Chapter 5

You are no longer my son...

my son...

my son...

How is it possible for someone to cheat death not once, but twice? What kind of destiny must one have when the very hands of the Patrons stays the scythe of the Reaper twice in a row? We often hear of people getting a second chance at life after suffering some kind of accident or other tragedy, but not very often do you hear of someone cheating death twice. Some would call it a blessing, others a curse. Me? I'm still undecided.

My eyes opened up slowly. I don't know how much time had gone by. It could have been a day...a week...a month. Hell, it could have been another lifetime for all I knew. All I knew was that it was sometime during the day; the incessant sunlight coming in through the grime-coated windows attested to that. I squinted from the brightness of the sun and flinched on reflex...which was far and above the dumbest thing I could ever do.

However long I'd been unconscious, I had also apparently not moved from the near-fetal position I'd curled into after being beaten within an inch of my life. Every movement caused jolts of pain to arc through my body. No matter what I tried to do, pain was the only consequence. Still, I had to try...I had to do something or else I'd die here, alone, curled up like some weeping kitten who's lost its mother. The Patrons had seen fit to grant me another day's worth of life, and I wasn't going to waste it away lying here.

I started with my legs, slowly extending them and forcing myself to growl through the pain of stiffness and bruising. My implants all tingled annoyingly in protest, but I ignored that, eventually able to stretch them out. My arms came next, and I had to stop several times to catch my breath. Because stretching my arms out also meant my chest would stretch, I felt the dried blood around Father's 'parting gift' pull and break, causing warm, fresh blood to spill down my fur. To this day, how that gash never wound up infected is a mystery. In spite of the pain, I continued working my arms for several minutes until I was able to move them freely again.

Slowly, I stood up and took a long look at the place that was to be my home from now on. The place was bereft of any kind of furnishings, save a small stool that was encrusted with animal droppings, and built into the far wall was a small brick fireplace, which looked like it had once served as some feral animal's nest. The floor was covered in dust and dried up animal droppings, and not too far from where I had fallen I could see what looked like a mouthful-sized chunk of red, bloody meat. I shuddered at the thought of what I'd done the night before. That packla's blood was still on my tongue, bitter and coppery. I felt myself grow both fascinated and repulsed by what I'd done the night before, wondering briefly if I'd be the victim of a midnight visit sometime in the future from them.

I was about to move towards the chunk of leg on the floor, but all at once the smell of the place...the filth and decay...almost made me retch, more so because I was basically covered in it. I quickly forgot about the chunk of flesh and turned towards the door. My first priority was to find some way to get cleaned up and tend to the now-bleeding wound on my chest. Grandfather had taught me years ago about the different wild plants that could serve as healing salves and disinfectants. With any luck, I could find some in the area. I figured there would be enough dead wood lying around that getting a fire going wouldn't be too much trouble...but in order to clean this place...

Shock can be a wonderful thing. When I think back on that day, I'm still surprised that I wasn't more concerned with the state of my exile. I mean there I was, my Coming of Age only three weeks away, and I'd been all but abandoned by the only way of life I'd ever known. Yet, the only things I was focused on were getting clean and getting wood for a fire. I had no money, no food, and at that moment no friends, yet some kind of survival instinct seemed to take me over and prioritize what needed to be done. Now that I think about it, maybe my instincts were better than I thought they'd been back then.

I digress, though...

I learned something pretty quickly when I moved towards the door to go outside, and that was there was a huge difference to merely standing while in pain, and walking. Trying to move opened up whole new universes of discomfort for me and I nearly fell down from the pain. Luckily I made it to the wall beside the door and braced myself until I was sure I could continue. When I was sure, I pulled the door open and stepped outside.

I could see that the dwelling stood on its own, and despite its rather ragged appearance it was rather solidly built. I had to hand it to my Clan; they had taken Ke'an's edict more seriously than any other Clan that worshipped the same Patron. There was a fair bit of open ground between the dwelling and any of the surrounding forest, which meant I could see any potential intruders coming long before they reached me. I thought of a few other purposes such a clearing could serve, including using part of it as a fire pit for cooking during the summer months. Let me tell you; nothing beats the taste of a fire-cooked Twaro roast on a warm summer night.

My stomach seemed to echo that sentiment and began growling rather loudly. The last meal I'd really had was yesterday morning at the hospital. Gods, that seemed like another lifetime ago...in a way it was, I guess. Now technically, the last bite of meat I had was from the leg of that Shatlia who'd gotten a little too close, but it wasn't like I actually ate what I'd ripped off. I knew, though, that the longer I put off finding something to eat, the more tempting that little morsel would become. I headed into the forest, hoping to find anything edible to satiate my hunger if for only a few hours.

Anyone who ever said that nature would provide, never tried finding food in that forest by my new dwelling. I searched for what felt like hours before finding a few berry bushes, and even a few wild grape vines. With it being so early in the year nothing was overly ripe, but compared to an empty stomach, the sour taste of unripe fruit was heavenly. If I was careful, the bushes I'd found could sustain me for a while, but I knew I'd need something more substantial before too long.

As I walked through the woods, I noticed several burrows in the forest floor. It seemed that this particular area was rife with baloths. Feral animals often preyed on them, and they were large enough to be a substantial meal. The mere thought of having to stoop so low just to eat, though, made my stomach churn for a time. Baloths are rodent-like creatures, akin to Terran gophers in most respects. They tunnel through the ground, raiding gardens and pock marking the landscape with their shameless displays of burrowing fervour. Normally, people are called to exterminate them, not harvest them for food. Oh, the levels to which an exile had to sink.

Despite the rather lacklustre result of my search for food, I did happen across a bit of a treasure in my travels. I found a secluded stream not too far from the dwelling....just a few meters past the tree line heading north. At one particular bend in the stream, the current seemed to slow right down...almost to the point that it was less a stream and more of a deep, calm pool. The water was crystal clear and I could see to the bottom, where a collection of smooth grey stones lay.

I knelt down and stuck my hand in. It was cool, but not uncomfortably so. It carried with it a fresh, clean scent...the kind that invigorates you first thing in the morning. I cupped my hands in the pool and brought as much water as I could to my mouth. I drank it down, savouring it like some kind of fine wine. Once I was satiated, I took one last mouthful and sloshed it around in my mouth in and attempt to get the remaining blood taste out of my mouth. I spat the water out after several minutes, running my tongue over my teeth and feeling refreshed.

As I looked up from the stream, I noticed a few other things about this particular area that were...unusual. For one thing, many of the plants surrounding this natural pool were Asheria plants, whose leaves are typically processed for herbal cleaning and grooming products on Bengalis. Further, the bushes were dense enough that the pool was quite sheltered from the rest of the area. Unless one was really looking, they'd never suspect if anyone was here.

Slowly I peeled out of my clothes and slid into the water. It was a shock to the system at first, but after that initial chill the water felt much more comfortable. I walked out into the centre of the small pool, and was surprised that it came up to my neck. Beneath my feet, the rocks were surprisingly clean and bereft of any algae or other such material. I began wondering if this little oasis was a bit more than a natural occurrence. If anything, more and more it felt like this place had been created by someone...perhaps an exile from years before...someone determined to make the most of his or her situation and create as many comforts as they could.

I waded over to one of the Asheria plants, and noticed that nestled in amongst them were some small Sampar bushes. These plants bear a bulb filled with a viscous, oily fluid that worked both as an antibiotic and healing accelerant. That all but confirmed my suspicions that someone had created this place to serve them during their time as an exile. The only question was...who? I'd never heard of anyone in my Clan suffering this fate in recent years, which made me wonder if perhaps this place was far older than it appeared...perhaps even older than Grandfather.

I plucked a handful of the Asheria leaves and two Sampar bulbs before moving towards the shallower part of the pool. I squeezed the leaves tightly, drawing forth the oils from within them and began rubbing the crushed leaves all over my body. I worked it in deeply into my fur, making sure the oil broke down the filth, dirt, and blood on me. When I finally rinsed off, I felt like a new tiger...clean and somewhat refreshed. It was as if the pool had done a lot more than just help wash away the dirt...it felt as though I'd washed away something more, and with it gone I felt as though I could start living again.

Once I was clean, I reached for my clothes and did as good a washing job on them as I could. My shirt was pretty much a write-off, but having nothing else to wear, I did my best to clean the blood off it and not tear it any further. My pants and other clothing cleaned up rather well; at least they'd be wearable for a while. I smirked at the thought of the Baloth burrows I'd seen earlier. Perhaps their skins would help make some clothing for me...though it would take a fair number of them to replace my shirt.

I laid out the clothes to dry in the rising sun, and I hoisted myself out of the water to do the same. It felt a little strange at first, clad only in my fur outside, but that feeling soon disappeared. I didn't think anyone would be coming out here any time soon, least of all the Shatlia. They would take some time to lick their wounds before returning here. No...as far as I was concerned, I was completely alone out here

I took the Sampar bulbs I'd picked earlier and squeezed one of them. The thick oil dropped onto my fingertips and I gently applied it to the wound on my chest. It stung like hell at first, and part of me wanted to stop. However, young as I was, I knew that if something didn't get done this slash would be the literal death of me. I continued to apply the Sampar oil, eventually using both bulbs to coat the wound completely.

By the time I was done, the stinging had been replaced by that dull, throbbing ache of nerve endings pushed past any point of tolerance. Movement at that point became almost too painful, so I closed my eyes and let the oil and the sun do their work. Interesting thing about pain...once you've lived with it for a while and you're finally rid of it, it takes some time before the mind winds down from its former higher state of awareness.

The same could be said for me. As the pain of the disinfectant began to subside, my mind started trying to process all that had happened in the past day. The questions began firing off in my mind, all of them being asked at once and going unanswered. How had this happened? Had they all known? Why exile me? Why not kill me?

Lars' twisted rant about my condition still echoed in my mind. I could still see the smirk on his muzzle when Father took the sword from him and approached me. How disappointed he must have been when Father decided to not end my life the quick way, but rather to condemn me to this existence. Granted, it would have been nice to see Lars squirm at not getting his way in terms of Clan justice, and perhaps Father was taking some satisfaction in that...of course, he could considering he wasn't the one here now.

Here...now...alone...

The shock of everything was finally beginning to wear off, and the despair was slowly creeping in. I had no money, no real food, and no way to take care of myself now. Whatever little I knew about survival would do me no good in conditions like this. And what about defending myself? Sure, I was stronger than most, but Father always taught me that strength was no match for skill when it came to combat. If those Shatlia came back to finish what they'd started I'd be powerless to stop them. Knowing them, they'd come and slit my throat as I slept on that filth-ridden floor.

And even if I survived them, there was no way I could ever again face anyone I'd known before. Any Clansman caught associating with me risked an exile of their own lest they execute me on the spot, and my non-Clan friends could also be in danger, unofficial as that may be. Basically, to associate with anyone other than another exile was not only dooming myself, but those around me.

I could feel the tears welling up as I turned onto my side, careful not to let the slash wound on my chest open again. The utter hopelessness of my situation had all but erased the refreshed feeling I'd had earlier, and replaced it with a cold, heart-wrenching realization: There was no way out of this. Like it or not, I was now alone in a world determined to kill me or drive me to kill myself. I'd cheated death twice now, had been given the gift of enhanced strength, and none of that counted right now. Though twice blessed by the Patrons, I was beaten in the end by a simple sword slash and six small words:

You are no longer my son...

I think I fell asleep, for when I finally opened my eyes again the sun was beginning to set and the air had cooled somewhat. I looked over to where I'd laid my clothes out and was relieved to see everything was still there. I sat up, again careful not to stress my healing wound, and grabbed my undershorts. I slid them on and, after retrieving the rest of my clothes, stood up and headed back towards the dwelling. As filthy as it was in there, it still offered shelter from whatever wild creatures still roamed these parts. Perhaps I could just prop myself up in a corner and avoid getting as dirty as I had the night before.

However, when I reached the dwelling, what I found beside the doorway made my ears perk up in interest. It looked like someone had been here, and had left a few gifts behind. Leaning against the outside wall were a broom, mop, an axe and a spade. Next to this was a metal bucket containing a bottle of what looked like industrial strength cleaning fluid...the kind you dilute with water. Next to that, a rolled up sila mat had been placed, and along the side of the house were what looked like two face cords of firewood, on top of which had been placed a small bag tied around a lighter. I shook my head; was this a dream?

I reached for the lighter and untied the bag from it. Inside was a folded up piece of paper, a handful of food caplets, and an electronic credit chit. I took out the chit and pressed the balance button on it...100 credits. Spent wisely, that amount could go a long way. With it I could easily buy a new shirt or two, along with some dry goods to keep me fed until...

Until...when, exactly?

A hundred credits was a good short-term gift, but once it was gone, there would be no way to replenish it unless I found some way to earn a living. With my Coming of Age so close, I could legally work soon, but no business in their right mind would hire an exile, unless the nature of the business was somewhat less than…well...legal.

My mental shopping list disappeared. I'd have to reserve this money for extreme emergencies until further notice. I sighed...looked like I was going to have to learn to trap Baloths if I was going to eat. I wondered how long that would last before I finally gave in and pursued some kind of shady employment. Would I have to sell drugs to make a living...or worse...me? I shuddered at the thought of standing on some street corner in the urban core, dressed up and making stupid feline noises in an effort to attract a potential client. What made it worse was the notion that it probably wouldn't be females I be expected to 'entertain.'

The piece of paper was the next thing that caught my eye. I took it out of the bag and unfolded it. It was a note explaining the nature of these gifts. Apparently, a group calling itself the Foundation was responsible for all of this. I'd later learn that several organizations like the Foundation existed all over Bengalis, helping out exiles in any way they could. Officially, these organizations don't exist, and more often than not the Clans turn a blind eye to them, mainly because many influential Clansmen owe their very lives to groups like the Foundation.

Perhaps it was one of these debts on the part of the Clans that had alerted the Foundation to my plight so quickly. I'd only been an exile for less than two days, and already they knew of me. I read on in the note, and learned that the firewood and supplies would be the only help I would receive in this manner. From here, I was on my own. The food caplets would last for a while if I was smart with them, and the firewood would easily last the summer if not longer. And it didn't take a genius to figure out what the cleaning supplies were for. I went for that first, checking the bottle's instructions and heading back to the pool to fill the bucket with water.

For the next two hours I cleaned my little dwelling from top to bottom, removing from it the stink of waste and death and replacing it with the sharp odour of chlorine and a few other chemicals. I went over the place twice just to be sure no trace of anything existed in there. The walls, windows, and even the stool had all come clean after considerable effort. I smiled, wondering if Mother would be proud of me for making a place so clean.

After putting away the cleaning supplies (well, just putting them in the far corner), I picked up the sila mat and unrolled it near the fireplace. Thin as they were, these mats were quite possibly the most comfortable things to sit or lay on. Granted this would be nothing compared to my old bed, but it was far better than lying on the unforgiving concrete floor.

Within a few minutes I had a small fire going, after which I sat on the stool and chewed one of the food caplets down. I felt the relief wash over me as my stomach began releasing its synthetic nutrients into my system, taking away my gnawing hunger for the moment. It was no Twaro steak dinner, but at least I would make it through the night.

By the firelight I read the rest of the note. There was a small but detailed map on it, indicating a kind of meeting place for exiles to gather. They promised hot food, clothing, fellowship with other exiles, and potential opportunities to earn some money. It was intriguing, to say the least. Unfortunately, the place was located smack dab in the middle of the industrial wasteland known as Junktown. Talk about running a gauntlet.

Junktown was what everyone called the old industrial sector of Karalla City. It was one of many remnants of our planet's industrial revolution. Unlike many other worlds, though, Bengalans weren't satisfied with technology that created so much pollution. As advances in areas like manufacturing, fuel processing, and the like were made available, the need for enormous factories and manufacturing plants dwindled. Eventually, all that remained of a once vibrant industrial area became little more than a ghost town, where the buildings now stood empty...useless...

Well, perhaps 'empty' is too strong a word. Junktown soon became a haven for people like me: Anyone who had to hide from society could find some kind of shelter there, provided they were willing to fight for it. Gangs known to terrorize the inner city were rumoured to be based out of Junktown, though the authorities never pursued them that far. The Shatlia were known to sometimes head there to test their mettle against some of the tougher gang members.

Exiles were known to flock there as well, and were often absorbed into the street gangs thanks to their skills as fighters. More often than not the offer's made at gun or knife-point, so acceptance quickly becomes the only option for them.

I finally began to feel tired so I lay down on the mat and stared at the ceiling. Knowing that the trip to Junktown was inevitable didn't help ease my fears of going there. I didn't want to become part of a gang, and I was in no shape to refuse any 'offers' should they come my way. Still, risking my life there was no different than risking my life here. From this day forward, every day was going to be a test of survival, so what should make Junktown any different?

As I closed my eyes I resolved myself to head for Junktown tomorrow and try to hook up with the Foundation. Perhaps from there I could get some kind of lead that would put me on the path to those who stole the Ka'al P'ack. It was a long shot, I had to admit, but it was the only shot I had left.

One shot left...for my family...