A Dirty Orphan

Hammond pushes through the gathered crowd of Tarnanites, flanked by his personal guard, Cardiminia sticks tight to his side like a rib bone. There is screaming and shoving and yelling. They barely notice their king is suddenly among them. As he delves deeper into the bowels of the chaos the people do not move to let him through.

In the center of the taut circle is Jora, the Champion of his people, the new king, straddling another boy in the yellow dirt, crushing the delicate bones of his face beneath the war hammer of his fist. There is blood everywhere thick and purple and pungent. The boy is losing consciousness, his body dulled, slack. His eyes rolling.

"Stop!" Hammond bellows forcing his way into the center, his guardsmen only two steps behind. Jora doesn't hear him. His limbs seem to be moving with no instructions from his brain. He is no longer in control of the earth shattering punches that keep forcing their way out of his swinging fists one after the other after the other.

Hammond grabs Jora from behind tight around the neck. He yanks backwards, prying Jora and Nadir's bodies apart, applying just enough pressure to break the boy's neck if he dared to struggle. Jora shrugs him off with no effort. He whirls around, a wild look carved into his face. The animal in his eyes tucks tail and runs when he realizes who grabbed him.

"My lord I-" he begins dragging his forearm across his sweat stained face.

"Don't speak," Hammond commands him. He motions with his hands towards Nadir's broken body. Hammond's guardsmen help him to his feet, his legs are goopy, threatening to give way beneath him. Jora looks into the crowd for Amerra. He spots her on the edge of it. She is looking straight back at him. Looking at him as if she doesn't recognize him.

"What kind of King does this?" Hammond demands.

"My lord he-"

"Don't speak!" His thunderous voice echoes through the trees sending chills tiptoeing up the spines of those present. Jora bows his head. Shame is a bag of stones tied around his neck. Pulling his chin towards the earth. He doesn't dare lift his eyes. Cardiminia goes to her lover and takes his elbow.

"My love," she begins cautiously. "Must we do this here?"

"You are king no more," says Hammond.

"My Lord!" exclaims Jora desperately, "Please.."

Cardiminia grabs Hammond's face, a raw moment of intimacy between husband and wife that would normally never have occurred beyond the walls of their private chamber .

"Hammond, do not do this. Do not defy the gods. I am begging you," she pleads with him.

"He is King no more," says Hammond loudly. He turns to face the crowd. His eyes like bolts of lightning. "There was to be a ceremony. To crown Jora, The Champion of His People the new king."he turns to face the boy. Horror is pinned to Jora's face, his mouth gaping open and closed, no words coming out.

"But no more," says Hammond.

"Your Majesty...My Lord...I can...please".

"Get out of my sight," says Hammond.

"Hammond, please. Do not defy the gods," says Cardiminia. Quietly now.

"You are not fit to rule. There is nothing in you like me. You are not my heir. And you are certainly no son of mine," says Hammond.

Jora turns and flees. He races through the crowd that breaks like bread to allow him entrance, and heads straight for the forest.

"Jora come back from there! It's not safe!" he hears someone scream after him. It is Amerra. But the sound of her voice is not enough to stitch up the wounds in him.

"Jora! Come back to the village!" she calls. "Jora!"

He runs until her voice is a faint echo in the distance. Jumping over roots and brambles, sharp low hanging branches slapping his cheeks, slashing his face. He runs until he is doubled over, all the breath leaving his body in shrieking gasps. Until the exhaustion in his lungs burns worse than the wildfire of anger and sadness spreading through his heart.

When he has his bearings again he climbs the nearest tree up to it's canopy. He can see his home, the village in the distance. Half of him is bitter that no one has been sent after him. The other half feels foolish. And yet still another part of him knows he should return. As the Champion he had sworn his life to protect the village. There is very little threat to worry about and yet he prides himself on being only a stone's throw away in case any of them need him.

None of them need me, he sulks. A dirty orphan. I could never be king. Amerra, Cardiminia, Hammond. None of them will miss me. I am no one's heir. I am no one's lover. I am no one's son. Let them see how perfect their lives will be without me. His heart stinging, he decides to wallow in his pride. He lies back on a thick branch and goes to sleep.