“Piss and shit, I’ve had enough.” Dimitri muttered to himself in a crowded and musty sanctuary. He had become increasingly prone to such outbursts. It wasn’t because the young man was particularly defiant at this point in his life, he had just reached a boiling point and he knew this island was to blame.
It wasn’t the heat. After a few months on Landestock, Dimitri had gotten use to the it’s sub-topic climate. It was partially due to the god damn humidity, which seeped into his traditional wool suit and caused the aggravating material to latch on to his skin. Though it wasn’t just the moisture in the air and the perpetually wet sensation which permeated in this place’s atmosphere night and day. No. There was more than the itch, more than the sweat that just wouldn’t dry, more than the smell of a collection of people who all shared in the discomfort of this cramped space. It was the aura of self importance which the priest exuded and his overt vanity.
This rotund man addressed the island’s population every seventh day. The meetings were, of course, mandatory and that was the first aspect to irk Dimitri. However, in time, it was far from the most significant. By this point the cleric had become a symbol of everything the boy hated about the empire.
The priest’s jowls shook terribly as he spat out streams of long stale words. His statements lifted out of a tome whose pages held an ever accumulating amount of mold on their corners and yet clung to an otherwise prevalent splendor. The holy man was well adorned in riches from every corner of the trade empire and he tarnished them with his perspiration and saturated the room with the same reeking stench as his congregation. And just then it happened, the cleric proclaimed the usual “God loves and holds Skald dear to his heart.” The final offense.
It was a phrase which Dimitri had endured many times since arriving at this perish with his parents. But this time the words, the itch, the smell, and the smug look on the priest’s fat fucking face were just too much for one boy to take. The words sank into his intestines like indigestion and forced Dimitri to his feet. “Piss! It’s all fucking bullshit. Y’all know that, right? Shit.” Some woman in the front row gasped but, mostly the gathering of believers sat quiet and unflinching.
Dimitri suddenly felt very alone in this well populated space. Eyes bore in to his body like daggers from every direction. The collective gaze burned with a disgust that could melt the strongest of resolves. Somewhere behind him a woman whispered a sharp condemnation. Not of the boy, but of his father. The man who, until now, was silently kneeling beside Dimitri. The priest stumbled for a response but the fool could only blather on in half sentences and sputtering sounds.
It was the his father’s hand which fell heavily on Dimitri’s shoulder that served to silence the dissident. The burden of the large man’s limb was tremendous. It’s weight crumbled Dimitri’s stature and forced him back into the moist pew. Back into compliance. Back into submission.
Dimitri was only seven but he had read enough of the “good” book to know it was just another fairytale compilation. He had learned enough of their history to know that no god loved, Skald. He had almost come to the conclusion that all gods were myths. But definitely knew that his people’s, God, was the most false of them all. No god loved Skald because the was no, God.
However if there was a, God, then it stood idle as flame and plague ravaged their homeland. If there was a, God, then it laughed as Skald was sacked and scorched and salted by their enemies. If there was a, God, then it loved nothing more than spitting in the wounds of his people. And, if there was a, God, then Dimitri decided that he would be the one to judge them for their crimes. If there was a, God, then he would make it know man’s justice.
The service ended and the faithful flocked to the exits. A thick back-hand crashed into the side of Dimitri’s head. It caught the tip of his ear and hurt like hell. “Where the fuck did you lean to talk like that boy?” The boy’s father grunted in a harsh tone.
“Learn nothing, you old bastard! You know there ain’t a speck of truth in it all.” His parent was furious. Dimitri could always tell how much trouble he was in by which shade of crimson his father had turned. As well as what size of the veins on his forehead had swollen to. Today, they were ruby encrusted tomatoes that were ready to burst.
“You little prick, keep shooting off your mouth and I’ll get relocated to back the north-lands. You fucking want that?” Drops of saliva launched out of the man’s mouth, slathering Dimitri’s brow.
“Piss and shit, maybe I like the cold. It was a hell of a lot better than this sweaty taint of a country.” His father’s left hand twitched. He always struck with the left, Skaldians believe that committing an act of violence with their right hand was a sin. The right hand was saved exclusively for clean business.
“Oie! Landestock, is a proper post, a good Skaldian post. We can speak our right tongue here. Eat our food, real food, no more of that raw meat and whale fat bullshit.”
“Ya, and I get to dress like a doll and rot my bits off at the end of every week.” The boy’s father took in a deep breath and shed of a few scarlet hues off his complexion. It was a change in tactic which caught Dimitri off guard.
“You ain’t going to bargain your way out of this, Dimitri. Landestock folk is good church going folk and your ass is gonna be in a pew at the seveth of every week so long as you live on the empire’s dime.” The man reasoned in a stern, yet controlled voice. “You’re just lucky your mother wasn’t here today, she would have ripped your hide right off. Would have made shoes out of you, boy.” He chuckled slightly and went to wrap an arm around the boy.
“Shove off!” Dimitri rejected the show affection in turn for a continued conflict with his paternal oppressor.
“And your ass would have had it coming, you little shit.” Simply mentioning Dimitri’s mother would usually drain some more of the red from his father’s face. Dimitri saw this as an opening.
“When First Vizier Tov looked out at the wreck that was Skald, he said what? Now we are born free. Now we’re fucking free. So why do we waste our time bowing to the old god? Eh? Even I can see that don’t sense.” His father’s left hand curled but remained otherwise still.
“Those words brought our people out of the darkness, back from the brink of destruction. They ain’t for a spoiled lil prick to use in a moment of tantrum to justify his shit manners or lack there of.” Dimitri turned his face away snorted and let a gob of saliva and mucus crash onto the floor. His father’s hand shot through the air like lightning but Dimitri was ready. The boy ducked just quick enough for the brunt of the blow to pass him by and then Dimitri delivered a forceful right hook to his father’s gut. The man didn’t move but all of the soft edges of his face hardened. A second ago his father had been all fire and fury but now his demeanor was encased in ice and stone. “That’s your soul, boy.”
“What’s that have to do with anything? We ain’t getting to heaven. There ain’t no god that loves me!”. Strong fingers dug into Dimitri’s shoulders. They snaked around his bones and locked him into place like shackles.
“You’re a big man now? You’ve figured it all out, right? Well I haven’t and I’m the bigger man for admitting that. You might know what happens when we pass on but I don’t. Boy, I don’t give two coins if God loves you or not. That ain’t his place, it’s mine. I love you and if there’s even a slight chance, I would give anything to see the man you become when I’ve gone. Right now, you’re a righteous prick, Dimitri, but you’re mine. Always will be.” Dimitri buried his face into his father’s abdomen, his eyes leaked like sieves. For all the fight in him, there isn’t a seven year old renegade bad-ass that can stand up to such a fatherly admission of devotion.
Dimitri was sent on his way. His father stayed behind and attempt to smooth the tensions that his son had caused with the church and it’s leadership.
Outside was a vast improvement, once you got past the moisture. Though, even Dimitri would have to admit that this was a beautiful day. The sun stood tall at its highest point in the sky and large white clouds contorted themselves into abstract shapes around it. The ocean waves playfully jabbed at the beach and a gentle breeze carried the scents of the inner city street vendors all the way down to the shoreline. It was the kind of day that any typical seven year old would pretend to go on an adventure, or fend off pirates, or build a castle of sticks and sand but, not Dimitri.
Dimitri’s father was a soldier of the empire and his mother was a much demanded shipwright so their family was always traveling. Dimitri had seen so many things in his young life. He had been exposed to so many fantastic places and occurrences in such a short of an amount of time that he was left with little remaining curiosity or wonderment. Sure, he would explore this new country, it would be foolish not to. And of course he would learn all her secrets and her history. But these were not the endeavors of love. This country wasn’t home, it was simply “this place.” Just another “this place” in a long list of nations which he once called “this place.”
Dimitri had lost count of how many times his father had been reallocated, it happened often. Not because his father wasn’t desirable. It was the opposite. His father was simply a man climbing through the ranks. Skald was full of them. However the trade empire was massive and in dire need of polished and battle hardened combatants all across Vasaris.
At first Dimitri would try to imagine what the next posting would be like. It was a game that expanded his creativity and helped pass the time on the long sea voyages. However, before long the boy discovered that each game would end in the same routine disappointment.
To be fair, there were always at least one or two aspects about the nations that he found interesting. He liked the elephants of the east and delighted in the opportunity to feed them, at first. In the northlands one of the Bok’tu tribes raised large feral dogs as though they were their own children. But while the thought of having a dire wolf as a little brother was fun, it wasn’t amazing. At least not to young Dimitri.
He had seen everything. Well, nearly everything. The was yet one spectacle which Dimitri had not to witnessed. It was something that the boy knew couldn’t exist. However, he would sometimes hear some of the more haggard veterans whisper of a thing called, magic.
Dimitri noticed that those who were lucky enough to have survived a stint as a operative of the Vasari Exchange would often have a haunted look about them. These were the individuals which he would seek out and corner at every new post. They were always hesitant at first but, after some encouragement, the soldier would often speak at length about the mysterious power which the natives of the secret region possessed. About magic.
Dimitri wanted this, magic. He knew by the way the enlisted spoke of it that is was different than anything he had ever experienced. He held no interest in the tricks that the Shan Tuzen medicine men would use to fool their superstitious followers in the southern reefs. Nor did he desire to relive the sleight of hand pranks the Portner “street folk” would use to relieve that country’s nobility of their gold. He wanted real magic and for magic to be real.
Dimitri walked, eyes closed, letting the hot air seethe into his bones. In the boy’s head there were men that could shape stone with only willing it to change. In the boy’s dreams women in full plate battled fire breathing beasts and clever non-humans schemed dubious plots. Dimitri envisioned people who grew scales instead of hair. He saw flying cities and people who walked on water. His imagination was awash with images so vivid and enthralling that Dimitri scarcely noticed when he smashed into an older child who was patrolling the beach.
“Oi, what’s all this business then?” The older boy stood up straight in order to appear more menacing. But Dimitri just stepped around him and continued on his way. “Ain’t you have any manners? Say you’re sorry.” The older child grabbed Dimitri by the arm and spun him so that they were facing each other once again. “I know you, your father’s the one who’s being trained to captain his own ship, ain’t he? Well that don’t mean you got any right to walk into me. Say you’re sorry.” His breath stank and as the boy spoke he sprayed spit all over Dimitri’s face. His dad always told Dimitri not to start fights but he had seen both his parents skin their knuckles on many occasions for far lesser insults.
Dimitri reared his head back briefly before rocketing into the face of the other boy. The brittle cartilage of the boy’s nose easily crumbled under the force Dimitri’s forehead. This caused the teenage assaliant to lose his grip on the boy. Dimitri then took full advantage of his no longer restricted range of motion and leaned as far back as his spine would allow and delivered his heel to the soft spot just under the boy’s ribcage. The would be bully’s stomach gave little resistance against Dimitri’s hardened rubber sole and as the kick sank into it’s target; the recipient fell to the ground in agony. Dimitri then allowed his eyelids to once more fall shut, turned, and started again in the other direction.
Dimitri was a bright child with a good head but he was never the top student in any of his classes. His course work would often be described by terms like lack luster and forgettable. However there was always one area of school in which he always excelled, the yard. In the north-lands he learned that fights were solely decided by who remained standing afterward. So it was there, in the frozen north, Dimitri adopted a full out offensive view on fighting and by extension, life. Hit them first, fast, and often.
Back then he had to, the Bok’tu children each stood more than a heads length taller than him and weighed significantly more. Though now, Dimitri had grown so accustom to opponents which towered over him that it was almost dull to go against someone so close to him in size. He shuddered at the sudden realization that there would be no good fights in Landestock, yet another aspect to hate about this place.
Off in the distance, the echo of cannon fire could be faintly heard. Instantly Dimitri’s mind subconsciously calculated it’s distance and direction from his current location. It was closer than the parameter should have been and aimed towards the shore. But he denied the sound any additional attention. It was just bored sailors running drills the boy thought to himself and, on most days he would have been right.