Drex - A new warrior

[+ Drex0379]

The 12 years old boy followed his father into the building and the ceremony hall. Like most of the rooms he had visited on the planet, it was dark, barely illuminated by some reddish lights. There were no windows and the air was heavy and stale. A faint, acrid smell of smoke filled the boy's nostrils and he rubbed his nose with his right forefinger to ease the discomfort.

Jike kept himself in the shadow of the Klingon. He had to be brave. He promised his father. He had to prove he was as good as any other his age on that ugly planet.

The kid loved his adoptive father M'Vack, but did not like Qo’nos nor many of the Klingons he had met since their arrival.

Qo’nos and its inhabitants were not different from Bajor or Cardassia or any other place Jike was aware of. He has never been to Cardassia and never will be, nor did he visit so many planets in the short time of his life, but he was sure they were all the same. He knew most of the people would have judged him on the basis of his appearance and on the horrible actions perpetrated by his ancestors. It did not make any difference if half of his ancestors were the victims of the very same actions.

Jike was the son of a Gul and a Bajoran traitor. Born at the end of the Occupation of Bajor, he was abandoned to a cruel destiny on his mother’s planet. Raised in an orphanage, he learnt very quickly to take care of himself, and to hate the Cardassians, the Bajorans and the Prophets.

Unwanted by the most, two years early he had found in M'Vack the only family he could trust and now he did not want to let his father down.

As they stopped, Jike saw two Klingons on the other side of the room and retracted behind M’Vack, searching for protection. Their faces were in the shadows, but he was able to recognize them: Kortak, M’Vack’s father, and Tarak, the youngest of M’Vack siblings. 

Kortak had a ugly scar on his left cheek and half of his left ear was missing. Jike was scared of the old and stocky Klingon who had never spoken to him directly. The kid had overheard his father and his father’s father discuss one night and Kortak had accused his son of having softened among the federals.

Tarak was only ten. From the first time they met, he had picked on Jike any time he could. When M’Vack was not present, he referred to him as Little Spoon Head and a few times he had beaten him up very hard. Jike could not hide the bruises, and too scared to tell the truth, he justified them with Tarak teaching him how to fight.

With his right hand, M'Vack reached for Jike’s back and pushed him gently a step forward. 

“This is my son, Jike. He presents himself to” 

“Let the kid talk for himself.” Kortak interrupted him, raising his right hand. His voice was deep and commanding. There surely was no need for him to raise his voice in order to have anyone’s attention.

Jike felt his mouth dry out and his heart rushing hard. He tried not to lower his gaze by fixing a point behind the Klingon. He opened his mouth to talk, but forgot the words for the rite. Sweat trickled down his temple and he felt a chill run down his spine.

“Tell'em why you're here.” M’Vack suggested him from behind his shoulders.

The kid clenched his fists at his sides. He licked his lips and straightened his back.

“I am Jike, son of M'Vack.” He scanned dutifully out loud all the titles he could boast of. 

“I… I…” he esitated,  but when the hand of M’Vack touched his shoulder, he found the courage to continue. “I am here to follow my Nentay. I ask you to be my witnesses.”

The smile of mockery on Takar’s face hit Jike worse than a slap. Anger mixed with frustration churned his stomach. One day he would regret bullying the son of M’Vack.

Kortak did not give him the time to think deeply about it. The old Klingon stepped forward.

“You know what it means. My son, M’Vack, asked my permission to teach you and train you as a warrior. I trust him in this decision. We accept to be your witnesses.”

The Klingon stepped aside allowing Jike to see the candlestick on its pedestal.

He felt the hand of his father gently pushing him forward. 

He was forced to take a step. Was this what he really wanted?

He hesitated on the second one. He was nothing and alone.

The third one came easily. He could be something. He has a father. He was loved now. 

He reached Kortak who was offering him a thin stick. Jike’s hand trembled as he grabbed it. A little gold flame was burning on the other side.

He greedy took the last step. He was going to be a great warrior.

He stretched out his right hand and lit the Kor’tova candle.

The flame began to shine: the white light growing and growing in the eyes of the kid.

A whirlpool of color and lights took form inside the flame of the Kor'tova candle. 

Jike stared at it, hypnotized. Time stopped and a female sweet voice began to talk.

“You don't belong here. Please, don't do it.”

It was no Klingon, nor the Federal Standard. It was a language he desperately wanted to forget. 

“Who are you? Go away!“ he shouted. 

“Please, we did not save you for this.”

“I don't know what you're talking about. Leave me alone.” He begged the sweet voice.

He could swear he knew that voice, but could not tell who was the owner. On Bajor none ever talked to him in such a sweet tone. The deja vu of a lullaby broke through his memory and made him remember the delicate scent of gizi flowers.

Jike shook his head very hard and closed his eyes.

“Leave me alone. You are nothing to me.”

“I can't. You are” 

“Shut up! You are the one who left. You abandoned me. You wanted me dead.”

The sweet voice broke into a sob of pain. 

“But I survived. Alone. I owe you nothing.”

He reopened his eyes and moved his gaze from the candle to his father and the other Klingons.

"DaHjaj SuvwI'e' jiH.” Jike began to say. 

“Please, please, don’t do it!“ The voice screamed.

Whoever the voice was, Jike ignored it.

Whatever it has to say, it should have been said long ago. 

He was left behind, forgotten, hated. But he survived. He made Bajor just a distant memory. He would not be a victim anymore. He would not return to a place of suffering and abuse. 

Now it was the time to show his heart, the heart of a true warrior. 

“tIgwIj Sa'angNIS. Iw bIQtIq jIjaH.”  The kid completed the formula and focused on M'Vack, who proudly nodded. 

The voice faded with a moan of pain and finally felt silent.

Jike looked back at the flame of his candle: it was brighter and higher. 

The smell of gizi flowers dissolved, replaced by the scent of forged metal.

Jike watched the wormhole close for the last time and he knew there would be no going back.

Edited March 18 by Drex0379