The Vancorg Tribe (Edwin)

Act 1: The Exiled

Planet: Eronas

Edwin work up to the dreaded sound that was a daily occurrence to him. His master was banging at the door like a raving animal. Edwin groaned, pulling the seats over his head, and used the pillow to cover his ears. It did not work. The banging continued, disturbing his precious sleep. Why must everyone in this Tribe be so infuriating?

“Edwin, do you want me to break the door again? Your father won’t be happy. Wake up now—it’s already dawn.”

Edwin could hear the door handle turning ominously. He knew his master, Armin, was ready to break through his door. Edwin made a growling sound in his throat. And today was supposed to be his birthday. ‘Father does not even remember, does he?’

Edwin threw the blanket—he was already sweating from the heat. “For heaven’s sake, Armin, at least let me put on my clothes.”

“Is that how you address your master? You have one minute—anything more and I will break this door.”

“OK! OK! Just don’t break the door.”

Edwin would be the one to be punished for the broken door. His father wasn’t a forgiving person. Edwin did not want to suffer from another episode of beatings. He still hadn’t recovered from the previous one. The beatings had taught him to go to bed in his training clothes.

Edwin straightened up the best he could and opened the door. The nasty mug of his master greeted him. His face—no, his entire muscular body was crisscrossed with several nasty never healing scars.

“Good morning, Master Armin,” Edwin said, giving a deep bow.

Armin stared at him in disbelief, eyes widening, mouth working soundlessly. Edwin knew exactly why he had bought this reaction from his master. He almost chortled. Edwin never greeted or showed respect to anyone in this shitty tribe. Not even his father, especially not his father. Beatings were preferable to showing respect to his father. That man didn’t deserve his respect—not after what he did.

After a small cough, Armin said, “Good morning,” making it sound more like a question than anything else.

“Follow me,” Armin said. “Today we will be training in the eastern yard. The one next to the smithy where your brother works.”

“Yes, Master Armin.” Edwin gave another deep bow. He could see Armin’s face twitching.

His master turned without saying a word. Edwin cheerfully hopped behind Armin, following the older man.

Why was he being respectful today, you ask?—Well, today he was fifteen. From now, he was an adult. So he decided to act like one. Showing respect to the elders and all that nonsense.

Before long, they arrived at the practice yard. There were a few pairs of men and women all dueling against each other with swords.

There was no such thing as a gender role in this tribe. Their profession was decided by birth. The firstborn was always the warrior. Warriors were the most important in this world if you wanted to survive. Second-born was the blacksmith—you needed weapons and tools to fight the monsters. The third born were either cooks or farmers, sometimes both. The fourth-born could choose their profession, but it had to be other than the first three jobs.

If the firstborn died fighting the monsters or defending the walls—then the second-born had to take the mantle and so on. So most of the families tended to have more than five to seven children, hoping at least some of them could survive.

Edwin found the idea of the birth order deciding what one should become bullshit. Why should it decide his fate? ‘Why can’t I decide for myself?’

Armin pushed Edwin into one of the fighting rings. “Adin, come here,” Armin shouted.

A man with blonde wavy hair who was in his late teens approached them. Every woman in the area was leering at him. “Why does every woman in this tribe keep staring at him?” Edwin thought indignantly. ‘He’s not that handsome.’

“Edwin, today your opponent will be my son, Adin.”

“Yes, master.” He gave another respectful gesture—of course, it was only for the show. Armin acted as if he did not hear a thing.

“Father, you can’t be serious,” Adin said. “I don’t fight against a child. It will damage my reputation.”

The comment irked Edwin to no end. “I am not a child anymore. I’m 15... I’m an adult now.” Edwin was already holding a wooden practice sword and assuming a stance good for both defense and offense.

“Well, excuse me, mister grown-up,” Adin snarled. “Father, please... Think about my—”

“You will do as I say, boy.”

“Yes... Yes, Father,” Adin said, glaring at Edwin with those dark eyes swimming with hatred. “If you think you are an adult, then prove it with your sword.”

Adin dashed towards Edwin, and his sword was already in front of Edwin’s face. Edwin somehow managed to raise his sword just in time to parry the attack, holding the hilt of the sword with both his hands. The force of the attack made–his already aching hands go numb. Edwin jumped back a few steps. The two warriors circled each other and attacked. As Edwin parried the incoming attacks and he struck his own attack—Edwin’s body began to scream. It wanted to rest. It wanted Edwin to stop. Almost daily beatings meant his body was never in good condition. As the duel continued, Edwin managed to connect only three blows while he received almost seven blows—all throbbing painfully.

Edwin shook his head and dashed towards his opponent. He struck with a low swipe—Adin danced back and slashed at Edwin. Edwin pivoted, dodging the counterstrike, and used the momentum to slash downward at Adin. Wooden sword met wooden sword. Edwin made a sound in his throat. When the two swords connected, Adin made some kind of twirling motion with his sword, making Edwin lose his grip on his weapon. The sword skidded away from Edwin.

Adin whacked him in the head, making him sway for a second. Adin did not stop attacking. He kneed Edwin in his stomach, who doubled over howling in pain. And with the final leg swipe, Edwin’s face struck the sandy earth painfully, tears in his eyes. When Edwin raised his head, he felt blood running down his nose.

“For a grown man, that wasn’t the performance I expected—you were weak and pathetic,” Adin said with an infuriating smirk.

‘Yeah right,’ Edwin thought with a scowl planted on his face. ‘Why don’t you try fighting in a body mutilated for years from almost daily beatings?’ He did not voice his thought.

When his vision cleared, Edwin saw Chris Vancorg—heir of the Vancorg tribe, daughter of Christopher David Vancorg. Edwin’s father Simon Wright was close friends with Christopher Vancrog, he also was the right hand of the tribe leader. The two families wanted to make a union, so Edwin was betrothed to the heir of the Vancorg tribe, Chris Vancorg. Edwin wasn’t sure what the relationship between the two of them was, but there was one fact he could not deny. Chris was among the only two people in this entire tribe he actually cared about.

The heir was looking down at him with a sad smile. Looking at her light brown skin and those light blue eyes calmed his anger down. She had her hair tied in a bun. ‘Happy birthday,’ see mouthed.

Well, at least there was someone who remembered his birthday and cared about it. Edwin grinned at her. ‘See you at the eastern oak tree,’ he mounted.

Chris nodded and turned, facing the opponent in her own fighting ring. She fought gracefully with her sword, moving like the wind. Though Edwin knew she preferred fighting with hands.

As he watched the fight between Chris and her opponent, he suddenly heard a wretched wail of pain. It came from a voice that was oh-so-familiar to him.

‘Oh no, this can’t be happening,’ Edwin thought desperately, dashing towards the source of the sound. ‘Please don’t let it be true.’

He continued to sprint towards the smithy, ignoring the sounds of Armin, demanding for him to come back.