The Omega Episode One; The Spyboy

Green Gar 

There was a community of fishermen, who lived along the winding of a black water bayou….

They grew their black hair thick and long, and covered their skin in tattoos of the same pitch. They were strong in their hands and their arms, from casting nets, pulling lines, rowing canoes, weaving, and mound building. They caught perch, bass, catfish, choupic, gar, turtle, crawfish, snakes, gators, waterfowl, deer, black bear, grey-fox, raccoon, rabbit, opossum, and squirrel. There was a crawfish farmer, who they called Flying Frog; the father of Silver Kite, the most beautiful and desired woman in a generation. The men of their community; fishermen, builders, hunters, warriors, all sought the hand of Silver Kite in the spring. They offered her seeds, gold, land, titles…even the sons of the Sun Chief came all the way from the Skyfire Palace in Bulbancha to meet her, and seek the favor of her heart. But none of them knew that Silver Kite’s heart already belonged to a quiet fisherman named Green-Gar. 

He sought honor nor glory, riches nor power. He didn’t pray for sons, or work for legacy. He was simply and talentedly, a fisherman of the greatest skill. He could go to the water, and it was as if the fish were drawn to his hook the way they would bite. He never once went to the water and left for home hungry. He was one man, who never sought Silver Kite’s affection, and perhaps, that was exactly why she chose him. She would seek him out in secret from her father, to find him at the bank of a river, a lake, or a bayou, fishing contentedly. He’d let her sit with him, and she would happily exist in the silence with something to occupy her time. Sometimes he’d ask her questions…silly and random prompts, always unserious and so out there…but they were always questions she liked to answer, questions that made her laugh. He could always make her laugh without the most effort. Green-Gar had her heart, and she had his. He began to miss her dearly when she wasn’t with him when he fished…and he missed her in the night, when she wasn’t beside him. But of course, with so much attention on Silver Kite, their love could not remain so secret forever, and one day her father was alerted to the affair between them. He was furious, how could his daughter, treasure of their community, give herself to a lowly vagabond fishermen like Green-Gar? He would not understand, he tried desperately to marry her off to the man he thought was most suitable, but Silver Kite was smart. She went to their chief and she demanded that if she was to marry someone, then she should at least decide the terms. She proposed a challenge, cleverly with Green-Gar in mind. Every suitor would have a full day, from sunup to sundown, to catch the largest fish in their waters, and present their catch for measurement. Whosoever caught the largest fish, would earn her favor. The chief agreed, and Silver Kite shared the news with Green Gar, sure that if anyone could be victorious, he would. 

So, two mornings after, the suitors; warriors, row men, builders, and fishermen alike all gathered on the black water bayou in their canoes. They were sent off at dawn, to venture as far as they could, with a reminder to be mindful that to win the challenge they’d need to be back at the starting line by sun down.

Green Gar went out, to a secret lake that only he knew, where a very large gar liked to swim. He started the day, a bit arrogant, casting his line in expectation of an easy victory. He waited, and the sun ticked, ticked some more, to very far indeed across the sky. He began to shift his position across the lake, nervous then. Not a single fish had bit his lure. He looked into the water and was amazed to see that the waters there were stocked, as usual, wth many perch and bass…but they all seemed to deliberately ignore his bait. He cast his line again and again, and was aware of the sun’s coursing toward the western horizon. He would not be able to stay there for too long…he waited some more, before he decided to try and hastily find a last minute place to try to catch something. He was just about to oar his canoe, when he heard a voice…it shocked him, because he thought he was alone, it said, 

“So quick to give up, Fishermen.” Green Gar looked all around and saw no one. He called out, 

“Who’s there?” 

“Do not fear me,” The voice was pitched like a hissing song, and next to his canoe, the water rippled and his boat rocked. He reached for his knife, and guarded himself, before a form rose at the head of his canoe, steady from the water, as if standing on its surface. The creature looked female, but was distinctly inhuman, with fish frills and scales, gills, and patterned spots across perch toned skin. Her eyes were slitted like a snake. Green-Gar shook as she leaned against the canoe, tipping it slightly and he held on to its side. The creature laughed a guttural noise from her toothy mouth, before she said, 

“Oh you sweet thing,” she lowered herself back into the water, and swam around the canoe to reach him, and he shifted to the other side as her head peaked over the side. She looked into the canoe and tsked her forked tongue, 

“Tsk, tsk, tsk, you have no catch, and the sun is falling down…your beloved will be won by another…” Green-Gar asked the creature, who he assumed was a spirit of the water, perhaps of the lake, how did she knew about that?

“I am Naaktii, I know many things…I could help you, to get what you want.” She said, and Green Gar said, 

“I don’t need help.” Naaktii laughed aloud,

“The fish avoid your hook like the plague and you say you don’t need help…perhaps not, maybe you will get lucky, and catch a great beast of a fish before it's too late…” Naaktii began to sink back into the water, and Green Gar registered the split second limit of his time to decide…

“Wait!” He called out and Naaktii’s head peaked back over the side of the canoe, 

“Can you really help?” He asked, and Naaktii smiled, and nodded her head. 

“For a price.” She said, and Green-Gar listened to her demands of exchange…they were strange to him, and he was suspicious, but he had no time to think, he needed to get back to the rendezvous in order to win the challenge…he agreed to what Naaktii asked, and she smiled before she sunk into the water. All was quiet for several long minutes, before suddenly, the water spirit returned, hauling the largest gar fish Green-Gar had ever seen into his canoe. After its massive form was flopped into the boat, she sent him off, with a reminder to keep up his end of the deal. He agreed, and went back to the rendezvous, to the astonishment of everyone, with the massive king of a fish in his boat. By the terms of the challenge, Green-Gar was announced the winner, and was bestowed the honor of marrying Silver Kite. 

Green-Gar lived with Silver Kite for many years, under the impression of Green-Gar being the fair winner of the challenge. But the cost of Naaktii’s aid was to be paid, at the height of every full moon. The fish woman would wait at the shallows of the lake, and Green-Gar would go to her, to compensate her for his wish granted. Naaktii, who was eternally lonely in her water world, demanded that Green Gar spend every full moon with her in her lair, and treat her as the wife he had on the land. Green-Gar would endure this for no less than twelve moons in a row. Every full moon lessened to every other, and then every other third, once a season, twice a year, and then, never more. Green-Gar’s children with Silver Kite grew, and their community prospered. He waited and waited, anxiously, for Naaktii to come seeking justice for his absence, but she never did…it was suddenly as if that exchange between them had never happened at all, that he would never see the fish woman again. Years passed, and Green-Gar’s eldest son, Yellow Perch, grew up strong to the blessed year of sixteen, and he fell in love, as his father did, with a woman of their community and plans were made for them to be married. All seemed prosperous as it had been, until suddenly a drought struck. The rains stopped, the bayous shriveled, the fish and game disappeared, the fishing community was plunged into hard times. Prayers and rituals were initiated to bring back the rain and the animals, and the wise folk of the community went down to the waters that remained, and that was where they met Naaktii, who admitted to her part in drying up the waters, as revenge for Green-Gar’s promises long unfulfilled. When the people learned of Green-Gar’s treachery they didn’t hesitate to find Yellow Perch, and deliver him to Naaktii, who held the young man ransom until Green-Gar brought himself in shame to the lake, and willingly offered himself up in exchange for his son, and an end to the drought. He apologized to his people, and bid his family farewell, before he followed Naaktii into the waters, never to be seen again by the dwellers of land…

Doriaan and Jaheim

Sabaa Doriaan was the youngest child of Sabaa Daviida; The Bone Collector. The Sabaa’s were a mighty house of the Bone clan; whose warrior faction were Hard Heads. These were the guardians of funeral rites and processions, builders of shrines and altars. Sabaa was specifically a house of male oracles and diviners. The lineage of Sabaa was ancient, and Sabaa Daviida was of it’s mightiest incarnations. He’d fought in the civil war which had brought the Kovaango Delta into the hold of the Ghokaan Empire. According to legend, his ancestors had once possessed the legendary Onyxsis; an ivory handled sword, which would own the soul of any warrior foolish enough to challenge its edge and lose. In his youth, he’d served as the Hard Head Spy Boy, but had since transitioned to Wild Man; primary protector of the Big Chief in war, ritual, and ceremony. 

Sabaa Doriaan was the child of Daviida and the Miino of Faith, Owuro Dalaanii. They assumed the child’s gender and assigned them as female, and for years Doriaan remained with the Miino of Faith, learning those ways, surrounded by women, and nurtured by motherly and sisterly energy. As the child grew though, he  began to gravitate considerably to men. He was interested in physical games and sports, in combat training and welding and horseback riding and rolling dice and raising dogs, driving cars and riding bikes. He was always seeking his father, Sabaa Daviida. 

Doriaan would not wear a dress, refused to have his hair pressed or plaited with borets. He’d take his earrings out and put on pants, step into his father’s oversized shoes, his too big baseball caps and snapbacks. Doriaan wanted baggy jeans and big T’s, jerseys and tennis shoes and chains. As a child, He emulated his father, so big and grand, fierce and stern. Daviida could see from early on, Doriaan was no daughter…he was a little nervous, not knowing exactly what to do with a child whose spirit was not as expected according to the body, but he knew he had no interest in forcing the child into conformity. He began to integrate Doriaan into boyhood. When Doriaan was about five years old, Daviida had taken him to the barber shop. Doriaan would always remember the smell of the hair, the buzz of the clippers, the television playing a basketball game on low, with the music on a radio bumping high. Doriaan was still so small, physically androgynous as many young children are, easily a shapeshifter in the clothes they preferred. Daviida had been nervous though, that he and his child might be judged, that the eyes of the men sitting with their black plastic capes around them, talking up a storm as the barbers of the shop went to work, would cast their eyes down at his child, and project that Doriaan didn’t belong…but the judgement never came. The clippers just kept buzzing, and Doriaan excitedly sat, swinging his legs in anticipation. Daviida hadn’t seen his son smile so big…probably ever, as when he looked in the mirror to see that first fade cut low and lined up. He didn’t even flinch when the razor was drawn, or when the alcohol was brushed against his lining. 

From that day on, there were no more questions, no more doubts, no more speculations or projections. Daviida took a more specific charge than he had before, and Doriaan no longer spent as much time with the Miino. Daviida raised Doriaan up around the Hard Heads, and the child absorbed everything he saw and heard. He was permitted to be around for ceremonies and rituals designated for men, and was given honors in playing the tambourine at practices, and beating the drum. 

Change was inevitable though, and it came like a quiet storm. Doriaan turned twelve, and he picked up weight, in his thighs and his hips. His chest swelled. He went through the motions of a monthly cycle, and battled the assault of hormones all adolescents face. It was terrible…He broke out across his face so severely…nothing at all made sense. He didn’t know who, what, why, when, or where, he just knew he hated his body…He hated the changes…the other boys his age were growing physically into young men, springing up in height, shoulders broadening, strength and speed increasing; they were on the cusp of their journeys to Shujaahood….and all their life, Doriaan had dreamed of that rite of passage; the inheritance of the sacred gen nyame medallion, the manifestation of first armor, the crafting of a first blade or, to a degree more sacred, having his father’s own sword passed down. He prepared for the rituals  to be held, to see which of the young men would pass on to apprenticeship under a fully realized Shujaa. Many in the community aspired to the rank of honor, but it was bestowed upon only some, across generations. Sabaa Daviida knew all along, that Doriaan dreamed of the achievement, he watched his son prepare day and night, in high hopes…but when the day came, Daviida felt it his responsibility, to speak truth to Doriaan, so afraid of the disappointment he would endure, if not. 

He expressed that Doriaan’s gender was understood in his house, by his family, but not all the Shujaa were so accepting. The rituals of the night would be overseen by the Big Chief, who had no patience for any disrespect of traditions and sanctity of the ritual space. No woman would be allowed in the initiation circle…it had hurt Daviida’s heart so much, to see that sudden and heavy pain in Doriaan’s eyes. He’d been able to shield him from much judgment, and exclusion…but here was an obstacle even the mighty bone collector felt insecure to see his child through. He could’ve presented Doriaan before the chief…but at what cost…the honor of himself and his son? His entire house? He could uplift many things about Doriaan, but in that moment he just would not lie or lead on an unrealistic expectation. Doriaan, whose spirit was as a man, but whose body was female, just was not strong enough, not quick enough, to keep up with the rigor of the Shujaa trials…and in that moment of truth’s delivery, Doriaan felt betrayed by Daviida, for denying him at least the right to present him self, to try. Doriaan knew Daviida was a man of tradition…but to that point…of reluctance to present him as all the other sons of Shujaa…Doriaan didn’t know if he wanted to understand, or if he just wanted to be angry, sad and hurt, or accepting and forgiving…he didn’t know anything then, except that painful reality of his body, against the truth of his mind. He would be kept from so much, because he’d not inherited the right shell…it was infuriating. Doriaan reclused, spending more time alone than with his family, more time in his room than around his father, who he’d admired so much for so long, but now when he encountered Daviida, the great strong man and notorious warrior…he was just reminded of all the things he’d never be. His mother, the Miino of Faith, was a greater trigger, because near her, Doriaan saw his own shape in hers, his own face in hers…she was the womanly form which the world would forever project onto him, no matter how he dressed, or practiced, or what he explained. He dissociated not just from his parents, but from nearly everyone with a pulse, and he spent a long time in a dormant darkness, taking himself to the places where his body didn’t matter so much. 

By the time Doriaan was nineteen, things got a little better. His hormones had regulated, and he’d adjusted to his reality. He was going outside again, exploring spaces, and finding his way as a young adult. It was on a summer day of that nineteenth year that a young Shujaa, about two years older than him, came to his father’s house. He’d been sent by the Big Chief, to shadow Sabaa Daviida. Doriaan had was quietly bitter to that, because he’d always imagined himself in that position…but he’d gotten used to the Shujaa’s prejudices, used to disappointment by then. He’d come to serve a different role with his father than what he’d dreamed of as a child; he kept their house clean, cooked food, sewed armor, studied, and prayed. He no longer raged against that reality and he cruised through his days in a functional detachment from his ego. When Jaheim Akamaa showed up to the front door of his house though, Doriaan’s spirit, dormant for so long, felt like an electric pulse had been circuited to his center. 

Doriaan opened the door for this young man, with bronzed skin and dark hair braided in geometric designs. He was lanky but lean, with rounded shoulders that curved under his tshirt. His forearms were strong and veined and covered in tattoos. His hands were large and calloused. Doriaan’s eyes met the visitors’, who smiled, politely, before asking if Sabaa Daviida was home. Doriaan knew the Shujaa by reputation, and thought to himself that Jaheim’s soft smile and cheerful eyes were misleading. At twenty-one years old, Jaheim Akamaa had risen up in the ranks of the Hard Heads, and wasn’t only remarkable among their own clan, but widely discussed and respected by the Sun Tribe and by the Seven Feathers of Bulbancha. He was positively deadly with most any weapon, full of both practical and academic knowledge, and a talented welder and ironworker….he was the pride and joy of the whole clan, loved by the community, but feared on the battlefield, where it was said he came alive with a different personality. His eyes would set, and his voice would change cadence to that of a commander, and he would not hesitate against any opponent, big or small, to break them down. Doriaan realized that he’d been staring and kind of drifting off at the sight of the young legend when Jaheim cleared his throat and asked again about Daviida, 

“Oh, uhh…yea, yea he’s home. Come in and have a seat, I’ll go get him.” And that’s how it started between them. Jaheim started coming over more and more, to learn and shadow under Daviida. At first, he wouldn’t have much time to talk with Doriaan, but somewhere along the line he started asking Doriaan questions. He asked Doriaan his pronouns, which he really appreciated, and made him more comfortable to open up. Jaheim was chill, he didn’t move with arrogance or project challenge. He was simply and positively himself. He liked to talk, where is Doriaan preferred to listen. Sometimes Jaheim would come over and they’d just watch movies, other times they’d go and work out or ride bikes. 

One day, Jaheim came over, and Doriaan, Daviida, and he were at the kitchen table when Jaheim asked Daviida to recount the battle of Kovaango. He’d been hearing tales about the battle for so long…Shujaa of all ages had heard the story of Daviida’s epic confrontation with the Miino Panther Queen; Kolaa. Daviida had glanced at Doriaan, who turned a ring he wore, gifted by his mother, who received it from her own…and Jaheim realized his carelessness in his excitement…he’d forgotten that obvious context…Queen Kolaa, was the grandmother of Doriaan. Jaheim started to apologize for his insensitivity but Doriaan waved away the trouble, saying, 

“My grandmother died fighting, by the sword of the only man on that field worthy of taking her down. Their truce is the reason I’m alive today.” Doriaan said, and told the story himself, in full, as it was recounted in two forms, by his mother and his father. Doriaan had more stories than that, collected over the years. He’d listened to elders, Shujaa, Miino and everything in between, tell their stories, and he held much in his memory. Jaheim would listen to Doriaan speak more than ever, in the recount of stories. 

It was a few years that passed, and when Jaheim came of age, he challenged his own father, in a ritual confrontation for the rank of Spy Boy, to walk ahead of the chief. Only the most formidable of their clan could hold such a position, to walk first, fight first, and potentially, die first, for the sake of the rest of the clan. The ceremony was glorious, and Jaheim’s father was full of pride, to see his son’s prowess surpass his own. He stepped down, and Jaheim took on the mantles earned. The whole community gathered, and there were women, daughters of Shujaa who presented themselves to him, flirting and batting their eyes. The Big Chief was not only a warrior, but a match maker as well, he worked with the honored mothers of Shujaa men to coordinate the most blessed unions. He encouraged Jaheim to marry a young princess from another house, but, Jaheim’s heart was drawn to another in the crowd, who blended in to the scene, sitting in the back of Daviida’s truck, waving at Jaheim as the drummers beat their rhythms and the medicine men danced all around in celebration. Doriaan smiled, prouder than ever. 

No one knew it, but Doriaan and Jaheim had become much more than friends. It started out with hand grazes, to hand holding, to long embraces, and giggling caresses, to kisses, to warm, sure, and electric love in lamplight. Jaheim loved Doriaan for the man he was, for all the masculine style and mannerisms that were so natural to him. Doriaan loved Jaheim for his energy, for his smile…they were always laughing. They talked about the future, daring to imagine union. They spent as much time in their secret bliss as possible, establishing their deep connection of mind, body, and soul. 

But, change was an inevitable thing, and one day, after some years of their secret affair, the Big Chief found out about Jaheim and Doriaan’s relationship. He summoned Jaheim's father, Daviida, and the two lovers to his house. Without his war armor, he was a simple looking man, though he still carried authority in his eyes, and his speech. He offered them whiskey, and sat down in his chair to discuss the matter at hand. He started off by reminding Jaheim and his father of what their position entailed….uphold of tradition, legacy, alliance…maintenance of the old ways carried out since the ancients. He reminded them that without tradition…held sound and firm, they were nothing. He turned then to Daviida, and offered his respect, recounting his valor on the fields of past wars, and the great honor he’d won for their clan. He iterated his respect, before he addressed Doriaan, like an issue, 

“Your daughter and Jaheim…together, is unacceptable.” Doriaan tensed, because the chief misgendered him with hardly any consideration…which was in a way, worse than if it had been with intention. He glanced at Daviida and Jaheim, who stiffened, but did not yet correct the chief. They, like all the Shujaa of the clan, held a deep respect for their warrior elders. It was not a recklessly trespassed. 

“The heads of our clans’ houses, the elders and the stewards of guilds, expect a sound union between a respectable daughter of a chief and the spy boy ... they want to know that the legacy of this clan will be preserved and propelled. Your engagement to the daughter of the Sun Chief has been in orchestration for years Jaheim…you’ve understood that since you chose the spy boy’s path.” The Big Chief said, and Doriaan glanced then at Jaheim, whose eyes stayed on the chief, 

“Is this relationship between the two of you serious?” He asked, and Doriaan left it to Jaheim to answer. Jaheim glanced around the room, knowing that what he spoke to that question, would be defining of the future. He said, 

“I have deep feelings for Doriaan, and I’d rather pursue a relationship there, than to marry the princess.” The Big Chief sat back in his chair, processing, and Jaheim’s father looked across the room at Doriaan, like he was a snake snuck into the crib. The energy of blame was all on Doriaan, for being that thing that was different, uncomforming, and challenging to the meticulously maintained system…He felt judgment in that room unlike ever before. 

“So, you’d want to pursue a union…as two…two…” 

“Two men.” Doriaan said, bluntly to the chief. Daviida placed a stilling hand on his son’s knee, before he spoke, 

“Would that be so bad?” Daviida asked, 

“Maybe not for a lower ranking Shujaa, but in this case, the elders aren’t happy. The heads of houses are considering stripping Jaheim of his mantles, they feel disrespected, that he would turn down marriage to a woman of a prosperous house, to engage with Doriaan, who by all means, would be a suitable match…probably first choice, if she walked as a woman, and accepted those roles and responsibilities.”

“He is still of the blood of Sabaa, he is of the Bone Clan through and through. What difference does it make the nature of the union…if it’s one between two honorable houses?” Daviida said, and the chief replied, 

“The nature of the union is everything, Sabaa. And as it stands, a bond of such a natureis unacceptable. It makes too much of a mockery of our standards.” The room was quiet for a moment, until Jaheim’s father, the former spy boy finally spoke, 

“I can’t say I’m pleased by your choice son, and less so that the two of you kept it hidden for so long….you’ve both complicated things to the highest degree for us. I agree with Big Chief, that our traditions should not be made a mockery of, and the honor of House Akamaa should be considered, most by you, Jaheim. But you’re a grown man, and I won’t force you into marriage with anybody, and I won’t tell you what you can or can’t do….if Doriaan is who you want, then you can pursue that son, and I want you to know that’s alright. But if you want to maintain your rights as Spy Boy, then son, there are rules you‘ll have to face…challenges, both of you will need to overcome…” Jaheim glanced at Daviida, who registered a silent message, remembering an ancient loophole, manifested for instances such as this, when two Shujaa wished to join in union, thus denying, in some cases, their houses the security of heirs to pass legacy onto. 

When a man and shujaa, or more specifically when two Shujaa of unequal rank, fell in love and sought marriage union, it brought into question all the potential consequences such a bond would manifest. If one shujaa, married another of greater strength, power, and wealth, then there was a possibility for the wealth and power of position, to transfer, in the eyes of many Shujaa, to a warrior or man who was undeserving of it, who had not proven himself worthy, as the other had to inherit the bounty of the greater house. In addition to the possibility of no children being born to two men, and the roles of a wife…to keep the house, act in diplomacy, host, and all manner of other things expected of a Shujaa’s spouse, the loss to a house was perceived as so great, that great friction and tension would manifest among the whole family. The elders would feud, the schemers would scheme…lives fell to danger as people who’d invested much into the marriage games of individuals since childhood, were forced to shift and pivot, to what would not serve them in the same way. So, the solution which was put forward, was that, if the Shujaa of a lower rank, could defeat their own higher ranking betrothed in honorable combat, then, by the standards held by the league of male warriors, he’d then earn the right to stand with the pride and joy of the other house, and since his victory would assure that he was not entering the union with hopes to increase his own status or wealth, because he’d already proven the lack of need through the victory, then the men could join, and two houses could stand as one. The two Shujaa would stand in power, and manifest prosperity for both of their houses, securing wealth for the children of their families to inherit, thus increasing the wealth of the houses in the long run, as opposed to depleting them. Daviida had suggested all this, and The Big Chief took a swig of whiskey as he considered, before he permitted the challenge, if Doriaan and Jaheim agreed. 

Doriaan imagined, for just a second, that Jaheim would choose him, over everything else. Being SpyBoy was an honor Jaheim had worked so hard to achieve…but their love was a sacred thing found, it had surprised them both, and changed them in so many ways…Doriaan did dare to imagine, until Jaheim spoke, and accepted the terms….he would maintain his mantle as spy boy, and he and Doriaan, would potentially marry with the blessing of the clan, if Doriaan could defeat Jaheim, naturally, against all of Jaheim’s effort and strength. Doriaan didn’t say anything, he was too angry, he felt like a fool…he rose from his chair and stormed out to nowhere at all, he just walked in a rage, so sick of the place he was in, sick of all its rules and it’s traditions, all of its obstacles and excuses…when he got back home, Jaheim and Daviida were waiting, and Jaheim blocked his entry into the house with his frame, forcing Doriaan to hear him out. He said he’d train Doriaan himself, he’d train him, along with Daviida. He said that, through hard work and practice, there was a chance. He reminded Doriaan that he was descended from some of the greatest warriors in their histories, that if anybody could defeat him, maybe Doriaan was it. Doriaan took his time to process, considering why this was worth it beyond Jaheim’s hand in marriage…he loved Jaheim, but he’d need a more personal motivation than that…he thought of himself, in Shujaa armor, carrying his father’s sword…he imagined the respect, the acceptance…if he could defeat Jaheim, there would be no questions ever again to his manhood, to his place among the hard heads….he could earn a type of permanence in the Bone Clan he’d only ever half imagined….suddenly it was beginning to feel real…really possible. He went to Jaheim, and agreed then, to try. 

They were given four years, to the date, to achieve what may very well have been impossible. Things changed, as Jaheim transformed from Doriaan’s secret lover, to his trainer, his coach, his teacher. Jaheim worked him out, made him study war strategies and philosophies. They trained in hand to hand combat, ground fighting, and weapons…grueling work that left Doriaan shaking and sore, bruised, blistered, bleeding. Jaheim would taunt anger, to evoke energy in Doriaan, channeling off frustrations at himself, so Doriaan would not lose the will to fight…they battled, over and over again, and Doriaan would lose, day after day…but never as quickly or easily as the time before. He was learning, as his legs toned to corded muscle, his thighs formed, his forearms grew solid as his hands calloused. His shoulders and biceps rounded….the training commenced, and Doriaan would look in the mirror and see a form, almost matched to his spiritual sense of self image. His time spent with Jaheim the spy boy, was drastically different from Jaheim the lover. Jaheim was much rougher, less compassionate, he did not comfort, he did not soothe, he did not speak with softness…there was only this war between them…Doriaan’s own softness waned, and he no longer kept his father’s house as he had. Everything was different, and there were times when Daviida truly missed the Doriaan of before, who was comfortable and content in who he was… this Doriaan who became, was of fierce stock…

There was one time, in training, when Jaheim cut Doriaan. They’d been fighting intensely, and Doriaan’s skill had increased so much that, even though Jaheim still won every time, it was through much focus and effort. When he’d cut Doriaan, he’d done so deeply, and Doriaan had stumbled back clutching his side…it was something in that moment, that brought Jaheim the lover back to center…he’d dropped his sword, and went to Doriaan, to help him, to see how deep the cut was…but when he was just about to reach him, Doriaan cast this warning glance at him…to stay back…the way Doriaan looked at Jaheim, was like he was a stranger, like his hand stretched out in affection was blasphemous….how long had it been….how long had Jaheim lost track of the change in them both….for Jaheim, this trial was for the sake of love between them, to have that love, without having to sacrifice his rank…he’d wanted to have both..but Doriaan wasn’t driven by love, he hadn’t, as Jaheim had assumed, endured the rigors of training, for their marriage…he knew by the fierceness in those eyes, that Doriaan’s motivation was on the achievement of Shujahood…his skills were developing every day, and, with or without Jaheim’s love, he was coming for the position…he was chasing Spy Boy. 

Jaheim felt strange, when he wanted to embrace Doriaan or kiss him. And Doriaan struggled to disassociate Jaheim from the pain, from the need to try so hard to change himself. Jaheim began to resent the work, but he’d given his word to train Doriaan, to see him through, so he would. Doriaan grew frustrated, with his closeness to victory, but inability to achieve it. He’d reached a notable peak, where he could outmatch every Bone Clan Shujaa….everyone except Jaheim, who was exceptional;y formidable. They trained, and Jaheim held nothing back…it was near the deadline of their course, when they battled, sharp steel against sharp steel, and Jaheim beat Doriaan back, wearing him out, and said, 

“Enough, Doriaan…enough, you’re not ready.” Doriaan didn’t concede he just kept swinging, and Jaheim blocked and shifted, and sent him skidding back, 

“Did you hear me? I said you aren’t ready!” Doriaan attacked again, and this time Jaheim knocked him hard on his back, knocking his wind out. He struggled to catch his breath, as Jaheim breathed out, 

“Do…I’m tired…I, I can’t keep…I can’t keep this up…you don’t even see me anymore do you? I’m just an obstacle for you now, to overcome…” 

“You could’ve said no,” Doriaan said, “you could’ve denied the challenge, but you didn’t. You didn’t love me enough to give it up, so don’t expect me to love you so much, that I don’t take Spy Boy from you…if you still love me after, then I guess, you just love me. If not, I’ll still have what I earned.” Doriaan said, close to motivated madness then. 

“If you step in that ring with me, Do, I won’t…I can’t hold back, you understand that? You get the difference between if you beat me, versus if I beat you?” Doriaan laughed, bitterly, sadly…he knew well. If Jaheim, as the higher ranking warrior, defeated Doriaan, he’d be obliged to end his life. 

“Jaheim, my love, I would expect nothing less from you. I don’t intend to live a day more of this life, in the shame, of just…never being as good as you…never measuring up….” Doriaan sat up then, their eyes were so lidded, their body so heavy, 

“If it be by your blade, I’ll at least die, a Shujaa, in honor. Better that than live a life wondering what would’ve or could’ve been, if I hadn’t fought at all.” Jaheim was brought to tears then, shaking. He couldn’t bare another minute in Doriaan’s presence. He left then, to pray, and grieve all that was lost, in the long effort to gain something so out of reach.

Siren Call

A night came, when Doriaan tossed and turned with anxious anticipation. He worked up a sweat in an uneasy sleep… he’d asked God in desperation, to help him win this battle, to help him achieve what he’d worked so hard for. His father worried day and night, because Doriaan was consumed by his drive to best Jaheim…so consumed that he had no regard for his own life, or the consequences of his death on those who loved him. Daviida burned incense and called on ancestral aid, to lift his child out of the darkness….he felt partly responsible, for setting Doriaan on that course…maybe if he’d challenged the chief more fiercely, then they wouldn’t be at such a crossroads then.

It was at the witching hour, when Doriaan was woken from the depths of sleep. His eyes opened, and he sat up….he turned to see his window open, and his curtains billowing from an outside breeze. He heard a sound…a music in the distance…sang by a pristine and lilting voice. The words were in a language he didn’t understand, but the melody was mesmerizing, and he pushed himself out the bed, and began to move, with little thought….he climbed right out his window, and walked down the alley, onto the night time street, barefoot, as a sleepwalker in the direction of the singing. He walked to where the bayou coursed, beneath a bright moon. He looked out to see the water ripple as a figure emerged. She was pale and black eyed, with jet hair sleek down her back, wearing flowing robes of lavender. She glowed like the moon, singing her way to the bank of the bayou. She walked right across the water's surface, to Doriaan. 

She said she’d sensed his dilemma, and that she had a way to ensure his victory through ancient magic; she could change him. She sang her song, and by the sound of her magic, Doriaan could see himself, reflected in the water, not as he was, but as he wanted to be…his jaw pronounced, his hands large, shoulders broader and widened, his chin and lips blackened by facial hair…he saw himself, physically, as a man. Naaktii said that she had the power to transform him. He asked her to, and she said there was a price to pay. Doriaan was weary, but his desire for the changing magic was so strong…he asked her what the price was, and she said that she wanted a vial of his blood, and the rights to the name given to him by his father…the name to leave behind with this current form…Doriaan, so consumed by his desired image on the bayou’s surface, agreed to the siren’s terms. He let her cut his hand, and take a vial of his blood, and he spoke his name into a shell she presented. When this was done, the siren told him to go, and sleep in solitude for 3 days and 3 nights. On the third morning, the same morning as his battle with Jaheim was scheduled, he would wake up changed. She ordered him to tell no one at all of how he’d managed his transformation. The siren returned to the water, and then Sabaa Doriaan returned home, as the night waned, to undergo the changes by the siren’s magic.

Battle Under The Bridge 

The beat of drums could be heard for blocks, as Shujaa in their armored regalia chanted their cry’s of war and ceremony and beat their palms against tambourines. The medicine men wearing their bead and cowrie adorned masks, danced low stances to the ground with arms waved, burning sage and incense, sprinkling holy water across the fighting circle. The Shujaa of the Bone Clan, the Sun Tribe, and the Seven Feathers had all gathered beneath the bridge that stood above the sacred portal axis. The neutral ground was where, in old times, when the motherland captives were subject to bondage by the demonic masters and the hog and hound minions, that the enslaved could run in courageous and uninsured attempts to escape from the demon master’s dimension. They could run, from Cobblestone, into the watery and green swamp, where the masters could not easily follow. If they could run far and quick enough, they’d reach a sanctuary with Indigenous people and maroons. On this day, the descendants of those courageous souls beat their drums and stamped their feet, hooped and hollered amidst the wide pillars painted with images of the grand past. 

Elders sat high, in the backs of their trucks, while the crowd around them shifted to reach as close to the fighting circle as possible. Young boys tugged at their father’s pant legs to see, and some were lifted onto their father’s, brother’s, uncle’s, and grandfather’s shoulders to see what they’d all come for. 

The Shujaa were gathered, with respect to honor and tradition. Some dressed traditionally, others wore their big shirts and jeans, gnikes and dickie sets. Tattooed skin adorned with gold like that on the caps on flashing teeth. Jaundiced eyes waited for the sight of the respected Spy Boy of the Bone Clan, and the entrance of the child of Sabaa Daviida, who dared to challenge him. Blue nose pits barked their excitement, as horses shifted by the reign of their riders. Pythons coiled on their owner’s necks and wrists. The smell of barbecue filled the air as men cooked out the backs of their trucks, and libation was poured onto the concrete as sacred as black soil. There, was a great gathering. 

Feet stomped the ground, and chests were pounded, as Shujaa Akamaa stepped forward, wearing his black and red armor. He made way, by waving away the banner of his house for the entrance of his son. Jaheim Akamaa stepped into the fighting circle carrying a solid, short handled hammer in his left hand, and on his right forearm, a shield rested. His armor was black, ivory, and green with crimson accents, and engraved and embroidered with roosters, black dogs, and rearing horses. He was cheered on by the warriors gathered, as he waited for his opponent. 

The sight of Sabaa Daviida’s helm drew the crowd’s attention, as The Bone Collector stepped into view, dressed in silver, ivory, and black. He and the other hard heads presented Sabaa Doriaan, who stepped forward in the armor of his house, in colors similar to his father. He stepped ahead, carrying his own sharpened steel sword. His hands were filled with strength like he’d never known, his body felt full of solid power. He wore a mask over his face, in the shape of a skull’s jaw, like the one his father wore. All that was visible was his eyes, that looked across at Jaheim. 

That morning, just as the siren had said, Doriaan had woken, changed. His physicality matched the reality of his mind, and he told no one. He denied Daviida the rights of dressing him in armor, for worry of his father questioning him on the nature of his transformation. He told Daviida he’d dress himself, and it had hurt Daviida deeply…Doriaan decided that he would share some of the truth with Daviida, but only after he defeated Jaheim. No one was wiser of Doriaan’s change, certainly not Jaheim, who, to  Doriaan’s  surprise, had called that morning. Doriaan had just been feeling the curves of a more pronounced jaw when his phone vibrated against the bathroom sink. He answered to the sound of Jaheim’s voice. 

“Hey Do,” His voice was soft, cautious but warm. Doriaan took the phone off speaker, and brought it to his ear, leaning against the sink, 

“Hey Jah.” Jaheim was quiet for a second, and Doriaan didn’t rush the silence to end…it was strange, how the memories were flooding then. Jaheim had called, without a plan of what to say…all he imagined was halted on his tongue…he just wanted to know Doriaan was there, on the line, for a little while. Together, they could pretend in stolen time, that the day didn’t have a battle between them in store. When Jaheim worked up that fragile nerve to speak, the words that came out went against all sense, and took all his courage…but it was from a deep truth, so long suppressed and hard to process. He asked, 

“If I gave up Spy Boy…and took a different path…would you take it with me?” Jaheim asked. Doriaan was quiet for a long moment before he said, 

“Are you saying you want to call off the fight?” 

“That’s what I’m saying.” 

“Is it for my sake or yours?” Doriaan asked, and Jaheim breathed out, 

“Doriaan, I can’t…I don’t want to take your life….I understand tradition and ritual…but come on…I mean we aren’t enemies on a field, this is me and you…after everything even after all that’s changed, I mean…you still mean so much to me…I know I’m supposed to be all hard to the bone and shit but Do, this is a lot for me….it’s not a lot for you? Is it not too much?” Doriaan heard Jaheim… and he understood where he was coming from…but they were too close the edge of destiny. He shed a tear, then two, before wiping them away, 

“Too much work been put into this Jaheim. If you give up Spy Boy, you take away my chance to rise to it. If you spare me at defeat, then you’ll leave both of us to live a life of longing and regret. Me yearning to defeat you as I love you, and you always wanting to love me, as I’m broken and isolated, ashamed and ostracized, more after losing to you, then I would be otherwise. At least if I die, I don’t have to live with the shame…” 

“Doriaan, do you hear yourself? What shame? Shame brought on by the Shujaa’s judgement? I mean I understand wanting to belong, but I’m offering you a way out of that, a different course with me…I’m willing to give it up for you…if you just chose to live, I can choose you over everything else…” Doriaan heard Jaheim’s sincerity, his pained worry…but Doriaan just couldn’t throw away the years of training, the costs of all the changes. Jaheim may have wanted to understand, but could he ever, really? Could he know?

“Jaheim…I feel you, I really do. But I’m not asking you to choose me…as an option that you came to conclusions about in your head…too late now. I’m not…I’m not who I used to be. Your love is something that, I do hold on to, I respect it, I’ve cherished it, even as I’ve warred against you all these years…I know that your heart is a good thing, a worthy thing of me, and me of you…but it’s just not enough….I can’t rest in that?” 

“You could…you just won’t let yourself…”

“How could you ask me to! How could you build up this power in me, and then ask me not to use it?” 

“I know…Do, I know, I just…I’m sorry, I’m sorry I didn’t realize we were enough…I couldn’t give up Spy Boy then…I can now but it’s…its…”

“It’s too late. We will see this through now, for right, wrong, and everything in between. Thank you for expressing yourself now…don’t assume it doesn’t mean anything to me, because it does. But now, I need you to love me, not like you want to, not like you think I need you to…I need you to love me like I’m telling you to…honor me, as you would honor the greatest of opponents on the battlefield, meet me with your whole heart Jaheim, and bring your steel against my own, to the height of everything in you. Temper my strength with your own, and give me the opportunity to earn my place, earn my honor…and from that miraculous chance, maybe, we can move forward in union like we used to dream…but I won’t just give everything up, I won’t just submit to the challenge, I won’t submit and rest under you…not like that, not so easily, not after everything….especially not after everything. Do not dishonor me now, with weakness Jaheim…because I loved you and trusted your strength from the beginning…I trust you to do what is right, even if it’s hard as hell…you will see this through.” At that Doriaan had hung up the phone…and he broke down after, releasing tears held back for so long…it was too late, to think on philosophies and whys and why nots. He would not let fear or anxiety or grief hold him back from this. 

And so, the two warriors stood across from each other, as the drums beat. Their battle began at the cry of an elder, and they sprang into collision. Blade crossed hammer, feet shifted and bodies swayed. Doriaan fought with the full strength of a male body, and Jaheim could tell the difference. Doriaan was quicker, more forceful in his strikes. The two of them, fought ferociously, with no thought for any relational context outside that moment, they were foes, great wielders of judgement and decision, as to who lived, and who died, who kept strength and who was weakened. Their battle was so intense that the crowd was brought to quiet as they tried to keep up with the speed of combat. Metal clanged and a rooster crowed, dogs barked. The elders sat forward in interest…the child of Sabaa Daviida, who had been written off, excluded, conditionally accepted was showing out. Their form was like their father’s; precise and aggressive, forceful and without fear. Doriaan fought as a warrior with nothing to lose…they were in submission to no energy, except that of heightened warcraft. Doriaan was deep in that trance, of whirling and twirling, rising and falling, breathing and leaning, swinging and jabbing, low, high, side to side…the trance was a seance of the warrior spirits of his lineage…he could feel the flexibility of the panther, the strength of the gator, the vengeance of the dead, the might of the whole earth in his limbs. His body became a vessel of pure adrenaline and force, and when that moment of triumph came, he roared out like a lion, and he felt the course of his blade, through armor and his flesh, all through his hands, and to the very core of his soul. There was the briefest moment, as his vision came back to, and he returned to the edge of consciousness…his hands were shaking on the sword, dripping blood. All was quiet, as the elders rose…the children were wide eyed, at their first witnessing of what victory looked, sounded, and smelled like….it was a riddling thing, sobering…not so glorious as the knight tales and Shujaa legends made it out to be. This was real, so real, as Doriaan turned to see, the cut, made right through Jaheim’s armor. He saw the blood first, and then he looked into Jaheim’s eyes….Jaheim looked a little sad, but not hurt, not spiritually defeated or disappointed. He’d done as his love had demanded, fought with his all…Doriaan looked down at his sword, as sense returned and he realized…he remembered…if Jaheim had won, then his blade was owed Doriaan’s life….but Doriaan only needed to best Jaheim…disarm him, or get him to yield…he’d not thought, he’d lost too much of himself in the fight…the spirits of war had no consideration for their rules….to see him through to his heart’s desired accomplishment, they’d come, like red fire and slicing silver, into him, and fought with all their living glory through his limbs…they had no compassion for the minute details projected on that fighting circle….Jaheim had swung his hammer as a fighter, and so, Doriaan’s warrior soul had fought him as such….love, memories, rules…they were all considered too late. Jaheim fell to his knees, and his father, and the Shujaa of his house were standing to approach, to catch him…but the elders commanded them to stillness. It was none of their places to enter that ring…Doriaan alone had the right to engage with Jaheim, as he took his last breaths. Doriaan did not try to hold back tears for shame. He dropped his sword to the ground, and went to the ground, to hold Jaheim….he shook his head…he hadn’t meant for this….he hadn’t intended….Jaheim’s eyes were glazing over, and there was no way to save him…no time to regret anything, if after all, this victory had not been worth the prices…Jaheim reached up to Doriaan’s face…removing gently, the skull mask….he smiled, to see Doriaan, so changed…he prayed such luck on Doriaan that he would never know the worst of sorrows, and the rooster crowed, as Jaheim took his last breath. 

 Shujaa gathered around, prepared then to take Jaheim’s mantles, and pass them to Doriaan….but there was a darkening of the clouds then…a smell in the air, of stagnant water and algae…the gathering of men shifted, as water coursed, out from the sewers. Thunder boomed and lightning flashed, as the Shujaa reeled at the energy of a dark entity. The water rose, and manifested the form of a creature, fish scaled and gilled, slit eyed and sharp toothed; she was Naaktii, the disgraced fish woman of the dark waters. She looked at Doriaan, and reminded him of the price of his victory, somberly achieved. He did not recognize her until she changed her form to that which he recognized…dark hair and pale skin…she changed in an instant back to her true state, and said that his name and his blood were hers….and she reached for him with a terrible grip. Sabaa Daviida moved to save his son from this sudden beast, but when he went to call Doriaan’s name, he did not remember it, none of them did….Naaktii’s magic was in effect, and she presented images with her dark spells, of Doriaan’s mistakes, and he was weighted by it all, so heavy and tired of the fighting…there was no more fight left…already the ultimate price was paid…the truth exposed….the Shujaa could do nothing, as Naaktii dragged the son of Daviida away, to a realm out of reach of the honored and the living.