#moks

Smoke drifted up from slightly parted, greenish lips, billowing into the air between the bed and the ceiling. Laying there was when he spent most of his time thinking, and fortunately, Shuud had lots of these moments in recent times. His other hand played idly with soft, snow white hair that spilled out over his chest and shoulder. At least this would be a pleasant memory, her grey skin pressed against his multicolored, tattooed flesh, her strong muscular arm draped across his harlequin-diamond marked chest.

He was maybe five cycles in the memory? The snow was heavy on the ground, smoke from a small fire hung in the air, like a low cloud weather system in the hut kept it where it was. The pressure in the air was obvious, another storm was coming. He was hungry, his body emaciated, belly distended. He would have probably been on deaths door if the “gypsies” hadn’t traveled through. His parents weren’t any better off than he was, the previous year’s drought had left foraging nearly impossible, goats were scarce and they had been separated from the rest of the Khatayin when they weren’t able to organize their travel. They were living on a near frozen tundra in the upper plains on the higher steppe of the mountains.

Shuudkhan’s father had made the decision to stay, thinking that the drought would signal a weak winter this year, he had learned from his mistake by losing his eldest son and youngest daughter to sickness and the freezing elements. Shuud was all they had left, he was weak and on his way to meet his siblings if they couldn’t figure a way out of their plight. When the small band of warriors arrived, they took pity on the dwindling family. They shared their food and drink, they gave blankets and furs, plenty for the rest of the winter… and in exchange, they asked for the child.

Over the next few years, Shuudkhan’s life barely improved. At least he was being fed, had somewhere to sleep, and he was being educated. But there were different types of education, one that would enlighten the soul, and another that would turn it black as oiled-tar, and just as toxic.

He took another drag of the cigarette, inhaled deeply, felt that familiar warmth and burn deep in his lungs, before he expelled another plume. He watched it for just a moment as he wondered about his parents. Had they survived that winter? He didn’t even know where they were anymore. He had tried to retrace the steps to find his childhood home, but he had been unlucky in that search. The Khatayin were not a very out in the open tribe, their encampments were camouflaged and hidden. He at least remembered that. One time he had tried to escape and find his way back home…

He hummed a sarcastic laugh, they had made sure he was tough, despite his many sicknesses and maladies. He had been skinny and bony, barely any fat on him, no matter how much he ate. The roughness came from the caning, and the isolation huts he had been banished to for misbehaving. When he tried to escape, he was left bloodied and tied up in a sweat tent. The heat of the hut was sweltering. It had stone walls, fire places built into each side that super heated the rock. A set of steam stones was placed in the middle of the room, there was a wooden bucket and metal ladle. He knew that ladle well, at least his body was familiar with the blunt end. A smart mouth and a fuck all attitude was what got him here. If only he could stop making jokes, but the clown was always present. It was better than dealing with the demon he felt he had inside.

She stirred slightly, her horn poked into his side, but he just snuggled in. He felt the taught muscles of her body gently pressed against him, one hand twirled around in that stark shocked, moon white hair, the other brought the smoke back to his lips, another inhale, the slight crackle of the paper and tabac burning in unison…

The pain was a bright white light that blinded him as the brand was pushed hard against the back of his neck. The shape of a kraken was emblazoned on his skin, just below the hairline. It had been his initiation to the crew, he had been adopted into the Haragin when he had been found on an island they frequented for stored supplies. An uncharted, unmapped tiny speck of sand in the middle of supposedly haunted waters. How he had washed up on that shore, they didn’t know, but he was only about ten or twelve cycles by then and they took him in. His body, while needing nourishment, looked as if it had been hammered and shaped into a machine. Good, strong lads were needed on those Corsair ships, every raid there were at least a few losses that needed replenishment. The brand was his first mark that signaled who he was going to be, at least the first visible mark he would get.

The last drag off the shoddily rolled smoke was pulled through his lips and he placed the small butt in the ashtray next to the bed. None of that mattered now. His past was exactly that, his past. His childhood, while not the best had prepared him for many horrors and pains that he didn’t think he would have survived otherwise. He had good moments in between the start of his life starving to the point of constant raiding. His hand drifted down, fingers dancing along the grey-blue curves, reminding him that even the hardest things had a tenderness to them.

He had fallen behind, again… and last time he was beaten within an ilm of his life, he was exhausted, the welts and lashes bleeding on his back, soaking through the black fabric clinging to his bloodied flesh. The large boy who was always up front, fell behind and picked Shuudkhan up by the upper part of his arms and set him on his feet. He grabbed Shuud by the face. “If you quit, they will kill you. Move…” there was no reason for him to do it, but he looked out for all of the younger, smaller kids. He wasn’t nice about it, but at least he did it. He seemed just as programmed as the rest of them, but he fit in more with the masters than the drones. Shuudkhan felt the push at his back, the squishing sound of blood between his skin and the fabric was audible. But the tall boy kept pushing him. “Fucking march.” Had he not come back for him, Shuud wasn’t sure anyone would have. He probably would have died in that desert.

Divided Heart

A young Taliss sat on the grass with her knees pulled up to her chin gazing out across the plains. She let out a small sigh, the young teenager seemed to be lost in thought the bustle of Hotgo Iloh behind her not even reaching her ears.

“What’s wrong Taliss?” Came a soft voice from behind her.

The sound of which caused Taliss to straighten suddenly with a bit of a yeep before she looked over to see her mother leaning over smiling at her, her face decorated in bright yellow mixed with gold. Taliss shook her head, “Nothing’s wrong at all see!” She forced a cheery voice while pointing towards the yellow paint that decorated her face, a color that Taliss commonly used to denote being in a cheerful mood.

“Don’t start doing that now Taliss, your face says you’re happy but your body says you aren’t,” Her mother intoned gently but firmly, “We are Hotgo, we do not lie with our paints, they are a self-expression of how we feel, if we start deceiving one another with them it will only create discord.”

Taliss glanced off letting out a sigh before muttering under her breath, “But we’re not Hotgo.”

“Oh, it’s about that, come with me Taliss.” Her mom stated before straightening up and holding out a hand. When Taliss didn’t start getting up immediately she simply pursed her lips and intoned firmly, “Taliss.”

The young Xaela let out another sigh before finally rising, the girl was only a few inches shorter than her mother at this point. She didn’t take her mothers hand but did reluctantly follow her as she was taken to their family Yurt.

Once inside her mother turned around and put her hand out in a strange gesture. Which illicited a groan from Taliss, “Mom, is that really necessary?”

“Yes, it is always necessary Taliss.”

With a sigh Taliss put her hand out and mimicked her mothers gesture, following along rather awkwardly and sloppily showing that it was still a rather new hand signal to the young Xaela. Once they finished her mother crossed her arms.

“Now Taliss, the point of telling you an important part of your heritage wasn’t meant to distance you from the Tribe.”

“Then what was the point? I’m a Moks, not a Hotgo! It feels like my whole life has just been a game, be a Hotgo but don’t be one!” The teen exasperated with a huff her tail flicking back and forth in annoyance.

“You -are- a Hotgo Taliss, but you are also a Moks. We do not live with other tribes as some kind of infiltrators, we become a part of that Tribe,” Her mother’s voice was more friendly in a way that tried to emphasis she just wanted her daughter to understand.

“But what’s the point of it? If we are the Tribe, then why are we also Moks?”

“Because it is how we survive, it is our way on the Steppe Taliss, so long as we exist as a part of every Tribe then our own Tribe cannot be wiped out in one of the many struggles of the Steppe.”

Taliss glanced downwards closing her eyes briefly before drawing in a breath, “It’s just, hearing I’m something else, just makes me feel like nothing here is really a part of who I am.”

Her mom took a step closer before embracing Taliss in a hug, “It’s alright, I felt a similar way when my own mother told me. It’s a feeling that will pass, you will learn that you are both a Hotgo and a Moks, the friends you’ve made are still your friends.”

Taliss returned the hug a bit awkwardly her mood still a bit down, “I just feel like I’m now, hiding things from them. Why can’t we tell them?”

“They wouldn’t understand, just like you are having trouble understanding they’d feel as if we had deliberately deceived them for some kind of advantage.”

“I..suppose you’re right, but are we the only ones in the Tribe? I know you said…Father…was not.” Taliss remarked mutedly while taking a step backwards breaking the hug.

“No, there are others Taliss, but I cannot tell you who they are. And always remember your Father is still your Father and a good man even if he is not a Moks.”

She nodded, “I know, I still love him, because I am a Hotgo too, but why can’t you tell me who the other Moks in the tribe are?”

“Because Taliss it is part of learning to be a Moks, you must learn how to recognize another Moks which I will teach you. But just remember you can never tell someone who doesn’t know the Hand Sign that you are Moks.”

“I..understand Mother,” Taliss nodded again before smiling briefly.