Chapter 4

Away from it all now, I can see how obvious it all was. Everything had been laid out, and the signs were all around me. Yet, for all the warning and foreshadowing, I was too blinded by my own ambitions and hopes to see what was coming. Thing is, even if I'd known, even if for that entire month in rehabilitation, had I known what was to come, could I have changed anything? Wasn't this just a little too big for a cub to handle on his own?

Could I have made a difference even if I'd tried?

A month had passed since I'd awakened from my coma. Even though things started rough for me, by the end of that month I was beginning to feel like my old self again. Through a combination of the implants, physical therapy, and my nightly meditations my body was responding just like it had before the attack. If anyone were to look at me, they'd never suspect the hell I'd been through.

Of course, the lingering side-effect of the implants, namely my improved strength, was an altogether different matter. During the last week of my therapy, Dr. Twellin and her staff pushed me to every possible limit they could, and I surprised them by not only meeting those expectations, but far surpassing them. It didn't matter the test...from weightlifting to running on a treadmill...I met every challenge head-on and did my best to never disappoint.

My sensitivity had decreased as well, and Dr. Twellin's massages no longer burned like fire. Instead, they were the one thing I could look forward to at the end of the day...well, that and time with my family, who up until that last week spent as much time with me as they could. Mother had even gone out and bought me a new set of clothes for the day of my homecoming...thinking back, I hope she hadn't spent too much on it.

I never saw or heard from that mysterious intruder again while at the hospital, but his brief advice had been more than enough to help get me on the path to recovery. I honestly don't know what would have happened to me if he hadn't given me that little nudge. Now, thanks to him, I felt ready to take on the world.

Just my luck; the world was more than ready to take on me...

Finally, the day of my release came. Dr. Scheck signed off on my release form, and I spent the better part of that morning making the rounds and saying good-bye to all those who'd helped me through to this point. Dr. Twellin gave me what Terrans would call a 'bear hug' and told me I'd been her best patient. Hmph...I bet she says that to everyone. Still, the sentiment was appreciated.

At long last, Dr. Scheck pushed my hover chair towards the hospital entrance. The closer we got to the doors the more my heart pounded in anticipation. I began wondering who would ride home with me. Would it be Mother...Grandfather...any of my brothers or sisters? It really didn't matter to me; any of them would be welcome company for my trip home.

However, instead of family, Dr. Scheck and I were met at the entrance by a rather regally-dressed lion. The insignia on his robes indicated that he was an Acolyte...a personal assistant to the High Elder of the Karalla Clans. While each Clan has their own Elder in these parts, the High Elder sits in the chief seat of the Council of Elders...a governing body of twelve elected Clan Elders. That further mystified me, for why would an official representative of the Clans be coming to take me home? Had something happened? Was my family safe?

The Acolyte said nothing to me; he merely gestured for me to rise from my hover chair and climb into the back seat of the rather foreboding black skimmer just behind him. I looked back at Dr. Scheck, who merely shrugged. I stood up and walked towards the skimmer, taking one last look at the hospital before finally climbing in and sliding over to make room for the Acolyte. Moments later, he was inside and the skimmer took off even before he'd fully closed the door.

As we rode along, the landscape before me transformed from a forest of immense buildings, to a jungle of residential units, and finally to vast stretches of open fields, marking the boundary between Karalla City and the outlying Clan lands. In spite of the rather mysterious circumstances of my return, I couldn't help but be spellbound at the beauty of it all. The wind outside blew across the tall grasses on most of the fields, making them shimmer like great lakes of green. I could just hear the hiss of the grass, and knew that this summer I'd be spending as much time in those fields as I could.

I also knew my Coming of Age was only a few short weeks away, at which time Shiana and I would be married. I pictured the two of us running through those fields just a few metres away from me, each chasing the other as children would...though what we did together after the chase was over was definitely not what children would do. The mere thought of it all made me smile in spite of myself.

I stole a few glances at the Acolyte, and marvelled at how straight-faced he was through all of this. While in truth I didn't fully know what kind of behaviour was expected of an Acolyte, I couldn't imagine it involved such a stone-cold demeanour towards others. I shrugged it off; maybe he'd been ordered not to speak...maybe as some kind of punishment for something he did. Or, maybe like a lot of adults, he just had no idea how to talk to a cub like me.

Oh, if only it had been so easy...

Finally, the skimmer pulled off the main road and entered the land of the Tiger's Paw. The road remained wide open for the first few kilometres, but for the last two the sides of the road were flanked by tall, densely growing Ochu trees. I can't tell you how thrilled I was to be seeing them again. I'd taken them for granted for most of my life, merely acknowledging that they were there, but now I was overjoyed to see them. They were the first real, tangible indicators that I was going home.

At long last, the skimmer slowed to a stop and the Acolyte stepped out. Rather than getting out on my own side, he silently beckoned me to come out on his side, so I did. At first I was curious as to why he wanted such a thing done, but the sextet of people waiting for me slowly began to answer that question.

I recognized the black and gold uniforms they wore, as well as the crests sewn into each one. These six were known as Shatlia, the Clan Honour Guard. These six were part of a larger contingent of warriors hand-picked from the Clans and reputed to be the finest fighters in the land. Of course, these days the title didn't carry as much weight as it did during the early days of the Ascensions. Still, one didn't become a Shatlia without possessing some skills.

Before I could ask what was going on, the Acolyte finally spoke, and the two words that came out of his muzzle made me wish he had indeed been sworn to silence:

"Bind him!"

The six Shatlia approached me and forced me against the skimmer. They moved my hands behind my back, binding my hands and arms tightly. Then two of them - a lion and a rather muscular leopard - grabbed me by the shoulders and we all marched away from the mansion. I caught one last look at my home before one of the other Shatlia smacked me in the back of the head, forcing my eyes forward.

I stole glances at the other buildings on the estate grounds as we marched along. We passed by the War Hall, where I once trained with the rest of my family...we went by the servants' quarters, as well as the large Quonset where the many grounds keeping machinery was stored. As we passed by each one, more and more I was beginning to understand where we were headed, and my fear began to rise.

After several minutes of walking I could see our destination: The Temple of Ke'an. During the Ascensions, my ancestors erected this building in tribute to our Clan's Patron to the gods. Ke'an was the Patron of family, and as such his teachings were mostly centred on the sacred institution that was a family. Other Clans also prayed to Ke'an, and as a result the high priest only visited us once a month to lead us in prayer. Any other time the temple was open to any of us for self-reflection or silent prayers for guidance and insight.

As we neared, I noticed that whatever was going on at the temple had drawn the attention and attendance of nearly every Clan in the Karalla area. I could see supplicants and servants from over two dozen different Clans, all gathered outside the temple, ready to answer their masters' calls should they arise.

I was marched past the lot of them and none seemed willing or able to make eye contact with me. The rules of conduct between Clansman and Tachari (a word in my language meaning 'peasant' or 'person of lower standing') hasn't called for such a gesture in millennia. Ke'an's very teachings say to look everyone in the eye as an equal and to never turn your back or avert your eyes. This gesture on their parts made my uneasiness grow even more, and I suddenly dreaded walking through the entrance to the temple.

The normal warm, familiar glow of candlelight was gone from this place, and as we entered the temple proper, I noticed that all the holy symbols and icons collected over the centuries and stored here were all covered in black shrouds. The place seemed foreboding in the long shadows of the late afternoon. It felt less like a holy place and more like some desecrated ruin where the Dark One's minions would gather for their night rituals. My nose crinkled at the feral smell the place seemed to now possess...but then I realized that the predatory scent wasn't coming from the temple, bur from the six Shatlia marching me down the aisle. I swallowed hard, realizing that the lot of them were more than ready to take my life if desired...and they'd enjoy it.

We stopped at the last row of pews and I looked up at the altar. Seated there were three figures whose muzzles bore stone-faced expressions of neutrality. I recognized the one on the left as none other than Lars Rondoki himself. The year and month had been good to his wounds, it seemed; he'd suffered no permanent effects of the pasting my father had given him at the Kumal. To the right was a tiger, and at first I thought it was my grandfather. However, the facial markings weren't quite right so I guessed him to be the Elder of the Forest Lord Clan. Grandfather had mentioned him several times though I'd never met him until now.

In the centre of these two sat a regal-looking lion with several vestments of power upon his person. Such extravagance could only be reserved for the High Elder himself: Sereth Klassor of the Jungle Pride Clan. I suddenly realized that this whole thing was somehow because of me.

I began breathing hard as I heard a door open. From one of the antechambers in the temple, my assembled family emerged and took their seats to my left. I felt both joy and horror at seeing them, for they all bore the same unemotional looks on their muzzles as the three seated at the altar. All of them...the ones who'd come to visit me...to encourage me to recover...they all bore a look that betrayed no emotion. My heart began to ache, and I felt my spirit begin to deflate. All this time...all the words of encouragement...all for this. I don't know what I'd done to deserve this, but judging from everything, I'd done something wrong...something terribly, terribly wrong.

"ON YOUR KNEES, DOG!" I felt something hit the back of my legs and I fell to my knees, wincing in pain as I hit a wee bit too hard on the hardwood floor. I felt myself falling forwards, but was yanked back up roughly by my ears. A single tear of pain escaped my left eye, but I managed to stifle any sound. At that moment I feared the slightest noise would get my throat cut by the Shatlia. I faced forward as the High One and the others all rose up.

"This tribunal will now come to order," spoke the lion. I sensed everyone stiffen as though coming to attention. I too came to some sort of stiff posture the moment I heard two swords clear their scabbards and rest lightly on my shoulders. A mere flick of the wrist by either the lion or the leopard and I'd have about 30 seconds to plead my case before my entire life's blood left my body. "Elder Rondoki, you have called this tribunal together in protest of the Clan of the Tiger's Paw, is that correct?"

"It is," said the panther, his voice as arrogant as always. He stepped forward and produced an ornate scroll. "The Clan of the Midnight Fang hereby formally charges the Clan of the Tiger's Paw of failure...failure to protect a most holy and sacred Clan icon from harm. I speak of course of the Ka'al P'ack, the holy relic of Ra'Tal, the god of war."

My stomach churned violently as I recalled that night. My arms and legs suddenly ached from the remembered wounds. My scars tingled with remembrance and my breathing became shorter. I was having a panic attack yet I remained still for fear of those two blades limiting my mobility.

"This relic was won by Lucas Kalamar in last year's Kumal tournament," began Lars. "However, his injuries prevented him from completing the rite of acceptance, and therefore the duty was passed to his first-born son, Dalan." He pointed at me as though I was some freak on display. "From there, the whereabouts of the Ka'al P'ack is a secret known only to him."

"Given the condition in which he was found," offered the Forest Lord Elder - I think his name was Tarmon - "It would be logical to assume the boy met with a most unfortunate event."

"What do you mean?" countered Lars. "He looks perfectly healthy to me. Humph...he could probably take on all the Shatlia here and fare well." I cringed at the thought, but was roughly pulled back into position, the sword blades just that much closer to my throat. "Circumstances aside, High One, this one has failed to preserve the honour of the Clans by either losing the Ka'al P'ack to a group of thieves...or he's hoarding it for some other purpose."

The assembled Clansmen all murmured their opinions and thoughts on the accusation and I could feel myself beginning to shiver. Why would I hoard the Ka'al P'ack? Aside from its value in antiquity, there wasn't much more about it in which I believed, and who would be stupid enough to offer it up on the black market? Even the most ruthless of fencers wouldn't dare touch such an artifact..not with the Winter Stalker Clan or the Clan of the Black Rose ready to accept a death contract on them.

"Your words ring with merit, Elder Rondoki," said the High One. "The fact remains that the Ka'al P'ack is indeed lost, and this one here is the last Clansman to have seen it." He looked at me with a gaze I could only describe as aged arrogance. His smile was patronizing; I could feel no warmth behind it and felt my own blood begin to grow cold.

"Such an atrocity is beyond contempt," said Lars, now addressing everyone in the temple. "For a Father to have trusted this child to such a holy task is not only irresponsible, it is a slap in the muzzle of all Clansmen here." He began stalking the room, getting into the faces of everyone assembled. "For the sake of justice itself, this cub's father should behead him for being so pathetic." He levelled a gaze at me that chilled me to my bone. "In fact, I insist on it."

Many gasps filled the room, joined by my own. All the time spent recovering...hoping...praying that someday I would be reunited with my family...only to come to this? Everything the doctors had done for me...wasted so some packla like Lars Rondoki could endorse my execution? It would have been better for me to have died that night a year ago...best to die with honour than like this.

"Lucas Kalamar," challenged Lars. "While it was this cub who ultimately lost the Ka'al P'ack a year ago, it was your request that placed it in his hands."

I saw my father rise up and approach the three seated before me. "Yes," he said. "My lack of foresight ultimately caused the Ka'al P'ack to fall into the hands of thieves." He then looked over at me and our eyes locked for the first time in over a year. What I saw looking back at me was a sight no child should ever see coming from a parent. It was a blank stare...devoid of compassion and nearly bereft of recognition. It was as if I no longer existed to him.

"Then is it not fitting," said Lars, "to recognize your failure in teaching?" He gestured towards me again and I felt my breathing grow ragged. "This one was once your student was he not?"

"He was."

"Then by your own admission, you did not prepare this one well enough to carry out the very task to which you held him!" concluded the panther. The logic was twisted and biased, but it was logic nonetheless. Father had been my Sensei in the War Hall since I was a kitten, and by the age of 12 (if you believe all a sensei tells you), I should have been able to counter any threat...even four vagabonds who wielded swords with devastating precision. To have failed against any foe was not only an insult to me; it was an insult to my Sensei, and my Clan.

My heart began to pound mercilessly as Lars approached my father, unsheathing his sword and presenting it to him. "Yours is the right," he began, "to make amends for this atrocity here and now. Punish this...thing before us all as you see fit, Sensei Kalamar, and your Clan will be spared any further shame, upon that you have my word."

My father took the sword from Lars' hands and my throat ran dry. He...he was actually going to go through with this. He walked towards me and the fear erupted within me like some kind of volcano. I began to tremble and in spite of everything I tried, there was nothing I could do to stop myself. Any attempts at easing the shaking only made it worse. My strength was enough that I could break my bonds, but I knew I was nowhere near able to avoid the swords of the Shatlia afterwards. No matter how this ended, all avenues ended with the same conclusion: My death.

Father stopped before me and I felt the blade of Lars' sword lift my head up, exposing my neck for a clean swipe. I could not speak a word owing to my fear. I could barely breathe knowing that I was about to die like this...like some kind of animal who'd messed on an expensive throw rug. I blinked back my tears, wanting so badly to close my eyes but at the same time wanting my last vision to be that of my father ending my life. At least I would show that much honour to him.

"You are an insult to your Clan, and to all Clans," he growled. "For your failure you deserve this." He reared back with the blade and I heard it hiss through the air as it came down.

The blade came down and I felt the bite of the steel start at my left shoulder and trace down my chest. The furrow he left behind was not that deep, but it was bloody enough to convince me I'd bleed out before long. I gritted my teeth to try and ride out the pain, refusing to cry out even after this. I strained against my bonds, trying through sheer force of will to not break them and startle the Shatlia in any way. I continued to stare at my father, both surprised and relieved that I was able to do so.

I heard Lars chuckle. "Have you let your own practice go so lax, Sensei Kalamar? Can't even end the life of one so pathetic?"

My father turned towards Lars. He tossed the sword back to the panther and glared at him. "His fate has been chosen," he said. "Like the small wound that kills slowly, so will his end come. A quick death is far too merciful for what he's done. I instead choose exile."

Oh, gods no...anything but that. He walked back towards me and grabbed me by my lower jaw, forcing me - albeit painfully - to tilt my head upwards and gaze into his cold, dark eyes. His next words would echo in my mind for years to come...of that I was certain.

"You are no longer my son." He then stood up and looked towards the Shatlia. "Take him away," he said.

The Shatlia hoisted me up painfully once more and I was half led, half dragged out of the temple. As I approached the exit, my ears detected not a word or sound out of anyone, save their turning their backs on me as I exited. Even my youngest siblings had gone cold...I heard not a peep out of them. I could only wonder at their deception over the past month...driving me towards a speedy recovery all the time knowing I'd come home to an exile.

It's a fate worse than death amongst the Clans. Exiles are almost akin to violent criminals who've been released into a neighbourhood and then subsequently made known to the surrounding people. Even by non-Clan standards I was now scum. Setting foot on Clan lands now was an instant death sentence, and to that end any Clansman could take my life and fear no prosecution. After all, the death of an exile was a deed equal to that of urban beautification. Employment was impossible, as exiles are stripped of their surnames. Unless they know someone who can forge them an identity the only way and exile can earn a living is through illegal means.

If religion had given my Clan one thing, though, it was enough compassion to give an exile shelter, albeit off of Clan lands. According to the Testament of Ke'an, exiles were damned, yes, but not beyond redemption. For this reason, all Clans that prayed to Ke'an were compelled to construct a dwelling, 20 feet by 20 feet, on the very fringe of their estates. It was here that an exile would be placed until they had either found their way to redemption, or died.

As I was marched towards this place my mind began turning things over and over. Why had Father spared my life? Was it mercy? It would have been more merciful to kill me outright than stick me among the Dispossessed. Was it compassion? In spite of his cold gaze, could he truly not bring himself to spill my entrails on the ground? Or was it he was so ashamed of me, to have my existence stripped from the Clan annals was the only way he could think of to punish me?

"Man, that Sensei cost me fifty credits," joked one of the six Shatlia. "I figured he'd have slit this packla's throat."

"What? Lucas Kalamar actually kill someone?" asked another. "He'd let a swarm of flies suck his body dry of blood rather than swat them away...pathetic pacifist."

Father had always been a gentle soul...of that there was no doubt. I wanted to say something but by then the loss of blood from my chest wound and the overall depression of the moment kept me silent. Further, as the realization of what my father had done to me sunk in further, I started asking myself why I should even try to defend him. He could have stood up for me in that damned assembly...called Lars out for the arrogant packla he is. But no...he instead decided to turn his back on his own flesh and blood...on his very SON!

My sadness was slowly brewing into anger. Whether it was justified or not, I couldn't help but feel betrayed now...betrayed by my father, by the Clans, by everything and everyone I once believed in. The so-called elite society of my home world had suddenly cut me loose instead of rallying behind me to try and solve a crime. The charisma of one panther...a sworn enemy of my former Clan...had swung the popular opinion against me and would forever mark me as a failure in their eyes. Even if I did somehow atone for what I'd done, the stigma of tonight would forever be a black mark on my soul.

We finally reached the boundary of the estate. Immediately the landscape seemed to change from a well-manicured lawn and foliage to a wilder, untamed landscape. The ground was bereft of a sidewalk and the path had been long overgrown with weeds and roots. I did my best not to stumble, but inevitably landed on my muzzle a few times, wincing as dirt and other things were rubbed into my wound. Each time I was picked up roughly, laughed or yelled at, and pushed onwards.

At last, about a half of a kilometre away from the estate we entered a clearing. Before me stood a structure that appeared sound...but aged. The Shatlia all stood silent for a moment, as if afraid the old place was haunted by the spirits of the long-dead damned souls. Perhaps it wasn't so much the look of the place, but the stigma behind it. Was it reverence they were feeling, or fear? I guess I'll never really know.

They shoved me forwards towards the door to the place. There was no lock on it so any passing wanderer could have set up residence here at any time. Of course this night would be his/her eviction notice served with Shatlia steel. I felt my disgust grow at the thought of seeing them execute an innocent just to serve protocol.

Thankfully, when the door swung open, the only thing that greeted us was the rank odour of disuse, rodent droppings, and a very slight hint of that sweet death smell. The place had been all but abandoned to the whims of nature, it seemed.

The realization that this was where I'd be spending the rest of my life suddenly sunk in. The anger, the despair, and the fear all rose simultaneously within me, creating a chaos of emotions that threatened to burst out of me like some alien creature. Perhaps this was the reason why when the lead Shatlia shoved me hard into the dwelling and I hit the ground on my shoulder, I levelled a glare at him and snarled a curse against him and his family. Yeah, big talk coming from someone bound, exiled, and sporting a bleeding gash across his chest.

Unfortunately, the Shatlia took the threat seriously, and he and his comrades all charged in. His first kick was straight to my stomach, sending me rolling across the floor, covering me in the effluent that was awash in this place. I felt bile and blood both rising to my throat as the 'noble honour guard of the Clans' continued to kick and punch at me, laughing and yelling insults at me.

My vision had gone spotty, my ears were ringing, and Father's sword strike was burning like fire, yet I still heard one of them yell "Cut it off! Make sure this packla never breeds!" Right after I heard the sound of a sword being unsheathed, and for some reason that was all it took. I felt a sudden surge of energy course thought my body, making my heart pound and my muscles tense. The implants in my arms began to tingle slightly, but to me they felt like fire, fuelling my muscles and only adding to my rage.

I snapped the bonds that held my arms at bay and struck out wildly. I felt my fist connect with something and then I heard the scream. My vision had been so blurred by the beating that I couldn't see what I'd done or who I'd done it to, but the scream told me all I needed to.

I felt a fist snap across my muzzle, knocking me to the ground again. I rolled until I bumped up against someone's leg and, on instinct, clamped my jaws on it and bit down hard enough to pierce the flesh and let the blood wash into my mouth. I shook my head vigorously, revelling in my victim's scream of pain and terror. When I finally pulled free, I'd taken a good-sized chunk of his leg muscle with me.

"Come on!" yelled one of them. "Let's get out of here!"

"But what about him?" another asked.

"Leave him," said the first. "By morning he'll be dead anyway." I heard the door slam and the Shatlia were gone.

I curled up into a ball, the adrenaline fading from my system and the pain returning. I hurt all over. My ribs felt as though all of them had been cracked or broken, my head felt deformed from all the punishment it had taken, and the stench of blood and waste was overpowering. I felt the blood oozing out from my wound, as well as my nose and one of my ears. It hurt to breathe and to move.

The Shatlia had been right...I was going to die this night. I felt the night close in on me and my body grew cold. Hope for me was lost now. My future was little more than a dark path enshrouded by uncertainty and chaos. All I'd lived for...all I believed...all of it was gone. The very society of which I'd been a part had cast me aside like garbage...and now I was going to die alone.

As the last of my strength left me I silently prayed to the Patrons for mercy, asking forgiveness for what I'd done. Paradise would be denied me, I knew that, but perhaps I would only be condemned to the First Hell, the Hell of Misfortune. It wasn't much of a mercy, but I would take what I could get.

I breathed what felt like my last and felt myself seemingly deflate. Unconsciousness gracefully swept over me, covering me in darkness and the mercy of no more pain. I now awaited the sweet release of death to take me away from this place and this nightmare that had become my life...

Little did I know then that the Patrons had other plans for me...