by J M Hemmings
The teens sat in tight-lipped silence while Njinga paused to breathe for a few moments.
‘We satyaduta,’ she continued, ‘the handful of us still alive who remain faithful to the Council’s teachings that I told y’all about, we ain’t only fightin’ for ourselves, an’ for what remains of the dreams of the lost Councils … we’re fighting for everythin’ wild an’ free an’ beautiful in this world. Have y’all noticed what word I’ve been using? “Fightin’”. That’s why I’m makin’ you hold that ugly thing. You can talk all you want, you can do your thing on social media, you can march in the streets, hold rallies, but in the end the Huntsmen don’t give a shit. They wipe their asses with the letters people write to newspapers, an’ grin smugly while they troll online comment sections. They laugh at election campaigns promisin’ change; they’ve got every politician, no matter what party you’re talking about, already bought an’ paid for, nice an’ snug in their pockets. If any a’ you were old enough to vote, would you think those votes actually count for anythin’? An’ you know what an even bigger joke to those fuckers is? Green consumerism. Hell, half the companies that make that so-called “green” tech an’ “green” fast food an’ “green” cars or whatever are owned by the Huntsmen anyway! You buy the usual shit, they win, an’ if you buy the “green” shit, they win again!’
‘Okay,’ Chloe ventured, trying to put the pistol into Njinga’s hands, ‘I get what you’re saying. We need to fight, I understand the metaphor—’
‘It ain’t no metaphor,’ Njinga countered as she pushed the firearm back towards Chloe. ‘I want you to, no, no scratch that, I need you to wrap your damn fingers around the grip a’ that pistol. Do it girl, do it! Feel the weight a’ that thing in your hands! I don’t mean the two an’ a half pounds it weighs, I mean feel the weight a’ it, the heaviness a’ the burden that now lies in our hands – in your hands too, since y’all have been thrust into this fight. The crushin’ mass of what it is to truly fight for somethin’ … to give your life to a cause without hesitation … to take yourself so far beyond what you ever dreamed you were capable of that you don’t even recognise yourself no more, that there’s nothing left a’ you but a phantom, an echo of something that was once alive, an’ is now little more than a machine, a machine with one purpose, an’ one purpose only. Feel it girl, feel it! Press your finger against the trigger, an’ point that fuckin’ gun at me!’
‘I … I can’t,’ Chloe gasped.
Njinga’s eyes were aflame with shining heat, and her nostrils flared out with that same righteous wrath, her jaw clenched tight as a snapped-shut bear trap.
‘I said point the fuckin’ firearm at me! Do it, fuckin’ do it!’
With tears welling in her eyes and her hand trembling, Chloe did as she was told and raised the pistol, holding it weakly and pointing it at Njinga’s chest.
‘You saw your friend get shot,’ Njinga growled, her fierce eyes convex lenses that focused the heat burning within her into twin rays of ferocious destruction. ‘You know what it looks like. Now picture it, picture the bullet that’s in the chamber coming out a’ that gun, punchin’ through my chest, rippin’ a hole through my heart, ricochetin’ around my torso an’ tearin’ up my vital organs. Look at my eyes, I said look at ‘em, kid!’
Chloe’s teary eyes met Njinga’s and found in them a soul effulging like the dazzling Evening Star, beyond blinding in its intensity, at once as hot as the core of the earth and cold as the ancient ice of the Earth’s poles.
‘I’m ready to die,’ Njinga murmured, her voice dropping to a barely audible, croaked-out whisper. ‘I’m ready for that bullet. I’ve looked Death in the face so many times now that all I can do is laugh at it. Not because I’m brave, not because I’m strong, not because I’m crazy … I can look Death in the face an’ laugh because I know without a shadow of a doubt that my life means somethin’, that it’s meant something up to now, that I have a purpose beyond myself an’ whatever selfish concerns might have motivated me in the past. There is somethin’ so much greater than me that I’m fightin’ for, so much more gigantic than me that I’m like an insect, an amoeba in comparison to it. An’ when you fully understand the immensity a’ it, when you can finally begin to wrap your mind around what it is we’re fightin’ for … you can understand that that terrible, ugly weight you’re feelin’ in your hands, the hateful coldness of the steel, the nightmarish potential in your forefinger to unleash Death by your hand with one lil’ contraction of your muscles … then you can understand that the weight you now have to carry is a necessary weight. We’ve reached the end a’ history, kid, the end a’ all things that are wild, beautiful, free, an’ truly alive … an’ whether y’all understand that or not, it’s a fact that nobody can dispute. An’ those that are bringing about the end, who are killing everythin’, destroyin’ it all in the name of greed an’ profit an’ power … this is the only thing they understand,’ she growled, snatching the pistol out of Chole’s hands. ‘We have to fight ‘em with things that can actually hurt ‘em: bullets. Bombs. Blades. They don’t care about anything else. They understand power only in its rawest, ugliest form – an’ power, kids, is already a hideous thing, even when it’s all dressed up an’ made up an’ smilin’. The battle we’re fighting, an’ the way we’re fighting it, is as primal a struggle now as it was millions of years ago, as it’s been throughout the whole of history. Now, though, the stakes are higher than they’ve ever been. We’re talkin’ about a mass extinction! We’re talkin’ about systematically dismantlin’ the very systems that support life – all life, not just fuckin’ human beings – on this planet! An’ those fuckers will do just that, they’ll destroy everythin’ in their pursuit of power an’ profit … because they’re like you.’
‘Like us?’ Chloe gasped indignantly.
‘What I mean is, they’re human,’ Njinga clarified with a tragic sigh, her shoulders slumping and the forge-heat that had been glowing through her skin subsiding. ‘Short-sighted. Driven by urges they’ve barely got any control over. Y’all can’t help it; you only get eighty years on this planet if you’re lucky. Some a lil’ more, most a lot less. An’ in such a short time – short from where I’m sitting, an’ real short from where the old Council members once sat, some of whom lived for thousands of years – how can we expect any of y’all to even comprehend a fraction a’ the true scope a’ everythin’? How, with such short lives, can we hope that y’all could have any hope a’ understandin’ long-term consequences, a’ wrapping your minds around the chain reactions that seemingly insignificant acts can set off? Hell, it’s all about fuckin’ YOLO these days, isn’t it? Livin’ your best damn life, livin’ in the moment, fuck what tomorrow might bring. Goddamn it, sometimes the depression an’ despair that comes with thinkin’ about shit like this is worse than anythin’ those Huntsmen bitches could do to me.’
‘We may just be kids,’ Paola ventured, ‘an’ we may not have been on this planet nearly as long as you have, but we understand more than you give us credit for. We were doing what we could to fight for the environment, for the living world, for the planet. An’ we’ve all done a lot of reading about all that stuff, an’ we know more about it than most kids, I bet. Even though we aren’t fighting the way you beastwalkers, oh, uh, satyadutas are, with guns an’ bombs an’ stuff, we’re doing what we could.’
‘I know kid, I know,’ Njinga said softly, ‘an’ I apologise for getting so worked up. But I need y’all to seriously wrap your heads around the seriousness of the situation here, to get an idea of what it really means to fight for this cause. Because, like I was trying to tell y’all before I went off on that tangent, I ain’t no warrior. Neither is he,’ she continued, pointing at Lightning Bird, who was still sleeping soundly. ‘He ain’t one neither,’ she said, shifting the focus of her gaze to William, ‘but okay, the big man in the corner, Zakaria, yeah, he is a soldier, an’ he’s always been one. But he’s only one out of us four, an’ for the rest of the satyaduta it’s the same
thing. We weren’t ever warriors, or at least the majority a’ us weren’t, even though there were always one or two fighters in our ranks. Like I told y’all, what the old Councils valued above all else was wisdom, enlightenment, compassion, empathy, understandin’, the pursuit of knowledge, gentleness, beauty … all that good stuff. We satyaduta, yeah, we were always hunted, always targets a’ the Huntsmen an’ others like ‘em, but for thousands of years we had the freedom to be other things too. Instead of fighters, we could be poets, sages, dancers, storytellers, scientists, mathematicians, biologists, musicians, composers, writers, artists, inventors, scholars, spiritual guides, yogis, chefs, sculptors, healers, medicine men an’ women, counsellors, philosophers … God, we had so much potential, so much. An’ now it’s almost all gone. All that’s left is survival an’ fightin’. We’ve come full circle, from the tooth an’ claw darkness of the primeval past through to a golden age of peace an’ enlightenment … an’ now back to a simple, brutal struggle to survive, to kill or be killed. That’s why I said, kid,’ she continued, looking at Chloe, ‘you may not believe it, but I’m like you. You an’ me, girl, we’ve got far more in common than you think. I hate violence, I hate guns … believe me, I hate what I have to do, what I’ve had to become. So does he, and he, and he. So do all of us. But when you can get into your heads the position we’re in, an’ what’s at stake here, then you can understand why we have to use these.’ Njinga held the .45 up in front of her face, her features stone-hewn and her countenance cold. ‘I hate this thing,’ she continued, ‘an’ what it’s designed for, what it does … an’ everythin’ it represents. But I value my life an’ the lives of those I love, an’ the lives of all wild, free, beautiful things more than I hate this thing … so I’m gonna use it to protect myself, an’ to fight for them … because who else is gonna do that? We last stragglers are the final pocket of resistance, the last stand against the vast, insatiable machine that eats everything up an’ shits out only cold concrete-an’-steel-an’-plastic-eternal-death. An’ we sure as shit ain’t about to go down without a fight.’
‘What were you, before … before you had to become a fighter?’ Paola asked.
Njinga smiled sadly, and a ghost of a chuckle trickled from her lips.
‘I was a storyteller, a dancer, an’ a healer. All a’ those things. It was a position a’ great honour in my tribe, a position I held with pride an’ with love, a position that gave my life meaning an’ joy. An’ even after the slavers took me an’ turned my life upside down, I held onto those things … because they were who I was, who I am. I’m still a dancer, a storyteller, a healer; I ain’t never stopped being one. This whole fighter thing … it’s just a skin I have to wear for a while, yeah, but the real me, she’s still in here. She always will be.’
‘I’m a fighter,’ Daekwon said. ‘A b-, boxer. I ain’t never really been g-, g-, good at nothing but sports, especially b-, boxin’. But I always, I knew that there was s-, somethin’ mo’ important that I was s-, supposed to do wid’ my life. I n-, never knew what it was … not until now. I … I wanna f-, fight alongside y’all. Hell, I don’t think there’s anythin’ else I can d-, d-, do anyway. After what’s happened, any c-, cop who sees me is gon’ sh-, sh-, shoot me on sight. I’m, I’m dead anyway. I figure I m-, might as well do what I’m g-, good at – fightin’ – an’ use it fo’ something m-, meaningful.’
‘Don’t you have a family who are gonna miss you? Ain’t you worried about that?’ Njinga asked.
‘I was r-, raised by my grandma, but she b-, been in a nursin’ home the last year wid’ dementia. I been l-, livin’ on my own since then, in her a-, apartment. Don’t get me wrong, I l-, love her, she’s my only f-, family, but she ain’t g-, got much longer left. Well, there’s my lil’ b-, b-, brother too, but he’s been livin’ with our cousins in Los Angeles fo’ the last f-, five or six years, an’ I only s-, see ‘em once a year. An’ my grandma, she barely r-, recognises me these days anyway. Her mind seems to, to d-, die a lil’ more every time I see her. I just been th-, thinkin’ that one a’ these days I’m g-, gon’ walk into that nursin’ home an’ sh-, she ain’t gon know who I is.’
‘I want to fight too,’ Chloe said, balling her hands into tight fists, her jaw set and her eyes shining with a fresh and almost feverish determination. ‘After everything you’ve said, Njinga, I’ve realised that I want to, no, no, that I need to fight alongside you.’
Njinga studied the girl’s face for a few moments and found the kind of brightly savage intensity and zealousness of commitment to a cause that only the fires of youth can truly fuel. She nodded coolly, her eyes locked in an intense stare with the teen’s.
‘We need allies,’ she said slowly, ‘an’ like it or not, you kids have been thrown into this war. I’m glad that y’all are willing to stand alongside us an’ fight.’
Paola, however, broke into tears at this point, her body racked with great, heaving sobs that rocked the whole body of the truck with their violence, while her plaintive wails and moans rattled the steel sides of the compartment.
‘I don’t wanna fight,’ she whimpered between sobs. ‘I don’t wanna do this, I just wanna go home to my family, I just, I just want everything to be how it used to be! What are my mama and papa gon’ say, what are they gon’ do?! They think, they think I’m a terrorist! It’s not true, it’s all lies, it’s not true! I, I don’t wanna fight, I don’t wanna be involved in all this craziness, I just wanna go home, I just wanna see my family!’
Njinga crawled across the floor and sat down next the weeping girl. She placed a comforting arm around Paola’s shoulders, and with her free hand gently stroked the teen’s hair as she bawled and shook.
‘Look kid,’ she began softly, ‘I’ve been alive a long time, a very long time, an’ believe me, I’ve seen a lot of tragedies, an’ I’ve been through my fair share too. An’ before you say it, no, life ain’t fair. It ain’t fair at all. I’ve seen awful things happen to the best people; I’ve seen people as kind an’ generous as angels die horrible deaths after havin’ everything in their lives taken from ‘em, an’ I’ve seen terrible people, psychotic monsters who’ve sown death an’ destruction across the land, live to a ripe ol’ age an’ die peacefully in their beds. An’ what’s happened to you, to all a’ you, it ain’t fair. Y’all seem to be genuinely good kids, with kind hearts an’ a real desire to do the right thing. None of y’all deserve this; hell, not one a’ you deserve even a fraction a’ the tragedy that’s been visited on your heads. But the fact is it’s happened, an’ none a’ you can change that. Y’all just found yourselves in the wrong place at the wrong time, an’ because a’ that tragic accident y’all fell foul a’ the Huntsmen. An’ when you’ve made an enemy like that … well, I ain’t gonna candy coat it: they won’t stop comin’ for you until you’re dead. I know that this is terrifying, that this is overwhelming, an’ that you likely feel that you can’t handle it … but you can.’ She paused here and ceased stroking Paola’s hair, and instead reached down and gripped the girl’s hand, squeezing it tight. ‘You’re stronger than you know, girl,’ she hissed, staring intently at Paola, her blazing eyes driving twin beams of focused energy into the child’s teary orbs. ‘Stronger than you could ever imagine. You just need to reach deep inside yourself an’ find that strength. It’s in there, I can see it, I can feel it … I know you can get through this. I’ve seen things you kids couldn’t imagine, couldn’t possibly believe. I’ve seen the biggest, fiercest warriors break down an’ piss themselves in the face of the slightest danger, an’ I’ve seen the smallest, quietest woman survive the hell of a slave ship voyage across the Atlantic, an’ come out stronger on the other side after having lost every single thing in her life that was precious to her.
At moments when life yanks the rug out from under our feet, we can’t control what happens to us. We can control how we react to what’s happened, though. Remember, kid, there’s one thing that nobody can ever take from you, not unless you give it away yourself:
your will to live, your desire to go on. The one freedom you’ll always have is the choice to either give up or go on. An’ all these years, these hundreds a’ years I’ve been alive, my choice has always been that: to go on, no matter what. So you can sit here an’ cry – which is okay for a while, because you have a loss to mourn – but once that period a’ grievin’ is over, you have a choice to make.’ At this point Njinga stood up and slammed the pistol back into its holster on her upper thigh before continuing. ‘An’ that goes for all a’ y’all,’ she said gruffly, looking at each of the teenagers in turn. ‘Take some time to grieve what you just lost … but don’t spend too much time lookin’ over your shoulders at the past. It’s gone now, that train has left the station an’ it ain’t never comin’ back. The next train is on its way, an’ you don’t wanna miss it.’ She walked over to the corner of the van in which Zakaria was sprawled out, still unconscious in his gorilla form, and she lay down next to him. ‘It’s gonna be a long night,’ she said as she curled up. ‘I suggest that y’all try get some rest.’
She closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep, leaving the teenagers to sit in uncomfortable silence, brooding over an uncertain and terrifying future.
PART SIX
22
WILLIAM
August 1853. A field near the MacTaggart Estate, Aberdeenshire, Scotland
‘Come on Mikey! One more time!’ Paul cried with a laugh. ‘I’m sure we’ll get it this time around!’
