Capori, year 689
The question hung in his mind, repeating itself over and over. He’d heard a thousand variations in his lifetime from the well-meaning to the outright cruel.
You know you can’t control the cattle. Go get the goats.
Bare feet thudded into soft sand, and his breath was already running ragged.
Go home, little boy. We hunters have work to do.
It wasn’t his fault he was so short! Why must they treat him like this?
The desert is an unforgiving home, Dhefri. There is no room for weakness here.
For years he’d put up with it, but now he could take no more. His aunt had asked him to help lift some water jugs. He had done his best, straining till his fingers ached and sweat rolled into his eyes and his legs began to wobble from the stress. He managed to lift the heavy urn a few inches, but inevitably it came crashing down, spilling the precious liquid into the thirsty ground.
His aunt turned a forlorn gaze towards the rapidly vanishing water, then at him. Then she said it, finally putting into words the underlying message he’d heard all his life.
Aren’t you good for anything, Dhefri?
Shock flitted across his features, and he bolted, running, running, as fast as his legs could carry him. Finally, he collapsed in a small ravine, unwelcome tears coursing down his cheeks. Distraught as he was, he still remembered to lick the salty drops as they fell. Water was too precious to be wasted on tears.
He drew deep, rasping gasps, trying to regain his composure as well as his breath. The sun was dying, twilight beginning to creep over the sands. Dhefri finally calmed, sat back, and began to assess his life.
He didn’t even know whether they would come looking for him. His mother had died giving birth to him, and his father was indifferent at best, and usually ashamed of his weakling child. If he returned, he’d be subject to ridicule and scorn beyond even what he’d already endured.
No, there was only one thing to do. Dhefri was strong, if not in body, then in spirit. Half the boys in the village would have given up hope long ago, had they faced his challenges. All that he needed to do was to show them.
Yes, he would prove his value.
•••
Dhefri plunged his head into the swift flowing water, enjoying the luxury for a moment. He could not delay long. The water was too shallow for the cracadya, but predators loved to target a drinking animal. He had been on the move for nearly a week now, making his way throughout the savannah, avoiding the sandy stretches.
He found water where he could, and ate whatever roots and berries he could find. But he had his eye set on bigger game. By day, he stole across the plains, moving through the tall grass, as silent as the night wind, using his small size to his advantage. At night, he slept in whatever unoccupied hole he could find, large rocks forming a barrier against the hunting beasts of the darkness.
He had never felt more alive.
He had made himself a spear, whittling away at a stick, and binding his sharp flint knife to the pole with tough plant fibers. He was ready.
The long nights, alone save for the poignant cry of the yereha, had been revelatory ones. He had come to realize that he needed to prove his worth to himself just as much as to his village, and Dhefri was determined to do so.
The fateful day came nearly a month later. Dhefri felt as if he had become an animal himself by this point, a part of nature, feeling it flowing through him, each minute detail revealing a unique and vital information. The normal hunting party stayed out for a week, he’d been gone four times that. The other villagers must have given up on his chances for survival by now, but he was far from beaten.
Before him lay his intended quarry, the rhinocera. It was a prime male specimen, perhaps five tons. He intended to bring back its horns. Even the metal spears he had heard of would have difficulty piercing the beast’s hide, his primitive spear stood no chance. He had only one chance, a direct strike through the eye. His life hung in the balance, but that mattered little. If he could not do this, he had little reason to continue living.
Dropping into an easy crouch, he dug his bare toes into the soft ground, getting a feel for his surroundings. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, savoring what might be his last taste of the hot desert air. Insects danced frenetically around him, a hawk called out above him, and Dhefri’s eyes snapped open.
He was the hunter, there was his prey.
Bursting out of the tall grass with surprising speed, he charged directly towards the lumbering gray behemoth. But unlike the nimble gazalla or the panicked tenefri, the rhinocera do not run from danger. They run towards it.
The midday sun was the sole, silent witness to the strange scene. Two thousand pounds of muscle and bone bearing down on a small, gangly youth, both equally determined to each others demise.
The thunderous sound of the beasts footsteps matched the beating of his own heart. Closer and closer came the colossal beast, every second, every footstep bringing it nearer. For the next few seconds, a young man’s fate hung in the balance, and fate answered the call.
At the last possible second, Dhefri leapt to one side, and with every ounce of strength in his body, drove the spear towards the rhinocera. The shaft splintered and cracked as it met impervious hide. Devastated, Dhefri rolled to one side, out of the path of the murderous animal.
By all accounts, the boy ought to be finished. But even now, unarmed, battered and bloodied from his daring leap, there was still a bit of courage. A spark of destiny, as his people said.
There was no running this time, just a steady, purposeful stride towards either fantastic victory or glorious defeat. The rhinocera had lumbered on, and was just now beginning to turn and search out his quarry. He did not see Dhefri until the last second, when the small boy strode up to the animal, and possessed of an urge he did not fully understand, placed his palm on the creature’s armored side.
What came next was an experience unlike any he had ever experienced. A sensation flashed up his arm, rather similar to the tingling he felt after his arm had fallen asleep, and then a rush of sensory information flooded into his senses. Suddenly, he had two pairs of eyes, four ears, six legs. Was this death? wondered a detached part of the boy’s brain, when a crazy thought entered his head.
I am the rhinocera. The more he experimented, the more support his theory gained. He could see through its dim eyes, smell scents he had never noticed, feel the enormous bulk of the animal, the strength of the beast flowing through him. And yet that was not all.
He could still feel a slight pressure on his side, and realized with a start that it was his own hand, and that curiously enough, he could still feel his own body, faintly, like the memory of a dream, but it was there, becoming more noticeable the more he thought about it.
A hope entered his heart greater than any he had ever imagined. If this was happening, then there was only one conclusion. He was a dominator.
•••
The gargantuan gray behemoth slowly ambled into town, carrying on its back a diminutive but confident rider. Most of the village was still asleep, hiding from the cold of the breaking dawn, but Dhefri knew there would be at least one person awake, and he intended to find her.
A few early risers were roaming the streets, all shocked into speechlessness as they caught a glimpse of the impossible sight. Out of the corner of his eye, Dhefri noticed one of the boys who used to torment him emerging from his tent, still rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Dhefri raised his spear and pointed at him, a menacing scowl filling his features. Terrified, the boy nearly fell back into his tent, convinced he was having a nightmare. Dhefri allowed himself a small grin before returning to the business at hand.
He turned a corner, and there she was, drawing water from the well that was the heart of the village. His aunt, Serri.
The rhinocera let out a stentorian bellow, and Serri turned around in surprise. She froze instinctively at the sight of the animal, motionless save for her dropping jaw at the sight of its rider. She had been certain Dhefri was dead, and she knew it had been her words that had done it. Now she was afraid for her life. If by some miracle the boy could not only survive on his own for months, but tame a rhinocera, then who knew what he might do to her.
But instead, the enormous beast took a few cautious steps and delicately lifted the water jug with his horn. A small smile lit Dhefri’s face as he slid down the side of the animal, careful to keep one hand in contact.
“Well, Serri,” he said simply. “It appears I am good for something.”
•••
Months passed in the blink of an eye. Dhefri had suddenly become an integral part of the community. Those who had looked down on him solely because of his stature, or lack of it, now welcomed his presence with open arms, and those who had genuinely despised him could hardly ignore the valuable service he provided.
Villages with dominators tended to prosper, and Dhefri’s home was no exception. Dhefri rode out with hunting parties often, capturing and taming dozens of animals. Powerful rhinocera, milk-giving tenefri, even leperra, the hunting cats, gave way under his power. Multiple times, he was called upon to defend the village from the roving destroyers of the plains, khirota, serar, even the gigantic scorpions that lay in wait by the oases. One touch and they were his.
He was constantly fascinated by the extraordinary variety between the animals, how differently they saw the world. The simplicity of a scorpion, the cunning of the leperra, the nervous agitation of the gazalla. And men. There was an experience he’d not be anxious to repeat.
Life in the desert was difficult, and villages required strong leadership. As such, Capori law allowed for any adult male to challenge the chief at any time. Provided the challenger could defeat the current chief in trials of wisdom, strength, and combat, he would assume control of the tribe until such time as he was beaten.
Although this system was intended to stay inside a community, there was nothing to prevent an enterprising young wanderer from challenging for control of any tribe he felt like. They called such wanderers leonadas, after the juvenile leonas who behaved in much the same way.
A headstrong youth had come into the burgeoning town one evening, spirits high, and seeking a challenge. However, the young man, though strong, was no thinker, and was comprehensively defeated by the experienced chief in the trial of wisdom. But the interloper was filled with fury, and in a fit of rage tried to murder the chief in his own home. Dhefri was forced to control him.
At first he thought something had gone wrong. Where was the rush of sensory information, the new perspective that always came when seeing the world through different eyes? Quickly, though, he found he was in control of the body, but was shocked at just how fundamentally similar they were. This almost could have been me, he thought. Dhefri had always believed men to be radically different from one another, but now, taking hold of this interloper, he saw for the first time how similar they were. The smallest differences in circumstances and beliefs could produce an amazing spectrum of individuality, and it shocked him how similar he was to this, an attempted murderer. He could feel the pulsing rage pouring through the strangers veins, understand the frustration and hunger that drove him to murder, and it frightened him, because his attack was completely understandable. The realization suddenly struck him that though mistakes might be made, everybody makes what they consider to be the best choice available. And again, it was those small, almost trivial differences that determined ones outlook, and thus their decisions. It was a startling glimpse into the soul, both the strangers and his own.
He made the leonada drop the knife, hating that he had to force him to do it, and disengaged. The man was quickly subdued and ridden out of town, left to the mercy of the desert. A death sentence, in all but name. Dhefri spent many days in contemplation, and finally vowed never again to subjugate another human being. He simply didn’t have the right. That promise was kept for ten years.
•••
Thick dark robes stood at a stark contrast to the endless beige of the south, instantly marking the man as a foreigner. He didn’t seem to care how much he stuck out, in fact he almost seemed to enjoy the attention. A livid red scar wound its way up his neck, inflamed by the hot winds of the deserts. After he had attracted a suitable crowd, he dismounted, and in stilted Capora, demanded to see the chief.
He arrived promptly. The chief may have been aging, but his intellect had held his position safe for years. But something about this stranger sent shivers down the old man’s spine. He glanced at the sun, giving its curse, and blessings, to the land. It would not be a bad day to die, the old chief decided. But still, no foreigner would be chief of his village as long as he had anything to say about it.
The scarred stranger wasted no time on greetings or verbal sparring, choosing instead to spit at his enemies feet. To waste precious water in a show of spite was one of the greatest insults in the south, and its meaning was clear.
Give way or perish.
The old chief looked his enemy in the eyes, slowly contemplating what he saw there. He spat back, confident and deliberate. The challenge was accepted, with equal malice.
•••
The stranger had cheated, and Dhefri was going to kill him. The stranger had held his own in the trial of wisdom, and his youth had carried him to victory in the trial of strength, but the dark-robed stranger had used some sort of devil spell on his weapon, and Dhefri would break his oath before he stood for this injustice. Cold rage swept through him as the chiefs blood spilled out on the sand. He had shown his resolve once, he would do it again. Just one touch, and the stranger was finished.
He moved quickly through the crowd, blessing for once his lack of height, as it would keep him hidden. Dhefri snuck around the victorious stranger, until he was directly behind him, then made his move.
Quick as a flash, the stranger whirled around, catching a young girl and holding his sword to her throat.
“I’d heard there was one of your kind here.” he said, his voice high and nasal. “How kind of you to show yourself.”
Dhefri’s eyes narrowed in anger, but there was nothing he could do without endangering the girl. She whimpered softly, before the foreigner jostled her into silence.
“Now, I won this little contest by rights, and nothing you can do is going to change that. Now, either I claim your word of honor not to touch me, or she dies here and now. What say you, dominator? he asked, twisting the last word into a sneering insult.
Dhefri had no choice but to consent. He couldn’t live with an innocent girl’s life on his head, and if he refused, the stranger would quickly kill him as well, using that cursed piece of metal he called a sword.
And so, the stranger left, and similar scenes played out across the south, villages and clans falling before his blade, the man in dark robes subduing the South, always followed by the man in the light robes. Then he was gone, back to the north, but Dhefri knew better than to hope his absence was permanent.
Only a few years later, the man returned, and called all the South to war, massing the tribes into a single army, beguiling them with visions of easy conquest and fertile lands of the North. Challengers were killed instantly. Wild beasts and endless streams of men were piled on ship after ship. He fit nearly a third of his ill-gotten army on those hastily constructed ships, plenty for his purpose. And then they set sail, leaving orders to build more ships, and await his summons.
The orders never came.
•••
Dhefri lay dying on a strange and unfamiliar battlefield. At least one thing about this cursed war had been true, the land was rich and vibrant beyond his wildest dreams, drowning in clean water, but everything else from the man they called Resca had been a lie. There was no easy conquest, only an army waiting for them. They’d beaten back the khirota, the sythnus, their own warriors, everything the South could throw at them. All for nothing but to die in some alien land in a war. Thousands of men, dozens of dominators all lost, because of one man’s hubris.
An enormous concussive blast ripped through the ground, driving dirt and shrapnel into the dying dominators wounds, but he was to far gone to care. For a long time, he’d had only one wish, to see Resca dead. A lost horse wandered nearby, perhaps searching for its rider. Dhefri lay completely still, oblivious to the commotion around him. The mare plodded closer, and Dhefri struck, grabbing it, pouring his consciousness into it, as much as he could manage.
Dhefri, as the steed, took off, galloping at what seemed to him to be a phemonal pace. The horse seemed remarkably intelligent, as well, but it was difficult to be sure of anything this close to death. He was looking for one thing. Finally, he saw what he was searching for, Resca, battered and damaged, blood streaming from half a dozen wounds, poised over a still form in now-dingy white. A young boy was coming from behind, hoping to attack the cursed enchanter. The horse gave a whinny of alarm. Resca could not win. He couldn’t be allowed to. But he was helpless to intervene. Unless….
Dhefri reached deep within himself, searching for the courage he had found when facing the rhinocera for the first time. One last act of defiance, Dhefri would show his value.
And so it happened that a diminutive man, half dead, found the strength to attack a crazed and armed enchanter with nothing more than the body of a small mare. It was a hopeless gesture, but not a useless one, as that one second of distraction provided the opening the young boy needed. The air exploded into a fractal kaleidoscope of light, and heat, and Dhefri knew in his heart Resca had been defeated.
So similar, just a few steps, one wrong choice, and I might have been him. But I’m not.
The horse barely managed to escape the blast as Dhefri slipped into the last sleep, in peace at last. He had lived well, he had died honorably, and his people were free of the tyrant. It was all he could have asked for.
For the final time, Dhefri had proved his worth.
