The King's Tribe

by Kai Widdeson

  I sit at that log long into the night, longer than I should have given the dangers of the forest. Some wild cat or venomous creature could quite easily bring about the death of me as I ponder my options. At least ponder is the illusion I choose to lie to myself with, I know I have no choice but to follow them into the mountains, but that doesn’t mean I have to like the thought of shadowing the boy I cannot trust into the land of people he commands.

  Part of me is still trying to comprehend the prince’s story, all that has happened to him, and all that brought us together. It occurs to me that maybe we have always been on the same side without knowing it, both of us having encountered the cruel tormenting fist of the colony but without the other for support.

  I think of my father also, hunted down from a distance by a rage-fuelled king of a people we thought were spiritual creatures. The man I had never been old enough to truly know, taken from me by mistake, I fume at the injustice of it all. Some part of me recognises that that too was the colony’s fault, not that I forgive the king for his crimes. It all leads back to the colony eventually, almost all of the wrongs in my life, the conditions my family and Avlym have had to struggle through, it has always been them.

  Eventually I cannot put off sleep any longer, I’m going to need the rest for the new day. As I duck inside the shabby den, I spot Edwyn sitting alert dutifully by his leader’s side, constantly alert, probably fearful of losing Guy this close to his people. It only now occurs to me that I still don’t know the boy’s real name, a seemingly irrelevant detail given the magnitude of the current situation, and yet it seems odd to refer to the young royal with the Robyn-given name.

  I set myself against the corner opposite Edwyn, uncomfortable with trusting the man who had rendered me unconscious just hours ago to watch over me as I sleep.

  The first coming of dawn has begun to advance into the den by the time I drift into darkness. Edwyn is still facing me as I nod off, as fresh and alert as if he had only just begun his watch.

  CHAPTER SIX

  It felt like I had barely blinked before Edwyn’s boot acquainted itself with my ribs. Rolling onto my opposite side, I ready to spring to my feet before…

  “I said gently,’’ Guy complains from the entrance, but the hunter has already turned away to finish equipping himself with various hunting knives and other equipment. Edwyn simply grunts in response to Guy’s disapproval, apparently such discourteousness towards royalty was no big deal for Guy’s people, or perhaps he simply felt that the debt owed towards the hunter outranked such petty formalities.

  After such a rude awakening, sleep has abandoned me instantly. I sit up to find Guy’s silhouette in the opening against the rays of dawn. He looks alert and ready; I would be surprised if he has managed to sleep at all with the prospect of reuniting with his tribe today.

  “We’re leaving now,” Guy continues, “I’m going to find my people, they need me, and frankly I think you need us too. You won’t last long out here by yourself, and from the looks of it we share the same enemy.”

  Without waiting for an answer, the young prince promptly leaves the comfort of the room and disappears into the blinding morning light. Edwyn hesitates, analysing me and then giving the room a sweeping glance, clearly not thrilled at the possibility that I will take up shelter in his outpost. My eyes drift to the torn flesh on one of his hands, the result of my frantic biting the previous day. After a long couple of seconds, he follows Guy, unwilling to let the royal begin journeying out alone.

  It had all happened so quickly, I had only woken up seconds ago and hadn’t even had a chance to compose my thoughts or speak a word before Guy and Edwyn have left me with this ultimatum. The prince has left without any goodbyes either, presumably because he was either assuming that I would follow them or maybe he is just understandably eager to be on his way.

  I momentarily consider staying here, despite knowing that the option isn’t a serious one. Despite Edwyn having taken a lot with him, there are still plenty of provisions, pre-made traps, and a few blades that could perhaps keep me fed, although I know it’s but a daydream. I’m no significant talent at hunting and whilst the traps might keep me alive, come dark I wouldn’t bet on myself surviving the considerably more dangerous evening predators should an unfortunate encounter occur. I also notice that the pair of them have either consumed the food or taken it with them, I wouldn’t even have that to reply upon until the traps began producing.

  Grudgingly I rise, patting myself down to return the dust and leaves to the den floor. I move to exit before remembering the true uncertainty of my destination, inducing a wave of wariness to course through me. The last remnants of Edwyn’s gear catches my eye, at the bottom of a heap lay a small simple looking knife. It isn’t much but it should be easily concealable and might mean everything should I need it. Tucking the weapon into my waistband, I head out to embrace the morning light.

  Whilst I may not be able to see him, I can still hear Guy quite clearly, despite him already seeming to be quite some way into the trees. I would never dare to be this loud away from Avlym normally, especially with people after me, but I suppose he must feel at home now. He probably knows these woods, and besides, he’s walking next to a monster of a man who would die for him without hesitation. I suppose if I were in his position, I wouldn’t fear raising my voice a little either. With my ears as my compass, I set off after them.

  It doesn’t take too long to reach the lake again. Although, I am slightly ashamed of myself as we make our way through the all too clear trail of broken twigs and scuffed dirt I left behind me the other day. No wonder he had caught up with me so easily, a wild boar would likely have been stealthier than myself and whilst I was battling natural obstacles, I was at the same time removing them for him. Initially Guy pauses at the tracks before apparently realising their cause and continuing in silence. He and Edwyn would have had plenty of time whilst I was unconscious to talk and I woke up restrained so I would have thought that Guy had heard about my escape attempt and didn’t want me running off before he could have a chance to explain himself.

  The peaks loom above us, and with time to appreciate them I now marvel at their enormity. Edwyn informs us that it is within these very peaks where the refugees have set up camp.

  The lake is considerably larger than I first thought, it takes us a good hour of clambering over the loose rocks outlining the water to reach the other side. As it turns out, next to the stretch of rocks and timber jutting out into the azure that I recognise as the fishing spot for the distant stranger yesterday, a small oak hut hides submerged in the trees.

  Only the faintest path leads through the bushes towards the roof we spotted from the water’s edge. The shack is a mess, a hasty construction of split logs with only a woven mesh of weeds covering the doorway. The whole build is off the ground slightly, raised upon a muddy platform with a couple of untrustworthy steps leading up to it. Rot and damp seeps through the gaps, the largest of which could easily allow a bird entry. A couple of long thin poles, entwined with string ending in a hook, rest against the unstable frame. Accompanying them are several buckets and some more sheets of the door mesh which also covers what I assume are windows.

  “Something’s wrong,” says Edwyn, suddenly alert. I notice his knives have appeared out of nowhere as he pushes past us to ascend the steps of the house. He holds one hand back behind, indicating that we should at least wait and let him enter first.

  With blades in both hands, the hunter lifts the mesh to step inside. The hut is only the size of a single room so if there’s anyone in there he’ll spot them instantly. Guy and I hesitantly wait at the door. After a couple of seconds of inactivity, we conclude that the hut must’ve been empty and follow Edwyn inside.

  The smell hits us first, it’s a miracle it hadn’t reached us from outside. The place has been torn apart, the room is a war ground of splinters and broken things and Edwyn stands in the middle of the it amid cracked chair legs and smashed tables. In one corner f
ish have been left on the floor to rot, not decomposing yet but responsible for the pungent odour of the room. Suspect red droplets and splashes can be seen every now and then but without any signs of their owner. Looking down I notice long skid marks etched into the dirt and dust beneath our feet.

  “I knew him,” Edwyn grunts, “he would have fought well.'' Ah, so the fisherman would never have helped me the other day, just handed me back over to the hunter.

  “One of our people was here?” Guy asks, Edwyn grunts yes in response to which Guy quietly curses.

  “Halpians,” Edwyn spits the word, “we need to leave.”

  “How do you know it was them?” Guy asks as we quickly skirt around the perimeter of the lake, more hurried than we were travelling before.

  “Who else would it be?” Edwyn replies, “they’re closer than I thought, we need to get you back.”

  From then on Edwyn resumes his silence, unwilling to converse any further and instead focusing entirely on making headway. I shudder at the realisation of how close we were to the colony last night, they could have easily found us and that would have been that. I would never have had the chance to return to my family, I would never see Robyn again, and Guy’s people would never know that he had survived his initial escape.

  On with our trek we continue, eventually we leave the lake to climb a steep bank into the hills. The back of my neck gently simmers under the sun, which is now directly above us, I can almost feel the skin darkening. No wonder Edwyn’s so leathery, without the shade of the trees it wouldn’t take long for your skin to harden and crack.

  Another couple of hours pass almost completely in silence as we ascend the base of the mountains. The shadows have begun to stretch, this morning Edwyn had said the journey was only a day’s walk so with any luck we should be close. Steep grey faces sandwich us on either side now, forcing us down a long channel, a never-ending road to a seemingly unreachable destination. Guy tries a few times to get some more details from the hunter but to little success, Edwyn seems to find it almost a nuisance to accompany us to the others, an intrusion on his beloved solitary life.

  Without distractions other than the almost constant image before me and the uncomfortable silence between us, my mind slowly begins an adventure of its own.

  I am back in Avlym, and ten-year-old me bursts through the door in tears. It has been almost a year since my father’s passing. Twin streams mix with the berry juice staining my cheeks. My mother sits at the table with Randall, sharing a drink as was the custom for this hour of the week.

  “Dale?!”, my mother says shocked, I am supposed to still be out berry picking with Ida for another couple of hours. I try to choke back my pain when Randall turns to look, in my distress I had forgotten that he would be here.

  Upon seeing my red-veined eyes and quivering lips she swiftly crosses the floor to embrace me. All emotion rushes out of me now, despite my shame at crying in front of Randall I have no hope of reigning it back in. Mother slowly detaches me and through blurry vision I look her in the eyes, which are now not unlike my own.

  “Did it happen again?” she asks.

  All I can do is nod. For the last few weeks since the baker’s little boy had been born, Rhys, the older child, had been taking out his frustration on me. Whilst I had been used to his tormenting, he had begun to increase his torture until it was stretching the limits of simple childish cruelty.

  As soon as I confirm her fears, Mother pulls me close again as she tries to comfort me.

  “Get up, we’re going to have a chat with this boy,” Randall starts furiously. “Who does he think he is? I’ll teach that little prick some manners.” He slides away from the table and pulls me onto my feet as I frantically wipe my eyes.

  “No Randy don’t,” my mother stops us, recognising that it would not do for the village to see one of their strongest hunters tipsy and taking out his anger on the fat baker’s boy. No matter how much Rhys deserves it.

  “Me and Cecilia are going to have a word,” she pushes past both of us, an embodiment of cold fury. A mother bear out to defend her cub. She hadn’t even waited to hear what happened, and so it is as Randy wraps up a deep gash in my forearm and cleans the mess from my face that I retell the day’s story.

  Everything had started off as planned, myself along with a few of Avlym’s other kids had been escorted to the edge of the forest with Ida as was usual. An exercise to keep us out of the way from the proper workers and give our parents a break while still being productive and feeling useful. We had begun picking berries from the trees, filling our baskets as Ida recounts stories from years past or else deals out unrelated pieces of advice or wisdom. We race each other, trying to pick more than the child next to us, and every now and then revealing our spoils to Ida in the hope for some praise.

  “The hunter preys on Mother Nature but it is she who is the ultimate predator,” was one particular titbit, “Fire is both our light in the darkest hour, and our symbol for destruction. It reduces life to ashes and yet these ashes help breed the next generation,” was another. Completely unpredictable statements falling on young deaf ears, yet they were a familiar and comforting noise as we worked. I also note curiously that I can still remember them, perhaps her words did have more impact on me than I realised.

  I was content by myself off to one side, gradually approaching my personal quota, glad to be contributing to the community.

  SQUELCH! My cheek stings as a berry explodes onto me, dripping down to mark my shirt. Gleeful laughter follows.

  Behind me Rhys and Damion ready to aim again. The two of them have torn a couple of thorny branches away from the bushes and are using them to launch berries into the air. At first, they had been mindlessly assaulting the undergrowth but upon seeing that one of the berries had gone astray to target me they have delightfully discovered a better sport.

  Wow. It’s been a long time since I remembered Damion, Bennie’s boy. He was a hushed name now back in Avlym, another victim to the forest. It had been his disappearance that had led to Bennie’s current state of perpetual drunkenness. That and his wife, it had been too much for his poor wife. Avlym had mourned two loved ones that day.

  That was part of the reason why everyone tolerated the village drunk so much, whilst most didn’t know his son’s nature, everyone had loved his wife, she had been a good friend of my mum’s. After such a tragedy who would blame the man? He had suffered as much as any of us.

  No closure ever came either, no body was ever found. Damion had just disappeared. He hadn’t been the first and he hadn’t been the last.

  Damion used to have a den where he and Rhys would hide out. His mother had hated it, trying to forbid him from going near it after he tripped and got a nasty scar stretching over one eye. Of course, he hadn’t listened, Rhys had managed to convince him that the scar made him look like a warrior and they spent more time in the nearby forest than ever.

  One day he had set off alone, this was not unusual, but he had never come back. The whole village looked for him for days, it’s the only time I remember seeing Rhys in tears. It is also one of the very few times I can remember the hunters staying out in the forest overnight, none willing to give up their search until morning. Despite the unpleasant nature of the boy, it always wounded the village deeply whenever a child went missing, even I had found myself mourning him.

  The two of them are running towards me now as I back away through the brambles. When I am cornered against a tree, they begin using the berries from my basket as ammunition, Damion throwing berries into the air for Rhys to try and hit towards me. I watch as my hard work is quite literally thrown right back into my face.

  I yell at them to stop but still they advance towards their trapped target, with each step more fruit is launched upwards and the thorny whip lashes down. I flinch as I realise what is about to happen. The berries disappear as they splat into the bark above me and I raise my forearm in defence whilst Rhys’s stroke arches towards me head.

  The thorn
s cut deep, and I cry out in pain, finally I am loud enough to get Ida’s attention. The two boys take off running, whilst they may be tyrants to me, they are still young enough to fear a scolding from an adult.

  Too late to catch the culprits, Avlym’s elder comes bustling towards me and eager to avoid her lecturing me for injuring myself and the humiliating walk past the others as she takes me back to Avlym, I set off running towards the village before she can get to me. It is a couple of minutes later when struggling for breath, the tearful nine-year-old me crosses the threshold to meet Randall and mother.

  As I tell this to Randall between sobs, gradually regaining control, the concern in his face grows. Following his promise not to pay Rhys a visit, he resolves to start teaching me. My dishevelled mother returns a half hour later, rumours would later tell that her and Cecilia had been part of a small conflict before the baker’s wife had ended up kicked into a small pile of flour bags. She finds the two of us running laps between the house and the forest edge pausing only to launch blunt spears at old sacks.

  For a few years following that day I would work with Randall whenever he had time, and I absolutely loved it. He taught me everything a father should, I still lacked natural strength, but I could throw a spear well enough and my speed made up for it. Eventually we began to race, and I began to win, every time earning a comment about how I was my father’s son, causing a blossom of pride to overwhelm me. I learnt to make traps, and to stalk prey, I began fishing and preparing food. As one of Avlym’s medics, my mother disapproved of any violence, while she wouldn’t step between us, she forbade us from play fighting. Sacrificing fighting to continue everything else was more than enough for me, and before long it was my dream to follow in Randall and my father’s footsteps.

  I would be a hunter.

  I grew up quickly in those hours with Randall, finally maturing more into the man I wanted to be instead of the child I was. From then on Rhys was more of a nuisance and less of a tormentor, no matter how many bruises or scratches he gave me, there was nothing he could do to waive my conviction in my destiny.