3. Cagan

3

CAGAN

“ I ’m fucking over this,” I mutter.

The longer I walk through the village, the more I feel my anger reaching a peak that I’ve been trying to avoid. It does me no good to be angry, because anger doesn’t make change happen. If anything, it makes it harder for me to think clearly enough.

But right now, I can’t stop it.

As I walk, I don’t even see the orcs passing me. Their voices are indiscernible, so if anyone speaks to me, I’m unaware.

I don’t really know where I’m going, and I don’t care.

My father has been the same way my entire life. Detached, cold, uncaring. He makes terrible decisions for not just our family, but our clan, as the Chieftain of Swordstone.

“Fucking pathetic,” I mumble to myself, scoffing.

I know this about him, and yet I still let his actions get to me.

Maybe because his actions keep getting more and more out of hand.

Lately, I haven’t been able to keep my mouth shut anymore. My sister Sharog’s arranged marriage is one thing, but everything else on top of that? I’m done staying quiet.

And Chieftain Malamute is about to find that out.

I look forward to the day that I inherit his place and become the new Chieftain. I’ve dreamed of it my entire life, and the urge only gets stronger each year.

Unfortunately, my father holds all the power. It doesn’t matter what I say or do, he has the final decision. My opinions, my effort, it’s all useless.

I end up in the training area, approaching the nearest wooden practice dummy. Adjusting my stance, I begin, without even grabbing protection for my hands.

I want to feel every hit. Every scratch and splinter.

The first punch feels good, but the ones that follow feel amazing. Over and over, I hit it, my mind going completely blank. Not a single thought goes through my head other than where I’m going to hit next.

By the time the dummy lies smashed to pieces at my feet, my hands are bloody, and I feel numb.

This isn’t how my life was supposed to go. I can’t keep going on like this. We can’t.

I picture the last time my father came to me and asked for my opinion. The way he acted after I gave it to him.

My father stares at me, the blank look on his face turning to one of disgust. More than disgust. Hatred. Disappointment.

I prepare myself for what I already know is coming.

“This is why you are not in my place, Cagan. This is why no one comes to you to solve things, why no one takes you seriously.”

I don’t answer him, refusing to give him the reaction he wants. At the end of the day, he doesn’t need to say any of this. If he doesn’t like my opinion, he has that right.

But he wants to say this stuff. It was his goal to spit these words at me the minute he asked. I’m not an idiot, I know that.

Every time, he lectures me as if he’s surprised at how inadequate my opinions supposedly are. You would think he’d just stop asking by now. He’s going to do what he wants either way, so it’s pointless.

“You’re not going to say anything?” he asks.

I stare at his ugly face, debating whether or not I should punch him.

“I apologize for wasting your time,” I finally say.

He bursts out laughing as if I just told the funniest joke. I hate that laugh.

“Sometimes I wonder how I ended up with you as my son. Truly, you couldn’t be more opposite than me.”

And thank the gods for that.

He continues, and I practically have this part of the speech memorized by now.

“You’re not good enough to be Swordstone’s Chieftain. It’s a damn shame that you’re the only option.”

I take a deep, shaky breath, trying to keep my cool.

“I guess we’ll see,” I say.

He shakes his head. “For Swordstone’s sake, let’s hope that isn’t for a very, very long time.”

I spit on the ground, remembering the disgusting look on his face when he said it.

I can’t keep having that same conversation, over and over. But I don’t know how the hell I’m going to stop it.

Is this just going to be my reality forever? Waiting to take his place, all the while watching him fuck it up even more and ignoring everything I have to say?

I shake my head, looking around for another practice dummy. My eyes fall on Natus instead, a good friend of mine and an elite soldier in Swordstone. He walks into the training area, a smirk on his face.

“Need some help? The practice dummies could use a break.”

I can’t even muster up a joke to throw back at him. Nor a smile. I just nod and cross the area to the weapon rack.

“Grab a weapon,” I tell him.

After a quick look, I grab a long machete and turn to him. He chooses a similar looking machete, and the two of us walk to the middle of the sparring ring.

My skin feels like it’s buzzing, and I drown out the entire world around me. All I see is my target. Natus and I take up our fighting stances, and he looks just as focused as I am.

I make the first move, lunging forward, my machete aimed for his throat. He blocks it with his own knife and holds the position as I try to force the knife closer to his skin.

Eventually, he thrusts forward, pushing my machete away with his. I back up, readying myself for his attack. It comes faster than I thought, and Natus aims for my stomach. I block him and send him flying across the ring.

He’s back on his feet in seconds, grinning at me. “You’re going hard today. Afraid I’m gonna tell everyone about how I kicked the future Chieftain’s ass?”

His words trigger me more than they should. Suddenly, I don’t see Natus, my old friend anymore. I see my father.

I start circling around him, slowly. He keeps me in his eyeline, his machete raised up. He thinks I’m going to go for his throat again.

I dart forward, making contact with his leg. My knife slashes the skin there, blood immediately seeping out. I leap back, ignoring his grunt of pain, and ready myself for more.

He squares his shoulders, a look of determination taking over. When he darts forward, he goes for my left bicep. I use my knife to push him away before he even gets close, the sound of steel-on-steel ringing through the air.

I growl, leaping forward again, cutting into his other leg. Before he can even back away, I go for his throat again. He manages to block me, but barely. One second slower and I would’ve broken skin.

I keep going, not giving him a second to recover. My rage begins to take over until it’s all I feel, all I see.

I let myself imagine what it would feel like if this were actually the Chieftain. If it were his blood I was spilling.

That alone is enough to make me go absolutely feral.

All I can do is fight. I become a machine, a true monster, making swing after swing, letting all my senses be washed away but one. My sense of smell.

I follow the scent of blood all around the ring, refusing to give up. I can’t stop. I’ll never stop. Not until he’s dead.

I hear the way he speaks to me, the way he speaks to my sister, the way he treats her. Dooming her to an arranged marriage for nothing other than political reasons. Reasons that don’t even make sense because we have enough allies.

I see the way he doesn’t believe in me, never has, even though I’ve never given him a reason to feel that way. I’ve never let him down, always done what I was supposed to.

Oftentimes, I imagine what it would feel like to take his life. To fight him to the death. I’m not really sure what would stop me at this point.

“Brother! Cagan! Stop!”

I hear the voice, and for a second, I pause, but then I keep going, tackling him to the ground.

“Cagan please! You’re going to kill Natus!”

I freeze, my machete midair. My ears perk up, and I finally let myself see again.

Natus is below me, blood visible in several places. He’s panting, his eyes slightly widened.

I back away, immediately apologizing.

“I’m sorry, Natus. I didn’t mean to actually hurt you.”

He just laughs, his face relaxing. “You’re crazy, Cagan. You better go hunting or fuck someone or something. Let loose, before you actually kill someone.”

I shake my head. “I’m fine. I just got carried away. You should go to a healer.”

He laughs again. “I’m fine, I can take a beating. Though, I’d rather it not be from a psycho orc with a machete. I think I’ll take a break from sparring with you for a while.”

I nod as he gets up and leaves. When he’s gone, Sharog takes his place in front of me. She looks up at me, worry lines etched into her face.

“You scared me,” she says, her voice soft.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have sparred when I was so angry. This thing with your marriage is just getting to me.”

I can usually take my father’s bullshit when his decisions affect me. I’m good at ignoring him. But when they start affecting my sister, I just can’t.

She steps forward and hugs me. “I’ll be okay. Don’t worry about me.”

I shake my head. “No, I’ll do something. We’ll figure it out.”

Our embrace is interrupted by a screaming voice, one I wish I never had to hear again.

“Cagan! Sharog!” he roars.