J'Abar 1a
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Maiqua had been walking along the hard packed road for hours. The sun was high overhead and it beat down on his darkly tanned skin without mercy. His thick, black hair clung to his head and neck as his shirt clung to his body. His dark eyes glanced around through the tall, dense trees which lined the narrow road as he drank from his water skin. One never knew when some wild beast would come pouncing out looking for an easy meal such as a tender young man may make. His left hand rested comfortingly on the haft of his knife, his right hand ready to cross over and draw it from it's sheath.
He was dressed in the simple clothing of a poor villager. His plain shirt woven of a course, light tan fiber that, while light weight and cool, was surprisingly durable. There wasn't much need for sleeves in this warm, humid climate so his arms were bare to the brutal sun. He wished he had a jacket to shade him. He wore plain pants sewn of a thicker version of the same material, a dark brown in color and held in place by a wide leather belt around his waist.
These simple clothes, his soft and flexable macana-hide sandles, his knife a water skin, and his pack were his only worldly possessions. His pack contained a few simple utensils, a bed roll, and a meager supply of hard bread and meat. He had little need of anything else. It would just weigh him down and slow his journey. Besides, when one was poor you learned to make do with whatever you had.
He had made the knife himself just as all of the men of his village had done for as long as anyone had memory. It was a tedious task. The black,shiny stone used for the blade was an extremely hard variety found only in the hills near his village. It took a great deal of time and sweat to work the stone into the proper shape and hone the sides to a fine edge capable of cutting through the toughest of materials. The blade was firmly set into a handle crafted of hardwood and held in place by leather which had been soaked in water before wrapping so that it would shrink and harden as it dried. It had taken him several weeks to craft the knife and he was quietly proud of his work. The blade was the length of his forearm and the handle about one third that. He was certain that it was the finest knife anyone had ever made although he would never dare to voice this belief.
Pride was considered arrogant and undesirable among his people. That was something he had spent his 14 years of life struggling with.
He now wore his blade in the macana-hide sheath strapped on the left side of his belt. He had used the knife to kill and skin the macana. This was a traditional part of the Ceremony of Manhood that every boy of his village must endure to be considered a man. He had just completed the Ceremony a week ago and the wounds he had received from the macana were still quite painful. Was it only a week? It seemed so long ago now.
The macana was a fiercesome great lizard which hunted in the forests around the village. The teeth were almost as long as Maiqua's forearm and as big around as his wrist. While the meat of the macana wasn't edible, it's greenish-brown hide was prized for the tough, supple leather which needed no tanning or curing. A single beast provided enough hide for a belt, sandles, sheath, water skin, and the jacket he had forgotten to pack when he left the village.
So far, he had traveled 3 days steady walk from his village. He had never been so far from his home before. As he walked, he tried to appear as brave and nonchalant as he could. He reminded himself that he was now a man and had to make his own way in the world. But inside, he was terrified to be alone so far from from the safety and comfort of the village and it's people. He wondered if he would ever see the village again. He missed the small round huts built on stilts, the smells of the cooking fires, and the comfort of the heavy wood walls which surrounded the village.
He had always been safe in the village. Nothing could harm him there. There were always people around to watch over him. After his parents had died from the strange illness which killed a full third of the village population, the people in the village had made sure that he always had food to eat, clothes to wear, and that he washed behind his ears regularly. The women treated him as their own, and the men of the village taught him to hunt, build a fire, fight with knife and bare hands, and the myriad other skills he would need to survive. But it was always understood that, as an orphan, he would have to make his own way once he reached the age of maturity.
Now that he had reached that all-important milestone in his life when he was officially allowed and required to make his own decisions, he had decided to set out for the city of J'Abar. The men of the village had tried to dissuade him from the dangerous journey, but he had never been to a city before, and he had heard such wonderful stories about J'Abar from the traders who passed through the village from time to time. This was a wonderful and frightening adventure.
Just ahead he saw a wide place in the road with a small cleared area on the right side. It looked like a perfect spot to stop and rest for a while and perhaps have a small bite to eat. He would be able to see anyone approaching on the road from either direction. As he neared the clearing he was startled by a tall figure suddenly emerging from the woods on the far side of it. He hadn't heard even the rustling of dead leaves. He wasn't sure if he had been innattentive or the figure had really been impossibly silent in it's movements.
The figure, a tall man wearing strange, dark clothing appeared to be very old and to be as surprised as he was. Maiqua made a clumsy grab for his knife, but before the fingers of his right hand had even closed around the handle, the man had crossed the clearing and snatched the knife from it's sheath while holding his wrist tightly with the other hand. Maiqua had never seen anyone move so fast in his life! The man's grip was both powerful and painful. Trying to wrest free only made the pain worse. The man was incredibly strong, and very tall. He was a full two heads taller than Maiqua who was quite tall himself. He realized that the grey road dust in the man's hair and beard made him appear much older than he really was.
The man looked him over briefly with bright steel blue eyes and then turned his attention to the knife. He gave a low whistle of admiration. "This is a very fine stone knife" the man said in a deep voice that sounded as if it came from the depths of a cavern. "Where would a young whelp such as yourself steal a fine blade like this?" His accent was strange to Maiqua.
Maiqua bristled at the accusation. "That is my knife!" he cried angrily. "I made that knife myself!" He was very angry at being accused of stealing, but also felt a certain pride at the man's obvious appreciation of his work. He struggled to supress the emotions.
The man chuckled suddenly and released Maiqua's wrist. Maiqua stepped back quickly to be out of reach if the man suddenly decided to test the knife on him. Instead, the man hefted the knife as if testing it's balance and as quickly as a striking serpent the blade was sticking in the packed dirt between Maiqua's feet. Although Maiqua had not taken his eyes from the stranger, he hadn't even seen the man throw it!
Startled, Maiqua began to step back, stopped, and grabbed his knife up from the ground. He held it as if he were prepared to do battle even though he knew he could never hold his own against someone so much larger and stronger, and who moved faster than the eye could see. He waited to see what the stranger would do next. And he was terrified.
He wonder to himself if this was truly a man, or was it some evil spirit come to do him harm? As if reading his thoughts, the stranger spoke again in that voice which, while still cavernous, seemed a bit softer. "Relax young warrior, I mean you no harm. Come and sit with me for a spell. We will share a meal and you may tell me about yourself and that finely crafted blade you hold."
He was dressed in the simple clothing of a poor villager. His plain shirt woven of a course, light tan fiber that, while light weight and cool, was surprisingly durable. There wasn't much need for sleeves in this warm, humid climate so his arms were bare to the brutal sun. He wished he had a jacket to shade him. He wore plain pants sewn of a thicker version of the same material, a dark brown in color and held in place by a wide leather belt around his waist.
These simple clothes, his soft and flexable macana-hide sandles, his knife a water skin, and his pack were his only worldly possessions. His pack contained a few simple utensils, a bed roll, and a meager supply of hard bread and meat. He had little need of anything else. It would just weigh him down and slow his journey. Besides, when one was poor you learned to make do with whatever you had.
He had made the knife himself just as all of the men of his village had done for as long as anyone had memory. It was a tedious task. The black,shiny stone used for the blade was an extremely hard variety found only in the hills near his village. It took a great deal of time and sweat to work the stone into the proper shape and hone the sides to a fine edge capable of cutting through the toughest of materials. The blade was firmly set into a handle crafted of hardwood and held in place by leather which had been soaked in water before wrapping so that it would shrink and harden as it dried. It had taken him several weeks to craft the knife and he was quietly proud of his work. The blade was the length of his forearm and the handle about one third that. He was certain that it was the finest knife anyone had ever made although he would never dare to voice this belief.
Pride was considered arrogant and undesirable among his people. That was something he had spent his 14 years of life struggling with.
He now wore his blade in the macana-hide sheath strapped on the left side of his belt. He had used the knife to kill and skin the macana. This was a traditional part of the Ceremony of Manhood that every boy of his village must endure to be considered a man. He had just completed the Ceremony a week ago and the wounds he had received from the macana were still quite painful. Was it only a week? It seemed so long ago now.
The macana was a fiercesome great lizard which hunted in the forests around the village. The teeth were almost as long as Maiqua's forearm and as big around as his wrist. While the meat of the macana wasn't edible, it's greenish-brown hide was prized for the tough, supple leather which needed no tanning or curing. A single beast provided enough hide for a belt, sandles, sheath, water skin, and the jacket he had forgotten to pack when he left the village.
So far, he had traveled 3 days steady walk from his village. He had never been so far from his home before. As he walked, he tried to appear as brave and nonchalant as he could. He reminded himself that he was now a man and had to make his own way in the world. But inside, he was terrified to be alone so far from from the safety and comfort of the village and it's people. He wondered if he would ever see the village again. He missed the small round huts built on stilts, the smells of the cooking fires, and the comfort of the heavy wood walls which surrounded the village.
He had always been safe in the village. Nothing could harm him there. There were always people around to watch over him. After his parents had died from the strange illness which killed a full third of the village population, the people in the village had made sure that he always had food to eat, clothes to wear, and that he washed behind his ears regularly. The women treated him as their own, and the men of the village taught him to hunt, build a fire, fight with knife and bare hands, and the myriad other skills he would need to survive. But it was always understood that, as an orphan, he would have to make his own way once he reached the age of maturity.
Now that he had reached that all-important milestone in his life when he was officially allowed and required to make his own decisions, he had decided to set out for the city of J'Abar. The men of the village had tried to dissuade him from the dangerous journey, but he had never been to a city before, and he had heard such wonderful stories about J'Abar from the traders who passed through the village from time to time. This was a wonderful and frightening adventure.
Just ahead he saw a wide place in the road with a small cleared area on the right side. It looked like a perfect spot to stop and rest for a while and perhaps have a small bite to eat. He would be able to see anyone approaching on the road from either direction. As he neared the clearing he was startled by a tall figure suddenly emerging from the woods on the far side of it. He hadn't heard even the rustling of dead leaves. He wasn't sure if he had been innattentive or the figure had really been impossibly silent in it's movements.
The figure, a tall man wearing strange, dark clothing appeared to be very old and to be as surprised as he was. Maiqua made a clumsy grab for his knife, but before the fingers of his right hand had even closed around the handle, the man had crossed the clearing and snatched the knife from it's sheath while holding his wrist tightly with the other hand. Maiqua had never seen anyone move so fast in his life! The man's grip was both powerful and painful. Trying to wrest free only made the pain worse. The man was incredibly strong, and very tall. He was a full two heads taller than Maiqua who was quite tall himself. He realized that the grey road dust in the man's hair and beard made him appear much older than he really was.
The man looked him over briefly with bright steel blue eyes and then turned his attention to the knife. He gave a low whistle of admiration. "This is a very fine stone knife" the man said in a deep voice that sounded as if it came from the depths of a cavern. "Where would a young whelp such as yourself steal a fine blade like this?" His accent was strange to Maiqua.
Maiqua bristled at the accusation. "That is my knife!" he cried angrily. "I made that knife myself!" He was very angry at being accused of stealing, but also felt a certain pride at the man's obvious appreciation of his work. He struggled to supress the emotions.
The man chuckled suddenly and released Maiqua's wrist. Maiqua stepped back quickly to be out of reach if the man suddenly decided to test the knife on him. Instead, the man hefted the knife as if testing it's balance and as quickly as a striking serpent the blade was sticking in the packed dirt between Maiqua's feet. Although Maiqua had not taken his eyes from the stranger, he hadn't even seen the man throw it!
Startled, Maiqua began to step back, stopped, and grabbed his knife up from the ground. He held it as if he were prepared to do battle even though he knew he could never hold his own against someone so much larger and stronger, and who moved faster than the eye could see. He waited to see what the stranger would do next. And he was terrified.
He wonder to himself if this was truly a man, or was it some evil spirit come to do him harm? As if reading his thoughts, the stranger spoke again in that voice which, while still cavernous, seemed a bit softer. "Relax young warrior, I mean you no harm. Come and sit with me for a spell. We will share a meal and you may tell me about yourself and that finely crafted blade you hold."
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