Yoharum froze. The ceramic cup of water slipped from his grip, hitting the carpeted floor. It bounced, refusing to shatter despite the impact. There in the doorway of his childhood home stood the man who had offered Yoharum his last job: the one that had destroyed his crew and left him burned and disfigured. The job that had sent him against an Aginjigaade immune to blades and a swordsman that felled men like grain. He was the catalyst for all that had happened; for the destruction of everything he had worked for. It seemed inconceivable. This was the one place he felt safe; detached from his life down in the city. Now the illusion of safety was shattered. And Bartiin of Gaag laughed.

Thoughts came like a torrent. Questions of how and why filled Yoharum’s mind until an idea settled that chilled him to his core. We were set up, he realized. We must have been set up from that very first meeting at Yomu’s winehouse. The offer of riches; of gold and silver. It was a lure. An offer too enticing to ignore. Bait to encourage us to do their dirty work and then destroy the evidence and take the winnings for themselves. But I survived and now he’s come to finish it and kill me.

In that moment, Yoharum only had one concern: I have to protect Jiral. He pushed down the fear and gritted through the pain of his raw blistering skin. The fear within transformed into something else. Anger and hatred filled the empty places within and those feelings fueled him into action. He pushed past his sister and pocketed a knife on the countertop. It was small, but it would have to do.

Bartiin continued to laugh. Even if it kills me, I won’t let my family suffer for my mistakes. He urged himself forward towards the laughing man. Upon his approach, Bartiin stopped laughing. Yoharum held back the urge to stick the knife straight in the man’s eye. Not yet, not in front of Jiral or Harumal. No reason to give the old man another reason to hate me.

Anticipation made Yoharum’s stomach flutter. Bartiin would be armed. He was a killer too. A soldier. He couldn’t give him a chance to strike first. He rushed forward to intercept Bartiin, who still stood awkwardly in the door. The pain made his rush more of a hurried limp. He grabbed Bartiin carefully by the arm and led the foreigner outside and into the cool night air.

Behind him, Harumal’s eyes furrowed. It was clear from the look on their faces and the unsettling laugh that his son knew the foreigner. How, Harumal could only begin to fret. I’ve made a terrible mistake, he thought. Somehow, this man has used me. A seed of distrust formed between Harumal and the strange foreigner. Bartiin hadn’t told him the full truth. Worse than that, he was connected to Yoharum and his band of bastards and thieves. And no friend of Yo’s will ever hold my trust or confidence.

“How is you here? How you find me?” Yoharum demanded in hushed anger and broken Tralang. Bartiin was still recovering from his hysteria. Yoharum couldn’t fathom what was funny. He gripped the pocketed knife with white knuckles, splitting the burned skin on his finger. He ignored the pain, “What is so funny?” he hissed, trying to get an answer out of the man. He readied the knife, just in case.

“You won’t believe this” Bartiin said, calming himself, “but I wasn’t looking for you at all.”

“I don’t believe you. How did you find–” Yoharum caught himself before he finished that sentence. Not home. Don’t say home. Just in case. “…this place?” he finished, scowling.

Bartiin appeared non-fussed, “Why do you think I find this is so damned funny?” he asked rhetorically. “What are the fucking chances that of all the men I happen to befriend out in the fields, the one I meet turns out to be your father. Spirits, it seems impossible.” He laughed again.

It wasn’t funny to Yoharum. Anger seethed within. Anger at being betrayed, at losing his crew. At losing Zhenya. “You… fucking… you set us up!” Yoharum accused through gritted teeth. He pulled the knife and had it against Bartiin’s throat in an instant. The skin around his knuckles cracked and the blister oozed. Yoharum ignored the pain. Bartiin’s laughter faded in an instant.

“Whoa!” he reacted. He raised his palms in a placating manner. “What do you mean I set you up?” Bartiin said, speaking slowly. “Put the knife down.”

“My people. My crew. They are all dead” Yoharum spat. “You sold me!?”

“What are you talking about?” Bartiin said, his posture stiff. “Put the knife down, Yoharum. I didn’t do anything.”

“You betrayed me!”

“I didn’t betray you!” Bartiin pleaded. “I promise, whatever it is you think I did. I didn’t do it.”

“And now you come to kill me” Yoharum growled. The knife still hovered by Bartiin’s throat. “Kill me and finish the job. No survivors.”

“Do you think I’d come alone if I wanted to kill you?” Bartiin asked. “Spirits, even in your sorry state you’ve got a knife at my throat.” He waved his hands passively. “I swear to you that I’m telling the truth. Yoharum, please!” Bartiin finally clocked the venom in Yoharum’s look and understood the danger he was in. This man would kill him, right here and now with no hesitations.  “Things… they didn’t go well for us either” Bartiin continued. “The soldiers, they came for me too.”

“You are a liar!” Yoharum hissed, he pressed the blade firm against Bartiin’s neck. He held him firm with a massive hand.

“I swear it!” Bartiin said. “My men are all dead too!” That part, he wasn’t certain was true but it felt like the right thing to say to placate the hulking brute of a man. Spirits of the earth he’s strong.

“How did you come here?” Yoharum hissed. He looked over Bartiin’s shoulder, making sure their conversation was still private. “How you find this place?”

Bartiin pulled his neck back as the blade nicked him, drawing blood. “I escaped the city and then met your father, Harumal. I didn’t know he was your father, and he invited me for dinner. I just want to get off this damned island.”

“I don’t understand” Yoharum said. He understood the words but not their connected meaning.  

“I escaped arrest” Bartiin repeated sternly. “I’m hiding from the Casoyans, like you!”

Corrupt Casoyans, Yoharum thought bitterly, lowering the knife a little. “How did you meet Harumal?”

Bartiin chuckled and scratched his chin. “I’ve been hiding out of the farmer’s barracks just outside the city.” He pointed in a direction that he figured was close to right. “Pretending to be a labourer. You know? A worker. Picking fruit. Plowing fields.” He mimed the actions. “Your father was my partner. Teaching me to work.”

“You think I will believe that?” Yoharum demanded.

Bartiin glanced down. The knife no longer lingered at his throat but it was still close enough to end his life. And, despite Yoharum’s gruesome and diminished appearance, his hands remained strong hand firm. If I had a sword, maybe. “Ask your father then…” Bartiin said, “I’ve told you the truth. You and I are the same.”

Yoharum held his gaze. The burned man’s eyes pierced him with their own fiery spirit. Finally, the huge man eased, releasing his tight grip and stepping back. Bartiin felt his muscles relax. More importantly, he could see the tension slip from Yoharum’s wiry neck. The knife lowered. Bartiin let out a long sigh that puffed wispy tendrils of breath into the cool and humid night air. They stood in silence, eyeing one another.

“What happened?” Bartiin asked finally, indicating to Yoharum’s burned figure.

Yoharum didn’t answer immediately. Such a simple question with such a difficult answer, Yoharum thought to himself. Eventually he said, “We killed the older prince, Aramuk Krimas. And we steal the money. But the man with the sword. He killed many men. And the Aginjigaade of stone, he would not die. I could not kill the young prince, Ohacha. My sword could not cut Aginjigaade skin. We have no time and so we run. Run out of Casoya.”

Bartiin stayed quiet. The big man seemed to be pondering how best to continue. He said, after a moment, “Made it away… safe. Into mountains. But soldiers come for us. They find us.”

“They came for you?” Bartiin repeated.

“Guild warriors. They came in night. They set fire to the house. Then they kill us as we escape fire. I survived. I see the fire, and I think it is betrayal; one of mine. A thief. Wants all the money. You understand?” Bartiin nodded and Yoharum continued, “So I wait, but no one tries to steal. And then the fire is too big. Too hot. I take what I can hold and run. Soldiers outside. I think they did not think anyone left inside. Big surprise. For me and for them. I run into the mountains. Escape. Come here.”

Bartiin looked shocked. “How did they find you?”

“I don’t know” Yoharum said. “I thought, you, Bartiin has betrayed us.”

“I swear on my ancestors that it wasn’t me” Bartiin said, glancing down at the knife still visible in Yoharum’s massive hand.

Yoharum continued, “They killed all my people. They took all the money…. When we talk, and you say princes of Gaag might have money, did you know how much they would have?”

Bartiin wrinkled his brows. He must be disappointed with how little they had. “No” he admitted. “I thought it might be enough to sweeten our deal but–”

“It was more than twenty times what you paid us” Yoharum said. “Enough for an army. Enough to save my people.”

“To save your people from what?” Bartiin asked.

“From the Casoyans”

“I thought you were Casoyan.”

The venomous look Yoharum returned avowed the opposite. “My people live in the mountains. We were free. My great grandmother was free. Free to go without soldiers and checkpoints. Free from taxes and hard labour. Free from working fields like animal. Free from slums of oppression. Free from fire used as a weapon” he added, staring down at his burned and blistered knuckles.

“Aren’t you worried the soldiers will track you here?” Bartiin asked.

“Aren’t you?”

Bartiin had to admit he hadn’t been until this conversation. “And what did your parents say when you showed up covered in burns?” Bartiin asked. “Didn’t they ask questions?”

“I don’t remember. I lost my mind, running through the jungle. My mother, I think, nursed me” Yoharum answered. He wanted to say more, but found it tiresome searching for the words in Tralang. Harumal hates me. He thinks me a common crook and disowns me for it. My mother refuses to talk about it, too afraid of the truth. Only my sister Jiral sees me for who I am, a freedom fighter. Only she doesn’t spurn me. That may simply be because she has little else up here in the mountains. All her friends have left to find work in the city. And she sees the truth. The truth that the Casoyans are looting us year by year, stripping us of what little they let us keep in the first place. Instead, Yoharum only added, “Do not tell my family any of what I tell you.”

“Okay” Bartiin said, not asking any more questions, “I can do that.”

“You say your men all dead too?” Yoharum asked. “Tell me this story. I want to know what happened. Why are Casoyans looking for you?” He spit, after the word Casoyans.

Bartiin grimaced. “To my misfortune, one of the princes’ men came up with the same idea we did.”

“They sent men to attack you in the street?” Yoharum seemed shocked. “At the same time as us?”

“Not men, one man” Bartiin admitted. “One of the princes’ men came for us and attacked us in the street. It was suicide.”

“Suicide?”

“He knew he would die” Bartiin explained. “We killed him. But he made a scene. A show in front of a lot of people.”

“Why?” Yoharum held a puzzled look.

“He did it to get us in trouble with the Casoyans. He tried to kill me. My men killed him in the middle of a busy street. Tensions were high. Anger got the best of us. The bells were tolling. It was disastrous. People were screaming and shouting. Soldiers appeared. I thought the best idea was to surrender. Claim self defense. He attacked us. We would go free.”

“If you thought they will let you go free, then why need escape?” Yoharum asked.

“The friends I have in Caso didn’t share my optimism” Bartiin answered. Yoharum still looked confused and so he tried again, “They thought the Casoyans would kill us for it.”

“They would” Yoharum agreed. “Surrender was stupid. Die fighting, like a warrior.”

Bartiin didn’t wish to argue the point. Some people have more to live for, he refrained. “Then its good they got me free” he settled.

“Who are your friends?” Yoharum asked, his curiosity piqued. “Friends who can free you from Casoyan prisons.”

Bartiin’s face hardened, realizing he had said a little too much. “Nobody important” he lied. “A soldier who owed me a favour” he said, thinking of the man who had freed him from the animal cage they had held him in. “Now all I have to do is wait a little longer, then return to my ship and get off this damned island.”

“You’ll never make it” Yoharum said. “You have no way into Caso, no men, and no money.”

“I’m sure I can find my way” Bartiin said with a little more confidence than he felt.

“Okay, then where is your ship?” Yoharum asked.

Bartiin gave him a puzzled look, “My guess would be right where I left it”

“Casoyans are pigs. Greedy bastards” Yoharum said. “If they arrest you, then maybe they seize your ship. I would not hope your ship is still waiting for you. You may need to steal it back or find another way. I can help you.”

“You would help me?”

“I will help you if you help me.”

“Help you with what?” Bartiin asked cautiously.

“Get my revenge. Then you leave this city for good” Yoharum answered.

A soft voice sounded from the back door and a pretty young face stared out at them expectantly. “Food is ready” Jiral said, looking back and forth between the two men.

“We should go back inside” Bartiin suggested. He wasn’t ready to commit to whatever revenge Yoharum had in mind. I’ll play along and see if I need him or not. “This’ll be the first good meal I’ve had in weeks” he added.

Yoharum nodded and gestured for Bartiin to lead the way inside. The big man followed behind, his body burning with each step. He was a furnace of rage and the Casoyan’s had fueled him with enough hatred for a lifetime.

As Yoharum followed Bartiin into the kitchen, his mother and sister stared expectantly. They stood with expectant looks as if demanding more information. He tried to look elsewhere and instead spotted Harumal already at the table eating alone. The old man ignored him, like always. Bartiin came in with a politician’s grace. He spoke quickly with a charisma and charm that was disarming. Yoharum couldn’t follow the quick conversation but Jiral seemed eased in mere moments, and transferred those same feelings to her mother in quick translations. Bartiin accepted a plate of food from the two women as if nothing strange had even happened.

Yoharum approached the kitchen and Jiral stepped in close. “What the hell was that?” she asked in a hushed whisper. Yoharum looked down at her and met her gaze. She stared daggers in his direction. “Who is that?” she hissed. “How do you know him?”

“Drinking buddy” Yoharum lied, not elaborating. He kicked himself for not preparing a story they could both tell for when they came inside. Hopefully, Bartiin wouldn’t say anything that betrayed the truth. It was clear from her face that Jiral didn’t believe him. She eyed his burns and gave him a warning glance. He tried to think of a way to placate her, but there wasn’t anything he could do about it now.

Harumal ignored Bartiin as the foreigner took a seat at his table. The friendly attitude between them had vanished. To his credit, Bartiin didn’t seem phased by the change in Harumal’s attitude. He acted as if nothing had happened and instead, chatted emphatically with Yoharum’s mother despite the language barrier. Ahunas seemed engrossed by the foreigner’s charm and blind to her husbands shift in character.

Dishes were served and the family sat together, Yoharum as far from his father as possible. He ate in tense silence until Harumal finished his plate and got up from the table, leaving the room. Yoharum finished his cut of hen and then pushed the remaining food around his plate aimlessly. Eventually, he worked up the courage and broke the silence.

“Once I am healed” Yoharum said in Tralang, “I am going to leave. And I won’t come back.” Ahunas and Jiral both froze at his words. They looked up at him with surprise. Jiral’s had the taste of disappointment. Bartiin did the opposite, looking down at his food and avoiding their gazes.

Ahunas turned on Bartiin, who still remained engrossed in his plate of food, and gave him a whack on the shoulder with a swatter she had made appear from seemingly nowhere. “What did you do to my boy?” she asked accusingly in heavily accented Tralang. “You show up, all charming like with my husband, and suddenly it seems like you to know each other and everything’s changed. Who are you?”

“Mom!” Jiral said, trying to interject.

Yoharum reached out to his mother and grabbed her by the arm to keep her from swinging again. “Stop it” he cut in, speaking the mountain tongue. “My decision has nothing to do with him.”

“Sure, it doesn’t” Ahunas replied, not believing him. “You tell me you’re leaving like this? Nuh uh, this is the last excuse I’ll take from your lips. What is it? You being hunted by the Casoyans eh? Finally caught up with your little gang of crooks? In too deep this time? What is it? You just want to protect us?”

“Mom!” Jiral shouted again.

“Enough out ‘a you” Ahunas said, silencing her daughter. “You always been protecting him, as if he isn’t your elder brother and can’t take care of himself. Well, what is it, Yo? Are you running off with this charmer? Decided you’ve had enough?”

Bartiin no longer understood the words but he understood the tone. He sunk deeper into his chair to avoid becoming the subject of Ahunas’ wrath.  

Yoharum scowled. His mother’s words cut deep. She was right, in a way. He was thinking of running. He would hurt them first. Badly. But then he would leave it all behind, or so he imagined. But admitting that to her felt like losing the argument. “There’s no fighting these people” Yoharum said instead, ignoring her question. “If there were a real chance of changing things, I’d stay and fight. But the Casoyans are merciless! You want to know how I got these burns?!” he asked in challenge. She smirked victoriously. He realized immediately that he had played right into her hand.

“Of course I do!” she said. “My own son shows up half dead at my door and then won’t talk about what happened. Your father and I ain’t fools, boy. You and your friend here are clearly in trouble. You all cut and burned like a roast hen. And him,” she said, waiting a spoon in Bartiin’s direction, “what foreigner comes and works in the fields? Now tell me the truth. How’d you get those burns I spent my weeks treating?”

Jiral looked expectantly at her brother. He ignored her and answered sourly, “No. I don’t want to get you in any trouble.”

“Are you stupid or just dumb?” Ahunas said. She clocked him over the head with her spoon. “If a band of Casoyan soldiers showed up at my door looking for you right now, you think they would spare us because we don’t know why you’re burned and running. You think ignorance saves us from torture or execution? Tell me what happened, baby” she pleaded.

“They killed everyone!” Yoharum yelled, slamming a fist on the table. The plates ratted noisily and a spoon flew aggressively off the table onto the floor. Jiral and Ahunas froze in the silence that followed the outburst. “They killed everyone, mom” Yoharum repeated. “Burned us alive and slew the ones who tried to escape. They almost got me too. And so, if there’s no fight, I’m running. I’m going to leave the island. Better to live in a place where there are real jobs to work.”

“There are real jobs” Ahunas argued. “Your father works with the guild–”

“And he’s killing himself over coppers” Yoharum shouted. “How can you be okay with the way we live? The Casoyan dogs have slowly expanded their grasp across the island. They seize our villages and take our ancestral lands. They pay off our elders and chiefs to play nice and disposed of the ones who don’t. They bring in city folk to work the best jobs and push our youngest to leave for the city for the chance at something better. But that promise is empty, and instead the men work as builders and plow fields. And the women serve in their mansions and palaces; all for pittances. They are consuming us, and I’m the only one who seems to give a shit. I’ve been resisting them in all the ways I can, and look what that’s got me. For the first time I feel like there is no fight we can win. Not with the lot of us acting like nothing is wrong, happy to sit in squalor and call it life. For each deplorable choice you think I’ve have made, I’m met with a Casoyan willing to commit even more monstruous acts…”

“You’re a coward” Harumal said, entering the room from where he had been listening.

“Me?” Yoharum shouted. “At least I tried to do something. How many Casoyans have you killed?”

“How many of our people have died because of those Casoyans you killed?” Harumal asked. “Ten men I’ve worked with for year were taken that day. It’s been weeks. There are hundreds missing. Hundreds more homeless. People desperately searching for family members because you had to go and play savior.  You caused this mess and now you’re running away like a coward.”

Yoharum rose from his seat and held himself back from hurling his plate across the small dining room at his father. Jiral seemed to shrink into her chair expecting the sudden violence.

“Get out” Harumal said in Tralang. His voice was a low growl. “Both of you. You understand?” he asked, looking at Bartiin. “If you’re still here by mid-day tomorrow, I’ll go to the guild myself and bring them here to arrest you. Do you understand me?”

Yoharum scowled. You were always the real coward. At least I tried to make a difference. You were never brave enough to do anything but keep your head down. One day, you’ll look back and wish you had done as I have. Stood up. United, we could have changed things for the better. Resisted. Yoharum stormed out of the dining room, leaving Bartiin cowering in his chair.

The next morning, right as dawn rose, Yoharum stepped into Jiral’s room. It was dark and she appeared to be sound asleep. Yoharum walked over across the small room and stooped over, planting a soft kiss on her temple.

“You’re leaving?” she said softly, startling him.

“You’re awake?”

“Where are you going?”

“Back down to Caso” Yoharum answered. “I’ll find somebody to get me off this Casoyan-cursed island. I’ll go to Viiran, probably.” He expected her to protest but she didn’t.

“Will I see you again?” she asked. The question hurt.

“One day” Yoharum promised. He gave her another soft kiss and left the room. He would have gone to his mother too, but not with his father in the room. Despite their misgivings, she had done well for them. Yoharum exited the house, meeting Bartiin outside in the garden. Together, the two men set off down the mountain towards the city.