Victory
The Paladin’s mind continued to race. Where was the Beastkin?
Suddenly, he noticed a body, fallen in a heap on the ground. Could this be the Beastkin? That cuirass looked identical to the one he had worn. The Swordsman slowly approached where he lay. The Paladin’s thoughts, now shouted inside of him. Thought you were fond of challenging opponents more powerful than you? He thought as he looked towards the lifeless Beastkin. Here are two now, come attack them! Kill them, or be killed…I could care less anyhow. His mind was now exhausted from his own thoughts.
The body’s skin shone and most of its hair had been torn off. It was beyond recognition…had the Beastkin returned to its human form upon death? Before his eyes, the Beastkin’s head began to deteriorate, as well as one side of its shoulder…what on earth was happening?
At this moment, the Paladin’s opponent came ever closer. Should he beg for mercy? He was hoping his life could be spared, but would it work?
The Da’Khaee were going extinct, and every single person counted. Could he use this moment to his advantage? He remembered hearing once they could be persuaded by the exchange of hostages. Who knew if there were hostages at headquarters to make such an exchange, but he had to try, even if it just bought him more time.
The middle-aged swordsman knelt down, lifting the Paladin up, blood still flowing from his mouth and nose. He tried his best to open up his mouth, and struggling to speak, uttered but three words:
“Exchange of hostage.”
The middle-aged swordsman looked at him, a silent tension continued between the two…
The swordsman pinned the Paladin to the ground, and drawing a dagger which hung around his waist, he pierced the knight’s throat through, then retracting his dagger from his lifeless body and sheathed it only after wiping it clean on the knight’s tunic.
Exchange of hostages? The Chivalric Order of the East left no hostages. The Paladin was apparently a rookie without knowing how the Chivalric Order of the East worked.
The one-armed swordsman witnessed the diminishing light of life in the Paladin’s eyes, and looked at his mouth. The blood continued to flow. This was unusual. The one-armed swordsman had killed a lot of people. He had seen people die of poisoning, but he had never seen anything like this. The blood in his body flowed with such force, like people evacuating from a fire, it fled to exit this sinful body.
Gushing, gushing, and gushing.
“Darcy! Come over here!” he called to his companion. Darcy approached slowly and turned to see this incredulous sight. “What did you do to him? Why is he like this after he’s dead?”
“I did nothing,” Darcy replied.
“Do not lie to me,” the swordsman demanded, “Did you cast spells on him?”
He shook his head.
The swordsman kept his volume low. “Did Qinza teach you this?”
Darcy tried to refrain himself from rolling his eyes. “You said, never use his skills in combats. I did not use the skills that he taught me.”
“What is this then?” the swordsman said.
“I have no idea,” was all that Darcy could reply.
Unnatural Death
Darcy thought his answer might make his father angrier. However, unexpectedly, he did not know that it was his expression that had changed his father’s heart. His rage dissipated, and instead, he showed wisdom and tenderness towards his son.
“Nobody taught me this,” Darcy said as he cast his eyes downward. “I was just so very angry, and then I transmitted such anger to his blood to let him know my hatred. That’s what happened.”
The swordsman fell silent for a while.
“I thought we had a deal?” he finally said, “Even to kill, we use iron and blade, not blood and spell.”
“But…” Darcy waved his hands in frustration. “He held this poor girl hostage! A girl from our clan! Why would I show my openness in the fight?”
The swordsman shook his head. “No one said it’s going to be open. You could still sneak an attack with iron and blade. The Blood should not take away lives in such unnatural ways.”
Darcy tried to hold his tongue but could no longer. “I heeded your words! I did not use the skills of Uncle Qinza! I could hear the blood! I could converse with them. Why should I refrain from doing so?”
As the swordsman searched for a comeback to his son’s protest, he noticed the couple tending each other’s wounds, and their daughter snuggling in the bosom of her father. The couple was aware of the quarrel, but pretended to not hear it for courtesy sake; however, the girl being too young to hide her concerns, stared at him, wide-eyed.
“We’ll talk later,” the swordsman said as he patted Darcy’s shoulder, and walked towards the family. Father tried to stand up hurriedly, but his wounds prevented him and he choked back the pain which shone on his face.
“Easy, easy. Just stay where you are,” the swordsman said compassionately, grasping the man’s arm, helping him to sit back down. Father slowly eased into his seat, and sighed in relief.
Introductions
“Excuse my manner. My name is Dawsama, and I am affiliated with the tribe of Hullhota of the Da’Khaee,” the swordsman announced.
“Hullhota?” Father exclaimed. “The biggest tribe?”
Dawsama laughed. “I hope so.”
“And I am Billogot,” Father replied, “from the tribe of Chin’Re. This is my wife Rieza, and my daughter, Sora.”
“Chin’Re...is everything quite alright there?” Dawsama inquired.
Billogot’s face changed and an air of sorrow swept over it.
Realizing the man’s grief, Dawsama sighed, “I am really sorry.”
Billogot was silent for a moment and then swallowed and said, “We are…extinct, except for my family you see here.” Dawsama now listened intently. “It was the angels, ruthless and coldblooded. We knew how to deal the Chivalric Order, Cathedral Knights and bounty hunters, but angels…” he choked back his feelings and then said, “I heard from a messenger that most of our Clan was slaughtered by the angels.” Billogot could not proceed anymore.
Dawsama waited for a while, then asked, “Any other survivors?”
Billogot shook his head.
Dawsama sighed. “So now there are only the Hullhota and the Gozarka.”
“A while ago…” Billogot paused, thinking how he should say what he wanted to say. “Some time ago there were survivors who claimed Gozarka had also been…”
A look of shock and grief fell over Dawsama’s face. Billogot didn’t need to finish what he was going to say, Dawsama knew the truth in his heart.
“There were also tribes of Shangol and Cerral, weren’t there?” Billogot said. Dawsama opened his mouth but could not speak.
“It…it cannot be! Only one tribe left for the Da’Khaee?” They sat in quiet shock and unbelief as this revelation sunk deep into Dawsama’s heart. After a time his thoughts returned to their present condition.
A New Plan
“Are you alright? Can you move?” Dawsama broke the stillness and asked his new friends.
“Yeah,” Rieza laughed. “I might not move fast, but I’m still mobile.
Dawsama contemplated all that had occurred. He made a decision and then announced to the group, “It is too dangerous to stay here. It’s better to return to camp now.”
“How long will the journey take?” Rieza asked and stood up, slapping her leg that had now gone numb.
“If we travel quickly, two days; four days, if we take it slow,” Dawsama said, remembering the injuries the family had sustained in the recent battle. “This may not be safe. Not the right season for such travel.”
“What do you mean?” asked Billogot.
“The Blood Moon will be here in days,” Dawsama said. “The tear spiders will be wandering from their nests, looking to store food for their queen spider to reproduce. They would hunt down anything they could get: giant squirrels, night howl wolves, black earth bears…and of course, us.”
“Spiders…hunt bears?” Billogot asked.
“Looks like you seldom come to the South,” he said. “Spiders in the Forest of Tears come in an enormous size. The tear spiders are not the biggest threat but, the trouble is, they hunt in gangs.”
When they had finished their conversation, Dawsama beckoned Darcy to come closer.
“Darcy, return to the camp and get us some blood spiders.” Darcy nodded his head. “If you meet any Outsiders to the Forest, unless they are from the Da’Khaee, whether they are hostile or not, have no contact with them. Just return to the camp and report. Let Border Patrol handle this. Understood?” Darcy nodded his head. “This is not between Father and Son. It’s an order from the Captain of the Border Patrol. Do you understand?”
“I got this.” Darcy turned to leave.
“Fine. Leave the dried food and fang herb ashes, and go,” his father commanded.
Darcy took out a bag of dried food wrapped with black cloth and a tiny bag of gray powder near his torso and handed it to Dawsama.
“What is he supposed to do without dried food?” said Billogot. “We are fine. He needs to keep his strength after our battle and for carrying such heavy gear.”
“No need to worry about him,” Dawsama laughed and patted his son on the shoulder. “He is an excellent hunter, even better than I am. Were it not for his swordsmanship, I would have made him a hunter.”
Darcy pretended not to hear it, but seemed embarrassed by such praises.
“Depart when ready. The time is ticking.”
Darcy nodded and walked into the forest, his form quickly fading into the mist.
Dawsama began to gather twigs, making a pile and scattering fang herb ashes over it, hoping to start a fire. The twigs were wet, and so were the flint stones carried by him. Creating a fire became so difficult…let alone having only one arm to do it with.
“Mind if I try something?” Billogot asked with smile.
Dawsama turned his head and saw Billogot, who was rubbing his hands, and nodded.
Billogot sat beside the drenched twigs and picked up a piece of one, with hands on top; and then, he gently moved his hands away, and the drops of water over the twig appeared drop by drop, coagulated into a giant water ball and stuck to his palm, moving along the flat of his hand.
“Is this…an Oath of Law?” Dawsama said in great surprise.
“No…so how am I able to obtain the tricks of an angel?” Billogot turned his palms down, but the water ball remained sticking to his palm so it didn’t fall. “I just happen to have better knowledge of water. And oil; also fire.”
“You are…?”
“I am a cook,” Billogot laughed. He raised his hands, and the giant water ball dispersed into countless of tiny water balls and dropped. Then, he picked up his own flint stones and pressed the flint stones against the twigs. Squinting his eyes, he struck the flint stones hard against one another. Sparks burst out and immediately kindled the fang herb, making flames of reddish brown rise high.
“Once, there was a human ranger who almost died of starvation in the wilderness, and then he wouldn’t leave after our people saved him,” Billogot said. “Besides marvelous cookery, he also knew a few tricks. That’s how I learned it.”
“What happened after that?” asked Dawsama.
Billogot’s face fell. “He was a loyal friend to our clan. We lived together, and died together. He is with now with our fallen Clan.”
Placing his hand on Billogot’s back, he said nothing more.
Meanwhile, Rieza and Sora had joined the campfire. Sora smelled the fire, and winkled her nose.
“What you are smelling are the fang herb ashes,” Dawsama said as he took his sword and poked the campfire, making the smell grow stronger. “Bugs do not like the smell of burnt ashes; neither do the night howl wolves. This is of great help to us.”
Sora nodded and sat down, she covered her nose with a handkerchief.
Dawsama took out the dried food and shared it with the Billogot family. He gave them what he could, leaving little for himself.
“My son is swift,” said Dawsama. “He would be back with his steed before the moon rises to its peak. Rest up before he comes back. I will make sure we are safe here tonight.”
Vital Bread265Please respect copyright.PENANAtzKeFCtRkb
“I seldom am in contact with people from other tribes. I suppose you feed each other ‘vital bread,’ don’t you?” Dawsama inquired.
Billogot raised his eyebrow. “Certainly we do.”
Upon hearing this, Rieza chuckled to herself. In the past, perhaps affected by human beings, she would be more straightforward, saying, “Tell me your story” or something similar to replace such an ancient expression of ‘vital bread’ which traditionally meant the passing on of clan history.
“You may start,” Dawsama grinned making a ‘please’ gesture with his only arm.
Billogot cleared his throat and nodded.
“I am going to tell a story about our tribe. A story about White Fang, father of Chin’Re tribe, and how he started the tribe of Chin’Re. Do you know where the tribe of Chin’Re dwells? No idea? Allow me to tell you then.265Please respect copyright.PENANAa6ogt6GFH8