Unnamed Journal Volume 5, Issue 1 | Page 21

I first killed a man when I was 13 standard years old, ostensibly to please the Emperor. This man was named Orsan, and he had offended the colonel of our militia, a man named Harna, a favorite of Lord Senestral, the predecessor of our current Imperial Vicar, Lord Avrankes. But this should have made no difference to me. Orsan lived in my souka, and as such he was beyond the touch of my blade. Only the chieftain, or the elders, or both, could declare him inata, to be hunted. I should have been Orsan’s friend, as my father had been. But he had shamed my family, by offering himself to my mother, only ten days after my father’s burial. My father had gone hunting one night and been surprised and slain by a moon- cat. Orsan had been with my father that day. I did not suspect him of arranging an accident. Moon-cats cannot be arranged. I believed Orsan’s demonstrations of grief for my father’s death, of his helplessness to save him, were genuine. Only such a grief could have made him such a fool. My mother, I am happy to say, did not shame herself, but refused his advances. As I was a boy, I did not know whether her refusal was perfunctory or genuine. Even today, it remains a mystery. This is as it should be. Nevertheless, the damage was done, the error committed. I was the eldest son, and I had the blood right. I did not seek killing at first. I tried to speak to Kano, our chieftain, and to as many elders as I could find. They would not hear me. I had not yet passed the Trial, so a boy’s complaint meant nothing to them. I had to show them I was no boy. On the thirtieth day since my father’s burial, I took my father’s curved ketho dagger, his throat-slitter, and strapped it to my hip. I said farewell to my brothers and sisters. As I left the house, I saw my mother picking fruit with other women. I waved to her. She did not see me.