Nuru followed, twisting and sinuous. Deadly.
She heard sobbing and the voices of men.
Efra’s still alive. We’re not too late. But there was alive, and then there was living. Nuru had seen men and women broken by pain and loss. The Birds’ lash sometimes tore more than flesh.
Her ally urged her forward. She slithered along the wall, keeping to the shadows.
In the second room they found Fadil’s gang. Except it wasn’t Fadil’s anymore. Fadil sat in a chair—a real chair!—his eyes wide and staring, his throat a tattered wound. Blood splashed his face and chest.
Did Efra do that?
The rest of Fadil’s gang gathered around the girl. Stripped naked, she lay curled on the ground. They taunted and circled her, kicking. Blue bruises painted her ribs. Each time one got close enough, she lashed out and they danced away, laughing. Sefu, that twisted dog-fucker, oversaw the proceedings like a pastor. He shouted encouragement and mockery and offered cruel suggestions.
Where Chisulo hesitated, gauging and measuring, Happy strode past him and punched the nearest man in the back of the neck. The man crumpled, boneless. Omari went right, angling to get at Sefu. The Fingers hated each other. Chisulo finally squared off against another and the two did that thing men do when they know what needs to be done but don’t really want to do it. Every time Chisulo advanced, his opponent backed away.
Seeing his size, two of the Fist went after Happy. No man, no matter how big, wants to face two. Happy retreated, huge arms raised, swatting at whoever came within range. He angled to keep them from surrounding him.
Omari and Sefu, stone knives darting and stabbing, circled each other. They were their own world, focussed entirely on killing. Neither saw the deadly black snake slide through the shadows. Gliding past Sefu, she lashed out, sank fangs into an exposed ankle. The Finger screamed, startled and in pain, but kept fighting. He might not know what bit him, but Omari would definitely kill him in an instant, given the chance.
Avoiding the stomping and scuffling feet, Nuru made her way to Fadil’s cooling corpse. Someone screamed in agony and she prayed it wasn’t one of her boys. She wound her way up the dead man’s leg, climbing him like a tree. Her ally guided her, counting the heartbeats.
Timing.
Coiling around Fadil’s neck, she lifted her head two feet into the air above him and prayed Chisulo was paying attention.
Nuru knew her snake. She knew her venom.
Sefu collapsed as his heart seized.
Chisulo, for all his many faults, thought fast when he had to. “Look!” he shouted, pointing at Nuru.
She weaved hypnotically, looking from man to man, allowing her attention to linger so they knew they’d been seen. They all recognized the type of viper she’d become. Every Grower knew to avoid them.
Efra rolled over and staggered to her feet. Naked, bathed in a glistening sheen of blood, the tiny girl commanded the room. All fighting stopped. If she was self-conscious, she showed none of it.
“You are Chisulo’s now,” Efra said. “You join his gang, or you die here.” No doubt coloured her voice.
She’s terrifying.
Happy’s blood was still up. He’d been bruised and bloodied but wasn’t ready for an end. “They were going to rape—”
Efra silenced him with a slash of her hand. “Look for tomorrow,” she said as if that explained everything.
Whatever her meaning, whatever her intent, it confused Happy enough to slow him.
“Chisulo,” said Efra. “Tell them.”
Chisulo hesitated.
“Tell them,” commanded Efra, “or we’re all going to die.” She growled in frustration, looking like she wanted to say more, to explain. “How many whippings did you see in the public square last week? How many were sacrificed at church in the last month?”
That’s not what she wants to say. There was something else, something she wasn’t willing to share. I’ll get it out of her.
Chisulo shook his head. “Bomani.”
“Bomani is dead,” snapped Efra. “The only way to survive is to grow.”
Chisulo glanced at Nuru, at the snake she had become.
I knew the girl was important! This needs to happen. She did a bobbing dance of a nod; all the viper’s body could manage.
Change was coming to the Growers, and it was coming fast. Every week more felt the punishing lash for transgressions ignored for centuries. Men and women disappeared daily, taken in church or dragged away in the night. Even the Birds were scared. She saw it in the way they always kept a hand resting on their cudgels, in the way they travelled in squads where they used to patrol in pairs. The nahual preached obedience in every sermon.
Every day they pound they drums and we go to church. And then they pound their fears into us. Narcotics swam her blood, spoke to her. The world is coming apart. The smoke never lied. The veil stretches. That which is beyond seeks entrance. And Efra had something to do with this.
Chisulo glanced at Happy and Omari only to discover everyone was looking at him, waiting. You have to decide. Nuru knew what he’d decide before he did; he was angry, but not a murderer.
Unlike Nuru.
She glanced at Sefu’s rigid body, spine arched in an agonizing death.
He had to die.
As a snake, Nuru knew no remorse. That would come later when the woman returned. Never having killed anyone before, she couldn’t imagine how it would feel. For now, she was cold purpose. But Chisulo, she knew, was different, he felt things. He cared. That’s why we turn to him; he’s the best of us.
Sagging, Chisulo shook his head.
He’ll let them join us because, even if we outnumber them, he won’t chance us getting hurt.
She loved him then, even as a snake. She always had and always would. Bomani might have been the protective friend, but Chisulo was the one she admired, the one she looked up to.
“Are you with us?” Chisulo asked the three men still standing.
They nodded.
“He can’t hear you,” said Efra. “Answer him!”
“We’re with you,” they said, glancing nervously at the snake.
Chisulo glanced at Sefu’s stiffened body and then to the man Happy punched in the back of the neck who still lay motionless on the floor. “Let’s see who’s dead and who’s…” He breathed deep. “Happy, find Efra some clothes.” His gaze lingered on Fadil’s men. “She’s one of us. Anyone touches her, anyone hurts her, I’ll kill you.”
They nodded their understanding.
“We don’t rape,” he said. “We don’t murder. We’re not animals.”
“And we’re not Dirts,” Efra said. “The Birds underestimate us.” She grinned blood. “I have a plan.”
Nuru pulled herself back from the snake, fighting the urge to hide here, to cower in reptilian thought. It would never work; eventually the narcotics would leave her system. Pain awaited her. Pain and guilt. I’m a murderer now. Her friends needed her. If I ever lose them, I’ll make one last carving, take all the drugs, and stay there forever. She thought of the spider and shuddered. Not that one. As exciting as the prospect of completing the carving was, it terrified her. Much the same way Efra excited and scared her.
The man Happy punched woke and stared about in groggy confusion, pleased to be alive and quick to swear he was with Chisulo now.
Nuru, again herself and smoky with the after-effects of the narcotic melange, collected the carving of her snake. It looked pathetic, inferior ink flaking away to expose the wood beneath. It’s so crude. Maybe she could touch it up, repair it enough to get another use or two out of the figurine. It possessed none of the life it should. The spider had to be perfect. I need tools. I need proper paints and brushes.
She examined Efra. The girl held her bruised ribs, only showing pain when she thought no one was looking. She stayed close to Chisulo, but not too close. Not close enough for her proximity to be noticed. At least not by Chisulo, who tended not to notice such things anyway.
What does she want? What does she really want? Nuru wasn’t sure if she should feel protective or scared. Seeing Efra naked, body sheened in blood, reminded her again of the female torso of the spider. They were totally different in build, and yet somehow the spider and the girl shared something.
Efra said she had a plan.
When we are home, I will discover what she intends. Nuru had sorcerous means of discovering deeper truths.
Talking to Chisulo about paints and tools was pointless. She’d tried in the past and he shrugged and explained, in that way men did, what she already knew: They were Growers and Growers were forbidden tools.
Efra won’t be like that. The girl would never accept the way things were as an excuse to do nothing.
Things were going to change.
In the distance the drums at the recently reopened church of Cloud Serpent began to beat, calling all good Growers to prayer. Everyone looked to Chisulo for guidance.
Taking in Efra’s wounded state, he said, “We’ll wait here until the sermon is over and the streets are busy.”
AKACHI – THE HUNT IS ON
Sorcery is the sole domain of the nahualli. Anyone else caught practising sorcery will be sacrificed on the altar, no matter which ring they are born to.
—The Book of Bastion
Akachi woke early the next morning before Smoking Mirror surrendered the night and Southern Hummingbird claimed the day. Donning a fresh set of robes, he wandered out into the main hall. He found Captain Yejide there, sparring with the Human Beard. They ignored him, circling each other, feinting and jabbing. The man had forty pounds of muscle on the Captain, but she was clearly faster.
Waiting for them to break, Akachi watched as she slapped her opponent a stinging blow with an open hand, ducked under the counterstrike, and swept the man’s legs out from under him.
“You are slow as a pregnant ox,” she said, offering a hand to pull him back to his feet.
Grinning, he accepted the hand up. “Sure, but you know that once I get my hands on you the fight is over.”
“True. But you need to be faster. Work on your speed with Khadija.”
“Yes, Captain.”
Seeing Akachi, Yejide turned to face him. “How may we help, Pastor.”
“I want to go for a walk.”
“Bad idea.”
“I need to see my district.”
“Too dangerous.”
“The Growers need to see me. They need to know the church is open.” He hesitated to tell her about the vision.
“I don’t like this,” she said, crossing her arms.
For a moment he hesitated. As acting pastor, he was in charge. He could command her obedience but didn’t want to. I have to find the scarred girl. “Captain, I need to do this. Please.” He gave her a meaningful look, to let her know that he was asking, but didn’t have to.
She studied him, that angular eyebrow creeping up. “We stick to the main streets.”
Akachi, not wanting a repeat of their last foray into a filth-strewn alley, agreed.
When they left, the Human Beard took the lead. The Captain walked at Akachi’s side. The other woman, Hard-Eyes, he dubbed her, followed a dozen paces behind.
This looks practised.
The sun had barely breached the horizon, but already the day was savagely hot. He wished he’d thought to bring his sun parasol, but knew he’d never dare open it as long as the Hummingbirds shunned such comfort.
Not looking weak is going to kill me.
The Growers wisely kept to the shadows. Akachi, walking in the centre of the street, was soaked with sweat in minutes. The Hummingbirds, in their red leather armour, also sweated heavily. No one complained.
They passed a group of Growers, men and women, gathered around a well, taking turns drinking from the bucket. Tired and dirty, they must have spent the night working in the fields. One of the women raised a tentative hand and he waved back, smiling.
This isn’t so bad. Aside from that one attack, which, the more he thought about it the more he suspected it had been planned by the Loa and not by the Growers, the district seemed peaceful enough. Sure, some of the Growers were angry, but there were troublemakers in any group. Once they’d been weeded out, the district would return to normal.
Captain Yejide glanced sideways at him and there was something, some glint in her eye, that shot a pleasant shiver through him. “What did you do to get this posting?” she asked without preamble.
Should he tell her? Would she think he was bragging? “Cloud Serpent chose me.”
Her eyes widened. “Truly?”
He nodded, grinning. “That, and Bishop Zalika hates me. You?”
The Captain’s lips twitched and Akachi decided it was probably as close to a smile as she was capable. “I was working a crèche and refused to whip an eight-year-old girl,” she said, once again scanning the street. “I doomed myself to a lifetime of Dirt postings.” She laughed, a humourless grunt. “Should have flogged her.”
Akachi couldn’t tell if she was joking. “The rest of the squad suffered for your honour?” he asked, trying to subtly let her know he understood and appreciated her stance.
“No. They stripped me of my squad and assigned me this group of drunks and rejects.”
“I’m the drunk,” said Hard Eyes from behind them. “He’s the reject.”
“I feel safer already,” joked Akachi.
Yejide darted a look in his direction without moving her head. “You’re safe enough.”
“Hmm. How about him,” he asked, dropping his voice and nodding at the man ahead of them, “the Human Beard?”
“Njau. He killed a Dirt.”
“Oh.” Akachi made a note to remember the Hummingbird’s name.
“The Dirt was raping a boy fresh out of the crèche. Njau beat the man to death.”
Akachi noticed a large area of rust-brown staining the road ahead. Was an animal killed here? Slaughtering animals was definitely forbidden. Just as all the food of Bastion was prepared by the Crafters, all the slaughterhouses were also in that ring.
“Seems like justice,” he said, stepping around the stain. Sand had already got into his sandals and sharp grit chafed between his toes. Have to remind the Growers that regular sweeping is part of their duties. He’d work it in to his sermon.
Yejide walked through the stain like she hadn’t noticed it. “It was justice. But ours is not to judge. The Hummingbird Guard only carry out the punishment”
The Hummingbird Guard—priests of Southern Hummingbird—were a special kind of nahual, they led no congregations. Southern Hummingbird had no churches in the Growers’ Ring. Children were selected from every ring and taken to the Priests’ Ring where they were inducted and trained for war.
Captain Yejide continued. “Njau was lashed to the edge of death, forever forbidden to hold rank.” This time she did look Akachi in the eye. “I trust him with my life.”
“I understand.”
“I think not. I also trust him with yours.”
“I—”
“You are under my protection. You are my ward as decreed by Southern Hummingbird. I will die to protect you.” She raised a hand to silence him. “This squad, every single man and woman, no matter their faults and crimes, will give their life for you without hesitation.”
“I—”
The lifted hand slashed down, cutting him off. “Don’t waste them.”
“I won’t.”
“And don’t eat Njau’s cooking,” she said, raising her voice, “unless you have a fondness for dysentery.”
“It was only a couple of times,” said Njau.
A wagon drawn by two oxen rumbled past, heading into the fields. Outward bound wagons were usually empty, on their way to collect a harvest and deliver it to the Crafters’ Ring. This one carried three starved-looking Growers locked into wood stocks built into the bed of the wagon. Thobes stripped away, they wore only stained underclothes. All three bore fresh wounds of recent whip
pings, their backs leaking blood. One of them, a young woman, arms tattooed with swarms of scampering rats, glared hate at Akachi. Grower gangs and Loa sympathizers often hid tattoos beneath their thobes. What the stylized rodents were meant to communicate, Akachi had no idea. The other two were typical Growers, thin and dirty. They stank of blood and terror. A nahual of Sin Eater sat at the front of the wagon, back ramrod straight. Her robes of immaculate white shone in the morning sun, a beacon of purity at odds with the filth of her charges.
Six Hummingbird Guard, eyes sharp and alert, hands resting on cudgels, marched alongside the wagon. They nodded to Captain Yejide and ignored Akachi.
A penance wagon. He’d never seen one before. These three were being carted to the Sand Wall to be cast into the Bloody Desert. The fall would kill them. Their doomed souls would wander the red sands forever. Or until something out there devoured them.
I wonder what they did to deserve such a fate?
Akachi stopped like he walked into a wall. He stared at the crossroads ahead. Nothing differentiated this intersection from any other street in the Growers’ Ring. Yet he stood, unmoving. The Hummingbirds stopped too. They asked no questions, but he felt their heightened alertness.
This street. He turned, seeing the Grey Wall a few blocks away. This was where he dreamed of the girl. The street faded, and he relived the dream. Again, he saw the scrawny Grower girl, the vicious scar dividing her face. This was it. This is the spot. She was right here.
“Are we still in the Wheat District?” he asked Captain Yejide.
“Yes.”
She’s here, in my parish. I knew it! I am here by the will of the gods. Whatever that scarred Grower planned, Cloud Serpent wanted Akachi to stop it. I must hunt her.
“Something wrong?” asked Yejide.
Akachi grinned at her, laughing. “The drums sound,” he said.
“And we go to church,” finished Yejide, looking perplexed. Every Growers learned the words from birth.
Tomorrow he’d sound the drums and the Growers would come to church. Would the scarred girl be among them? Maybe. It sounded too easy, but it would be foolish not to at least try.
What do I do when I see her? Should he have the Hummingbirds follow her, or grab her right then and there?
Smoke and Stone Page 6
