The following story takes place in Anakai.
“Brand New”
Part I
The deep and sudden ringing of bells hummed its way through the paper-thin walls, haling Alek’s attention back into the here-and-now. For a moment, he wondered how long he had been staring up at the wall towards his father’s freshly polished marker.
“I told you.” Bragged Sandria. “How long was that? Twenty-two hours?”
Alek averted his eyes from his father’s weapon and looked towards his younger sister. “Is he really dead?”
“Yes.” The seventeen year old’s query was met by the sound of his mother’s voice. “The King is dead.” She confirmed, entering the room with an arm-full of clothing materials.
“The curse is real.” Began Sandria, sounding far too satisfied to be learning of a man’s death. “The very second someone becomes King in this city, their fate has been sealed.”
Parking her behind on the rotting bench beside her work station, the pair’s mother looked over at Sandria. “Don’t be so silly. There’s no curse.” She said with assurance. “Soldiers from the South were spotted in the city this morning.” She added. “The Magna is behind this. There’s no doubt about that.”
Alek didn’t know what to believe. With five Kings dead in his lifetime alone, the longest of which lived a mere three days after pronouncing himself ruler of Anakai, the boy was unable to so quickly disregard the curse as a fiction.
“It’s a shame though.” His mother continued. “This one seemed to be a good man.” Her voice softened, carrying an air of sadness with it. “Perhaps if he had lived a few days longer he could have made some much needed changes around here.”
“You’re wrong, mother.” Sandria objected. “Even if it was the Magna’s men who killed him, it was the curse that brought them here to do the deed.”
Visibly exhausted, the stubborn woman decided against engaging her even-more-stubborn daughter in debate, offering only a shake of her head before returning to work fashioning garments from linen and silk.
Sandria’s focus turned to her brother. “You’ve been staring at that thing a lot recently.” She observed. “Are you thinking of joining the Burning Fist?”
Alek had been too distracted by his thoughts to notice his eyes staring up at the wall again. “Maybe.” He lied.
An involuntary chuckle escaped their mother’s lips. Lifting her head up from her work, she moved her lengthy dark hair from her face with her finger and looked her son directly in the eye. “There’s no Burning Fist left, Alek.” She told him. “The days of men like your father are over. The Fist has become an embarrassment – a lost pack of fools who ought to be branded themselves for their cowardice.” She turned her attention back to the task at hand. “Stay away from the Fist.”
Alek was relieved to hear that his mother didn’t expect him to follow in his father’s footsteps, for he didn’t feel worthy of walking in them. He may have inherited his father’s size, and perhaps even his strength, but certainly not his courage.
“They just need some guidance is all.” Sandria argued, to neither her mother nor her brother’s surprise. “Maybe Alek could provide that for them – as father did.”
The boy searched his mind frantically for a suitable response, but was rescued by a forceful thumping on the door.
A pale face grew paler as their mother sprung to her feet. She stepped towards Alek and took his wrist in her hands. “I mean it Alek - no Burning Fist.” She pleaded. “Real heroes don’t last long in Anakai.” Releasing her grip amidst another loud thump, she turned around and sped away to answer the door, asserting one final statement as she exited the room. “I won’t lose you too.”
Alek’s heart began to race. It was obvious from his mother’s reaction who was at the door, and the look upon Sandria’s face revealed that she knew as he did – it was Lucky.
The sound of a lock opening and a door swinging open was followed by a familiarly smokey and pompous voice. “Good morning, gorgeous.” It was him for sure. “What have you got for me?”
A further creak could be heard as Veronica closed the door behind her, attempting to hide the situation taking place from her son and daughter. “I have nothing.” She complained quietly, her voice not-at-all shielded through the flimsy excuse for a door. “I gave you all I had last week. I need more time.”
Sandria glanced at Alek, inviting him to go and do something. The request was ignored.
“You disappoint me, Veronica.” Lucky exclaimed. “Everyone pays. What will the others think if I allow you a pass? I’ll tell you.” He continued. “They’ll think lucky has grown weak. They’ll think, Lucky allows himself to be manipulated by a beautiful face and a plump pair of tits.”
Alek’s jaw tightened as the sound of several men laughing filtered its way through the walls and flooded the room.
“And as plump as they may be, Lucky simply can’t have that.” The villain explained. “Lucky won’t have that.” He warned.
Veronica slammed the front door all-the-way shut and could be heard walking further away from the house. “I cannot give you what I do not have, Lucky.” She replied, her voice growing quieter.
“Alek!” Sandria whispered, looking up at her father’s marker and then back to her brother. “Go and help her!” She urged.
The boy knew he couldn’t. It wasn’t entirely the fear of getting hurt that had him frozen in his seat. It was more so the fear of making things worse, or of making a choice that led to his sister or mother being hurt. His father had always known what to say, what to do – and what not to say or do. But Alek was not him. “I can’t, Sandria.” He confessed. “Mother wouldn’t want me to.” He used the truth to justify his cowardice.
Sandria shook her head in what seemed like disgust.
Alek moved his lips, but no words escaped his mouth. He realised he didn’t know what else to say. But it bothered him that his sister couldn’t see what he did. She was the smartest person he’d ever known. She must have been aware that Lucky had an army of branded goons working for him, and that Alek getting involved could very easily have serious repercussions for the three of them. And even without the goons behind him – did Sandria not worry that Alek would get killed attempting to be a hero? Lucky was not like the average extorter that Anakai had seen in her days. He was a six-skin – meaning that his face was adorned with all six possible brands. He was a thief, a swindler, an adulterer, a pusher, a raper – and a murderer. Alek couldn’t understand why his sister seemed not to care that his attempt to help could lead to his death. But perhaps it was the courage he did not possess, that she did, that blinded her to that possibility – or rendered it irrelevant.
The boy looked up at his father’s marker once more. He questioned what good it had ever done. How many criminal’s faces had his father branded with that thing? Five hundred? A thousand or two? Maybe he was the one to brand Lucky. But if so, it hadn’t prevented him from turning up at their door on this morning to put their mother through hell. Perhaps, Alek wondered, the Burning Fist was never of any real use.
“No!”
The pair jumped to their feet abruptly in response to their mother’s despairing objection.
“Not that.” Veronica cried, now directly outside the front door.
“Settle up next week, and you can have it back.” Said Lucky. “Lucky doesn’t break promises.” He added, sounding as if he genuinely considered himself a man of great honour. “Cheer up. I’ll see you next week, darling.”
The sound of several heavy footsteps walking away informed Alek that Lucky and his crew had made their leave, but the front door did not yet open. The boy fought back tears as he listened to his mother sobbing on the other side of the door. Sorry father, he thought to himself, feeling guilty for ever questioning the importance of his life’s work. The Burning Fist had done a very important job – they’d made it easier to know who to hate.
This is a first draft and may be subject to minor changes.