Bloom

Chapter 3: Jasiri

Jasiri's eyes shot open.

The pain was gone. The gaping wound to his abdomen was closed and bandaged, and he felt a little better.

He wasn't sure for how long he'd been unconscious, but he knew one thing: somebody had saved him, and for that he was extremely grateful.

He looked around him, he was in some sort of cave, wrapped in furs.

There was no sign of his rescuer to be found. Other than the dying fire and a pouch by his side.

Remembering his nightmares, it wasn't long before he was hit by his grief.

There dying coals burst aflame. The fire grew and swayed when he stared at it. It was like someone had poured a jug of oil over it.

It didn't register at all. He was distressed, and he felt something within him growing with his distress.

His grief turned to anger as the memories of the massacre assaulted his senses, and the cave started to shake.

It ended as soon as it started. He looked around in confusion.

He looked at a rock. It cracked.

He looked at the cave walls, they cracked.

He looked at the ceiling, it cracked.

He felt it then. Something profound within him had changed.

When he resolved to stand up, he slowly levitated from the ground.

He was certain he was still dreaming.

Just then, the knowledge and experience of centuries came pouring in. The awareness was too much.

He fell back to the ground as he lost consciousness again.

~*~

Jasiri flew. He was soaring in the sky.

The strange thing was that it felt as natural a thing as breathing.

He saw them from afar, and dove in for the kill.

He would murder them like they murdered his kin. Revenge would be his.

A serpentine tongue of flame erupted on the ground, and it followed his gaze. It was igniting everything in its path. He would lead it their way.

He dove lower now. Trees were bent and shrubs were uprooted from the savage gusts following his wake.

Wherever he looked, the blaze followed, and his eyes settled on the enemy.

The earth cracked from pressure as they were reduced to ash.

But his family was gone.

~*~

Jasiri woke again.

He looked at the fire. Nothing happened.

He looked at the walls. The cracks were there.

He sighed and started to get up from his prone position.

No levitation, that was good.

It must have been a dream.

He checked the pouch by the furs, and inside he found some food and a waterskin. He quickly took a swig out of the waterskin. He instantly felt better.

He eyed the food, and then remembered his village. He had to get out of there.

There was no time to waste.

~*~

It took him a while to find his way back down the mountain.

When he looked for his mount, it was gone.

He would have to travel on foot.

As he looked up to check on the sun's position in the sky, he could see billowing smoke rising from the plain ahead.

His heart fell, and he ran faster than he could ever remember. His heart thundering in his chest.

His tribe was in danger, and he had to warn them fast. He never felt the pain from his wound as it reopened and bled.

His flight took him on a direct path towards the village.

He was running faster than any human ever had, and although he never noticed, his feet barely touched the ground.

~*~

Something was nagging at him.

He felt a presence in the direction of the village, not so far away now.

It warned him. There was danger ahead.

All the more reason to hurry and save the tribe.

He thought.

He never expected that the village would be already gone. Burning tents greeted him from afar.

He saw the demons herding the tribesmen bound in shackles. He'd witnessed the aftermath of a one sided battle.

As if in a trance, he moved closer, and one of the demons pointed and shouted something at him. A stranger in shackles and a collar screamed at him to run away.

He felt his anger rising like unstoppable tide.

Then he saw his mother's prone form on the ground, and the demon kicking at her sides.

And his rage erupted like a thousand suns.

With a deathly scream, he ran headlong into the enemy, tackling him to the ground.

The demon tried to skewer him with its long horns, he dodged to the left and with a coiled right fist, he pound its head.

Silvery blood and gore exploded from where his hand connected with the yielding flesh and bone.

Another demon screamed and pointed a finger at him.

He felt his left arm explode in a misty haze, and he heard gasps from the shackled crowd.

He didn't care about the pain. He ran straight into the demon and lunged at him with a fierce kick to his midsection.

Again, he felt no resistance as his kick penetrated the soft flesh and hard bone.

He looked down at his arm, and as he looked it was already reforming out of thin air.

And that's when he realised that it was not a dream.

The walls at that cave had cracked, and it was no dream.

If he could Shape, then he would.

They were running at him now, the twelve of them left, screaming unintelligible curses and pointing strange weapons at him.

With a wicked smile, he closed his eyes and centred himself.

And when they opened, they had a fire they'd never possessed.

~*~

Fourteen demons lay dead or dying, and one man stood tall.

He looked at his tribespeople, and one by one, their shackles fell to the ground.

They looked upon him with bewildered stares. Even the stranger was looking at him with his mouth agape.

He rushed to his mother's side and weaved his hands through her hair. He closed his eyes and concentrated hard, then he felt a hand on his arm.

He looked up to see the look in the stranger's eyes. It said "don't". He understood.

He let the outsider heal her instead.

~*~

Putting out the fires had been a group effort. The outsider helped.

"Lawawarace..."

"No, Lawrence! Lawrence!"

This was harder than expected!

They were sat in front of his father's tent, inspecting one the demons' strange weapons. His injured mother was sleeping inside, where the tribeswomen were catering to her needs.

Lawrence had managed to heal her. She was bruised all over, and had what Lawrence called 'internal bleeding'.

Like one could bleed on the inside. What a silly idea!

The more he thought about it, the more it made sense though, it was like a font of knowledge had opened inside of his head.

Now

that

would cause internal bleeding,

he mused.

"Hey! I'm talking to you!" Lawrence's voice finally filtered into his head.

"Sorry, I was a little distracted." he apologised.

"As I was saying, internal bleeding is real." Lawrence said.

"What? How did you know I was thinking about that?" he asked in shock.

Lawrence sighed.

"How can I say this... Look, I did something to you." Came Lawrence's apologetic response.

"What did you do?" Jasiri asked.

"Didn't you ever wonder how come I know your language now, but couldn't speak a word of it before?"

"Before?"

"Yes, when you talked to me in the forest."

Come to think of it, the memory was hazy, but it was there.

"Now that you mention it, yes. How come?"

"The same way I knew where to find your tribe. While you were injured, I entered your mind."

"You did what?"

"It's another form of Shaping. Anyway, for better or worse, we're sort of bound together now. Sorry." Lawrence wouldn't meet his gaze.

"What kind of bond do you speak of? Is this why I can suddenly Shape?"

"I guess. Look, it's complicated, and we'll speak of it later, trust me." Lawrence said, "Right now, you need to do something about that." he pointed a thumb at the gathering crowd.

~*~

Kuongezeka Unyoya was impressed.

As the tribe's shaman, he was honour-bound to help the fledgling develop his skill.

The day a fledgling showed the signs was a day the tribes would celebrate! The problem was that what Jasiri did was by far more skilful than anything he or his ancestors had ever done!

He knew how to Shape rocks and wood, how to craft razor sharp edges or smooth ridges, how to start small fires, that was easy.

But to rip an enemy apart? To use Shaping so handily, and without a second thought?

The Kilio Bundi tribe had no warrior Shapers in recorded history. Sure, the songs spoke of them, but only near the beginning of time! He'd also heard about other tribes that practised Shaping openly and in combat, but he'd never lain eyes on one tribesman that did so in person!

And so close to his proving, too! The boy would be eighteen at next Bloom, in two hands -- ten -- of days. He of all people knew. For he kept track of births and knew when it was time for every boy to become a man.

Not to mention that stranger who tried to help their village and was following the boy around. He'd never seen a man with such strange features before!

The world-mother and her spirits would know. He decided to meditate.

Then he would speak to the boy and hear what he had to say.

~*~

Jasiri stood up, and so did Lawrence. The crowd parted as the tribe's shaman approached.

"Jasiri Kipanga, we need to talk. Follow me." the shaman said with authority.

Jasiri eyed the shaman questioningly. He shared a look with Lawrence. The shaman noticed.

"You can bring the outsider."

"Of course, elder."

They walked the short distance to the shaman's tent in silence. Although Jasiri noticed that every time he looked at Lawrence, he could tell how he felt; anticipation was simmering beneath the surface.

He didn't understand why, but when the shaman spoke inside the tent, he suddenly did.

"Now you will explain what happened in detail. Where is elder Nyoka?"

Jasiri described the ambush to his best ability, he looked to Lawrence, who then stepped in to explain how he'd rescued Jasiri and attended to his injury.

Lawrence didn't mention his Shaping or their so-called bond. Although he did mention that he thought that some of their party could still be alive. He said the demons -- he called them slavers -- must have a camp, and that some of his tribesmen could still be alive, waiting to be sold into slavery.

The shaman listened carefully and when they were done relating the story, he spoke again.

"For reasons unknown, the world-mother has blessed you." the shaman intoned.

"Your proving was to be in two hands of days, but the world-mother had other plans for you."

Jasiri was excited at the news. He knew it was close, but not this close! The shaman kept proving years a closely guarded secret!

He was about to speak when the shaman hushed him.

"Jasiri, you always talk. For once, listen."

He remained quiet after that, and listened.

"You will take a war party with you, and you will lead them to the ambush grounds. From there you will try to track and find the enemy' camp."

"If any of our tribesmen live, you will bring them back."

"But my mother..." Jasiri started.

"No buts. We will take care of her."

Jasiri was both elated at the prospect that his father may still be alive, and terrified at the alternative.

He was resolved to find out for himself either way.