I had been in the barracks for going on three years when Neo and all the boys in the barracks, except the first years were called to war. They had called me as a Scortha . I knew part of it was because I was a Raksheesh and I was expendable and also highly skill on horseback which was a surprise to me based on that I hadn't rode much as a child except a few times with my father to deliver my weapons for the wars.
I had been given leave, along with the rest of the boys to return home to spend perhaps our last dinner at our family table. When I entered, my mother and sister looked at me as if they were going to see me for the last time. My father looked at me with hidden worry.
"Come sit," he father.
I sat down and felt awkward. Being here was awkward and different, being home for the first time since I had entered the barracks.
We ate dinner and no one really spoke. We had wild boar and sand radish soup with watered ale and a slice of bread. It was the same kind of food we ate in the barracks. Once I was done, my sister and mother cleared the table and left my father and I sitting alone as they went to the well to wash the dishes.
"Is it true?" he whispered. "Out of everything they offered, you had to be a Scortha?"
I nodded. "Aye. It is what I was assigned."
My father shook his head and got up from the table. "Wait here."
I did wondering what he was going to get. When he returned he sat a large battle ace in front of me.
"The king announced that you had been chosen as a Scortha about six months ago," he said. "Jaspen ... just ... just don't do anything too crazy."
I nodded solemnly, looking at the ace It was finely crafted. It was a double edged ace made of the finest metal.
"I have to go see the shaman," I whispered getting up from the table.
The shaman would give me my cleansing, my war marks, and help me connect with my demonic half so I had the full strength needed in battle. He would also place a certain spell on me to make me more durable and also linked with my fellow Scortha.
"Jaspen I-"
Just as my started, Hassan walked in and looked at me then my father, followed by the ax, before walking back out. I grabbed my ax and ran out after him.
"Hassan!"
Hassan kept walking as if he didn't hear me so I yelled his name louder and louder until he finally halted and turned his head back towards me.
"Uncle," I said as I approached.
He got a familiar haunted look upon his face. "Uncle, what is wrong?"
"I thought I told you to stay out of trouble and here you are going into war tomorrow as a Scortha . Do you realize most of you die? Only a few of you make it long enough to become an old man with a family. Why must you rob yourself of so much, Jaspen?"
Since when did this man care so much about my well-being?
"Do you think I chose the life of a Scortha? I didn't, but I plan on being one of the legends like Ari and Bjorn."
"Jaspen..."
"What, Uncle Hassan? Why does it matter? I would rather go out in a blazing glory and be remembered than live a thousand years as a nobody."
Hassan then turned on his heel and didn't look back. I was pretty sure I had seen him turn red faced. I didn't understand this man and I probably never would. Why did he act as if I was a thorn in his side and then sometimes – for a fleeting moment - act as if he really did care? I shook my head and continued walking to the shaman's hut when Neo caught my shoulder.
"Mind if I come with, Scortha ?" he said clasping my shoulder tightly.
"I don't mind at all."
He smiled and we continued on our way to the shaman's tent. "Thank you, brother."
I looked back over my shoulder, still confused by Hassan's actions and hoping to see him. I understood that he was upset that I'm throwing my life away, but if we didn't have the Scortha, we wouldn't win as many battles. We were terrifying and reckless and full on dangerous. If it wasn't for us, we wouldn't win battles as quickly.
There were a few other Scortha outside the shaman's tent. Now that I thought about it, I had never seen an active Scortha . Why was that? Hassan approached.
"Prince Neo," he said, bowing to the prince.
His eyes quickly glanced over me before looking back at the prince. "Aye?"
"I'm sorry to have to inform you, but you cannot be here. No one can lay eyes on the Scortha outside of battle. Your father has sent me to ask you to come home."
I saw Neo's expression as he read Hassan to see if he was lying. Hassan was a lot of things, but a liar wasn't one of them.
"Why is that, Hassan?"
"My prince, it is just law."
I looked at Hassan and Neo.
"Neo, we can go see your father if you don't believe him."
Neo clenched his jaw and shook his head. "No, Hassan has no reason to lie. I will see you after battle tomorrow."
With that the prince left, but Hassan stood there awkwardly.
"You know you won't be allowed to see him after this right?" he whispered.
They had never told me that in the barracks.
"What?"
"Scortha's are kept separate from the others, Jaspen. After the shaman does that spell you will be different and be changed and they will not allow you to let any feelings but bitterness and hate fill you."
I rubbed the back of neck. They didn't tell us this in the barracks either.
"No one would blame you if you asked to leave the barracks."
I looked at him, surprised. "Leave? Leave and become a blacksmith and lose my honor? You mock me, Hassan."
He seemed hurt.
"What?"
"Nothing," he mumbled and left again.
Why was my tongue so sharp towards Hassan? For once he was showing some compassion towards me and I was hurting him with my words. I sighed and slowly stumbled forward through the line. I was the last Scortha and I was honestly starting to get worried. How much would I change?
"Next," called the shaman.
I entered the hut and saw the stool in the middle of the room. "Shirt off and lay your ax down," he said.
I did as I was told and stat on the stool. The room was darkly lit as he whetted my hair and poured some mixture in random parts that stung. After a few minutes I felt him picking up random strands and rubbing something into it. Once that was taken care of, he pulled back my long hair and tied it with a piece of leather. I felt him dab scented oil all over my arms, chest and back.
"I'm going to do your tattoos now."
With that I sat straighter and felt him begin pricking my skin over and over. It stung and I slowly crawled deeper and deeper within myself, focusing on my breathing and that was all. After what seemed like hours, he squeezed my shoulder.
"Now for the last step."
He chanted the same line over and over in the old demonic tongue that roughly translates as "Come forth and set eyes on the world anew." Slowly a change came over me and I gradually lost consciousness.
"What is your name?" was the last thing I heard.