It's Impossible to Learn to Plow by Reading Books

[VVVVVV]

Poe held back his tears until now. It was different being alone with him. It was more real, somehow. He's gone, Poe thought to himself. His skin suddenly seemed artificial, showing off a superficial milky tone. His mouth was just barely open. Poe shook his head at the whiskers his father had let grow past his lips in the last weeks of his life, and then he buried his face into his hands, trying to keep his bawling as inaudible as possible.

He rubbed his eyes red, and inched closer to his father. "I forgive you," he said to the lifeless body. Poe inched even closer, leaning over his father, kissing his forehead, saying goodbye. "I love you." Something compelled him to kiss his forehead again, and so he did, knowing he would regret it otherwise.

As he walked out, his elder sister Melan walked in. Poe took his place between his mother and sister, whose eyes were glued to the ground. "Meven," he whispered to her. "You must look brave, at least." She peered up at him, "I look braver than you." Her eyes weren't red. Poe ignored what she said, not really knowing what to say in response. Their mother stepped forward, ready to address everyone who had crowded around them, expecting what was about to be shared but not really prepared to hear it.

"Bernez is dead," she said with grace. Everyone stayed silent. "He has been ill for a long time," she continued, almost to herself. Everyone already knew he had been ill, catching a virus that had gotten almost everyone on board ill at one point or another. Almost everyone got better with some rest, but not Bernez, and not Micael before him. They died.

"Once-" she started to speak again, being interrupted by the suddenly loud cries of her eldest daughter. They all stood there, completely silent, absorbing the cries, when Melan shouted again. Looking at Meven, "Go to your sister." Poe was left alone, but he didn't mind. The shouting stopped, and the crying wasn't so loud anymore.

"Gwen," Yann, Bernez's brother, called out to Poe's mother. "Good-brother," she acknowledged. "I'm sure there are those who wish to give their goodbyes to the Alor."

"After my children," she said. A few moments later the crowd moved apart, although they did not talk. Eventually Melan and Meven emerged from their father's room. "Yann," she called. He nodded and his wife and his children went to say their goodbyes. Yann stayed where he was, staring at Poe.

Gwen looked at her son and they met eyes. Poe pushed the spit in his mouth down his throat. "Uncle," he said with all the authority he could muster. "Do you not wish to say goodbye to my father, to your brother?"

"I said my goodbye when Bernez could reply," he answered, beginning to walk towards Poe. "You'll regret not saying goodbye tonight," Poe answered back. "Ah, the wisdom of a fourteen-year-old," Yann said, continuing on his path to Poe, slow, deliberate.

Poe's mother stepped between them. "The wisdom of a man grown, Yann."

"Move, Gwen."

"No."

Poe could feel his fingers twitching, and he prayed that he wouldn't start shaking. "Mother-"

"Please!" Tross'khak shouted, the son of Krussk and Lissark, Trandoshan's the three of them. Tross was a little older than Poe, and the two had been friends for all their life. Krussk was arguably Bernez's most loyal supporter. "Please," Tross pleaded. "Yann you do not need to do this."

Yann ignored Tross. "It's okay," Poe said to him. "Yann may do as he pleases."

His uncle smiled. "I challenge you to a duel, Poe Beviin, for the title of chief."

"Poe hasn't claimed the title!" Melan reminded everyone. "We all know Bernez's wishes," Yann replied.

"I accept," Poe called out.

Gwen stepped from between them, joining the circle that started to form around Yann and Poe.

"You may set the rules, Poe."

"No weapons, just our bodies. No shirts. First to submit, or fall unconscious, or die, loses."

"Agreed," Yann said.

 

[VVVVVV]

The Enchani fought like this, Poe knew. Man-to-man, their sole tool their respective bodies. The Enchani were great warriors, Poe was no Enchani. Yann charged at the would-be allit'alor, who stepped to the side. Yann recollected himself and again moved towards Poe, this time more considered. Their arms locked as if to grapple, and then Yann reached down behind Poe's knees, pulling up and sending his nephew to the ground. On top of him in a matter of milliseconds, Yann delivered a series of devastating blows, and Poe knew he had already lost.

Attempting to raise his arms to block the blows was futile, but Poe tried nevertheless. Yann hit him again and again. In his ribs first, again and again and again, until Yann and Poe and everyone else heard a crack and a pop. Poe tried to ball up, in pain, but found himself unable with Yann siting over him. No longer even attempting to protect himself, Poe was hit harder than he had ever been hit before. His nose folded and began to bleed and bleed. And then Yann hit him again and again.

"Look," Yann said, panting. "This is who your allit'alor would have-"

Poe's teeth sunk into Yann's shoulder. Yann left out a scream, howling to the gods for his mistake. With a twist behind inhuman velocity, Poe sent his elbow right into Yann's temple. His uncle crumpled to the ground, no longer screaming. Everyone was silent. Poe tried to catch his breath.

"Poe has won," Krussk said firmly.

"Someone collect my uncle," Poe said, "see to his wounds." Then he tried to stand, only to pass out himself.

 

[VVVVVV]

His eyes fluttered open, red and raw and swollen. He tried sitting up, and with a shot of pain, he found he could not.

"Poe," he heard his elder sister say. "Melan," he answered.

"He could have killed you."

"I won, didn't I?"

"You got lucky," this wasn't Melan, but their mother. "You weren't supposed to win. You got lucky. Your sister is right, he could have killed you. He would have killed you. But you're smarter than him. He's brash and foolish. You are not. You are my child. You are your father's child. You are smart. You will rule, and you will rule well. You will grow stronger, and no one, not Yann, no one, will usurp your seat."

"What is this seat that you hold so dear, Mother?" Melan asked. "We are not great warriors, not anymore! We are refugees. There are a dozen of us now, fewer if Yann leaves with his family. Can you truly be so blind?"

"Watch your tongue, whelp. There's a reason your father chose Poe over you."

"Father did not-"

"Be quiet, both of you!" Poe tried shouting, but it came out low and weak, causing Poe great pain in the process.

"Rest," Gwen said to her son. She shot daggers to Melan, telling her to leave. Melan obliged.

"You have a broken rib, maybe two. We're on the way to Naboo as we speak."

"What's on Naboo?"

"A doctor. And business."

"What?"

"Get some sleep. Alan is finding something to ease your pain. I'll tell you everything when your mind is clear."