Chapter 1: Shame

The fist was just a bare thread from my open face.

Rinshu was smiling, his face sweaty, concentration gleaming from his nostrils and his eyes. I swung right, just the barest amount necessary. My left toe angled its way to tap his knee, a move I had telegraphed what seemed like eons ago. A better fighter would have seen it and countered.

I could just about see his confidence tinging into frustration before the prann ended. There were one hundred and eight students in this class. I had beaten every one, one after the other, in continuous combat. It had taken perhaps 2 minutes.

Teacher Uma—who taught philosophy—once proposed a thought experiment. Imagine other worlds, other realities besides this one. One where the Gods hadn’t emerged and brought the prann, one where men fought each other in other strange ways (What power could stand up to the prann though?). Even one where men do not care for combat.

I’m interested in only one such world, a glorious reality, where my unmatched feat would make me a hero. A savior, hailed and feared.

In this world, I am cursed.

My name is Utore Akanshansu. This is the story of my shame.

Later, Rinshu—the golden boy & everybody’s favorite—beat the shit out of me. He knew enough to hold back and evade the first few minutes, and then when my prann finally gave out, it was all a blur. I woke up to my chest aching, my heels red & bleeding, and it seemed like at least a few broken bones.

The bones would be hard to hide. Rinshu was taking a chance here: fighting outside the bouts was grounds for a strict dismissal. But then, our stint at the academy was over. This was just silly, stupid, revenge for those final scored bouts where I had won a perfect score. I groaned and sat up. One of those bones seemed to be my ankle, and that would make tomorrow’s graduation ceremony close to unbearable.

I had looked up the library records a few weeks ago to find out if there had been somebody like me before. Despite being told (over & over), I refused to believe that the Gods had made me so uniquely cursed & determined. The names of several hundred deacons were listed in the rolls along with their illustrious professions. Many had gone to found other academies. Some had become ministers or revered priests. A handful had even become Kings and conquerors. Tomorrow, at the graduation, I would join that list of deacons. The best student, by ability, training and wit, in this entire academy. And a dismal, odd, failure in the eyes of everybody. I wonder if they’ll refuse to add my name to records.

I washed my face, bound my wounds and infused my bones with a bit of prann so that I’ll at least be able to move tomorrow. Then I slept. And dreamt, of shadows and shapes, and of death.

I remember it was when I was nine that my father took me to a prann soothsayer. It was that year that I felt the first foreshadowing of my destiny. Children’s games, where before I had won easily, were now harder and required so much more focus. Other kids could simply last longer, even laughing and grinning as I used all of my effort to just move around and stop getting tapped. I still won, but for me it was no longer fun.