The three trials

I had no doubts that I could win. Victory would bring a good life, full of wine and women, feasts and fighting. I would probably succeed my father as chieftain, as soon as he was too weak to hold the position. Which was a long was off, most likely. Might

made right, and my father was the mightiest...For now. He watched with the rest of the clan, from the stone steps that ringed the arena. I could feel his eyes on the back of my neck, making the little hairs stand on end. Or perhaps it was just

the wind kissing my skin, bare but for the loincloth around my waist. I was freezing, but I did not shiver. That would be seen as weakness. I stood motionless, toes curled into the cold dry sand. The bear that I faced was a fearsome beast; saliva dripped

from its wicked fangs, and it stared at me with bloodshot eyes. It had been starved, I knew, and right now it wanted nothing more than to kill me. All I had was a spear, a head taller than me. Killing the thing would be...Trivial. It charged, a massive

mound of fur and anger. At the last second, I dived out of the way, jabbing its paw with my spear as it swiped at me. It roared in pain, and reared up on its hind legs. I jumped towards it and plunged my weapons through its chest, then darted away again

to avoid the claws that were being aimed at my head. With my spear in its chest, the bear couldnt drop down to all fours so it staggered awkwardly but angrily towards me. The watching crowd gasped as i ducked another blow, then placed both feet on the

bear's torso and dragged the spear from its body. A river of blood followed me as i fell to the ground and rolled away. The bear fell, and lay still. The first trial was over. Two more to go. I spared a glance towards my father. He was leaning forward,

a look of satisfaction curling his lips. His offspring was winning. His bloodline looked strong. That was all I ever was to him, to anyone. I was my father's legacy. He had plenty of bastards. but my mother, his wife, had died soon after I was

born. By our laws, he could not take another. I sometimes wondered it he felt grief at mother's death, or just anger that he only had one heir. Regardless, I was it, for him, and my whole life was about pleasing him. I pushed such

thoughts aside, as the second trial began. A ghost of one of our enemies, imprisoned between life and death for the sole purpose of this trial, had been a released into the arena. It had been told that the only way it would be allowed to pass on would be

if it defeated me. It could only do that if it materialised, giving me a chance to strike. So first it would... Do you think she loves you? How could it know? The chieftain's son, the future leader.

She's simply securing her position. Those whispered words that you treasure so much, they are lies No. I didn't doubt her. It would have to do better than that. I held my spear ready, waiting for the tell-tale rush of air that would accompany

this things materialisation. How are you feeling, Trarga's son? Why did it use my father's name? Why not my own? Will you please your father? Will you win for him?

Ah that was it. I had expected that approach. I remained motionless, focussed. Patience was key. But you don't want to win, do you? What? I blinked in suprise, distracted for a second. The

faintest rustling of air behind me. I turned with my spear, already fearing that I was too late. An evil chill gripped my boens as I caught a glimpse of a dark, formless shadow. Then the point of my spear met it, and it screamed and exploded into dust.

Some warmth returned but I trembled at my narrow escape. A shaman recaptured the soul. My father frowned. Few among the onlookers would realise how close to death I just came. My father was one of

those few. He was giving me a look I kenw well, warning me not to disappoint him. That did not worry me. If i failed, I would die. There was nothing he could do about it. No, it was the ghost's words that filled my heart with doubt. Did I want to win?

If i did, I would enjoy a life of luxury. The tested were greatly honored in our clan. I would marry my love, and one day, most likely, I would rule with absolute authority over me people. But I knew it wasnt right. One day, years ago, I was wandering

through camp when I came across Veasa, the healer. There was a small boy with him, no more than five years old, whose body was covered in black blisters. It was a sickness that was known well to my people, one that spelt certain death. But Veasa, frail of

body but bright of mind, applied an ointment to the boys skin. Over the next few days, I returned to Veasa's tent and watched in awe as the blisters faded from the boys skin and he returned to health. Excited by this miracle, I told my father.

My father was angry. Veasa was supposed to be harvesting fruit for the Tested. Veasa should not have been wasting his time on the weak who succumbed to disease. Veasa was whipped, and died soon after. The cure lost forever. That was the regime

that i would join if I succeeded in the trials. Perhaps, in time, I could enact change, to make people see the value of intelligence, beauty, and love over blind strength. But only once my father was gone. And even then, the other Tested would resist.

Right now though, i had to pass the final trial. My opponent was walking into the arena, with an almost impreceptible limp. His name was Dastop, the son of my father's rival. He had passed the trial two days before, so he was rested, but he had sustained

a wound to his leg. I had been taught to hate him, but had no real reason to. All that mattered, was if I could beat him. We circled each other, sand shifting beneath our bare feet. He jabbed at me with his spear; I parried. He jabbed again; I

dodged. Then he rushed at me, swinging his spear at mine as he did. To his suprise, I let go of my weapon, and his swing went wide. I dropped and dealt a vicious blow to his injured leg, causing him to yell in pain. Then I straightened and grabbed his

spear, twisting it from his grasp as I shoved him backwards. He staggered backwards then fell, defenceless, to the ground. This was it. Kill, and gain a comftorable life, one that I might never be free of. Or refuse to kill, and speak out against the

injustice that I saw. And die because of it, either at Daspots hands or my fathers. It wasnt much of a choice. I looked at my target, hefted the spear, and threw it. It whistled through the air and hit its target.

Straight through my fathers chest. That might make them listen.