Phonetics of the Kaleesh:

(Please note, these are not official Star Wars ideas)

ä- 'ah' as in bat

é- 'ee' as in bee

ô- 'ay' as in hay/Long A sound

â- 'ar' as in car

ö- Long O sound

ë- 'eh' as in get, not 'eh' as in eh

ü- 'oo' as in boot

ï- 'iss' as in kiss

î- 'iz' as in liz

á- Long I sound

Chapter 4: Fatherless

A year later . . .

Today was Qymaen’s birthday. He was excited for once because his father would be coming home again. In standard, human years (whatever humans were), he was eight years old. A hard storm pounded outside while he sat on his stone bed, playing with one of his knives; his mother never approved of them, but his father had insisted. Knives were the toys of an infant male.

Qymaen’s bed was low to the ground, like most Kaleesh beds, and situated opposite from the entrance. The curtain by the door was down so that his mother would think he was asleep. A smooth-surfaced rock sat at the foot of his bed, which acted as a table to him. The Huk mandible was among the many things that covered it.

Without announcing herself, his only sister came in. She had brought him food.

“You now, you should be asleep, Qymaen,” Öpô chided as she set the plate in front of him.

He smiled up at Öpô. “You’re pretty,” he told her. It was true, even if he was too young to see what a grown male would. Öpô was perfect, with a thin, willowy body, graceful movements, and nice wide hips that were round and soft. If she were to unwrap the scarf around her head, he’d be able to poke some fun at her hair. As such, he was unable to do so, but was fully aware that the new growth was short and incomparable to their mother’s.

A loud peal of thunder rumbled outside. Qymaen’s sister sat down beside him on his bed. “Hëlsöm would be displeased if he heard you say that.”

“No he wouldn’t,” Qymaen retorted. “He’d scold you for denying that you’re pretty!”

Öpô laughed – a soft hissing noise inside her throat – and cradled her brother in her arms. “I should tell; you’re playing with knives again. Náyä will be angry!”

Qymaen pleaded, “Please don’t!” He clung to his sister.

Öpô escaped his hug with a sinuous twist. At the door way, she turned back to her little brother and smiled.

Qymaen watched her go. Ravenously, he devoured every morsel of food. There was some dried up fruit, and a few strips of raw meat. It was good. When he was finished he turned over on his side, and this time he fell asleep.

For some reason it seemed that he had only been asleep a few seconds when someone shook him awake. Yarzyb was bent over him,

“Nömé?” Qymaen asked, rubbing his eyes sleepily. He relaxed as his mother lifted him off his bed. At the moment he was more confused than annoyed at being woken up, and his mother took the opportunity to carry him to another room. His jaw cracked with a yawn, and he fell back to sleep with his head on his mother’s shoulder.

Yarzyb set little Qymaen down on the cloth-covered stone. Steam from the boiling water permeated her clothing as she undressed herself. After folding her clothes in a neat pile, she turned to Qymaen and did the same. She did up her long, red and gold hair into a twisted bun, then bent down and lifted up the large clay pot with her knees (and not her back). Carefully. She dumped the contents of the pot into the shallow stone basin, finishing her job of filling the bath.

Because Qymaen was waking up, Yarzyb picked up her son, and stepped into the warm water. Easing herself down, she sighed as the warm water touched her silky scales. Qymaen was wide awake.

“Nömé!”

Since Qymaen was four and able to understand the concept of baths Yarzyb always had difficulty giving him a bath. The child was just so stubborn at times! He and Âgäst'éc were both alike in stubbornness that it sometimes drove her mad.

Qymaen was shocked that his mother would do such an undignified thing to him! “Nömé!” was all he could muster.

Yarzyb took the opportunity to soap up her son. Quickly she rubbed a palm-sized soap leaf (or queslä) over her protesting offspring. “Don’t you want to be clean for Hëlsöm?” she asked at one point.

“No,” Qymaen replied in a grumpy voice. He shot a sharp glance at his mother. “Nömé, I don’t think you’re very pretty!”

His mother was taken back by the insult. Qymaen was gone before she could blink, running through passageways while vigorously shaking in order to stay warm.

Öpô popped in her head.

“Do you-?”

“No, he’s clean,” said Yarzyb with bemusement.

“But he’s-“

“Let him run it off.” Yarzyb setch Sheelal sank back into the warm bath.

It was still raining when the men appeared. Qymaen stood on tip-toes, eagerly awaiting the moment when his father would appear amongst the soldiers. One by one they filed past, but they refused to look at him.

What’s wrong? He wondered. Usually they would say something to him, smile, or maybe even wink.

It began to thunder overhead. Something was very wrong, although his child’s mind would not admit it. Hëlsöm would come to him – that immortal figure in his mind – and then everything would be alright.

Qymaen turned his head and screamed for his mother. Agony clawed at his heart when he saw the single body draped across the wooden board, limp like so many rags. Cold, cloudy eyes stared out from an expressionless face; the only thing which marred it was an ugly gash which ran all the way down to his abdomen.

Yarzyb wailed – a long, sickening wail. Zëtü tried to hold her up, but she still sank down. Âgäst'éc was the only casualty.

A funeral was held for Âgäst'éc ohn Sheelal. It was private. Dawn air chilled the mourning family.

Qymaen jai Sheelal walked up to his father’s grave, dropping the knives that he had received from him as a birthday present four years ago from Hëlsöm. “You left me, Däyé.” The words were choked, and inarticulate. Qymaen – who could no longer cry tears – wailed. He ran way from the grave and into his mother’s arms.

It was finished. The youngest was the last to pay their respects to the dead, and it was over.

His elder brothers covered the battered body with sand and loam.

“Âgäst'éc would not want me to be dragged down by his death,” Yarzyb said to herself. Qymaen was whimpering in her arms as she carried him home.

“I’m sorry for not saying you were pretty, Nömé!” Qymaen cried.

“It’s okay, Qymaen.”

“No, it’s not! Däyé’s dead!” he sobbed.

Yarzyb sighed. Her son was not taking his father’s death very well. She decided to put him to bed again; he obviously didn’t sleep much last night. “I’m going to make you a special supper tonight, since we didn’t get to celebrate your birthday yesterday.

“Okay,” Qymaen muttered.

That night Qymaen was still not doing very well. Éog tried unsuccessfully to cheer him up.

“Come on, Qymaen.” Éog patted his baby brother on the back. “Cheer up! Hëlsöm would-“

“NO!” Qymaen screamed. He lashed out at his brother, digging his blunt claws into his skin.

“Qymaen!” Öpô cried.

Their mother stood up and stormed over to break up the fight. “Qymaen jai Sheelal! LET GO OF YOUR BROTHER!” No one has ever heard Yarzyb yell. Qymaen began to wail uncontrollably as she picked him up and brought him to his room.

They didn’t celebrate his birthday that day.

When the moon was at its peak, Qymaen sat up. He looked around his room with wide eyes. Something was in the room, and it scared him. Fear quickened his breathing, but it was drowned out by hatred at a frightening speed. Qymaen didn’t care.

“Gods of war,” he breathed, his voice suddenly deepening, “Hear my prayer.”

The silence pounded in his ears. A strange thing was happening to him, he detected the subtle tugging at his heart, and he embraced it. His body was filled with fire.

“I pray to you,” he began again, “To give me power from above-“

More silence. He closed his eyes and saw a dull orange light as if his room were on fire.

“-To kill the Huk, and avenge my father.”

Was that a scream he heard from outside?

“I will be the best warrior on Náyä Kalee!”

-

Notes:

All I can say is that you should see this story as more of a human’s perspective of the Kaleesh, and Qymaen. They are inhuman creatures, and don’t think or act the same way.

There are more chapters, but since I am working on the next ones for part one, and the plots for part two, it will be slow in getting set up. Sit back and enjoy the ride; advice is totally, 100 welcome.