Isolated in the middle of the southern ocean, in a tropical region — but much closer to the glacial zone than to any other continent — lay Yshiv, the largest island in the world.
It had been nicknamed the "black island" because of a feature unlike the rest of nature around the globe: the black drova trees. Unfortunately, people from the other continents could only study those trees from afar — specifically, at least five kilometers away from the island in any direction on the ocean.
The black island was the most isolated place in the world — maybe not geographically, but certainly socially and politically. No foreigner set foot there by choice, and no native left for the continents. If anything like that happened, it was cause enough for a war.
Things had been that way for as long as anyone could remember. Thus every nation invented its own theories and its own myths about who had isolated the island, since nobody actually knew. There were no records. What history books described were wars and massive battles. It was said that when an inhabitant of the black island set foot on "pure land," people felt such repulsion that the most natural treatment toward them ended in death.
There had been only one great war. The restriction on the black island was, aside from social and political aspects, a legitimate decree. The world seemed to reject its existence.
Perceiving this, people around the world spun myths about a rivalry between an ancient hero and a demon, in which the war ended with the hero's victory, resulting in the island's isolation and the demon's descendants. Others proposed a metaphysical philosophy leaning toward Manichaeism. Still others said the truth was that the world was intolerant and cruel to the black island for no reason at all — a violation of ethics and morality.
In the end, nobody knew. Nobody wanted to get close to the island, but its inhabitants certainly wanted to leave. They could leave, however; doing so was the same as an ordinary human having the strange desire to step into lava. Do it, but accept the obvious consequences.
The Law of the World prevented entry and exit on either side, like an invisible force field that repelled the curious and trapped the hopeful.
In recent days, however, one factor had changed.
"The Memorious Henna has reincarnated and there is still no successor!"
When the Notorious Sage Tih burst into King Balnag's great hall, breathless and excited, everyone present was scandalized. With its Memorious absent, the yshivans — as they were called — had an opening to realize their long-cherished dream.
"The divine towers will open in fifteen days... and HE still hasn't chosen a successor?! Excellent! Everything is perfectly aligned with the old will!" said King Balnag, a man who seemed to be in his sixties, balding with gray hair.
"Yes! I've already ordered our slaves to work on his armor and sword, and I've begun calibrating the battle puppets! Most important: the law of opposition is in effect!" said Tih, already envisioning, in his own little mental world, the grandeur of what was about to happen. Soon the world would be shaken.
"And I will go further! My older sons will come with me! I am sure the Foreign Lord is on my side, therefore I will attack with all our might!" declared Balnag, and the eyes of his two eldest sons shone with admiration for their father's boldness and courage.
"Prepare the musicians and the bonfires; we will have fifteen days of intense celebration!" said the king's counselor, Norag. He was a thirty-year-old youth, clean-shaven and of delicate appearance.
People in the great hall leapt for joy at the prospect of the festival, but even more so for their king's coming glory. The matter was so important that even the slaves on the island began receiving kinder, more humane treatment from their owners. The beatings and cruel words were suspended, and they were even given beer, wine and good meat.
Memoriosos came and went, but never so close to the divine tower incursions. Even when King Waldag set aside Olaf the Mad, forcing his fall as the Memorious, the world quickly elected a new generation — the generation of Pelayo Navas, called the Pervert.
The Memorious reincarnating so close to the incursions date meant the world did not yet have the enforcer of its undeniable law, so the lava wasn't so hot. Perhaps, after so many years, it lacked a worthy successor. Perhaps, after so many years, the efforts of the black island's kings were finally paying off.
Even so, the Notorious Sage Tih could only detect Henna's death twenty days after the fact. But if they had already elected a new generation, they would know, because each Memorious has a different aura. This left little time for the king to prepare, but it didn't matter. The enforcer of the law was temporarily dead!
The island buzzed with activity. The Day of Lust had come early and would last fifteen days. All houses had doors and windows open, including the Sovereign's Castle, where the king and his family lived. People were no longer bound by codes of morality and common sense, which meant they made no effort to care about what they wore or where they did it — that is, assuming they were wearing anything at all.
Life on the island was more than simple: while the rest of the world had modernized socially and economically — connecting via the Internet and travel made easy by land and air — Yshiv seemed to have frozen a thousand years in time. Houses followed a very old model; the king's castle was simpler than a medieval stronghold, and there was no Internet, no cars, not even a bicycle.
A great quantity of cattle was slaughtered — oxen and rams. The bonfire in the center of the island, in a public square reserved for rituals and festivities, burned so brightly that a sailor could see it from the sea, if any sailor dared that way. It reached tens of meters high; it was clearly not an ordinary fire. Its glow was intense and beautiful, rising like a beacon in the middle of the ocean.
The stocks of wine, mead, beer and spirits in many houses were emptied the first night. From soldiers to slaves, adults to children, nobles to plebeians, everyone was especially wrapped up in the Day of Lust.
The king sat on a raised altar in a corner of the square, watching his people dance and smile. But if there were no deaths, the day would be cursed. Thus, in the square some activities were deadly. Some men might appear to be dancing when in truth they were performing a sort of distraction-based fight, where a mistake could lead to death.
Others did not try to hide and drew blades to fight openly, attracting the attention of everyone, who quickly formed a cheering crowd.
Deeper into the night, in dark alleys and distant houses, some women were in their beds with a man, only to be surprised by another, more drunk and out of his mind, who did not hesitate to kill the unlucky one who had arrived first. Then, in the end, he took the woman for himself, and she did not refuse, because it was part of the culture and she expected it... or rather, longed for it.
On the Day of Lust, when all the most obscene and animalistic desires surfaced, that was when everyone felt happy. There was no remorse, there was no victim, regardless of age. And the first day was decidedly blessed for the islanders, for in that first night alone dozens of people died.
Dead of sex, of localized battles, of dance and, also, by will. It was a pleasure to live, an even greater pleasure to climax, and an irreplaceable pleasure to die being what one was born to be.
That was how the Foreign Lord had raised his faithful. That was how they liked to be.
Morning came, and despite everything most slept. There were some anomalies who could keep drinking late into the night and still have energy for more. These ventured into every house where there were women and continued to revel, whether the women were asleep or not.
In the haze of alcohol, men joining with men caused no mistake: either they did not recognize each other or they no longer cared. The greatest fight was for the royal family. Everyone wanted a piece of them.
When the queen saw that, because of her, twenty men had died, she yielded to the great champion. The king quickly surrendered to the first women he saw and the sons and daughters could be no different.
And this would go on for the next fifteen days, as the Order of Notorious Sages worked on all the preparations for Balnag's expedition into the modern world.
In one corner of town, Kaelor ran in all directions, avoiding every person he bumped into. He was a slave of one of Yshiv's noble families. There was no day he hated more than the day dedicated to carnal pleasures, an event that happened every year without fail.
Whatever happened, Kaelor always avoided being touched by people on this day.
To him everything was chaos. Seeing people sink so low to sate themselves was painful in itself, but across the whole island only he thought like that. Kaelor felt especially unlucky today because the celebration of lust had begun suddenly, two weeks earlier than usual, and that ruined his plans for the occasion.
"Run, run, run..." he muttered anxiously to himself.
Kaelor was in a particular hurry because he noticed two tall, corpulent men behind him who looked famished.
He darted into alleys, jumped through windows, slipped under carts, but the men kept chasing him. He recognized them. They were two men who occasionally bragged about wanting the chance to subdue him in four walls so he could not escape.
"Sons of whores!"
Because he was a slave, Kaelor's body was fit for manual labor and, as such, he was suited to long escapes. Strong body, medium build — perfect for quick, prolonged runs. The two chasing him were larger and fat; they tired quickly, but remained stubborn after their prize: an unviolated hole...
...Kaelor ran like never before!
The chase had become almost an Olympic sport. Over the years, when people noticed Kaelor's stamina, doubt about why he was like that only grew. Some took it as a challenge; it was particularly tempting because nobody had ever reported success in catching him. Many didn't consider the pleasure first, but the personal achievement that would be: finally getting their hands on a virgin.
Throughout the island, Kaelor was the only one who made Queen Nesha feel threatened and frustrated, for it increasingly seemed he was more coveted than she and her daughters.
Amid the chaos Kaelor decided to follow plan B: kill.
Like a crafty fox, the boy lured his pursuers into one of the town's most isolated alleys, wanting to ensure no one would come to their aid. He used that alley often for that purpose; it was basically his slaughterhouse. There alone eight people had died over the past years, both men and women of various ages.
After a few seconds the pursuers appeared at the alley's entrance and Kaelor was at the back, climbing the walls with skill. He hung there on the wall watching the men, who panted and were enraged to the max.
"Come," said Kaelor, feigning exhaustion, gasping. The only real thing was his sweat. "Show that you are worthy."
He knew his reputation on the island very well; people made a point of reminding him, so it was no coincidence he spoke those words in a tone of almost intimate challenge.
The men bit their lips and panted; they were extremely tired, but they still pushed themselves up the wall.
"When I get you... when I get you I'll tear off what you have between your legs with my hand!" said one of them, the fattest. (mantive a força da frase original; soou natural em inglês)
"I'll tunnel through your ass, bold brat! Your record of escapes and virginity ends here!" said the other, grinning maliciously.
Both ran at the same time and Kaelor didn't move; after all he had the advantage of height and a good position to throw objects at those below. Then he crouched and pulled from the ground where he stood — which the men couldn't see — a bow and an arrow. He shot the fattest one, who was climbing the wall the fastest, against the boy's expectations. He hit his neck and the arrow came out the other side, blood gushing like a waterfall. The man fell and writhed, visibly surprised, toward imminent death.
But Kaelor had only that one arrow. As a slave it was hard to obtain weapons, so he had to make them himself and he wasn't very good at it, but it was enough to kill the fat man. While the other man was distracted, terribly shocked by the boy's audacity, Kaelor pulled from inside his pants a small dagger. He leapt from where he was and fell upon the man, driving the blade into his neck as well and opening a huge diagonal cut. Blood spurted, forming a pool nearby as it splattered onto him, sitting on the dying body that, little by little, departed this life straight into the lap of the Foreign Lord.
Kaelor breathed deeply, profoundly relieved. He was free for the moment. Fortunately he had other plans and vanished from that alley as fast as he could, retrieving the arrow from the fat man's neck as well as the dagger and the bow, and headed straight for the first stretch of forest he saw.