Roshma Book 1: The First Steps

The weight of a hundred eyes fell upon me as I stepped into the ring. I looked to the crowd, hanging by the moment. The anticipation was thick in the air no one moved and they only breathed as much as necessary.

My eyes shifted focus to the opponent, Adon Westcon. He was significantly shorter than me and had more of a stocky build with short arms and legs. His face could be described as scrunched together with his eyes a bit closer together than other Zatts. Adon’s blonde hair came to a point in the front forming a fohawk. The light shone on his face just right accentuating his blonde stubble which ran along the length of his jaw line.

As for his clothing, one might describe it as sport casual. His shirt with a black and white zigzag pattern and white shorts. This same fight had played out 100 times before always, with the same result, Adon lost. Despite this, the outcome of our sparring sessions it was always close. He gave the audience the illusion of hope. Maybe this is why the crowd watched so intently, would today be the day Adon won? Even I wanted to see him win, but not enough to give him a victory. He’d have to earn this one.

Inside the ring, we were bitter rivals. However, outside of it we were great friends. Adon Westcon was the second person I met at Cashay’s Academy. AJ introduced me to him and I met everyone else shortly after.

Adon is a common name on planet Zatara. Still, it is rather odd that two Adon’s would wind up in the same circle of friends, but that’s how fate would have it. To remedy this problem we address them by their last names. His being Westcon, the other was Shodon.

As for Westcon’s personality, words that come to mind are rash, vulgar, and reckless. Not the kind of person, I’d usually be friends with. Yet for him, I made an exception.

Westcon, had the mutation which gave him special abilities like me. On top of that, he had years of combat training and many local sparring titles. Westcon’s leagues ahead of his classmates in advanced hand-to-hand combat sans me. Still, he was always the underdog. His classmates loved him. He had a certain quality about him that couldn’t be put into word. This unknown force he possessed worked as a magnet and drew others in.

Class was almost over, so the fight would be first hit wins. Westcon usually hung himself with his reckless and erratic movement. I would wait for him to charge in. Today he was not charging, he simply stood there. A few moments went by and still no movement from Westcon. He motioned his fingers taunting me to attack him. This was turning into a game of attrition, not a game I wanted to play today.

So it fell on me to make the first move and I did charging my opponent. Westcon left fist flew out of nowhere. I was quick to dodge but, if it would have connected my nose would have shattered. He started his own offense, an aggressive barrage of punches. Somehow, all of them barely missed.

His rib cage was exposed on the left side, a kick should deliver a swift victory. Unlike past fights he was ready. He quickly, changed his stance and blocked my attack. The fight went on this way for a couple more minutes. Class should be over by now but no one left. I could tell he was getting frustrated, he started lunging. I dodged the first couple, then played chicken with the next one.

This strategy paid off, at the last second I swept his leg elbowed him in the back on his to the ground. Our professor sighed, “Hawkins wins….again.” At the end of the fight Westcon ceased to be an enemy. My outstretched hand helped him back to his feet.

The professor continued to address the class as we left the arena and eventually the room saying, “I hope everyone paid close attention, you could learn a lot from watching. Observe the technique displayed by the fighters, their patterns, footsies they played, and the mental interactions between fighters.”

I enjoyed “Advanced Hand-to-Hand Combat”, but treated class more like an elective. I’d been fighting all my life, it was all muscle memory at this point. Every situation warrants a different reaction. Practice enough and you’ll be ready for all situations. Thankfully, Westcon got assigned class the same hour as me or there’d be no one to keep me on my toes.

Neither Westcon nor I had classes for a couple of hours so we made the trek to the courtyard.

We walked in silence until Westcon spoke up, “Good show you put on today. Even my new found patients wasn’t enough to beat you.”

To be fair he fought valiantly, and I let him know it.

He responded in the most Westcon way possible, “Tyerow, now you don’t need your pitty. I’m the handsome one, the charmer, the one that makes everyone laugh. You’re the fighter. If I ever get in over my head I’ll give Mott call to come bail me out. However, if Mott can’t make it, you’re my second choice.”

I replied, “Thanks I guess.”

He smirked, “Ain’t that what friends are for?”

When most Zatts talked like this they were joking. However, Westcon was different, he believed everything that came out of his mouth.

Westcon wasn’t finished with me, he had this to say, “You swept my leg, but during my descent I noticed something. Kirsten was looking at you. No looking isn’t the right word, she was staring a hole through you. She likes you man.”

My professors had praised me for being a great fighter, but I’m also an ace at being awkward. Girls and I didn’t mix very well, at least in a romantic sense. Things were good right now. For the time being, it was better to stay to course. Kirsten would be there tomorrow and the next day. One of those days, I’d strike up a conversation.

My response to Westcon, “I’ve got a lot on my mind, maybe some other time.”

Westcon shook his head and chastised me, “That’s what you said about Michelle and Karen as well. Starting to think you’re all talk and no walk.”

Could have responded but there was nothing more to say, case closed. Also, we’d reached our destination, the West Courtyard. Cashay’s Academy was built like a fortress with its high stone towers and walls. This was a result of being constructed hundreds of years ago. In modern architecture, domes were the trend and everything is made of synthetic material instead of stone.

I fancied a more modern look myself but the courtyards were timeless. They consisted of many stone paths in a sea of grass a sea of grass. Most places in the Academy were surrounded by solid stone walls, but the courtyard was the exception. High arches were cut in the stone walls and these gave way to a beautiful view.

The Academy sat on a large plateau which overlooked all of Mako City. One could see for miles. My description did it no justice, it is something that must be witnessed in first-person. Students frequented the courtyard. Some were setting out on the, but many found shelter under the Yara trees.

Yara trees were the perfect size for a courtyard. They were shorter than the wall, yet tall enough that one could stand under them without hit his or her head on the branches. The thick growth of low hanging leaves hung almost the ground. The leaves on the inside had been trimmed so it formed a bowl that one could almost hide under.

What set these trees apart from other trees were their appearance. The trunks of Yara trees were dark brown, almost black. As for the leaves, they were bright pink.

To me the beauty of the trees lie in the contrast of color between the leaves and the trunk. However, beauty doesn’t need to be hyper-analyzed or justified to be appreciated. Even a simpleton could appreciate their aesthetic.

Today was beautiful, but the rays of the Alpha Star were raining down on the courtyard in full force. The hot season had recently started and the term would be over soon. Still this kind of heat was unusual so early in the hot season. Couple this with the fact Westcon and I had worked up a sweat sparing. Even I who had spent my adolescence in the desert needed to find some shade. We followed one of the stone paths that led to a bench and took a seat.

Westcon and I sat silently underneath the tree appreciating its shade. There temperature was significantly lower under the canopy compared to the open courtyard. Still, I felt a warmth on my hand, and my eyes were quick to confirm that a lone ray of light had somehow fought through the canopy above and now rested on my hand.

I pondered the implication of this lone ray of light, a rather unspectacular phenomenon. Even in a perfect system there are flaws, anomalies. The tree provided shelter from the unrelenting heat of the hot season and yet it wasn’t perfect.

My life seemed perfect in this moment, but was I living in a stable system? Was my life as fragile as the leaves of a tree that a ray of light could inviolate it? Life has a way of moving forward even when one would rather stay put. I prayed to Elohim to let me stay in the shade of that tree a little bit longer.

This in turn led me to reminiscence about my old life pondering my journey to this point. Three years ago, I didn’t live in Mako City or anywhere near it. The deserts of Desantiago were where my family and I resided. It’s a settlement about 100 miles from Mako City and hundreds of miles from any other civilization for that matter.

All that changed when the when two men came to my doorstep. They had ocean blue suit and pants to match. It was obvious they were military, that much could be determined by a gold bar peened to their suit coats bearing the title of Sargent. The men said, “Tyerow, how would you be interested in starting a new life?”

They were interested in me because my mutation gave me abilities that could prove useful in warfare. My father, Travis Hawkins, had these abilities too, I inherited them from him, but my mother (Naomi) and sister (Cierra) did not share our mutation. My father used these skills to serve his government and protect our planet Zatara until he they deemed him too old; if you asked, me they let him go a little early. I feel sorry for any poor soul that would try to pick a fight with pops.

Of course, they made the situation sound urgent and exciting. I was informed, “The public lived under the illusion of safety. There is always conflict even in times of peace.”

It sounded brave, noble and ultimately, like the right thing to do. My father had gone to great extent to prepare me for this moment making me train for hours every day for as long as I could remember. Still, I would need the night to think over my decision. That night I thought harder than ever before considering every angle and nuance before making my final decision.

Despite our good intentions, trouble always followed the Hawkins family where ever we went. In fact, we lived in Escaparo before moving to Desantiago. The incident causing us to move was an attempt on my father’s life. Desantiago, was a rural farming community where they grew crops for biofuel. It was inhabited mostly by the Indra people. My mother was Indra so fitting in here wasn’t hard, but we did have to learn to farm.

Upon arrival in our new desert home I was full of hopes and dreams. Most of all I dreamed of being a writer. However, after many years of living here, the desert sun had dried up all my hopes and dreams. It would be unfair to blame it all on the sun. The sands were to blame too. They were greedy and cried out for blood. I had four good friends and half of them died, laid to rest in the sands forever.

The more I thought the clearer it became. I needed to get away, in fact I owed it to myself to start a new life. All these thoughts, all these dreams deferred were pushed to the back of my mind and buried down deep in my heart. Being a writer wouldn’t cut it, these suited men held the key to my future and that key unlocked the door of Mako City.

That’s how I arrived at Cashay’s Academy, the finest school on Zatara being trained by the greatest military professionals. This was easy. This was the good life compared to the hell I’d come from. I had friends and a simple straight-forward life. I wrote from time to time but the ideas didn’t flow like they used to. Everything was perfect from my point of view. No one was dead, no one was trying to kill me. One question haunted me, “How long could this last?”

Though, I’m 19 going on 20, my story was just beginning. It was an improbable tale about overcoming insurmountable odds. The unlikely protagonist is tall, thin, has brown eyes and messy brown hair to match the seemed to always stick up on just one side. As for his face it was nothing memorable, you couldn’t pick him out of a crowd. In fact, any of these traits on their own could belong to anyone, but all these traits to come to they make up Tyerow Nathaniel Hawkins.

To simply call my experiences a story doesn’t do them justice. The Indra people would call this a Roshma. A word meaning a great yet unexpected journey, and little did I know I was about to my first steps on this Roshma.