Heroes Will Rise

Obi ran as fast as he could, the satchel in his hand held tightly; the bottle within, heavy with its contents. He knew better than to take the Hauna Trail at this time of night, but when his grandfather got ill suddenly, he didn't put thought before action and left the hut in a hurry, to make it to Coney in time; theirs was the only apothecary that closed late. It was also the only one that would serve his kind fairly, and the only one that sold kroff and pear leaf tincture. Pear trees were rare in Flerus City, save for one farmer's plot on the outskirts of Coney Borough, where they grew in threes.

He also very much liked Mrs. Whip, the apothecary's wife, who would call him by his true name behind closed doors. It was good, for Obi did not like to be called Bugu. It was not a name for him, as it was not his name at all.

Obi had been called other names before. He had not liked those, either, though there was little he could do about it. Every year since he had arrived in Ezara, he had earned a new mock ID, and with each new mock came a new name. With each new name came a history to be learned, of a life that had been someone else's. Obi had been so many people over the years, it was incredible he could still remember who he once was. He had his tatelo to thank for that. Zambi would never let them forget their heritage or their identity; they were not Ezaran, and they would never be. The young man had taken this so deeply into heart that he had decided not to learn the Ezaran language. He was warned by the others that using the tongue of their people would mean chaos for them all, but he had screamed to them, "O!", which translated into the Ezaran tongue, was, plainly, "no."

That was the last time anyone ever heard Obi speak.

The young man looked up at the moon, knowing it had been too long since he had left the home and that it would take him still a bit longer to get back. He was worried, terribly worried, that he would not make it on time.

Tatelo was the reason Obi had been sent to Ezara. The Eastern Aran Tribe had received word he was getting sick, and that, with the burden of so many children, he needed help to keep his spirit and health lifted. Obi had volunteered to leave the only home he'd ever known and care for the old man. He had brought his niece and nephew with him, as he had been their caretaker since his sister and her husband had died. That was four years ago, and Obi had succeeded in keeping their tatelo well and alive. He could not fail him now. He would not.

Obi panted with each tread on the hard soil beneath his bare feet. He looked up at the moon once more, to calculate how much faster he would have to run to make it to Riggs in less than an hour. He did not see the rope tied to two trees on opposite sides of the road, tightened for the purpose of tripping any passerby, and fell hard onto the ground.

Confused, Obi stood quickly when laughter crowded at different pitches around him. He recognized the men, even though there was only moonlight to aide his sight. He could see the scar above one of the man's eyes, from the wound Obi had opened with his own closed fist only two days ago. He could see the bruise on the cheek of another, and a crooked gait from yet a third. But, this time, there were more of them. The young man found himself surrounded by the thieves he had saved Berlin from, and taken off guard.

They didn't say a word. Within seconds, the knuckles of a hand met his face. Obi ducked expertly, as he had learned to do with the warriors of his tribe, and swung his leg under the man's feet, making him fall to the ground. The next man tried to put a blow to his stomach, but Obi sidestepped, grabbing the man's arm and using his own force to swing him down to the floor. One by one, he eluded their hits, gesturing as well as he could to make them understand that he did not want to fight.

"What'n Sev'n'ames is wrong with yeh, boy?" one of them asked, spitting acid on the ground. "Pellow got yer tongue?"

"Tha's enough o' the games," the tallest of them said. "Le's burn this dark'un to a crisp."

All at once, four of the men grabbed on to his arms and legs, carrying him face down. Obi tried to fight them, but all together they were too strong. They lugged him through the outer skirts of the Gorgam, far enough from the Hauna Trail that he could not escape easily, and tied him up to a haffes pine. Obi watched everything, crying, thinking about tatelo and his medicine, which he would never get; thinking about the children and what would happen to them. He had not yet screamed, for he had forgotten how. But when the shortest of the men lit up his fingers on fire, bringing them close to a mound of dead leaves at the young man's feet, he let out a wail of terror that took the Gorgam Forest, sending black birds flying out of their wooded homes.

"Go on, 'en," one of the men said. "Cook'im good..."

The five thieves laughed as the short man's hand edged closer to the leaves, when...

"I wouldn't do that if I were you."

The men turned around, their faces a mix of confusion and amusement. Right before them stood a girl of no more than sixteen, with long brown curls and eyes. Her clothes were rather manly and strange; hide top and knee-high trousers, and boots of raw beast skin that seemed to wrap around her legs and feet; but she was beautiful. And if there was something those men had not seen in a while, it was a beautiful girl alone, in the forest.

"Lookie, lookie 'ere..." one of the thieves said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he walked towards her, followed by the other men. "I would also refrain from getting any closer," the girl said, standing her ground, arching one of her thick brows. "If I were you."

"Or what?" one of them asked, mockingly. "Or you'll die."

Her statement sent the men roaring with laughter. "Little ol' you against all of us?"

"Hardly seems fair, doesn't it?" she gives a sideways smile. "After all, you're only men."

"Alright, dolly," the tallest of the men rubs his hands together, licking his lips. "'Nuff o' the sweettalk. Let's see what's hidin' under those wraps."

"Don't put your hands where they don't belong. You might lose them," she warned.

Obi screamed. The black birds flew. The man's hand reached out towards the girl's breast.

"Tol, yer hand!" one of the men yelled, terrified. Tol looked down. The fingers moving in the direction of the girl had turned black. He screamed, holding on to his wrist as he backed away, watching in horror the skin of his hand blackening, cracking, disintegrating into ashes. "Get 'er!" Tol ordered, pain engulfing the rest of his arm as it, too, turned a dark color. "Get'er!"

A fire ball burst her way. The girl raised one hand, palm up. The air around the forest tightened, leaving them all, including Obi, breathless for a moment. The fire ball disappeared in midair.

"Dark skills!" one of the men pointed at her, his hand and voice shaking. "Evil incarnate!"

"Le's get outta here!"

The men ran. They ran as fast as they could, tripping on their heels, falling on their faces, losing themselves in the darkness of the Gorgam. The girl watched them go, then turned her attention to their captive, whose eyes were wide in shock. His body shook in fear when she approached him, placing her hands at the sides of the tree. "I'm sorry you had to see that," she told him as her hands worked the rope to untie him. "I won't hurt you. I promise."

The rope snapped. Obi tumbled forward, catching himself before hitting the ground. He looked up at the young girl, younger even than he was, and uttered his very first word in four years.

"Nedah."

The moment it came out of his mouth, he knew he should not have said it. He felt such gratitude, he had not thought for a minute that he did not know what the proper word was in the Ezaran tongue. But his surprise at having used his native dialect had not been as great as hearing her response. "You're welcome."

"Eun... Eun tageini?" The girl nodded, sighing. "I understand a lot of things."

"Menisi Obi." She crossed a hand over her eyes, then pressed two fingers unto his forehead. "Call me Hope."

Obi laughed. He laughed, because she knew the ways of Aranos. He wanted to hold the girl in his arms and kiss her hands. He had not felt this wonderful in years. To be seen, to be seen by another not of his own kind...

But then, he remembered. "O, tatelo!" he held to his stomach, filled with worry. "O, O, tatelo!"

"Where is he?" Noamara asked him, holding both his arms, but the young man didn't answer. He ran towards the Trail, desperately seeking the bottle of medicine the apothecary had given him. His eyes filled with tears when he discovered the satchel soaked in a smelly, thick liquid, the vial broken inside. "Obi," Noamara held his arms. "Obi, where is he?"

"Anea... Anea..." She looked into his eyes. "Take me to him."

"Eun degule," he cried, shaking his head, fearing my powers. "No. I will save him."