Dream Drive Ch. 04

"No."

"I'll kick you out." Jackson rolled his eyes and walked passed her. "I swear to god, Jacky!"

"Then do it!" Jackson called back. "I don't give a fuck anymore!"

"You get back here right now and -"

Jackson slammed the door to his room shut and locked it. He stormed to his bed and shoved his helmet on. He punched the screens as he loaded through whitespace, bringing up Isis and logging into it.

"Jackson. You were gone for some time."

Jackson sat up in Shaka's tent. He was breathing hard. He rubbed his forehead and sighed. "Yeah. I was."

"What troubles you?"

"...it doesn't matter."

"No," Shaka said. "It does matter." She placed her hand on his arm. Jackson withdrew from her touch. "Jackson," she said, "if you don't communicate, then -"

"I don't want to be comforted, Shaka," Jackson said. "I don't want to talk about it. I want people to go away and leave me alone to live my life. I'm sick and tired of people wanting me to do this, and be that." Jackson turned, facing the back of the tipi. "None of them even care about me. So why should I give a shit? I'm not even a person. I'm a number. There's so many people they make us numbers, Shaka. They don't have the time to make us people. They watch us constantly. They make sure we do as we're told, and if we disobey, they haul us off and kill us. They'll do it just to prove a point. They'll do it just if we say we disagree. I'm an ant crawling in concrete, and the only guy that calls me a friend is only pretending to like me so he can get things out of me! At least my mother has the damn decency to tell me to my face what she thinks of me! At least she just fucking tells me she'll force me out if I don't do what I'm told!"

The words came bursting out of him, and he didn't care who heard them. All he knew is that they had to stop being inside his chest.

"I'm so damn sick of life. I'm sick of looking at it, I'm sick of people. I'm exhausted with how shitty everything is. I'm tired of people expecting me to do the right thing, and I'm even more tired with the fact that I can't make myself stop caring!" Jackson's hands clenched. His nails bit into his palms. "I'm so damn tired of caring. I don't want to care anymore. I just want to be left alone. I just want to live. Is that too much to ask? I don't - Jesus. I don't even know what I'm trying to say. Fucking words. I can't even say what I mean."

Arms fell around him. Jackson stiffened. Shaka was behind him, wrapping him up in a hug.

"You do not have to say anything more, Jackson," Shaka said. "I understand."

Jackson tried to swallow. He couldn't. The lump in his throat was too thick. "Why does -" His voice cracked. He coughed. "Why does my mother hate me?"

"Sit with me, Jackson," Shaka said.

They sat. Shaka placed herself behind him, and kept her arms on his shoulders. Jackson didn't try to shake her away, this time. He didn't dare. She felt like the only solid thing in the world.

"I have pondered many questions, in my lifetime," Shaka said. "Large questions. I wonder why people fight. I wonder why the spirits, who provide us with bison, do not see fit to provide us with more, so that we don't go hungry and thin come the winter. I wonder why our people were not lifted up through the tower in the first place. I wonder why Shakhan allows demons to continue to exist. I wonder if the angels will return, and if they do, that they might find us unworthy. We are greedy, and selfish, and ugly. And most of all, I wonder why the great spirit of the Above made us this way, made us to suffer."

"Then what's the point?" Jackson said. "I can't..."

"Dealing with the flaws of man," Shaka said, "is our never-ending struggle. It is painful, because in fighting against the flaws of people, the flaws that exist within ourselves are laid bare." Shaka shifted on her knees, turning about until she was kneeling in front of him. She kept her hands on each of his shoulders. "The point, Jackson, is that for all the terror man represents, it can bring about an equal measure of goodness. We can be kind. We can be compassionate. We can love. We can create. We can remake what has been lost. Stand tall, Jackson. Stand against the winds of ill fate and misfortune, and banish them. You are strong enough."

"...I'm not sure, Shaka."

Shaka cupped her wrinkled hand to his cheek. She smiled. "But I am."

"Chaki is too good for me," Jackson said. "I'm just...I'm not like what she thinks I am. I was crazy. I got lost in it. I shouldn't have bonded her."

"It is because you believe her too good," Shaka said, "that you are good enough. I take, from your words, that your life in the other world is in turmoil. This world, then, represents a fresh start for you. But you cannot bring yourself to up and abandon everything you have ever known."

"I..." Jackson blinked at her. "...yeah."

"You are too good a person to leave behind the mess that is your other world," Shaka said. "And that is good. Be patient with yourself, Tatanka Ska. When you are ready, you will know. It takes time to scrub away the stains of life."

"...that's funny," Jackson said.

"Oh?"

"I'm really big on cleaning. So I guess I know what you mean."

Shaka smiled. "I'm glad my metaphor struck home, then." She put a hand on his heart. "It hurts, doesn't it? To care? So much that not caring seems to be a better thing to do."

"...yeah. It hurts."

"Let me impart to you something that took an old woman many years to learn," she said. "That hurt...it's a good thing. The hurt is your guide. It is your moral directive. When something hurts, it is because you know, in your heart, and in your soul, that things are not as they should be. The hurt inside tells you that you are dissonant with the world, just as the hurt outside teaches. We know not to stick our hand into fire because it is painful. We know not to betray our loved ones because in doing so we hurt our own souls more."

"...what am I supposed to do?" Jackson asked.

"There are two methods to overcome the hurt: change yourself, or change the world."

"That second bit sounds hard."

Shaka chuckled. "It is hard. But usually, I find, that both things happen at once. Or perhaps, upon changing one, the other always changes in response. You cannot push upon the world without it pushing back."

"...thank you, Shaka," Jackson said. "I have to think. But I feel better."

"Of course you do," Shaka said. She released him and tapped his shoulder. "I am a spirit guide, after all."

Jackson made his small smile. "Yes, you are."

"Jackson!" came a voice. The flap of the tent blew open. Chaki was standing there, breathing. "Jack. Is everything alright?"

"Chaki?" Jackson exchanged a glance with Shaka, then looked back. "Everything's fine."

"I felt...through the bond. I felt you. You were so..." Chaki straightened, and blinked at him. "You were upset. I could sense it. So I ran here." A slight blush started to cross her face. "I'm sorry if I made myself a disturbance."

Jackson stood up. "I'm fine. But I'm glad you came to check on me." He took her arm, and leaned up to kiss her cheek. He glanced at Shaka. "That's fine, right?"

Shaka chuckled. "Quite alright. That bond is certainly something."

Chaki flashed him a bright grin. "Well, I will be seeing you, later. I should get back."

"Later."

Chaki slipped back out the tent flap. Jackson stared at the hide door for a moment, watching it sway to a stop. He looked back at Shaka. "How many more runes do you know?"

Shaka pressed her lips together and tilted her head to-and-fro, considering. "Enough to fill a week, perhaps, if we spend our mornings doing this."

"Then let's keep it up."

"Let it be thus."

Jackson stopped. "Actually, I have another question."

"Yes?"

"How exactly do I use the runes? Do magic?"

Shaka smiled. "I was wondering when you'd get to that. It's a bit more involved that memorizing symbols."

###

"Hang on, Jackson." Vuntha raised his hand and leaned on his spear. "I need a break."

"Again?" Hanta said. "You're embarrassing yourself."

"Just...for a moment."

Jackson wiped the sweat off his forehead. He sat down on the ground and laid himself out. Truth be told, he was tired too. He'd discovered, however, that his aches and pains quickly vanished if he lay down for a few minutes. Being a video game avatar had serious benefits.

Jackson had been sparring with Vuntha for two hours, under the watchful eye of Hanta. At first, they'd been evenly matched, but as Jackson warmed up, he'd began to outpace his friend. He quietly checked his progress bars while they took a water break and found that he was leaving up at a rapid rate. Live sparring was not as good as combat, but better than stabbing practice dummies.

They used wooden poles that had a soft bundle of furs tied to the end. That let them both train with the spear while reducing the risk of hurting each other. A hard enough swing could definitely bruise, or even crack a bone, but that was just one of the risks to be taken.

A short distance away, the camp was a flurry of activity. Everyone was preparing for the move. Jackson and Vuntha were laid out a ways away, resting in the open prairie. Hanta sat nearby, watching the camp shift and bustle.

"Say, Vuntha," Jackson said.

"Ah?"

"How come you two are free? Don't you have work to do at camp?"

"We're hunters," Hanta said. "It isn't our responsibility to move camp."

"Yeah, but still. I mean, maybe I should help Shaka, or Chaki."

Hanta shrugged. "You might help. But the women own the tipis. It is their duty to organize and pack them."

"Wait," Jackson said. "Your wife owns your tipi?"

"And everything in it," Hanta said. "I do own two of our three horses, however, so I am not destitute, should she decide to throw me out onto the prairie."

Jackson found himself reevaluating the People-Under-The-Mountain. He'd thought they were a bit male-centric, Shaka notwithstanding. Many of the council members, in particular, had multiple wives. But it seemed the women had more power than he realized.

"So," Vuntha said, "how serious are you with Chaki?"

"When we get to the mountain," Jackson said, "I'm going to marry her."

Hanta whistled. "Good luck taming that horse, Jackson."

They used his name, rather than Tatanka Ska. They were uncomfortable when Jackson had insisted, but he told them it was a tradition amongst his own people to use more familiar names amongst friends. That seemed to please them. "She definitely has a stubborn streak," he said.

"Chaki always was one to catch," Vuntha said, a tad wistful. "But I am glad a man like you has caught her. She needs someone strong to keep her head small."

"Hah!" Hanta said. "You are one to talk. I saw you sneak off with Drana after the feast, boy."

Vuntha's face paled. He sat up. "You can't tell Shaka. And I didn't sneak off with her! She dragged me away!"

Hanta practically cackled. "Oh, now I've got a bit of a hold on him, Jackson. What would Vuntha's mother say if she knew he'd endangered the modesty of a woman of the tribe? What would Drana's father say?"

Vuntha looked frightened. "Father."

"Ah, relax." Hanta waved a hand dismissively. "Drana is flighty. She'll be on to someone else within the week."

"...do you really think so?"

Hanta grinned. "Oh? Worried about it? Maybe you ought to state your intentions clearly."

"It's not that. I'm just..."

Jackson looked at Vuntha. "Do you like her?"

"I do. I think. She's like a bird, flitting, flirting. I fear I can't catch her."

"Just go for it," Jackson said. "I stopped thinking and went for Chaki. When I started thinking again, I got so wound up I couldn't see straight. That's the key to women. No thinking allowed. Just go with the impulses."

"Heh," Hanta said, "you're almost there, but you'll get into trouble a few times. That's alright. Some things you'll have to learn the hard way."

"But, Jackson," Vuntha said, doing his best to ignore his father, "Drana is already impulsive. I feel like I should contrast that."

"Maybe she's trying to stand out," Jackson said.

"How so?"

"I hear a lot about Chaki from everyone," Jackson said. "Chaki is Shaka's student, and she told me she's hunted with you two. Boonta pursued her - so she has the attention of powerful men, and the guts to turn them down. Drana is Chaki's best friend, but she might act like she does so she stands out a little."

"Mmm." Hanta nodded. "Maybe there's something to that. Chaki casts a tall shadow over the other girls. That's had Malaki frustrated, for certain. Drana's trying to deal with it in her own way."

Vuntha seemed thoughtful. He nodded to himself. "Alright. So, outmatch her own impulsiveness."

"It's worth a try," Jackson said.

"It is at that." Vuntha's head turned. His eyes narrowed. "Where do you think he's going?"

Jackson followed his eyes. Boonta was moving away from camp on horseback at a quick trot. "Probably going to scout," Hanta said. "It will be good for him to clear his head."

"I don't really care what he's doing," Jackson said. "The guy is dangerous."

"His heart is broken," Hanta said. "He'll get over it. If the spirits are with him, perhaps the mending will make him a better man."

Jackson remembered what Boonta had done to Chaki, and he found that he didn't agree with Hanta in the slightest. But he shrugged, and nodded. "Maybe you're right." Jackson stood and stretched his spear over his head. The aches were gone; his burning muscles were soothed. He was ready to fight. "Vuntha?"

Vuntha groaned. "Now I know how you managed with Chaki. You just don't give up."

Hanta chuckled. "If you don't make for a better contest, I might have to take on Jackson myself. Take your rest a bit. Jackson, come here."

Jackson approached slowly. Hanta was a short man, for one of the plains people, but he was muscular, broad. He moved like a panther. Jackson had no doubt - after hearing from Chaki and Shaka - that Hanta was one of the best hunters and warriors in the whole tribe.

Hanta kicked his spear off the ground and into his hands. He twirled it a few times, then took a stance facing away from Jackson. "You have great potential, Jackson, but I feel you're raw. Inexperienced."

Jackson nodded.

"The spear," Hanta said. He slid it through his hands, thrusting forward, then drew it back. "There are many contexts in which weapons are used. I believe spears are the most powerful weapon in the most cases. When the iron men raided our camp, I killed three of them. The iron did not save them."

Jackson listened carefully. Anything he learned now could save his life later. "...what's the secret?"

"The spear concentrates power into a single point," Hanta said. "The thrust." He pushed the spear forward in a practiced movement. "All onto the tip. An attack capable of punching through iron. I first knocked them to the ground, and with height, could easily finish them off. Remember that if you must overcome armor. It's possible but very difficult to pierce while they're standing and moving around."

"Got it."

"But the main advantage," Hanta said, "is this." He slid the spear forward in his hands, extending it far in front of him. "Distance. Tell me. What weapon do you think attacks faster - the spear, or the dagger?"

Jackson frowned. It sounded like a trick question. He decided on a frank answer. "I think the dagger is faster."

"Wrong!" Hanta said. He drew a bison-bone dagger from a sheath at his hip and flipped it in his hand, reversing it. He did that several times, swiping it back and forward. "Yes, the dagger is lighter, and more nimble in the hand, you could say. But that is not what I said. I asked which weapon attacks faster. Vuntha. What is the answer?"

Vuntha leaned back on his hands. "The spear, father."

"And why is that?"

"Because," Vuntha said, "you do not have to move as far to hit with a spear."

"Exactly!" Hanta sheathed the dagger and choked up on the spear until the blade of the weapon was very close to his hands. "Now see here," he said to Jackson. He marched up a few steps and tapped Jackson on the shoulder with the flat of the blade. "You see? A short weapon requires me to move my feet to reach you before I can attack. But a long weapon!" Hanta stepped away again, and thrust the spear toward Jackson's side. "All that distance, in a single instant. In battle, distance is speed. The spear attacks faster. I defeated those men with their shorter hammers and maces because of this advantage."

Jackson nodded. "Distance is speed."

"Indeed!" Hanta said. "Now, the second great advantage of the spear." Hanta quickly flashed the tip of the spear up and down, side to side, using his middle hand as a fulcrum and his back hand to push. "Because the shaft is long, I can move the tip of the spear with great precision and at many angles. I can attack the head." Hanta thrust up, diagonal. "The neck. Shoulders. Chest, legs, even the feet. I can alter the direction of an attack in an instant. I can lead the enemy to think I am attacking one way, stop, change the angle, stab another way."

Jackson nodded. "That one seems a lot more obvious. If you only had a sword, or a dagger, you're already limited in the number of places you can attack just by reach. And you can't change the direction as fast, because the handle isn't as long - not as much leverage."

"You understand quickly. Good! Now, Vuntha, again. You remember what I said, too."

Vuntha climbed to his feet. "Yes, father."

While Vuntha readied himself, Jackson quietly opened his game menu to inspect a few abilities. What he saw shocked him. His passive Spears skill had jumped two levels - but he'd checked it after Vuntha asked for a break. That meant it had gone up solely based on what Hanta had told him.

"...awesome," Jackson said.

"What is?" Vuntha asked.

"The spear."

###

Boonta rode several miles from camp and before wading his horse across the creek. He'd ridden in the direction of the bison, giving the impression that he was heading to scout their movements. The meeting place was opposite where the herd was now, but he had to be sure he wasn't suspected of anything.

Boonta rode across the plains. He encountered a gully he recognized - it filled with water during storms. He forced the horse to jump it, felt the muscle of the beast churn under him as it did so.

He could sense tension in the animal. It was picking up on his mood.

After an hour of riding, he saw a stand in the distance. It was hardly worth being called a stand; he could count the number of trees on one hand and a few extra fingers. He circled the wood and found Commander Tell'ad on the opposite side.

Commander Tell'ad was a grey-haired man with a face that looked like the gulley Boonta had passed - pockmarked and rivuleted. He sat tall astride a horse, flanked by three soldiers. They wore the strange ring-iron armor that gave them their name, and green half-shirts hung over their bodies. One man held a bow, along with an arrow gripped in his opposite hand, but his position was relaxed. A precaution against things that were not Boonta.

There was another horseman, though, that stood out. He had a small figure that was obscured by a large black cloak. Black leather covered his legs and hands, which gripped his horse's reins tightly. He was not relaxed in the slightest.

"Boonta," the commander said. His face was harsh, but his voice was calm and even. "I'm glad you came. It was getting late."

"I wanted to make sure I wasn't followed."

"A good precaution," Tell'ad said. He gestured expectantly.

"Let's talk about what I want," Boonta said. He had to present a strong front. Tell'ad responded well to that.

"Absolutely," Tell'ad said. "I'd appreciate the clarification. The last few times we've spoken, you haven't been nearly as forthcoming."