Suvudu Universe

By Tobias Llewellyn Jones

Before Streak could become a Housecarl, he had to be initiated into the brotherhood. This is young Streak, before he wore the armour of the best fighters in the post-apocalyptic world.

Excerpt:

Streak had been a small street urchin, but smart enough to run his own crew. They had a hard life, but always managed to scrape by each year. Often they would have to fight off other street gangs for food, carefully hoarded and stored for the hard winters. Deaths in these clashes were not uncommon, malnourished bones easily snapped, wounded members discarded at a moment’s notice.

The citizens of the Tower would walk idly by as groups of youths would beat each other to a pulp, cinderblocks brought down with harsh finality to break legs and ribs, ribbons of their chosen colour tied around their ankles or wrists. Gang graffiti marked the various sectors of the town, ever changing in the constant vying for supremacy. Streak’s own gang ruled a small corner of the fishing district, where the fish guts were left out and the birds came to eat. They would hang out the choicest morsels on rusty fishhooks, hoping to catch a seagull for their dinner. They were the bane of the market stalls, thieving from the fishermen and the butchers. But a boot to the head from a disgruntled shopkeeper killed or maimed more often than not. Their tattoo was a fishhook and gull on the inside of their left wrist, carved into the flesh and rubbed in with melted styrofoam. Most of their gang, as it was for many of the other gangs, were boys. Young girls were often taken in by the brothels, given food and shelter before they turned sixteen and had to work off their debt.

At the age of what he thought to be thirteen he had been sleeping under a truck, the undercarriage still warm from a long drive, when he had been dragged out by the ankle. At first he had thought it was a rival street gang, but the hand was too strong, the forearm that choked him too thick and hairy. Before he had a chance to struggle a sharp blow to the back of his head left him out cold.

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As the car faded into the distance Streak got up from the ground and winced. The kick to his side had probably cracked a rib, the skin was purple and swollen and it hurt to breathe. A throb of pain at his right temple told him that the side of his face was in similar condition. Endless green fields surrounded him, overgrown and lush in the dusky air. Thick brambles of trees hedged the roadside, impeding his view but doing nothing to protect him from the biting wind. Looking at the sun he knew that dusk was fast approaching and that he would not have long to find shelter.