Shattered Gateway.

Sitting on the bed, the board rough against my fingers, my fingernails caked with the blood of my little sister, I raise my hand, resting my eyes on it, the only reminder that she existed.

Staring at it, I wish for water to wash away the thought of her, beaten and bloody in my hands. But that too is forbidden. I must not dwell on the image of her, not in that way. I must wallow in it, or dismiss it. I must either take pleasure, or not care. That is the way of things here.

It’s the twenty-fourth week of my preparation. Of the hardening for what lies beyond those concrete gates. I hear they are tall, taller than the tallest male Kanyea. I would not know, for I have not seen them. Only three people alive have. And those who have passed in, but they don’t count.

Lower myself down onto the uneven boards, I wince, sore shoulders laughing at me for my weakness in wincing, and for the screams that had erupted when the whip struck. I close my eyes, wishing that I had been one of the ones chosen to be normal. Just an ordinary person, setting out to find their place in the world. But it’s too late for looking back now.

I wonder what they are going to send today. Oats ground and boiled in water? More meat? Something I rarely had before they sent for me.

Only the Kanyea’s and the Talease eat meat regularly. They are the only ones that need it. The rest of us make do with normal grains. Meat is only for the celebration of a Talease becoming a Kanyea. That is the only time when a common Satori can eat of the flesh of animals.

I try to settle my inflamed shoulders down on the wood, but they scream their protest, mockingly. Gritting my teeth, I carefully roll over, until I am lying with my face against the boards.

There is a possibility that I will be punished for trying to spare myself pain, but the chance of torment that is not yet here, cannot combat what is really and truly present.

Letting my eyes close, once again, I let a sigh slip through my half parted lips. Sleep… finally. I have not slept well for ninety-six hours. The angry red lines covering my body have seen to that. Now everything is silent, not a living thing moving in one hundred and eight meters, and I can let myself relax, releasing the tight muscles I have been holding as rigid as one of the rods the Mases Kanyea’s carry.

A dark haze starts to rise up before me, and for a moment I think I’m dying, it has happened before to Talease’s during training, when the wounds became poisoned, but after a moment or two, I recognize the feeling.

I am starting to drift away, sleep overtaking my tired form.

The mist darkens in one place on the left corner, and color start to swirl into being inside the blackness. Merging, they form an image, a face.

My mother, small and faint, her mouth awash with blood, streaming down from her temple, sprawls at the foot of the post, the ground around her stained with the blood of countless others, including my own.

Standing there, I can feel my mouth start to open and try desperately to force it to close. Asking them to spare her life will be viewed as plain insolence, punishable with a cut across the thigh. Just skin deep, they won’t do any farther in for fear of damaging something that cannot be repaired.

My tongue remains silent, my eyes fixed on her. Unable to speak, since the first thing they do is cut out the tongue, she pleads with her eyes. Her blue eyes, steel cold, calling up memories of her, all of them begging for life. But I remain mute, recalling the words they said to me.

“In order to be a Talease you must give up your freewill. You belong to us. You will give yourself entirely into our hands. By doing so, you preserve the life of those who are not chosen. Maybe, someday, you shall be a Kenyea. Maybe you shall pass the gate.”

My face blank, I watch the ax swing up, and then fall.

Pulling my eyes away from her limp body, I turn them to the Kenyea who had terminated her.

Nodding in approval, he swings the ax, marveling at the balance of the head and pole. Motioning at someone in the crowd, he turns his laughing eyes away, carelessly kicking Mother’s arm out his way, as he steps past.

Red impairing my vision, I leap into the center of the room, ignoring the screams and mocking sounds of contempt sailing at me from the other Talease’s at all sides.

Kneeling down in the bloody mud at my feet, I gently lift her head, holding her long blond hair above the muck. Cradling it, I stretch out a hand towards her crumpled form, abandoned in the dirt.

Halfway there, someone grabs me from behind, striking their fist into my back as hard as he can, while other, strides into my view, large hands holding wickedly long knives. My mind goes blank with horror, as I struggle against the firm hands of my captor, but to no avail.

Washed out blue eyes scorning me with smiles, he spins the knives, the light from the large skylight catching their blades, before they settle back into his hands. Then, bending low, he drives them, again and again, into the still form of my dead mother.

Screams erupting from me, arms straining to be free, I can but watch him. Slashing her arms, he reveals the flesh, kicking dirt into it as he goes. He applies the same method to her other limbs, and torso.

Then, turning his dark face towards me, he smiles. 

A wild cry, quickly cut off, echoes as I fling myself out of bed, falling to the floor, my dream still swirling. Casting a wild look around, my eyes encounter only the plain walls of my cell, simply and unadorned. No blood. No anything.

Cursing, loudly, I push myself to my feet, and flop back onto the bed. Yes, mom is dead. But so is dad, and my little sister. Learning from pain requires death, death of those you love. So they took them.

I know why and everything. And when their death’s aren’t right in front of me, I can hide the pain. It’s afterwards, during dreams or when I am sitting still with nothing to do, that they well up in my mind.

Mother died first, but the others quickly followed. Little sister died today. The same way mom did, minus the shredding.

The door clangs open, swing towards the wall, revealing a burly old man, scowling fiercely, throwing angry glances around the room.

“Mesas Kanyea,” I say, touching my forehead, and lowering my eyes. “Is it now time?” I let my hand drop, but keep my eyes on the ground.

“It is time, Talease,” he agrees, striking the ground with the golden end of his stick. Stepping aside, he motions me through the door first.

Stepping quickly, I stride through the doorway, making sure that I am no more and no less than two paces ahead of Mesas Kanyea. Any more, and he will strike me for going too fast. Any less, because I am going too slowly.

Carefully stepping, I lead the way down to the main hall, the scene of all the action here in Datsare.