Podcast Novel Project - Outcast

[Dalan]

Hey all.

Ok, so in my continuing efforts to pimp the living hell out of this project, I now present to you the text version of my in-progress podcast novel project, 'Outcast.'

SYNOPSIS: This is the story of my 'fursona,' for lack of a better term.  It's the story of Dalan Kalamar, a young tiger who's been exiled from his family for failing in a task of honour.

Currently, the book is being posted in text format here, on FurAffinity.net, and on Anthrostar.com.  There is also the audio version of the book being podcasted at http://feeds2.feedburner.com/podshow/outcast and http://podiobooks.com/title/outcast

This work is protected under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 2.5 Canada License

I'll start by posting the first chapter here, and if there's some feedback and want for more, I'll keep on posting. 

So, with no further ado, here we go.
Outcast - Chapter 1

My name is Dalan.

I had another name once, one that was my birthright as first-born son to my father.  It was a name he gave to me, and when the time came I would give it to my first born son.  It was my destiny to be a part of a line that dated back to the time of the Warlords…if you believe in that sort of thing.

Of course, were it not for things turning out the way they had, my destiny would have been all nice and laid out for me.  However, that’s not the case, or else you wouldn’t be hearing this now, would you?  No; that name of honour is forever lost to me now, and the name I’ve been allowed to keep is little more than a death sentence if spoken in the right company.

My name is Dalan…and this is my story...

For twelve long, happy years I was Dalan Ch’ang Kalamar, Second heir to the Eldership of the Clan of the Tiger’s Paw, beneath my father, Lucas, and again beneath his father, Won Ch’ang.  From the age of three, I trained in the fighting art of Katu, one of a few fighting styles befitting a tiger like myself.  When my father ascended to the rank of Elder, it would fall on me to become the trainer of future generations of my Clan.  My siblings, their children, as well as my own would learn our way to fight through me.  And when the time came, I would ascend and become Clan Elder, and would undertake the blessed curse that is family leadership.

Now, those hopes and dreams are gone.

It began a mere two months before my 13th birthday.  At the time, the Tiger’s Paw Clan was on the verge of making Clan history.  You see, my father had become a finalist in the annual Kumal tournament of combat arts.  Each year, Clans all over the country of Shonto would gather in Karalla City’s Clan lands to participate.  To the winner went the title of Ka’al Shera, or Clan Defender, and until the next Kumal, would enjoy several privileges thereto.  For some it was money, for others women, and even for others men.  The Ka’al Shera’s very whim was equivalent to a command from the High Elder Himself.

This year, though, the stakes had been raised considerably.  Lars Rondoki, Elder and Master Trainer of the Clan of the Midnight Fang, had wagered his Clan’s possession of the Ka’al P’ack in this year’s tournament.  While the Grand Council applauded such a noble gesture, those not immediately awestruck by the Rondoki Clan knew the real reason behind the wager: Intimidation.

Lars had won the Kumal for ten consecutive years, and had used that influence to maintain several ancient practices in the name of building a strong family.  While some new blood was introduced into the fold on occasion, it didn’t take a genius to figure out the amount of rampant incest going on behind the estate’s walls.  They were selective in their quest for new blood as well.  Only panthers with all black fur were permitted, and there had to be no defects or deviations in their bloodlines.  Many all-black panthers typically bleach parts of their fur in an effort to dissuade the Rondokis from outright kidnappings, but more often than not the ruse is found out and they are taken as fresh genetic material for their line.

It’s said that the moment a Rondoki pantheress came into heat she has three choices: Mate and bear a child, hide and be beaten, or take their own life.  Typically, they merely accept their duties and snag the first male they can find.  The mating is constant too; they carry on throughout their cycle in hopes of conceiving, lest they be the victims of an even more vicious beating afterwards.

As a result of this behaviour, the Midnight Fang Clan has a small standing army composed entirely of family members.  In their defence, their licentious behaviour is the extension of an ancient Clan way of life.  During the time of the Warlords, Clans were compelled to do anything to amass a strong army for their Masters.  If that meant a father would bed his wives, daughters and granddaughters all in one night, then so be it.

I digress, however.

The Ka’al P’ack or ‘Clan Protector’ (hey, it’s not my fault ancient Bengalan translates so banally into Terran English), is an ancient religious icon; a statuette of the war god Ra’Tal.  Legend speaks of this icon granting invulnerability to whichever Clan possessed it.  For some that legend stood to reason, given Lars’ continued victories in the Kumal every year.

There was an additional reason to celebrate this night, for my mother, Kira, was pregnant with her sixth child (by my father, just so you know...the Kalamars haven’t practised ‘army building’ since the Ascensions).  While my father moved into the final round of the tournament, Mother was enduring a rather painful labour.  While the Clans normally employed the services of midwives, everyone agreed that she would be better off under the care of a doctor this time.  As a result, my grandmother and two sisters kept watch at the hospital while my grandfather, two brothers, and I all remained at the Kumal to cheer father on.

The final combat to decide next year’s Ka’al Shera was to take place between my father and Lars Rondoki, both of whom had all but crushed their opponents on their way to this point.  Unlike the training in a War Hall, the Kumal was a First Circle, or full-contact contest.  Over the years, many of its participants were sent home broken, bloody, and in some cases dead.  While killing a combatant did not merit a disqualification from the tournament, it most certainly did nothing for one’s honour.  Any deaths in the past century had been the result of an accident and usually resulted in a rather large payment made to the victim’s Clan on the part of the offender.

The fight was long and downright bloody between my father and Lars.  The Rondoki fighting art of Saras involved the use of nearly every edged weapon in known history.  From a kitchen knife to the heaviest of the ancient Rakshi blades, the Midnight Fang soldiers knew how to use it and use it well.  For this contest, Lars had armed himself with what appeared to be a Talafna blade.  It was a dagger-like weapon with an edge on one side only.  In any case, it proved rather effective given the number of bleeding cuts my father was suffering.

I was amazed at how resilient my father was.  In spite of the blood he’d lost, he barely faltered and gave as good as he got.  Lars’ left eye was already swollen shut, and he was spitting out bloody globs of phlegm every few moments, a sign that his muzzle had been severely injured.  If nothing else, I would say Lars was beginning to reel from Father’s attacks.  He seemed to stagger around like a drunkard after a time, and his attacks were both slow and sloppy.  At this point I was sure even my youngest brother could have finished him off.

There was no need for that, though, for my father had finally had enough.  With a last surge of fury he all but pummelled Lars into the ground.  The image of my father, a bare-chested tiger, both arms raised in roaring triumph over the fallen panther would forever be burned into my mind as the single proudest moment in my life.  The judges all agreed that it had been a clean battle and that my father had indeed beaten Lars Rondoki fairly.

At long last, the reign of the Midnight Fang as Ka’al Shera was at an end.

Funny how things suddenly descend from their highest highs to the lowest lows.  I could see my father begin to waver and he eventually collapsed on the mat due to loss of blood.  We all rushed to his side to make sure he was all right.  The on-site medical teams indicated that he would have to be transported to the hospital for a much-needed blood transfusion.  My pride turned to guilt as I thought of all my father had done for his Clan, only to nearly die from it. 

As he was being loaded onto a stretcher, he turned to me and, with a weakened yet still strong voice, said, “My son...I leave it to you to finish the rite.  Make me proud.”

“I...I will, Father,” I stammered out.  He smiled and I watched him being loaded into the aerial ambulance for transport to the hospital.  I bade my grandfather and brothers to accompany him; I would call Nerel (our estate driver) to drive me to the hospital after the rite had been performed.

That one selfless moment turned out to be the worst mistake of my life.

* * *

An hour later, I was speaking with Nerel via portcom unit.  I would wait outside the Great Hall of the Clans for him and we would head for Karalla City with all due haste so I could be there when Mother gave birth.  He indicated that he would be there shortly. 

Thinking nothing of it I switched off my communicator and gazed up at the night sky.  It has never ceased to amaze me how, even though science and physical evidence have revealed all but the deepest mysteries of the stars, they still enthralled people with wonder.  A night sky, filled with millions of violent primordial nuclear reactors was still the perfect setting for evening stroll, the embrace of a lover, or mere self-reflection.  They seemed to shine a bit brighter this night...perhaps the Patrons were pleased at how the contest ended...perhaps, like many of us, they had been cheering for Father, and were celebrating as much as we planned to.

I suddenly heard some rustling from some nearby bushes and tensed.  My whiskers stretched outwards, tasting the electricity in the air and trying to detect what was going on.  I could feel my small muscles tense and my fists clench and unclench.  My claws also flexed, but they were so neatly trimmed they would be useless in a fight.  Strike one against societal hygiene.
Out of the bushes emerged four beings, each wearing swords on their hips and black masks over their muzzles.  In the darkness I could see no discernible marks to identify who they were, but the weapons they carried told me volumes about their intentions.

“Give us the statue, boy,” snarled one of them.  He stretched his hand out as if by merely uttering this command, I would obey.  “Hand it over and you may yet live to see another day.”

“T...The Ka’al P’ack is the property of the victor,” I said, doing my best to mask my growing fear.  “It is not for thieves such as you.” They weren’t fazed by my threats...why would they be? Instead of stopping, the four of them drew their swords and charged me.

I turned from them and ran as fast as my legs would carry me.  I crashed into the brush and after a few moments began to turn towards the main road.  With any luck I’d reach it and would either intercept Nerel on his way here, or possibly flag down someone for help.

As I ran I could hear them behind me, shouting orders to each other.  I felt thankful that in such low light even a tiger like me could easily melt into the undergrowth and disappear from sight.  When I think about it now, had my head not been so filled with the images of those swords, I would have found a place and kept covered...perhaps then they would have given up on their chase and let me be.  Ah, the clarity of hindsight.

Instead I ran through the brush for what felt like an eternity, trying to avoid capture by even one of my four pursuers.  My clothes were all but shredded at this point, and my body was covered in scratches...not enough to break the skin, but enough to be felt even through my fur.  I’d be feeling them for a few days after if I survived this ordeal.

I could feel my strength beginning to wane far too quickly as I ran.  I was only a cub, unused to this kind of exertion.  I was fast becoming too winded to continue.  My arms and legs burned but I couldn’t stop.  There was no way in all Seven Hells that I was going to let those four packlas take from me that which I’d been sworn to protect.  They’d have to take it from my cold, dead fingers.

Finally I broke through the bushes and began a flat out run across an open field.  I could see the main road just ahead of me...just a handful of metres separated me from my salvation.  Just the thought that I was so close seemed to re-energize my aching muscles and I summoned up every ounce of strength I had.  I pumped my arms and let a low growl escape my muzzle as I scrambled for that stretch of road just ahead.

I never heard them crash through the brush mere moments later.  I never bothered to look behind me...nor did I ever chance to look down and see that depression before me.  Suddenly my left leg sunk down, and the momentum of my body changed too quickly for my mind to process.  I felt my left ankle twist and, with a yowl I crashed hard to the ground.  All at once the adrenaline faded from my young body, and the pain came on in wave after wave of agony.  My ankle throbbed violently, and my legs and arms burned from their recent workout.  My mind was still racing...still trying to urge me onward, but with a bum ankle and muscles already pushed past any sane limit, there was no escape.

I turned and faced my attackers, dropping into the fighting stance my father had taught me.  My heart was pounding and my mind screaming to run, but I knew whether I fought or ran, I wasn’t going home this night...or any night for that matter.  Better to show the Patrons that I’d sooner die fighting than be cut down running from four cowards who fought behind masks.

The four of them caught up to me in mere moments and fell upon me like a plague.  I swung and kicked for all I was worth...even felt a few punches connect, weak as they were.  I did manage to land one solid kick to an attacker’s groin, but when his comrade’s sword slashed at me, any measure of satisfaction I’d taken from the kick was gone.

The blade bit deep, scraping against bone and turning my thigh muscle into a useless blob of tissue.  Gouts of blood spurted from the opened wound, and entire universes of pain exploded in my head.  I screamed, I think...or maybe I just roared defiantly and kept swinging, trying in vain to beat back my attackers.  I threw a punch at one of them, only to have another slice into my arm, severing my tricep muscle from the tendons that held it to the bone.  Again, I can’t remember if I screamed....though I do remember falling when my calf muscles were severed on both legs.

My ears were ringing so much that I couldn’t tell if they were laughing as they rolled me onto my back.  Their swords flashed again and again, cutting through flesh and muscle, but never severing the bone.  By the time they were done with me my muscles hung off my limbs like mere slabs of Twaro meat.  I heard no final words or threats as they took the satchel containing the Ka’al P’ack from me and melted back into the night.

I remember staring up at the sky, straining to keep my eyes open in the wake of the growing darkness around me.  I felt deathly cold, but there was nothing I could do about it.  It didn’t matter anyway, though...I was going to die out here...alone.

I didn’t even have the strength to whisper a plea for forgiveness to my father, or to the Patrons.  All I could do was listen to my own shallow breathing, and my ever fading heartbeat until finally, that one excruciating moment hit when my mind screamed its last.  My vision filled with a white light so intense I thought my eyes would be burned away to nothingness.  My body tensed and I uttered a final, pathetic whimper...

Then...all was darkness...

[Lady Serpent]

Somehow I missed this when it was first posted.

Anyways; very enthralling chapter!  It does have a few linguistic issues that could be fixed up, which I'd be happy to offer suggestions for if you drop a line and let me know you're still about.  (Havn't seen you around before, actually! )

The beginning starts off with a few of the same errors that many fantasy novels suffer from, and that's an onslaught of new terms and language that leave a reader's head spinning, especially when they're just sampling a book and may be easily turned off.  There are quite a few new words thrown in there, and it's only the first chapter.  However, you did do a number of things that help considerably:

-You italycized the words, which makes them stand out more.
-You used some of them repeatedly, especially Ka’al Shera and Ka’al P’ack.  So, by the time one gets through the first chapter, they feel like they've got a fairly strong hold on these ones, at least.

Things that could make it better include not introducing quite so many foreign words so quickly, and using fewer words that start with the same letter.  (At least four start with 'K', and that adds to a reader's confusion at beginning to become familiar with first-time words.)

Anyways, there are a few specific things I could suggest for general grammar modifications, but I'd like to make sure you're still around to read the feedback before I start fine-toothing it.

The story is interesting and the action is exiting; the chase is especially well-described for all the things the character is feeling.  (I'm not sure if I caught his name..)  We'd certainly be interested in taking a look at some further work if you'd like some feedback.

Cheers, and thanks for posting;
-Lady Serpent

[Dalan]

And 11 days later I finally remember that I posted this here.

Sorry for taking so long to reply to this; I'm usually a bit more dilligent when it comes to responding to feedback...not MUCH more dilligent, but y'know...

I'm always glad to hear feedback from people, and it's actually refreshing when someone calls me on grammatical or other such things.  It seems that in the podcasting world the audience is simply content to praise the work as it is, and rarely offer suggestions or constructive criticism.  I think the only time they do so is when the author makes a monumental blunder, which I'm happy to say is a rarity to my knowledge.

So, at long last, here's chapter 2.  I'll be a little more consistent from now on...no really


Chapter 2

I never gave it much thought back then, but it seems strange to me now that no one came to my aid that night. Many Clansmen - some of them seasoned fighters - were still in the building, yet no one ever came. Had I known then what I know now, it wouldn't have surprised me so much. But back then, I was far too preoccupied with staying alive to take my surroundings into account.

I should have died that night...yet my eyes found a reason to open once more. They would have beheld the green fields of P'ou Lan, the paradise that awaits all Clansmen. I should have been staring into the muzzles of my ancestors, who were to welcome me with open arms. However, when my eyes opened I saw nothing...well...nothing in focus, anyway.

I blinked several times to try and clear the cobwebs out of my head, and after several minutes my surroundings became more recognizable if not familiar. I was in a room of some sort...not my bedroom, though; too small. The room was dimly lit by a few candles, which bathed it in a golden glow. I felt thankful for that, as anything brighter would have probably scarred my retinas for life.

My nose could make out the strong scent of ishia in the air. It reminded me of the days our Clan attended services at the temple on our estate grounds. Once per week, the High Priest of Ke'an would grace us with his presence and lead us in praise to our adopted Patron. The temple was often thick with the smell of ishia, which is said to help calm one's mind and soul. I had to admit, smelling it in that room went a long way to easing my growing curiosity about my situation.

Underneath the calming scent from the candles, though, I could also smell the antiseptic and organic scents found only in a medical facility of some sort. No other place in the world, or even many worlds, can duplicate an odour like that.

My right ear twitched and instinctively turned towards the sound of the heart monitor, steadily beeping away, telling everyone that somehow, for some reason only a Divine being could answer, I'd survived. Gods...I was alive.

I tried to turn my head, but the muscles in my neck were so stiff it hurt to do so. Not expecting the pain from the effort I let out a small whimper and shut my eyes tightly to ride it out. However, when I heard the gasp, the pain in my neck faded away, and I forced my eyes back open.

Have you ever been awakened from a sleep so deeply, that even though your eyes are open, your ears are working, and you can talk, your brain just doesn't register who it is you're talking to? That's exactly how I felt when her face filled my vision. I could hear her voice...I could see her with absolute clarity, and I could sense the released tension in the way she moved and spoke...but I didn't recognize her. I tried to concentrate, but my mind drew a complete and utter blank.

"Dalan?" she asked. "Don't...don't you recognize me? It's me...your mother."

Mother...

It felt like something inside my mind had suddenly burst open. That last mental barrier finally collapsed and my conscious mind was suddenly deluged with memories. Yes, I had a mother...and a father...grandparents...brothers...sisters...I had a family. No, it was more than a family, wasn't it? Yes...it was a Clan...an important Clan at that. We'd done something just recently too, hadn't we? Yes, father had won something...something important...something he entrusted to...to...

Me?

My mind suddenly flashed to that night. Though my eyes were open I could no longer see Mother, or even the hospital room in which I was. All I could see were the four who'd chased me down...hunted me like I was some kind of prey. One of them held their sword high in the air and brought it down on me. I felt the steel tip tear through my skin and I screamed in pain.

"Doctor...Quickly!"

I began thrashing about like a fish landed on the ground. I wanted to roll away before the next strike but I couldn't. The second blade cut into me and I screamed again. Volcanoes of pain erupted all over my body and despite my best efforts I was helpless to stop their onslaught...their desecration of my body, allowing me to survive as a mutilated cripple rather than killing me outright. I screamed and screamed as they continued to hack away at me, reducing me to nothing but carved meat and exposed bone.

I felt something press on my neck, followed by a little pinprick as the sedative was delivered into my bloodstream. All at once, it became harder and harder to fight. My vision grew spotty yet again as I felt the drug work its way through me, deadening my muscles and encouraging my brain to shut down once more. My breathing returned to normal and the last thing I saw was my mother staring at me with a look of concern and joy on her face.

"It's all right, my son," she choked. "Sleep for now...it's all right."

* * *

I don't know how much time passed before my eyes opened again...only that this time everything seemed clearer than before. I still had questions...lots of questions...but for now I knew I was safe, and above all, alive.

I tried to move my head again, this time more slowly than before. The stiffness was still there, but now that I was expecting it I could work through the pain and make my neck work. Still, it was an effort, and I couldn't help but let a small moan escape my throat.

Almost immediately I felt a gentle hand stroke behind my ears. I saw my mother sitting there, tears streaming down her face, but smiling. It was at the same time the single most heartbreaking - and heart-warming - thing I'd ever seen.

"Welcome back," she said softly. I tried to say something, but she put a finger to my lips and then reached for a cup of water. She guided the straw to my mouth and I sipped at it slowly. Slow as I was, I still couldn't help but cough almost violently. She steadied me as best she could until my coughing fit passed and I could breathe normally again.

"Where...where am I?" I finally asked, barely realizing that those were the first words I'd spoken since the attack.

"You're in the hospital, Dalan," she said softly. Her tender hand found its way back to behind my ear. "A lot has happened to you, son...it will...take time to explain it all."

I could feel a tear come to my eye and I tried to wipe it away...it was then that I realized that I couldn't move. I tried to will my hand to move, but it was no use. I could feel my heart beginning to beat faster and my breathing grow more panicked. "I...I can't move," I said.

I felt myself starting to shake again...well, the parts of me that would...but instead of calling for the doctor Mother merely placed her hand directly on my chest. "Calm yourself," she said sternly. "The answers will come, son, but you must stay calm."

Y'know, there's something about a mother's snarl that can change your attitude in a heartbeat. I always remembered Mother as someone you could go to with any problem, from a bump or scrape to your older sister pulling out half your whiskers. But gods be with you should you draw her ire...I remember times when even Father backed down from her. So when she told me to calm down I did my best to comply, though even her authority nearly paled against the rising panic in me.

Finally I stopped shaking, and though I was still breathing hard, Mother took her hand from my chest and sat back down. "Your limbs were badly damaged," she said. "When Nerel found you, he feared you were dead, but saw you were still breathing. He bundled you up as best he could and got you here as fast as he dared." She continued to stroke behind my ears, which helped to calm my breathing a bit. "None of us will ever forget what he did for you, and neither should you."

Forget? How could I ever forget the man who saved my life? Nerel had always been that voice of clarity to my confused mind when I was a cub. It wasn't as though he would sit me down and lecture me on things...it was more like the odd bit of advice here and there...something you'd keep in the back of your mind until the time was right to act on it. Having served our Clan for so long, Nerel probably knew more about its history than even Grandfather did. In truth, it wouldn't surprise me in the least if, from time to time, our wise Elder consulted his driver on ways to handle the goings on in the Clans.

I digress...

"As to your limbs," Mother continued. "It...it has taken time to repair them, son...and much still needs to be done before you can leave here."

"Time...how much time?" I could see Mother struggling with the answer and I could feel my fear beginning to rise once more. "Mother?"

"Dalan," she began. "You've been here for...a year."

"A...a year?" At first I thought she was joking, but when she pulled the covers down to show me my arms it was proof enough. While later I would find dozens of ragged scars underneath my fur, I could still see that they were healed. Had my attack only occurred mere hours ago, they'd still be a mess of slashed flesh and covered in blood-soaked bandages. No...what she'd said had to be the truth...it was the only logical explanation.

I was just about to say something when I noticed two people entering the room. Both of them - one a jaguar and the other a cheetah - were wearing the white coats so synonymous with anyone in the medical profession. From the looks on their muzzles, I could only assume that these two were the ones responsible for keeping me alive all this time.

"Ah," said the cheetah. "I see the sedative's finally worn off. I trust this time your wake-up was a little less shocking?"

I nodded dumbly. "Who are you?"

The cheetah bowed slightly. "My name is Dr. Karl Sheck and this is Dr. Harus Tokuru." The jaguar also bowed.

"They are the ones who repaired your limbs," said mother, greeting the pair with a smile and a nod.

"Repaired?" I asked. "Then...why can't I..."

"The tendons that held your muscles to your skeleton were severed," said Dr. Tokuru. He produced a datapad from his coat and activated it. It projected a holographic image of what looked like an arm, showing the muscle and how it was connected to the bone. "Unfortunately, a significant percentage of your muscles were also damaged beyond repair." He tapped a few times on the pad, and the image changed to what I could only assume my arms must have looked like. The muscle tissue appeared rotted...decayed almost. "Normally, protocol dictates that we amputate the damaged limbs and replace them with prosthetics." I tensed. "However, Dr. Sheck offered an alternative."

"I've been studying medicine on Earth for several years," said the cheetah. "And I must say their sense of vanity is most fascinating. Instead of such a barbaric procedure," said the cheetah, "I suggested that the damaged portions of your muscles be replaced with cybernetic implants." Dr. Tokuru tapped a few more keys on his pad and the image shifted again, this time to what looked like a white liquid being injected into the arm and the liquid coating the damaged tissue. "Nanobots were injected into your arms and legs," Dr. Sheck explained. "Once inside they began rebuilding any damaged muscle tissue, ligaments, tendons...whatever was required to restore your limbs to what they once were. When the repairs were completed, the implants were attached to the muscles, thereby completing the operation." The image finally showed the finished result, which appeared as normal as the initial image, save for several muscle striations appearing white instead of red. "It's a very delicate operation but the end result far surpasses what limited mobility prosthetics could have given you."

I looked at my mother, a pleading look in my eyes. I mean it was all well and good that I was whole, but since when did aesthetics play a part in whether or not a person could move? Was I to be the resident store manikin now, to be put into different poses by my sisters? Was I some real-life doll?

"You've probably noticed that you cannot move," said Dr. Tokuru, to which I nodded. "That's because the implants required you to be conscious in order for them to begin calibrating. As we speak, they are synchronizing to your own biorhythms and neural pathways. It will take a day or two, but you will be able to move again."

I can't tell you how relieved I was to hear that. The thought of being confined to a hover-chair for the rest of my life, unable to do anything for myself was terrifying. As relieved as I was at this news, I could see that Dr. Tokuru wasn't quite finished what he had to say.

"However," he said, "you should be aware that this is only the first step in your recovery. After so long in a comatose state, your other muscles have atrophied to the strength of a newborn kitten. I am recommending that you remain here to undergo physical rehabilitation until you're up and about on your own." He looked at my mother. "Family is always invited to attend and participate, of course."

"We will," she said. I had to admit at that moment, I thought everything was going to be all right. Any concerns I had about the Kumal, or the Ka'al P'ack, or anything else connected to that night vanished with the thought of seeing my family again. Don't get me wrong; seeing my mother again was a gift from the Patrons, but I wanted to see the rest of them...no matter what.

Mother seemed to notice the growing excitement in me and bid the doctors to leave us in peace for the time being. When they had left, she turned to me. "I can see the questions forming in your mind, son," she said. "And I know exactly what you want to ask. But you shouldn't worry so. Once I've let everyone else know you're awake, you'll have more attention than you'll know what to do with."

Her smile was sincere...so much so that I almost overlooked the pensive look in her eyes. She was hiding something from me, and as happy as she was that I was still alive, her happiness seemed darkened somehow by something. I realized then that my losing the Ka'al P'ack had caused a stir amongst the Clans. I just had no idea how deep that stirring ran...and what it would cost...

* * *

We talked for hours...Mother brought me up to date on the goings on in our family and I lay there, hanging on her every word. I learned that Genna, my baby sister, had been born the very night both Father and I entered the hospital. Caring for her had helped everyone deal with my situation a lot better over the year. Tila, my only older sibling, had probably done the most to help Mother with Genna, and that didn't really surprise me. Tila always wanted a family of her own, and I imagine taking care of her baby sister was something she considered good practice for when she finally married. Of course, according to Mother, she had yet to be in a relationship.

My two brothers, Richard and Alexander had matured a lot over the year...I suppose having a near-dead brother in the hospital does that to someone. There had been tense times as their frustration over what happened to me got the better of them, but it never lasted. According to Mother, Father was always there to calm their outbursts and reassure them that things would get better.

I only wish he'd been right.

The rest of the family had fared well over this time. Grandfather was still the same wise Elder he'd always been, and my dear Grandmother was constantly by his side. My younger sister, Mkio, was growing up fast as well; she was nearly as tall as Alexander, despite the 3 year age difference in favour of my brother.

I also learned that, when they could, my friends had also come to see me all this time. My non-Clan friends seemed to be the most frequent visitors, and that didn't really surprise me. Clan life was nothing if not regimented. Learning that my fellow Clansmen had little time to check up on me was less of a surprise and more of an expectation. Still, any contact they'd made with me was more than appreciated.

We talked long into the night...long past when any sane being was still awake, and I could see Mother beginning to fade. I didn't want to try and sleep for fear of another year going by, but she assured me that she would wake me in the morning. She leaned down and kissed me on the forehead before bidding me a good night and moving towards one of the more comfortable lounging chairs to sleep.

Though my eyes closed, I wasn't tired...well, not mentally, anyway. Tomorrow was going to be the day I returned to life as I knew it. I knew the road ahead was going to be tough, and that it would take equal measures of time, pain, and patience before I could regain even my most basic abilities, but at that moment I didn't care. After all, I'd cheated Death Himself...I'd been saved from my own murder, and soon my life could carry on just as it had before.

Oh...had I only known what kind of cruel trick the Patrons had in store for me then...perhaps I would have ended my own life right there and then...