Revolutionary by C.T. Lang (bookstand for reading .txt) 📕

Revolutionary

Prologue: An Objective Society


I first met Naya in the 6th year of my schooling. She was fourteen, and I was only twelve, so you can imagine my amazement when an older goddess with brown eyes and matching hair down to her elbows came to sit with me during lunchtime. I heard moans of jealousy from the boys, and I felt a blush creep to my cheeks. She ignored all of that rubbish, and asked my name. I told her, Panchim. She couldn't very well say it was a beautiful name, but I assured her it meant "one of great mind" in my first language. She told me her name's meaning, "beauty" and I said that was an understatement. She was easily the most gorgeous thing I'd ever seen. And how intelligent she was! All languages: French, German, Russian, Spanish, and our own English; she even mastered the delicate hand-sign of the Deafs, although our society permitted no such flaws. Her literary skills were such that every word she wrote was a power of its own, and if she had told me the world was square, I'd believe it. She could declaim so emotionally that a grown man would cry (indeed, our professor did choke up but managed to pass it off as a coughing fit), and she knew more about Law than any of the children in our school. The only subjects in which I rivaled and surpassed Naya's brilliance were Arithmetic and the Sciences. My father was a doctor, and I suppose it was in my bloodline to save lives by science. Anatomy and chemistry were my two specialties, and algebras were my favorite maths. I hoped one day to take over my father's lab coat, which had been passed down father-to-son for four generations.

The year Naya came, we made a friendship bond, such as many young girls make, to secure our places as the "best friend". Little did I realize what importance the actual bond would hold in my life. One day in Gymnasium, our professor split us into two teams, by choice of a captain. One captain selected Naya, and one chose me. When my team went on the defense, I was matched with Naya, to guard her, and to knock her away with force if needed. We all knew our nation's motto when it came to the classes of Gymnasium and War Theory: Give no quarter, use all force. But I couldn't bring myself to even touch Naya, let alone knock her to the floor. Though she was two years my senior, I was taller and more muscular; but I hated the idea of hurting her. Surprisingly, she must have been thinking the same thing, and so neither of us drew any closer than ten inches to the other. We kind of grape-vined our way down the court and back, never taking our eyes off each other. It was as if the game ceased to exist, and there was only our square of asphalt. When the whistle blew, we were both scolded severely, but in the locker room, we held each other and laughed. I would look back on it as the first time anyone outside my family unit had shown me such devotion.

Not long after that day in Gymnasium, we had a visit from the school's superintendent. He was, of course, a Matador. Oh, have I forgotten to mention los Matadores? Incredible! Los Matadores ruled every aspect of life in our country, and held all the leadership positions. It was written in our history books that the original Matadores were heroes who journeyed to our mountainous country, fought off many ferocious beasts, and settled the harsh wilderness into our calm cities and fields. I wasn't sure if I believed it. I wasn't a Matador myself, and for that I was thankful. Who wanted to be aristocracy if you had to be brutish and vulgar? Los Matadores all looked mostly the same, too: white skin, blonde hair no longer than chin-length (girls, too), blue or green eyes. They were unusually tall, too; it was said that the shortest Matador in the city was 5'10, and they were typically hefty. My father was always having to criticize a Matador about cholesterol problems or blood sugars, because they ate too much rich food. But they sure loved their sports. The gorier, the better. Rugby, hockey, football, soccer, and anything with heavy man-to-man contact. I wondered if there were any artists in their clan at all. Not likely, considering money ruled our streets and artists were only hired after the work was produced. Los Matadores controlled politics, law enforcement, education, even the medical field, although there were no Matadorian doctors or scientists. They were unkind, and they demanded heavy taxes which kept them in designer clothing and huge automobiles, and kept us with barely enough money to pay our rent.

Never did I learn what Naya's family did for a living, but they lived in better conditions than my family did. Instead of an apartment, they owned a house in the forest, miles from my school. Naya's father drove Naya to school each morning, and we stared at his black BMW as she got out and gave him a kiss. I asked her about him, but she praised his cooking and his singing, his artistry and the devotion he had to her mother and herself, but never told me what his occupation was. I admit, despite our community's views that a man's work was his worth, I quit caring. Naya meant too much to me. I scarcely would have cared if her father shoveled dung for a living—Naya was my friend. Then one day something happened that changed my whole outlook on life. There wasa pogrom.
Los Matadores had been inactive in our area for so long, we'd forgotten what a destructive force they were. When we returned from school and work to find houses burned, trees cut down, pets slaughtered, we cried and cursed the name Matador. I ran to see Naya, to console her, to vent my anger with her, but she was not at home. I began walking mournfully back to my home, which hadn't been destroyed (thank the Lord), but my pet piglet had been killed. I was vehement. Suddenly, a hand flew out of nowhere and covered my eyes. Another looped around my arms, holding me down. I may have been delirious, but I could swear I heard a familiar voice say, "I'm so sorry," before I felt a stinging bite to my exposed neck.


Revolutionary
Chapter One: Now Everything’s New

I don't remember fainting, but I do remember waking up in Naya's bedroom. She was holding my head in her lap, and when I opened my eyes, she was ready with a cup of water to quench my thirst. I felt as if I hadn't drank water for months, my throat was dry and parched. How she had known I'd be so thirsty, I did not know or care. I guzzled the water, then lay back down, and to my surprise the pain didn't subside. It just shifted from my throat to my arms, which seemed to be stretching themselves taut. My muscles felt tensed and sore, as if I'd run a marathon. Was I dying? Had the bite been venemous?
"Naya," I said, with more breath than volume, "Naya, what happened to me?"
She looked at me mournfully, and stroked my hair. "I'm so sorry, Panchim. I wish I had told you before, but I wasn't allowed to. You see, the Fellowship only just decided you could enter, and-- Oh I'm getting too far ahead. Let me explain. This is going to be very hard to believe, but you'll see for yourself soon enough that all I say is true. First of all, I belong to a Fellowship, a Clan, really, as old as the Moon, our protector. We make it our business to uphold good, and where there is evil, we resist. We are the underground rebellion to the rule of los Matadores." I nodded, but I was still confused. What did this have to do with me? "Part of my assignment when we were transferred to this community was to make a recruit. So I brought your case before our Chief, and he pondered the notion. It normally takes months to pass, but with today's pogrom, they gave me the go-ahead right away. I was taken off my feet when I was ordered to bite you today." She let me absorb this.
"So it was your voice I heard."
"I never meant to cause you pain. I know it hurts something terrible right now, but afterwards, you'll feel like a new person. You'll be stronger, faster, be able to jump higher and see farther, to smell separate components and hear a bird's cry five miles away. Your instincts will be faster than a bolt of lightning; you will feel your opponent's movement before he attacks you. You'll never age, and you'll be almost immortal." She tilted her head to the side, "Of course, it takes a day or so for the pain to fade. But when the transformation is complete, you'll be able to phase whenever you want, and you'll share thoughts with the rest of our Clan."
"Phase? Phase to what?" My head was spinning. I didn't feel so sharp now, for sure.
"Oh, I'm sorry! How stupid of me. I gave you all the details before I explained what you've become. Panchim," her voice grew quieter, more serious, "Have you ever heard of a legendary creature that is half-human, half-wolf? The Anglo-saxon name is werewolf."
My mouth dropped open, and I fainted a second time.

This time when I awoke, Naya and her parents were with me, watching me and waiting. I cleared my throat and sat up slowly. "Thank you," I announced with awe, "Thank you for changing me. I understand I'm to fight los Matadores, which is what I've always desired."
Her father stepped closer to me. "Panchim, when you feel strong enough to walk, we will take you to see the Clan at our hideout. You must meet your new family." A new thought occurred to me when he said this.
"Does this mean I have to leave my old life?"
"Yes. I'm afraid we'll all need to move away from here, closer to the Clan, so that your training can commence. It will be a sacrifice, but I've talked it over with your father. He will pretend you were killed in the pogrom. If we're lucky," he paused, and her mother resumed, "If we're lucky, the people's anger over your 'death' will incite them to riot against their oppressors. But for now, we'll focus on getting you better, then getting you out of town without your being seen." I nodded firmly, and noticed Naya was smiling over me. She kissed my face, and said jubilantly, "You're taking this much better than I thought you would. When I found out, I was crazy mad. I threw a lamp." Her