by Inmon, Shawn
“Room service,” Alex said.
“What are you going on about?” Senta-eh asked. “You’re not making sense this morning.”
“Ah. Right,” Alex said, realizing that the words for room and service existed in the language of Winten-ah, but they did not have the same meaning. “Never mind. I’ll try to make better sense as I wake up.”
The day passed slowly. Alex slept some more, trying to recover. Monda-ak did the same, but by afternoon, he was restless. He had never been contained between four walls before and did not care for it. Eventually, he moved outside and stared up at the birds he could see flying overhead.
Senta-eh paced endlessly. When Alex woke up again, she said, “We’ve got to do something. I cannot abide being confined.”
“You’re worse than the dog,” Alex observed. “If we haven’t seen Werda-ak by tomorrow, we’ll make an escape. We can both climb and drop over the wall, then grab Monda-ak and go.”
“And why can’t we do that today?”
“Because I was stupid enough to jump a hundred feet down into a raging river and today I feel worse than I did yesterday. One more day to recover, then we’ll find a way out of this mess.”
Senta-eh could not argue with that, so instead went back to her endless pacing.
Another meal—poor, but enough to sustain life—was delivered to them that evening. There was even a pile of bones for Monda-ak to devour.
It grew dark both outside and inside the cabin, since the small candle had burned itself out.
Alex said, “All right. Nothing seems to be happening. You’re right. We’ll have to try it. I’ve slept so much today, I’ll be awake early. We’ll go over the fence before first light.”
An unknown time later, they heard the bar slide again and the door was flung inward. Grunta-ak held a limp Werda-ak by the scruff of his shirt. One of the warriors held a burning torch. In the flickering light, Alex could see the boy was conscious, but looked as though he had been beaten. His face was swollen and his left eye was already mostly shut.
“I told you there was no need to look for him,” Grunta-ak said. “I knew he would come to us.”
Alex and Senta-eh rushed forward and Grunta-ak casually tossed the boy to them. “I’m surprised you didn’t attempt to go over the wall,” he said, nodding at the back door. “You would have found a nice surprise waiting for you there. I’ve had six guards waiting for you since I brought you in.” He took two steps forward and glared down at Alex. “You disappoint me.”
“I’ve been disappointing people all my life.”
Grunta-ak turned and walked out, slamming the door behind him.
Senta-eh carried the boy to a cot.
“I’m sorry,” Werda-ak said. “I waited until it got dark. I thought I could slip in and get you, but they were waiting for me.”
“Who beat you?” Senta-eh asked, eyes blazing. “Did you try to run?”
“No. I gave myself up, because I thought they would at least take me to you and we could plan what to do next. Someone hit me from behind and then they all took turns, I guess.”
It was difficult for them to triage Werda-ak in the blackness of the room, but he didn’t appear to have any broken bones—just bruises and contusions.
“Try to sleep,” Alex said. “We’ll look you over better in the morning.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Stop,” Alex said. “You did exactly as I would have done.”
Werda-ak laid down, curled himself into a ball of misery and eventually drifted off to sleep.
Senta-eh waited until she heard the boy’s even breathing, then said, “Now what?”
“Honestly?” Alex answered. “I have no idea what to do next. Let me sleep on it.”
But there was no sleep for Alex that night. He laid on his back, staring into the darkness for long hours before he went outside and looked up at the stars, Monda-ak at his heels. He leaned his back against the barricade, petting his dog and seeking inspiration that would not come.
Early the next morning, the noise of the bar rattled around the tiny jail cell.
Alex and the others thought it was another meal of stale bread and thin soup, but instead, two armed soldiers pushed their way in, followed by a young boy and four other soldiers. One of the armed men carried a wooden chair and placed it in the middle of the room. He turned to the captives and said, “Sit,” pointing at the cots.
There was nothing to be gained from a confrontation, so Alex and Senta-eh sat. Werda-ak, who had been curled up on the bed still asleep, slung his legs over and blinked muzzily with his one good eye. His left eye was now completely shut and yellow and blue bruises were beginning to show.
The boy, who appeared to be a bit younger than Werda-ak, sat on the chair. He looked the three over, then his eyes fell on Monda-ak. A smile split his face.
“I had a dog when I was young,” he said.
Alex wanted to say, ‘And you are no longer young now?’ but held his tongue.
The boy looked from Senta-eh, to Werda-ak, before finally deciding to settle on Alex.
“Why did you tear down our bridge?”
Alex considered replying ‘To get to the other side,’ but thought the chicken and the road joke had probably never made it to Kragdon-ah. Instead, he said, “We are from Winten-ah. We are a peaceful people, but we were invaded and one of our people was kidnapped. We are going to bring her back. When we came to the river, we knew they had crossed ahead of us, and we could not find any other way across. We used the bridge to get to the other side.”
The boy leaned back, considering all that. “You say you are a peaceful people, but you raised an army to attack Denta-ah, which left you vulnerable to attack, correct?”
Alex made a mental note that this person may have been young, but he was neither stupid nor ill-informed.
“Denta-ah was using stama. Other villages came to us and asked us to strike them down. Kunta.”
The universal word for destroying a village for using technology hung in the air.
“Your runners came here and asked us to join the fight. We declined. We are safe with the river to protect us from the south, the mountains to the east, and the ocean to the west.”
“Was that your decision? Are you the chieftain of Rinta-ah?” The idea seemed ludicrous to Alex, but there was something about the way the boy spoke that gave the impression he was in charge.
“It was not my decision, but yes, I am Rinka-ak, the chieftain of the Rinta-ah.”
Alex looked confused.
“Until very recently, my father was the leader of our village. It was his decision not to not send men to fight against Denta-ah. He did not think it was our place. But, then he died on the day of the solstice. My mother died in childbirth, so that made me chief.” He puffed his thin chest out a bit, but the effect was not what he had intended.
Alex glanced at the soldiers who had accompanied him, checking for a reaction, but they kept their eyes straight ahead.
“Leadership is a birthright in Rinta-ah, then?” Alex asked.
“There are two ways for leadership to change in our village. Either the mate of the chief or the oldest child assumes leadership first. Then, if anyone wants to challenge for leadership, they can.”
“How?”
“A fight to the death. It is not good to have vanquished chiefs living in the village.”
Alex tried to keep the judgment out of his voice when he said, “And has someone challenged you?”
“Yes.”
“Grunta-ak,” Alex guessed.
“Yes.”
People had underestimated Alex ever since he had arrived in Kragdon-ah, so he tried not to make the same mistake.
“Can you kill him?”
The boy looked at Alex as though he might be stupid. “Of course not.” He lifted up his thin arm and flexed, revealing no muscle whatsoever.
Werda-ak leaned forward, interest piqued. “What will happen if you fight him?”
“He will kil
l me,” Rinka-ak replied.
“You seem calm about that,” Alex observed.
“I can choose a champion take my place. If my champion wins, I remain chief. If he dies, I will also be killed.”
Alex opened his mouth to say something, but Rinka-ak hurried on.
“My father knew he was dying. He knew Grunta-ak was ambitious and would challenge me. My father’s most-trusted bodyguard swore to protect me and fight in my stead. He could have killed Grunta-ak. But, last week, that bodyguard was killed in a hunting accident.”
Rinka-ak paused to let them draw their own conclusions.
“Now, all my other soldiers are loyal to Grunta-ak. They will not stand as my champion.”
Alex and Senta-eh’s eyes met. Understanding was beginning to dawn on both of them.
“Does this champion have to be of your village?”
“No. It can be anyone.” Rinta-ak smiled, pleased to see that Alex understood. “Can you fight?”
“He can!” Werda-ak said, his eyes alight at the thought of seeing Alex fight the bigger man.
Alex held a hand up. He was not so eager to risk his life, not to mention the mission he had been given. Fighting an unknown opponent is so dangerous. He leaned forward, eyes locked on the boy.
“If I do this for you—if I fight Grunta-ak and manage not to die—what then?”
“Then, I am the chief. No one else will dare challenge someone who kills Grunta-ak. As chief, I will forgive you for destroying our bridge. I will give you information about those you seek. I will supply you for your journey and let you go.”
Alex considered, then said, “One more consideration. If I fight for you and lose, I want these two and my dog to go free.”
“If you lose, I will be dead as well. He will be entitled to kill me after he kills you. But yes, I will ask him to accept that as a condition of the fight.”
Alex turned to the last thing nagging at him. “Why did you help the invaders who attacked us?”
“I did not know what their intent was. They lied to me and I believed them. It was only when they came through with the special girl as a hostage that I knew. By then, it was too late. I sent them on their way, but they already had the prize.” He was quiet for a moment, then said, “She is the Chosen One, isn’t she?”
Alex didn’t answer, but Senta-eh said, “Yes, she is. Born on the solstice with the birthmark of the moon.”
“I thought so. While they were here, she chanted and prayed over a sick boy. By morning, that child was healed. It was a miracle.” He paused, hanging his head, a gesture strange in one so young. “I am sorry I helped these men. I was foolish.” Rinka-ak stood. “So. Will you help me?”
Alex stood and stepped toward the boy. The guards’ hands fell to their weapons. Alex laid a hand on the boy’s shoulder.
“When do I fight?”
“This afternoon, at apex.”
Chapter Nine
Fight to the Death
Alex watched the last of the guards file out the door, close it, and slide the bar into place. He turned to Senta-eh and said, “See? I told you I’d think of something.”
“You didn’t mention that this something would involve fighting the best warrior from another tribe,” she chided.
“He can do it,” Werda-ak said, suddenly Alex’s number one fan. “Did you see what he did to Tinta-ak?”
In the early stages of training his army for the attack on Denta-ah, Alex had been challenged to a fight by Tinta-ak, the biggest and strongest warrior among his volunteers. Using his Special Forces training in hand to hand combat, Alex had not only beaten Tinta-ak, he had humbled him. From that point on, the giant had become Alex’s biggest supporter.
“Tinta-ak,” Senta-eh observed, “was a musclebound, untrained warrior who had won every fight he had ever been in through sheer intimidation. Does Grunta-ak strike you the same?”
“No,” Alex said seriously. “He strikes me as everything Tinta-ak was not. Disciplined. Trained. Brutal. I am not fooling myself. But even if I die, I’ve done what I can to set you free. You can find your way back to Winten-ah, and they can put a new group together to go after Lanta-eh. It’s not the best plan, but it’s probably at least as good as jumping off a tree into a river.”
“Can we put the fight off, do you think? You are still not healed.”
“Kel. I’ll be fine. I’ve had two days to rest and recuperate. If things ever broke in our favor, I wouldn’t know what to do with myself.”
The hours dragged by, but Alex spent the time in the yard with Monda-ak, stretching and preparing as best he could, running over everything he knew about Grunta-ak.
A few minutes before the sun reached its highest point, the door opened and a cadre of soldiers escorted Alex to the flat field he had seen the day they arrived. It appeared that the entire population of Rinta-ah was gathered there.
There was no seating, no imperial boxes, but there was still the vibe of the Roman Colosseum.
Senta-eh and Werda-ak were escorted by more guards to a spot where they could view the fight. Senta-eh held Monda-ak firmly around the neck and tried to distract him. The dog’s eyes never left Alex, though. She feared that if the fight went badly, she wouldn’t be able to stop him from attacking Grunta-ak.
Summer was nearly over, but it was still hot under the blistering sun. There was a tense buzz of anticipation as the people of Rinta-ah waited to find who would be their leader.
Alex was led to Rinka-ak. The boy stepped forward and said, “Since Grunta-ak has challenged me, and you are to be my champion, you can choose the type of combat. You may choose any weapon we possess, or no weapon at all. I will caution you that he is a brutal close-in fighter, though. There is something to be said for picking a deadly weapon and hoping to land a lucky blow.”
Depending on luck has never been a good survival tactic. Any weapon I pick will be more familiar to him than it is to me. He will have trained with it since he was a boy. My best advantage will be to face him empty-handed.
“I choose no weapons. Bare hands.”
Rinka-ak’s shoulders sagged. “Very well. It is your choice.” He placed his arm on Alex’s shoulder. The boy was undeveloped at the moment, but showed promise for the future. If he lived long enough to see a future. He walked into the center of the cleared space. There was no need for him to request silence. The only sound that could be heard was the caw of a few gulls, flown up from the river.
“My friends,” Rinka-ak’s voice broke. He cleared his throat and started again, this time with more authority. “My friends, as is our custom, I assumed the leadership of the tribe when my father died. As is also our custom, I have been challenged for that leadership. I have chosen my champion—Manta-ak, from Winten-ah.”
A ripple went through the crowd. If a champion from outside the village had ever been chosen, no one living could remember it.
Alex stepped forward—6’2”, 175 pounds. Wiry. Strong. Dramatically undersized among the giants of Kragdon-ah.
The crowd murmured loudly. Small pockets of conversation sprang up.
Alex was thankful he could not understand any of it.
“Challenging my champion is Grunta-ak.” Rinka-ak said this almost as an afterthought.
If Grunta-ak expected to make his entry into the ring to fanfare and applause, he was disappointed. The crowd watched him silently.
Alex judged that Rinka-ak’s father had been a just and popular leader and that Grunta-ak had risen to his position in the tribe through strength and cunning. That made him a dangerous opponent, but not necessarily a popular favorite.
Grunta-ak had stripped down to just a loincloth. He stood 7’4”, two-hundred and eighty-five pounds. His body was scarred, but lithe and powerful, with broad shoulders that narrowed at his waist. There was no fat on him.
Alex examined the scars, which told him of the thousands of hours the man had spent sparring and fighting with knives, hammers, spears, and shields.
I don’t think I coul
d have beaten him with weapons.
Alex bent and touched his toes, then stretched from side to side, still trying to get his sore muscles to loosen up.
Rinka-ak looked from one fighter to the other. “There will be no weapons used, but this is a fight to the death. If either warrior chooses to walk away while his opponent still breathes, he will be killed immediately.” He nodded to archers, bows drawn, at four locations around the circle.
“Likewise, if Grunta-ak is victorious, I am ordering my bowmen to kill me immediately. It is our tradition.” There was no waver in his voice as he said this and retreated to the edge of the crowd, no longer center stage, but simply a spectator with much to lose.
Alex sensed that there would be no niceties in this fight. No salutes, or words of sportsmanship. This would be only blood.
Alex walked toward Grunta-ak. The closer he got, the more obvious and unfortunate the size difference was.
Like Grunta-ak, Alex had stripped down to a loincloth provided by Rinka-ak. Before the match, he had done calisthenics not just to stretch and warm up, but also to break a sweat. He knew he needed to be as slippery as possible. If Grunta-ak got a hold of him, it would likely be a bad end for Alex.
The two of them circled each other easily. Grunta-ak moved casually, both hands pawing the air in front of him, moving in a rhythmic circle. Alex kept his hands steady, looking for any opportunity to inflict damage.
The longer this goes, the more it plays to his strength. I have to surprise him and end this early.
Grunta-ak jabbed once, twice, with his right fist. Neither blow was intended to connect, necessarily. He was being cautious, feeling his opponent out.
Alex feinted out of the way, but did so purposefully a tic slower than he could have moved. As Grunta-ak was gauging him, he was doing everything he could not to be gauged.
The bigger man shifted his position and sent out a short, vicious kick aimed at Alex’s shins. If it had connected, it could have robbed Alex of the use of that leg. Again, Alex danced away, staying on the balls of his feet, keeping his weight evenly distributed.
