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103. [Uicha] Regretfully Yours
🕑 Added 2025-05-19 21:07:43 +0000 UTCUicha de Orak, Wildcard of the 6th Renown, representing the Forgotten One, healed but not fixed
Bric de Orak, a man of no particular renown, the Flamingo Islands, proud grandfather
Lavenna, Elementalist of the 10th Renown, Gen’bi Nomads, troubled by things forgotten
***
17 Rainest, 61 AW
Bask, one of the Flamingo Islands
Three days after Uicha’s fight with Battar Crodd
Whenever his mind wandered, Uicha pictured Battar Crodd straddling his gutted midsection. The Orvesian's cold blue eyes were wide and unblinking. Blood curved along one of the black feathers of the man's caftan, hung from the tip, and shook loose when Battar brought another hammer-like fist down onto Uicha's face.
In his remembering, the beating always lasted longer than it had in reality. Uicha pictured a version of events where Battar pummeled him to the edge of death, then dragged his limp body by the ankle back to the Noyegan ship. Instead of that, he tried to imagine getting his arms up, blocking one of Battar’s punches, and turning the tables. These fantasies never stuck. In the end, Battar was always on top again.
Even in his own imagination, Uicha was a gods damned loser.
Uicha pulled his legs up on his chair and hugged his knees to his chest, forgetting for a moment that he wasn't alone. Next to him, Bric de Orak sucked the last bit of flesh from a shrimp’s shell, then flicked the tail into a bucket positioned at the other end of the porch.
“Seven for me,” Bric announced. “Three for you.”
Uicha uncoiled his legs, but didn't reach for another shrimp, despite falling behind in their little game. He could sense his grandfather’s eyes upon him and worried what he must look like. Three days out from that brutal fight, completely healed, yet still shaken. His grandfather probably thought him a coward.
“I think I’m done,” Uicha said.
“More for me,” Bric replied.
Samus Bind had been as good as his word and summoned the old man to the island of Bask. They had taken up new lodgings, this time in a rented house on a quiet backstreet where Uicha could smell the ocean but not see it. Despite the copious amount of blood Uicha had spilled in Bind’s last room, the inquisitor assured him that they had left no trail to follow. Bind had seen to covering their tracks. Uicha remembered Captain Akoni's friend on Sugarfoot, the one who worked for the Admiralty, and how his memories got blurry when Bind was involved. The inquisitor had ways to muddy a person’s thoughts. He had also told Uicha—and Bric confirmed—that the Noyegan boat bearing Battar and his bone mage Athur Buss had left the islands.
For now, at least, Uicha was safe. But he still couldn't shake the feeling of another punch getting ready to fall.
“You know, I lost plenty of fights when I was your age,” Bric offered, not looking directly at Uicha.
“You did?”
“Shit, not fights like the one you had. No gods damned Orvesians with bones sticking out of them. No blocks of ice or gargoyles. But they was still fights and they felt like life or death to me.”
Uicha bit the inside of his cheek. “What did you do when you lost?”
Bric thought about this for a moment, then shrugged. “I guess I went and got in another fight.”
“That's your advice?” Uicha asked with a snort.
“Am I giving advice?” Bric grinned at him. “I thought I was just making conversation.”
Uicha looked out at the street as a solitary rooster strutted by. The bird paused to cock its head at Uicha, then continued on his way.
“The healing’s the thing,” Bric continued. “You get roughed up, that puts you down for a while. Gives you time to find some perspective. Lets you realize that you ain’t dead and can at least be glad about that. You heal so quick, boy, you didn’t get the chance to put your mind right. Them thoughts you’re having? They’ll fade like bruises.”
Uicha ran his fingers across his knuckles. Perfect and unscarred. He ripped off a hangnail and watched the wet, pink layer of skin smooth right over.
“Thanks for coming, grandfather,” Uicha said. “And for bringing my things.”
“You don't got much, boy, it would be a shame to start over,” Bric said, nudging Uicha's pack with his curled toes. “I put some extra things in there, so you know.”
“What kinds of things?”
“Some letters from your pops I thought might keep you company,” Bric said.
“Oh,” Uicha said. He pulled the pack closer and rested his hand atop the flap, though he wasn’t ready to open it up yet. “Thanks.”
“Some rounds, too,” Bric said, then held up a finger when Uicha made to protest. “I got a hot hand with the dice, so it's nothing to me. Everything's easier out in the world when you got some money. I know a boy with your skills could likely take whatever he wants, but you'd be better off paying when you can and saving the pirating for when it matters. Now, that's advice.”
Uicha scratched at his chest, the crimson on his chest suddenly feeling hot. The symbols begged to be activated, even when there was nothing but an old man and a rooster around.
“I haven't been using my abilities like that,” Uicha said. “I mean, so you know, I’m not always trying to kill people or…”
“I figured as much.” Bric gestured down the porch at the scattered shrimp tails. “The boy can move shit with his mind, but he can't even cheat to put a tail in the pot.”
“Wouldn’t be much of a game, if I did that,” Uicha said. The heat on his chest rose, so Uicha hopped to his feet and went to the edge of the porch, plucking at the front of his shirt. “You know, back in Ambergran, Dad used to let people rip him off all the time.”
Bric scowled. “How's that?”
Uicha gazed down at the dirt and pebbles and weeds. “Those people never really accepted him. Us. So, he let them get over on him to keep the peace. He always said that we could afford it.”
“Pussy,” Bric said.
“I never liked it,” Uicha said. “I used to get mad at those farmers for taking advantage, and at him for letting it happen.”
“That why you got to be the one who brings justice to the Orvesian?” Bric asked.
“It doesn’t have to be me, but it’s got to get done,” Uicha said. “He’s a bastard and he won’t leave me alone.”
“There you go, then,” Bric said, and picked up another shrimp. “Next fight.”
Propped against the porch railing was Uicha’s scimitar. Uicha picked up the weapon, slid it halfway out of its scabbard, and saw that it had been freshly cleaned and polished. The blade gleamed in the fading light, no trace remaining of Battar or Uicha's blood to be seen.
“Mom didn't take any shit, though,” Uicha said, sliding the blade back into its sheath. “Thank you for grabbing this, especially.”
Bric paused with a shrimp pinched between his teeth and Uicha saw rare uncertainty pass through his hard eyes. His grandfather scratched the gray stubble on his cheek.
“Listen, I shouldn’t tell you this, but I ain’t the type to stand between a boy and his blood feud,” Bric said with a grunt. “Maybe your dad had the right idea about my influence, after all.”
“What is it?” Uicha asked.
“The Orvesian brought me your sword,” Bric said. “He sat there on the beach and cleaned it up nice, then delivered it to me. Guy wrote you a letter, too.”
Bric awkwardly shifted around, pulling a crumpled bit of parchment from his back pocket. By the note’s condition, Uicha could tell that it had already been tossed in the trash at least once. He unfolded the paper and read over Battar’s words. Of course, the man had flawless penmanship.
Dear Uicha,
I regret how things escalated between us. My sincerest apologies. However little you might believe this, we have much to learn from each other. I hope to continue our relationship on Armistice. I pledge protection to you in that place, and elsewhere.
Your friend,
Battar
When he’d finished reading, Uicha did as his grandfather had done and crumpled the note. He tossed it over the side of the porch and brushed off his hands.
“He’s insane,” Uicha said.
“My impression,” Bric replied.
Shaking his head, Uicha returned to his seat. The heat on his chest hadn’t faded. He called to mind the beach where Battar had beaten him, but this time Uicha could only picture the pathetic champion scribbling out his little note.
“Listen,” Bric said, leaning forward. “I told that candle that I’d keep you here until he got back with this nomad you’re waiting on, but I got no problems with a double-cross. You want to get ahead, I’ll keep him busy.”
Of course, Uicha had considered skipping out on Bind while the inquisitor was in Flamboyance collecting the Gen’bi woman. However, he shook his head.
“No, I think it’s going to be fine,” Uicha said. “I need to know what I’ve gotten into and I think she can help.”
“Well, if you change your mind, offer’s good,” Bric said.
“There is something else you could do for me,” Uicha said.
“Name it.”
“I’ve decided I’d like to buy a boat and learn to sail it,” Uicha said.
***
20 Blossum, 61 AW
The Gen’bi desert
40 days until the next Granting
The way his grandfather’s face lit up—Uicha would return to that memory far more than any other during the weeks traveling with Lavenna.
First, they had left the Flamingo Islands by boat, the same rickety one that Uicha had seen Lavenna on when he’d briefly encountered the Gen'bi during the battle with the giant octopus.
Then, once they made land on the southern continent, Lavenna had moved them on the wind.
Uicha had dreams where he flew and the experience was always joyous and freeing. With Lavenna, it made him feel like he was suffocating. She would hold Uicha in her arms, stringy with muscle, and use [Become Sandstorm]. Their bodies broke down into particulate whipped along on shredding winds. To Uicha, it felt like getting carved apart with tiny razors, and the lack of control made him panic.
Lavenna could only keep the transformation up for short distances and had let on that Uicha's unwillingness made the whole thing more difficult, so they had gone along mounted since reaching the Gen'bi. Uicha was grateful for that. He'd rather heat and dunes than swirling discombobulation.
They hadn't seen another person since arriving in the desert four days prior. On a few occasions, they had come across tracks that were rapidly disappearing as the wind raked across the sand, or piles of horsasis dung, or remnants from campfires. Lavenna ignored all these signs of life. In fact, Uicha began to suspect that she was avoiding any of her fellow nomads on purpose.
“Should I not have come here?” he asked Lavenna, late on that fourth evening. She claimed to be looking for a place to camp—out in the open like they had every night—though every stretch of sand looked exactly the same to Uicha.
“I don't know,” she replied. “Not for me to decide.”
Uicha frowned. The woman's clipped answers were starting to get on his nerves. He had thought there would be more to the desert than… well, desert.
“I get the feeling like I'm not welcome,” he continued. “Like we're traveling in secret.”
“Ain't no secret,” Lavenna said. “Everybody knows you here.”
“They do?”
“They…”
Lavenna trailed off, grinding the heel of her hand into the space between her jaw and ear. She took a couple deep breaths, holding her black hat down on top of her head. Then, almost like she'd forgotten that they'd been talking, Lavenna picked up her reins and urged her horsasis onward.
“Hey! Wait,” Uicha said, his own mount keeping pace. “What was that? What just happened?”
It wasn't the first time he'd seen Lavenna coil in on herself like that. Sometimes, she flinched or swatted the air, and other time she tilted her head into her shoulder and ground her ear there. He had noticed the tics before they got to the desert, but they had become much worse in the last few days, like they could no longer be suppressed.
Lavenna glanced over at him, her eyes shaded by the brim of her hat. “You still don't hear nothing?”
Uicha paused to listen, but all he could hear was the whisper of wind across sand, and the occasional chattering of a locust. He shook his head.
“All that color on you and you still can't hear him?” Lavenna made a tangle of her reins around her fist, tight enough to cut off her circulation. “But he knows you, don't he? He’s been calling for you, louder and louder.”
“Can you just speak plain?” Uicha snapped. “I came here to learn.”
“We hear a voice,” Lavenna replied. “A voice that's screaming all the time. Doesn't make much sense, except when it does. Gets worse when we're still, which is why we ain't got no real towns out here. Makes it hard for us to leave and tries to call us back when we're away. Lately, that voice been saying your name, Uicha de Orak. Right now, he’s screaming that you should use what you got hidden in that pack of yours and come see him. That what you come here to learn?”
While she spoke, Uicha watched the sand travel by beneath his horsasis. He could imagine being buried here—all that weight and heat pressed down upon him. He put a protective hand atop his pack when she mentioned the vials of unused chanic he still carried.
“The Forgotten One,” Uicha said. “That's who you hear.”
“He put those words on your neck, so I suppose that's what he wants to be called,” Lavenna replied. “He’s just the fucking screamer to me.”
“What is he?”
Lavenna pulled her horsasis up short. “You don't know?”
Uicha shook his head.
“Well, we was all hoping you did,” Lavenna said with a sigh.
Uicha stared at the woman long enough that a bit of grit entered his eye and he had to knuckle it away. At that moment, the sweat slithering down his back felt especially annoying.
“How do you live like this?” Uicha asked. “Why wouldn’t you leave?”
“It’s our land,” Lavenna said. “We’re meant to keep—”
When she cocked her head to the left, Uicha assumed that the Forgotten One’s screaming had once again interrupted her thoughts. Yet, this time, Lavenna turned her eyes skyward, bringing her horsasis around in a slow circle.
“Tell me you at least heard that, kid,” Lavenna said.
“Heard what? I—”
A shriek from above. Something soared overhead, excitedly circling, and getting lower. Uicha wondered if it was the madness of the desert finally setting in, because he swore the creature was shouting for its mother.
Comments
Joseph
Uicha needs to get his hearing checked.
sparkc
Let’s see if it can distinguish between Uicha and its mother
