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 reaped 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 that illusion of safety was shattered. And the bastard 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.
In that moment, Yoharum only had one concern: I have to protect Ji. He pushed down the fear and gritted through the pain of his raw blistering skin. As always, his fear yielded to the rage within. 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 would do.
Bartiin continued to laugh. Even if it kills me, I won’t let my family suffer for my mistakes. He urged himself 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. She shouldn’t fear me. And I won’t give him more reasons to hate me. Anticipation made Yoharum’s stomach lurch. He’ll be armed. He’s a killer too. He couldn’t give him a chance to strike first. He rushed forward led the foreigner outside and into the cool night air.
Back inside, Harumal’s eyes furrowed. They know each other. I’ve made a terrible mistake bringing this stranger here, he thought. A seed of distrust formed between Harumal and the strange foreigner Bartiin. The man hadn’t told the full truth. Worse, he knew Yoharum and his band of bastards and thieves.
Outside, Yoharum fumed. “How are 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 fingers. He ignored the pain, “What is funny?” he hissed, trying to get an answer out of Bartiin’s smug face. He readied the knife, just in case.
“You won’t believe it” 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. “…this place?” he corrected, 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. His blisters cracked and oozed. Yoharum gritted through the pain and 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 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 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 dead too!” That part, he wasn’t certain was true but it felt like the right thing to say. 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. But I didn’t know he was your father. 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 connection.
“I escaped!” Bartiin repeated sternly. “I’m hiding from the Casoyans, like you!”
Corrupt Casoyans. Yoharum slowly lowered the knife. “How did you meet Harumal?”
Bartiin chuckled and scratched his chin. “I’ve been hiding out in a workers’ 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 the work.”
“You think I 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 diminished and grisly appearance, his grip remained firm. “Ask your father…” Bartiin insisted, “I’m telling the truth.”
Yoharum held his gaze. The burned man’s eyes pierced him with their own vengeful spirit. Finally, the huge man released him and the tension eased from his wiry neck. Bartiin felt his muscles relax and let out a long sigh that puffed wispy tendrils of breath into the cool night air. They stood, observing one another.
“What happened?” Bartiin asked, indicating to Yoharum’s burned figure. “Mudtown?”
Yoharum didn’t answer immediately. He said, “We killed the older prince, Aramuk Krimas. And we steal the money. But the man with the sword. He killed many. And the Aginjigaade of stone, he would not die. My sword could not cut Aginjigaade skin. He protects the little prince.” Bartiin remained quiet. The big man seemed to be pondering how best to continue. He continued, “Made it away… safe. Into mountains. But soldiers find us. Casoyans. They use fire to catch and kill us.”
“They came for you?” Bartiin repeated.
“I escaped. I thought you betray us. Send soldiers so you don’t have to pay. They took the money. I will destroy Casoyans. Save my people.”
“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 walk the mountains. Free to farm and hunt and gather. Free from soldiers. Of checkpoints. No need for bribes. Free of hard labour. No serving. No Mudtown. No slums.”
“This is your family. Are you not worried the soldiers will find you?” Bartiin asked.
“Are you?”
Bartiin had to admit he wasn’t. “What did your parents say when you showed up covered in burns?” Bartiin asked. “Didn’t they ask questions?”
“I don’t know. I don’t remember. My mother, I think, healed me” Yoharum answered. He wanted to say more, but found it tiresome searching for the words in Tralang. What could he say? My father hates me. We haven’t spoken in years. He sees me as 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 but that may be because she has little else up here in the mountains. Her friends have left to find work in the city. She sees the truth. She remains to witness the devastation at Casoyan hands. They are taking everything from us. Year by year, we are stripped of what little they let us keep. She will be here to witness when they take the last of what was left. Instead, Yoharum said, “Do not speak of my family to me.”
“Okay” Bartiin said, afraid of asking more questions.
“You told me that your men are all dead. Tell me this story. I want to know what happened. Why are Casoyans looking for you?” Yoharum spit, after the word Casoyans.
Bartiin grimaced. “One of the princes’ men came up with the same idea we did.”
“They sent men to kill you in the street?” Yoharum clarified.
“Not men. One man” Bartiin admitted. “He attacked us on a suicide mission.”
Yoharum’s brow furrowed. “Suicide? I do not know this word.”
“He knew he would die,” Bartiin explained. “He forced us to kill him in front of other people. It was a crowded spectacle.”
“Why do this?”
“To ruin us. To get us in trouble with the guilds. My men cut him down and it started a riot. The people turned on us. Chased us. The soldiers came and we were outnumbered so we surrendered. Claimed it was self-defence. I thought they would let us go free once people told them we were the ones attacked.”
“If you think you will go free, then why need escape?” Yoharum asked.
“My friends in Caso didn’t share my optimism,” Bartiin said. “They believed the Casoyans would execute us for it.”
“Your friends were right. Surrender is stupid. Die fighting, like a warrior.”
Bartiin didn’t wish to argue the point. Some people have more to live for. “Then it’s fortunate that they broke me free” he said.
“Who are these friends? People who can free you,” Yoharum asked, his curiosity piqued.
Bartiin’s face hardened, realizing perhaps he had said too much. “Nobody important,” he lied. “A soldier who owed me a favour. Now I’m laying low until they stop looking for me. Then I can get to my ship and get off this damned island.”
“You will never make it” Yoharum scoffed. “The city is guarded now.”
“I’ll find a way” Bartiin countered with 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 they took your ship. It will not be there. You will need another way. I can help you.”
“You can help me?”
“I can help you get in. I can help you get a ship. And I will help you if you help me.”
Bartiin didn’t like the sound of that. “Help you with what?” he asked cautiously.
“I want revenge. You help me get it, and I will get you on a ship home,” Yoharum replied.
A soft voice came from the door and a pretty young face stared out at them expectantly. She spoke and then repeated her words. “Food is ready” Yoharum’s sister said, looking back and forth between the two men. Her accent was more natural than Yoharum’s.
“We should go eat” 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. “It smelled delightful.”
Yoharum grunted 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. They stood with expectant looks that demanded explanation. Yoharum tried to look oblivious and 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.
“Then what was the knife for?” Jiral asked.
Damn, Yoharum thought. She’s getting too smart for her own good. He grunted and gave it back to her and she seemed annoyed that he didn’t provide any further explanation. He tried to think of a way to placate her, but nothing came to mind.
In the dining room, 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 demeanor. Dishes were served and the family sat together for the first time in ages. Yoharum sat as far from his father as he could manage and ate in tense silence until Harumal finished his plate and got up from the table, leaving the room. Yoharum finished his meat 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. 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. Her accent was heavy and Jiral translated just in case. “You show up, all charming-like with my husband, and suddenly it seems like you two know each other and everything’s changed. Who are you?”
“Mother!” Jiral said, trying to interject.
Yoharum reached out and grabbed his mother’s arm protects to keep her from swinging again. “Stop” he cut in, switching back to their language. “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?”
“Ma!” Jiral shouted again.
“Enough outa you,” Ahunas said, silencing her daughter. “You’re always protecting him. As if he isn’t your elder brother and can’t take care of himself. Well, what is it, Yo? What are you running from this time? Decided you’ve finally 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 Yoharum’s mother’s wrath. Yoharum scowled. His mother’s accusations cut deep. She was right, in a way. He was running. He was the fisherman hunting the leviathan, knowing its maw would end his life if it ever caught him first. But it was a necessary hunt. It was his burden. If he didn’t, the Casoyans would continue to prowl their lands. He needed to hurt the beast. But admitting that to her felt like losing the argument. “There’s no fighting these people head on” Yoharum said instead, ignoring her question. “If there were a real chance of changing things, I’d be first to sign up and fight. But the Casoyans are merciless. Do you really 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 wailed. “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’re all cut and burned like a roast hen. And him,” she said, waiting a spoon in Bartiin’s direction, “what kind of foreigner comes and works the fields? Tell me the truth. How’d you get those burns I spent my days 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 banged down my door looking right now, you think they would spare us because we don’t know why you’re burned and running. You think ignorance spares us? Tell me what happened, baby” she pleaded.
Yoharum slammed his fist on the table. The plates and cutlery jumped noisily. “They killed everyone!” Yoharum yelled. 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 butchered us. They were this close to catching me” he said, holding finger to thumb. “But I escaped and the bastards will rue the day they let it happen. They will cower at my feet as I watch that city burn. Then we can build something better, for us! With real jobs for us.”
“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? They seize our villages and take our lands. They pay off our elders and chiefs to play nice and dispose 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 labourers and plow fields. And the women serve in their mansions and palaces for pittances. They are killing us, literally and metaphorically. And somehow, I’m the only one who seems to give a shit. For the first time I feel like there is no fight we can win. Not fairly. And 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 a Casoyan willing to commit far more heinous 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 tucking your tail 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. Resisted.” Yoharum stormed out of the dining room, leaving Bartiin cowering in his chair.
The next morning, right at dawn, 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 will you go?”
“Back to Caso” Yoharum answered. “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, “when you’re free.” 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 left, meeting Bartiin outside in the garden. Together, the two men set off down the mountain back towards the city.
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