The Endless Solvent

For a long time, Dalsk just stared at him. He then gestured at Mikol and said something rapidly to him in Ysican, probably telling him to translate. But Ral understood what he was saying.

“Why does the Blood Head think he deserves this?”

Without waiting for Mikol to translate, Ral narrowed his eyes and flicked his head towards Calkin. “Why does Calkin think he deserves cheat?”

He had searched his brain for a long time for the Yscian term ‘cheat’ - he was quite proud he remembered it but at the moment he couldn’t feel much more than annoyance. It probably wasn’t grammatically correct but he was sure his point was clear. The young Somas men muttered among themselves and Calkin rolled his eyes and said something to his friends. From his body language, Ral assumed he was dismissing his challenge.

“Fear?” Ral asked, looking directly at Calkin. The Somas stilled, expression changing from mockingly amused to angry. Ral smiled a smile that didn’t reach his eyes and cocked his head to the side. “You fear?”

“Fine,” Calkin spat. “I spar with you, Blood Head.”

Mikol stepped between them to speak to him in standard Gaian, voice low with concern. “This is a very stupid idea. They will shun you, Ralos.”

“They already shun me,” Ral said. “At least there will be an attempt to right a wrong.”

“You don’t have to do this for me,” Mikol whispered hastily. “I am not hurt.”

“I don’t have to but I’m going to,” Ral patted his friend on the shoulder and stepped down onto the dirt. Mikol was probably right about one thing: this was probably stupid. But he had to do something.

A year after his milyssk jor many subsequent ones that yielded the same conclusion, Ral didn’t think he’s gone anywhere. He was still slow and stupid, still the Blood Head Gaian in a tribe of Somas. He was no closer to finding out if Gates really existed down in the desert and if the tales of them opening during Somas’ Trials were really true. Why couldn’t things ever be easy? Why couldn’t he have just one win, one achievement to call his own?

And now his existence made others hurt Mikol, one of two people who gave any shits about him in this Part forsaken desert. So Mikol was wrong on that account: he had to do this. Bette once said that to be able to choose when to use stillness and when to burst into action was a kind of wisdom. It was one of the few lessons Ral understood. He knew this wasn’t the time for stillness.

Ral stretched his stiff legs from staying still for so long, then went to a spot a few paces from Calkin. It was far enough that neither could touch the other but close enough for it to be dangerous. Unceremoniously, Dalsk indicated the match to start.

Unlike the sparring sessions with each other, the onlooking Somas clapped and jeered as if it was entertainment during one of their feasts. None but Mikol were in their customary stillness as it was clear none of them thought this was a serious match. Calkin’s glowing blue eyes shone at him from across the space. The two of them were matched in height and weight, Ral perhaps a little heavier.

He had little practice doing the moves typical of a Somas. It was always quite obvious that his body was unable to move with the liquid ease the others were able to. Even if Bette was willing to teach him (as patiently as she could), it was clear that he had no talent in their style of fighting while Calkin was one of their best. Even so, he had to try.

Calkin tensed and disappeared from view, only to reappear less than a hand’s width to Ral’s left. Ral only knew because he could sense his presence there and was barely able to deflect a direct blow to his ribs. Calkin’s other hand clawed at his shoulder and flung him back while a foot behind Ral served as a pivot point to fling him backwards to the ground. The victorious Somas crowed in laughter.

It hurt his ego more than his body. Ral rose to his feet, struggling to find stillness in him. Before he could find his footing, Calkin lunged at him again, this time landing a strike right at his abdomen as he was too slow to block. Ral doubled over in pain and a knee smashed into his face. Blood poured out from his nose as his vision stuttered. The ground rushed towards him and he was barely able to brace himself from falling face first into it.

No he wasn’t going to black out. He clung desperately to consciousness, screaming silently at his body to obey him. The sound of jeering and laughing was nearly deafening. He hazily looked up at Dalsk who was simply watching with a grim line set upon his lips. Ral was sure if he wasn’t a Leader, he would be cheering and laughing along with the rest of them.

This time Calkin waited until he was fully on his feet, not even threatening to strike again until Ral shook himself out from the dizziness and pain. He heard a quiet voice among the clamor, one that spoke with accented standard Gaian.

“Stand strong, Son of Suns.”

Mikol. Ral clenched his hands into fists and straightened again, despite the pain. He was going to land a hit in, even if it killed him. Instead of waiting for Calkin to approach, Ral mustered up as much power as possible to burst towards him. It was probably embarrassingly slow compared to what the others could do, but he still tried, applying the theories he’d tried to retain from watching. Shifting of the weight, engaging the specific muscles, relaxing the others. He held on to this Solute firmly and tried to wrangle control over it, to still it and focus it into this one movement, but he failed as he always did. Calkin easily dodged his attack and appeared to his left again for a counter strike but Ral was ready. In an instant, he forgot about forcing his Solute to remain still and calm and instead let it do whatever it wanted to do.

He knew precisely where Calkin would appear and ignoring the strike towards his body, Ral swerved and clutched his hands together to hammer downwards at the Somas. Every fiber of frustration, every drop of anger, every piece of sadness he had went into the two handed strike. It was slow but it was strong and inevitable. For a brief moment, Ral felt his Solute burn. Calkin, poised in the offense, had no time to dodge it and received the brunt of the blow on the back of his shoulder. His body smashed into the dirt below, creating cracks in the dried ground.

Almost immediately, Calkin struggled up from the ground to grapple Ral down with him, his face twisted in blind fury. Ral recognized the unstable position his opponent was in and easily twisted out of his grasp, held him at arm’s length by the shoulder and crushed a fist into Calkin’s face. Again, no finesse, slow in speed but the strike hit its target true. Calkin cried out in pain and he rolled away from him, blood speckling the dirt underneath him.

Ral noticed the noise had died down to a shocked silence. All he could hear was his own heartbeat and the frantic pants of Calkin trying to stand up again after being punched in the face. In a snarl of anger, the Somas hurled himself at him again at the same time Dalsk barked in Yscian at him to stop. Again, Ral prepared to respond where Calkin would reappear after blinking out of sight. This time he grabbed the fast moving Somas by his injured shoulder and pushed him off trajectory so that he fell hard to the ground again.

Venom spewed forth the defeated Somas and Ral found himself standing over his opponent’s battered blue-hued body before he realized it. More shouts rang out but he had already reared his fist back and started pummeling Calkin’s cocky face. His hands were long hardened by long hours dragging boulders, cargo and anything else the Somas needed hauling. Ral found hurting with them was easy.

A hand grabbed a fistful of his hair and Ral was yanked violently back and tossed into the dirt. It drew him out of whatever reverie he was in and the impact brought him sharply back into the real world where his face burned, his gut bruised and now his scalp stung from his hair being pulled.

Bette stood over him, her blue eyes burning. Mikol was at his side, helping him up while Dalsk immediately started shouting at Bette who turned her glare to him. Ral didn’t need any translation to know the gist of it. But to his surprise, Bette stood between them as if shielding him from Dalsk’s fury, a hand haughtily at her hip as if daring Dalsk to do anything.

Bette something back rapidly in Yscian and Ral recognized a single word spoken with disgust. It was directed at the half conscious Calkin on the dirt floor.

“Weak.”

Dalsk looked so shocked he wasn’t able to say anything back. Bette turned around and jerked her head at Mikol, who hastily helped Ral to his feet. The three of them returned to camp without the rest of the trainees.

“I-I’m sorry,” Ral managed to mutter out before Bette could say anything. She was walking just a few paces ahead of them and she stopped dead when she heard his apology.

“Don’t be,” she replied in Gaian. She didn’t look at him. “You did what you had to do.”

“Did you see what happened earlier?”

“I’m always watching.”

“They’ll hate me more now,” Ral sighed. He looked at Mikol who was hovering again, ready to catch him if he passed out. “And probably hate you too.”

“Hate is a weakness to the Somas,” Bette said, finally turning to study him with her keen blue eyes. “As is anger, frustration, sadness and pain. We learn to eradicate it or control it. But it seems to me, Ralos of Caelis, you use it as a weapon.”

“Look, I’m trying okay?” Ral said, staggering towards her. “Everyday I try to be still, be calm. I watch Mikol, I watch you and try to learn. But… I don’t understand why I can’t. Please give me more time, I can try - ”

Bette held up a hand to stop his rambling. “No,” she said.

“No?”

“No more trying,” she said.

His brows screwed together in confusion. “What do you mean? Are you not going to teach me anymore?”

“I didn’t say that,” Bette said impatiently. “I said to stop trying to be still. To be calm. Forget that.”

“But that’s how everyone here attains speed. The difference between stillness and lightning-movement is divided by a thin line. I have meditated on this for many years, it’s what you say to me every day! You’re asking me to forget it?”

“Yes because it clearly doesn’t work,” Bette said, crossing her arms. “It is no longer an option for you. So tomorrow we start anew and forget it.”

She turned around again and continued back to camp, leaving Ral completely flabbergasted. He glanced over at Mikol and was further bewildered that his friend was staring at him with an amused smile on his face.

“You make jest of me,” Ral said in Yscian.

“Yes, I make jest of you,” Mikol agreed. “Because you’re funny.”

“What’s so funny? That woman just told me everything she’s taught me is useless,” Ral said incredulously, switching back to Gaian. “Has it all been for nothing?”

Mikol snorted and shook his head. He gestured toward the camp, indicating they should make their way back after Bette. “That isn’t the funny part.”

“Then what in sun’s name is?”

“It’s funny that Bette can say few words to you. You forget you just defeat one of best fighters in the tribe,” Mikol explained, the amused look back on his face. “You think you lack achievements, but maybe you just forget them?”

As usual, his friend was right. How could he have forgotten so easily? He did what he set out to do just moments ago. Ral had defeated a Somas in a one on one sparring match. Regardless of the implications of his actions, he got his win.

Why was it that he didn’t feel any better?