Strongest Among the Heavens
Chapter 166: Six

Chapter 166: Six

"Kazi, dear, could you help me stitch this?"

Ripped clothing was common and so stitching was a skill all the women knew. Their clothes weren’t elaborate but they did necessitate quality for the sake of warmth. Kazi was an infant when he began helping his mother and five and a half when he surpassed her in skill.

The older Kazi was pleased that he got up to help. This season, his father had found a decent patch of land that was growing potatoes. If all went well, by the end of the month, they would be able to sell it and enroll him into the school down south.

"Baba, not too much water."

"Okay, okay."

"Remember, the base, not the leaves."

Kazi explored and observed the neighbouring farms. He talked, he learned, and he applied every observation and every lesson to their own potatoes.

The soil in the region was seeped in water and thus very fertile. The growth rate for a full potato ranged from seventy to eighty days. From visuals and the softness of the potato, they weren’t completely ripe for harvest. Unfortunately, they couldn’t afford to wait another month, either they sold it now, ate it, or they starved.

Everything did go well. Half of the potatoes were traded and the rest was kept in their back pocket. From then on, Baba hung onto every piece of advice he gave. Layering potatoes in damp leaves or finding In the following season, their crops grew faster and better.

One night, while sitting on a hillside overlooking the stars, Baba tousled his hair. "You’re a smart boy, you know that?"

"I know," Young Kazi replied, much to the adult version’s chagrin. There wasn’t an ounce of arrogance in his voice, there was only fact.

"You should know then to use your knowledge to help people. Your parents, obviously, those are the people you have to respect and listen to the most. Then your closest friends and neighbours. Help them if you can. But don’t be gullible. You can’t trust anyone in this world besides your family."

"Why?"

"Why? Well..."

"Is it because like us they also only trust their families?"

"Yes, exactly."

"But if we stop trusting families and start trusting each other as people, wouldn’t the world be a better place?"

Baba frowned. He ran a hand through Young Kazi’s hair and shook his head. "The world is complicated. Someday, when you’re older and you see the world, you’ll understand." Baba looked at the stars above, smiling. "Although maybe...maybe it will be different with you. Maybe you will be able to change things."

"I want to change things," Young Kazi said out of approval.

"Maybe you will." He rubbed his head again. "Maybe you will."

The stars were a wonderful sight. Already, he had memorized their locations and given them a unique name. To this day, Kazi remembered the made-up names he gave. They were silly and limited by his lack of life experience.

But no amount of stargazing or jokes stopped the aching hunger in his stomach or the stench of blood and shit in the air.

Six years old, Kazi Hossain was regarded as the smartest in the Upazila. The water levels were low during the summer and the char island they were on was stable and clear. People gathered their livestock in a new area, having put them on rafts and boats to prevent damage from the floods.

Young Kazi could never be left alone.

"Kazi—"

His head snapped at the hand preparing to touch him. "Don’t touch me." His brows went into a deep scowl. "Didn’t I tell you? Sickness happens through excess contact."

"Yes, but I’m not sick..." The old man was older than his father and with half the dignity.

"Then why are you always touching your head when you’re farming?"

"That’s, er..."

"You blew your nose. You are sick. Some kind of cold. Leave me alone."

So he did. Everyone listened to him. Everyone did as he said. He wasn’t king, he was a sage. A source of knowledge to draw upon. The boy that knew the region like the back of his hand, who had people ask him where to go for their particular job. A pseudo-village started to take root in the summer season.

The adults tended to talk to him. Children avoided him like a plague. It was like they didn’t regard him as their own. He was neither an adult or a child; he was something beyond, they sensed.

Kazi, six years old, lived with his parents in a humble dwelling—a single space that served as their sanctuary. The absence of beds or separate rooms made their home a reflection of the simplicity of their lives.

They all slept close by. Thus, on the fated night of death, they woke up one after another when the thieves entered.

"Get up, now!"

Thieves were neither common nor uncommon. It happened to their neighbours and his parents always discussed when it would happen to them. Today was that day.

The three thieves demanded their valuables and their food. A flicker of fear struck his father’s eyes, who slowly picked himself up. "Hold on—"

"No holding on! Ten seconds or we slit your throat!"

The thieves didn’t see him. Kazi was on the left side of the room with his mother. In that moment, as his mother’s breath hitched and he sensed her fear, something within the six-year-old boy clicked—a primal instinct to protect her. To protect his father. To protect everything that belonged to him.

But fear? His own fear did not exist. He was merely carrying out what he was supposed to do. To him, this was another task. Another part of life.

One thief brandished a knife. Kazi’s hazel eyes glowed and simmered, the calculations set. When one ally wielded a great weapon, the other allies would not. They would relax, some parts confident and some parts hesitant and afraid. Swift as a shadow, the young boy lunged forward and snatched the weapon from the unguarded thief’s pockets.

Slash!

For the first time in his life, Kazi Hossain spilled another human’s blood.