He croaked.
She turned to him and he saw that her cheeks were stained with tears, beady drops cascading down her palid green cheeks. Something was wrong. "Mother, I'm okay, I feel fine." Kaza said, assuming himself to be the cause of the tears.
His mother smiled at him, seeing those small white evenly spaced teeth always had joy well up within him. Seeing them now, he felt the opposite of joy. Cold dread, creeping up his spine, tickling his swollen neck until it burned. His mother's smile, something that he'd sometimes prayed to Sin for was now something that warranted an opposite reaction from him. Was it because of the tears flanking the crescent curve of her lips? No, it was something in the eyes, fear and mourning. Kaza didn't consider himself a devout worshipper of Sin, nothing about the three hundred principles that guided a man to live with Sin stirred his curiosity nor his devotion. The Scorched book claimed that the Rad es Maalas owed Sin their piety, it was unclear whether Sin was an act or a God, but the Scorched book served not to define Sin but the shackles by which it had the Rad es Maalas wrapped in. Kaza found Sin, be it a God or an act, to be cruel and unworthy of recognition let alone worship. Still, he prayed to Sin to see his mother's smile.
"Kaza." His mother said, her voice breaking in a sob. "I love you, son"
"Mother—" Why was she being like this?
"Listen, you stubborn boy." She gave a chuckle that might have passed as a grunt, then she sobbed. "Listen, we don't have time."
"Mother, what's going on?" Kaza said and turned his head to the door, the wooden door that had been rotting from whence they'd salvaged it from, wasn't there anymore. The thin cloth hanged at the door revealed the silhouette of two men, highlighted by a large bonfire at the village square. It was nighttime, Kaza realized. Thin fingers on each hand gripped either side of his face and forced him to turn to his mother, the sharp pain in his neck forced him to cry out but the solid grip of his mother didn't lax.
"Kaza." His mother said. Kaza didn't know whether it was him who was trembling or his mother. All he felt was wave after wave of panic, lapping at his body as the Rankf Sea laps at the shore. "The Prince of the West is coming, nearly here. Prince Benji. He is carrying out the Purge accords on this side of Basi Haya." She swallowed with difficulty, as if the lump in her throat was fishbone. "Kaza, they are going to kill me."
He stared at her as understanding dawned on him. He recalled the fat kid's words before he dueled Justeen. He'd never given the Purge accords any thought. He'd been hearing about it since he was a toddler, people wondering which oscillation will have the Purge accords carried out. And every Oscillation met its end with no such thing happening. Came a point when talk of the Purge Accords sounded like talk of Dragons falling in love with Rankf Sea Leviathans, a thing of story. Now, observing his mother's wide eyed stare, seeing the fear thrashing unbidden within, Kaza realized that things of story never warranted such a reaction from someone, only reality could shove one into such a deep pool of terror.
"Kaza," His mother pressed on. "It's okay," She rubbed at his cheek with a thumb, wetting it, only then did he realize he was crying. "I don't regret a single thing, my son. The realm is a place of pain and suffering and I've never thought I would ever find something that rivals the two, that was until I found you." Her hands upon his face softened, easing the burn they'd brought upon his battered face, she leaned in and kissed his forehead. Pulling back, she said. "When you were a child, I stood before a Dragon with you in my arms and lived. Kaza! I lived!" Kaza felt confusion that struggled to break free of the fear blanketing him. "I didn't live because I am worthy of anything, I never thought myself worthy of anything nor have I ever. I lived because you quelled the Dragon's wrath. You were just a baby!" She broke down then, her sobs making it difficult for him to pose a question, any question. "You tamed a Dragon as a baby, and you were marked by Sin. You hear? You exist for a reason." Kaza tried to pull away but her hands shifted from his face to his arm, gripping it hard, jerking him to face her.
Kaza didn't want this to be the last moment he shared with her, neither did he want this to be the last conversation he had with her. Talk of Dragons and being marked by Sin sounded delirious. The ravings of a mind seeking escape from its current predicament. He had to guide his mother away from such talk and its ennui. They had to find a way to escape their current predicament.
As if sensing his words, his mother spoke. Her voice oddly calm, as if she'd let go of something she'd been holding on for so long. "There's no hope of saving me, Kaza." She said and released her grip on his arm only to raise a hand to stroke the hair falling free of his left temple, as she used to do once upon a time. "The Prince of the West sent messengers a day prior, stating his reason for visit. Me. The village chief has put every measure to ensure I do not depart my abode lest the Prince arrive and find me missing. If such a thing was to happen, the villagers know they will pay on my behalf. The parents of the children you play with, the people who trade fish with us and clothing and bread, all of them serve a singular purpose this night, to ensure I do not escape."
"No, mother." He felt weak, then. He'd felt weak when he realized his place amongst the Rad es Maalas. He'd felt weak when Justeen beat him to pulp, now he realized neither time had he been weak. He realized that weakness was simply an inability to act. In the face of any circumstance, weakness availed itself. And in this instant the very fabric of his being tore under the weight of helplessness and flung him into despair. It was then that he had an epiphany, of what true weakness actually felt like.
"There's nothing to be done, my son." His mother whispered. "Nothing but live. I will give my life freely, and whatever punishments that may befall me I shall face with my head held high, but I shall beg for your life, Kaza, and they will grant it for through you does salvation lie."
"Salvation?" The word tasted odd in his mouth, like the first time he'd tasted bread. He wanted to rage and seethe. He wanted to grab a sword and slaughter his way through the villagers, curving a path of blood that his mother and himself could walk to freedom. That was the only salvation he could fathom.
"You represent hope, Kaza, hope. Be hope—" His mother's eyes darted to the door as two men entered, the Chief and a soldier dressed in black metal from head to toe.
The Chief pointed at Kaza's mother. The Chief who never glanced at his family and acted as if they didn't exist. How Kaza had often wished the Chief would ruffle his hair as he did the other children, or even rest his eyes on him, acknowledging his existence as he did the others. Now his gaze was one of scrutiny and grim satisfaction, as if ridding himself of a diseased goat from his flock, one that would have infected the rest of the flock.
The man in black armor moved forward, his mother moved to stand but a back hand slap from a gauntleted hand flung her against the shack's wooden wall. Blood dripped from her split lip as she raised her face. "No!" Kaza got up, weak, his head spinning, face on fire. He balled his hands into fists and moved to the soldier, not sure what bare fists would do against armor. The soldier shoved him back onto the bed.
"I'm here for the whore, child. Act on your emotions and you'll meet the same end as her." The Soldier said. Kaza got off the bed, balled his hands into fists once more, taking a step towards the soldier even though it was the last thing he wanted to do. He fought back his fear, she was his mother, the only woman he had. He would never let anyone hurt her, never... The punch to the gut made him double over, his mother was at his side. He heaved, struggling for breath, he felt as if his lungs had collapsed.
"Please, I come willingly, don't hurt my son." His mother said.
The Soldier turned to the Chief. "This is a son of Sin? Does he have a father?"
The Chief, a lined face with sagging cheeks and a drooping mouth with a prominent lower lip, nodded his head. And ran a hand across his green bald pate. "He is her son."
"Is his father known?" The soldier inquired.
"He is a son of Sin." The Chief said, as if that explained everything. He had his hands dug into his robe. Kaza's mother started sobbing.
"Please." She begged, outstretched hands to the Chief. "You promised, you said he'll have a place here, that he won't be claimed by my sin!"
The Chief shook his head, "Best rid myself of the stain of Sin in my village with its spawn." He turned away, green robe ruffling with every step as he exited the place Kaza called a home.
The Soldier grabbed Kaza's arm and dragged him upright. With his other hand he gripped his mother's hair and yanked at it, he dragged them out of their home as if they were mangy mutts caught on a goat's carcass.
Outside the house, the villagers had gathered. An army's camp was visible to the North. And the army itself crowded around the village's center piece to one side, set apart from the villagers on the other side. The bonfire burned high, it rarely gave off such a glow nor such heat. Such a thing was dangerous, it could catch the eye of a Dragon, but it appeared the villagers were willing to risk that, for the Prince of the West was among them. He stood in silver armor, set out from the rest, face with angular features that made him appear handsome despite the malice so vividly sketched by his eyes. Long wavy dark hair and a neatly cropped beard that had no doubt been touched by Leviathan oil that morning. The Prince smiled as Kaza and his mother were dragged and flung before him.
XXXXXX
Enjoyed this chapter? Want more? If you're eager to continue the journey and can't wait for the next installment, you can check out my Patreon at:
patreon.com/user?u=53923380 (copy paste to your browser)
By supporting me there, you not only get early access to more chapters but also exclusive content, behind-the-scenes insights, and much more.