Calo Nord: The beginning

It was more than a dream, it was a review of the catalysts that had transformed the meek boy into a man. It always started the same way.

Calo stared at his father’s straight back as he followed him up the stairs into the grey building.
The boy no longer remembered if he stared intensely at his father in reality but in the dream he spared no glance for the slaver.

“Why ya, sellin’ ‘im,” the man asked as he gave Calo a poke, “sometin’ wrong wid ‘im?”

“Our son died,” Father said harshly, “we don’t need this one anymore.”

“How old is he?” the slaver asked disinterestedly with a fat finger poised over the data pad.

“How would I know?” Father said staring at the wall behind the slaver.

“Well,” the man said suspiciously, “wouldn’t he be the same age as yer son, if he’s a boy’s companion an all.”

“Yes, I suppose. He’d be eleven then.”

“Special ordered?” the man said with a raised eyebrow.

“What?”

“He has the look of an engineered type, made short for the sport.”

“No,” Father said sullenly then paused for a moment, “Nothing about him was as ordered,” He spat.

The slaver was quiet for a few moments. “Fine. I’ll take him.” 

The man, Calo Nord, shifted in his sleep. Not many sentients without wings would have the nerve to sit on the perch that he had chosen for his doze. The dream continued to the day he lost Emaline, his only friend.

“I’ve heard the whispers, Calo.” She said in her little girl’s voice.
Emaline had been a raggedly child who looked about six when she’d arrived. Somehow she’d transformed into a womanly figure in two scant years.

Calo had never mistaken her for human but neither of them had ever put a name to her race. Her skin, which she carefully kept grey in the presence of the bosses, reacted to her moods. For a boy who’d always hidden his emotions deeply she was truly fascinating.

“What whispers?” he asked neutrally.“That farmer, the one that saw us talking, he’s gambling with Boss Gassom. I’m the prize.”

Calo remembered the hunger he’d seen on the young man’s face. “He won’t beat Gassom.” Calo said with more assurance than he felt. “Even if he does, he won’t live to collect you. You know what a temper Gassom has.”

“I’ve heard he’s on probation, the governor is looking for an excuse to throw him off the Haven.”

Calo shook his head, “I have a bad feeling about this,” he said grimly.

“It might not be so bad,” she said dreamily, “a farmer’s woman may work hard, but I’d have some freedom.”

Calo remembered the farmers face again, the hunger had been tinted with avarice not longing. “Don’t be stupid,” he said harshly, “as soon as he knows all you can do, he’ll sell you to a high priced fun house and never look back.”

Emaline looked down, the excited pink pulsing skin tones faded to grey.

Calo gave her a gentle punch on the shoulder, in apology.

She looked back at his face and smiled forlornly.

“We’d better scurry,” he said, “they’d think the worst if they found us together.”

Emmy’s skin rippled with color visible even in the dim light—her version of a giggle. She nodded.

An hour later Boss Gassom hauled her off her pallet and dragged her out to the compound. All the slaves stood perched at the windows, Calo risked slipping out the door and under one of the trailers.

The boss was drunk and angry. “This whore has been flirting with the locals,” he shouted, “and some fool thinks he has just won his heart’s desire in a game of pazaak.”

Emaline was pale grey. She shrunk away from the drunken slaver. He shook her violently—slight sharp bursts of violet appeared on her skin. The slaves gasped.

Calo worked his way around the compound with some half formed intention of stopping the boss when the man pulled out a blaster.

“ I never lose,” he screamed angrily then he shot Emmaline in the stomach. Her skin turned violet, then darken to pitch black as she tumbled backward then lay still.

“A metamorph,” the Boss said stunned then he roared it, “a metamorph! That bastard knew.” Then Gassom threw Emmy’s body over his shoulder and marched out of the compound.

Calo heard later that he’d killed the farmer too but the governor didn’t throw him out of Haven. 

Calo Nord opened his eyes to peer down at the servants moving about their evening routines. He grunted a little then closed his eyes again. The last dream was the shortest, always.

Gassom had chosen his victim badly today. In the six years he’d spent in the compound Calo had put on very little height but a great deal of bulk. The labor and the training he’d received had honed his body. The Bosses had begun to look at selling him to a circus as the monkey man.

Gassom was drunk and angry, as usual and he planned to work out his frustrations with his fists. He hauled Calo off his bunk and pulled him out to the compound.

Gassom’s drunken rages had become so frequent that the slaves just rolled over and went back to sleep. Even the guards and other bosses didn’t turn out for the spectacle anymore.

Once they were outside Calo grabbed Gassom’s arms and dragged him into the shadows at the edge of the compound. Calo forced Gassom to his knees and wrapped his hands around the slaver’s neck. As he stared down at the man he was strangling, Calo felt an unfamiliar sensation.  

Calo shrugged back awake. He watched keenly as the last servant left the house. Nothing had changed in his father’s house in the years he’d been gone, everything had changed in Calo’s world. The dreams were more than dreams, they were his lessons. Never count on anyone to take care of you. Never care for anything that can be taken away. Killing makes you powerful, it is my gift. 

Calo slid across the zip line to the roof of his parent’s house to exercise his gift.