Tribal Dawn: Mordufa: Volume Three

by Cassie Wolf

  Roots and flowers lit the room moss-green. Vakaar was led through a maze of overgrown plants in wooden and clay plots, glyphs signing what they grew. The smell was overpowering; a mix of khelja, jungle saffron, snakeroots and other healing herbs clashed together, giving a warm, dizzy sensation. Vines on the wall intertwined and hung from the ceiling. Tucked beneath the foliage, there was a flower covered desk, a couple of stools and a low medical bed in the corner and a matching pale green curtain hanging overhead.

  Vakaar dropped onto the bed and pulled a thumb up to the guards. They turned to Nyah, “Do you need one of us to stay while you check him?”

  “Oh, no, no. Return to your duty and make sure everyone is safe in this ghastly weather.”

  “Zura was nearly hit by a flying sword when we were bringing this one in. This stranger was quick enough to dive in front of it.” The warrior frowned at the trainee with no weapon. “He, however, will be punished for losing control, don’t worry.”

  “It was a Moduma I dived in front of,” Vakaar interrupted.

  Nyah dismissed the guard, shutting the door behind him. She grabbed a basket of medicinal herbs and instruments. Pulling up a chair, she pushed Vakaar to lie back. “The Moduma was my niece.”

  He twitched at the coldness of a pointy object. “She is the Chief’s daughter?”

  “Yes.” She hit him extra hard. Her kind face turned sharp with a hint of fakery. “We don’t get many that travel from the Inferno to these parts. What’s your name?”

  “Kaari. I was travelling to the Sky-and-White tribe to sell my wares. I got lost on the way and ran into some bandits. I guess the winds drew me here,” he said, inspecting her reaction. She wasn’t convinced.

  “Mhmm. You have a lot of whip scars for a simple trader.” She gazed at his chest and turned him over to his side. “More than any I saw on a man, even an old man.”

  He clasped her hand in his own. Widening his eyes, he locked them with hers and played on his stare. “I’m very sorry for the intrusion into your home, and I understand that you’re not the most trusting. I’m sure you have reasons for it. I will be honest, healer Nyah, I left my home. When I was a cub, we were driven out of the Inferno-and-Shadow tribe. We were captured on the journey across the desert. My father was killed on the spot, and my mother was brutally raped by slavers. We managed to escape with the help of another and travelled through the searing desert to the exiled side of Inferno. Because of the wars, I wanted to seek out a place where I could learn to survive the journey back to Inferno-and-Shadow to fight beside my brethren. When my mother and sister perished, there was no reason for me to stay and wait for Mordufa in a barren land.”

  Hypnotised, Nyah gawped at the melody and charm of his tone. She rubbed her hand over his and smiled, a genuine one this time. “I understand, Kaari. We don’t take outsiders in to live amongst us easily. We’ve had incidents with intruders, and I doubt that Chief Atsu and my sister Jocelin would accept anyone they didn’t know.”

  “You remind me of my mother. She healed, too. She nursed the slaves, but none of them thanked her. I thank you, Nyah, for taking the time to make sure I’m well. I won’t overstay my welcome.” He got off the bed and limped to the door.

  “Wait.” She ran over. “You did save my niece. I’m sure Atsu and Jocelin wouldn’t mind if you stayed a short while to earn money for the proper journey back to your home.” Nyah picked up a royal blue cloak and wrapped it around her neck. “There is a hut that should be perfect for you. No one uses it; they plan to make bigger families.”

  “If you’re sure. I would be eternally grateful and will work every hour under Luaani’s graces to redeem your kindness.” Vakaar twitched, the words sticking acid to the back of his throat, and followed her through the trokhosi room. She opened the front door. The winds screeched and rattled weapons, jewellery and tapestries flinging in all directions. “I wouldn’t mind waiting!” he called, shielding his eyes.

  “No! Don’t be silly, child. It’s a bit of wind! I’ve lived here my whole life; not once have I been injured in these small storms!” he believed she said.

  Squinting, he took her word for it and followed behind the stalls and huts in the north part of the village. Due to its size, he expected to be taken right to the other side, winds threatening to blow them away. Instead, she came to a sudden stop, not too far from the Chief’s hut outside a dilapidated building. The dark logs were broken and chipped. The thatch roof had gaping holes where the rain had leaked in. There were no windows like there was on every home surrounding it and the patch for growing vegetables was a pile of overgrown weeds.

  She easily opened the door, clearly a security issue, and rubbed her hands together. In the corner of the room, a scattering of materials from the roof formed a pile of dirt. Mould grew between the logs on the walls. The rest of the huts had been generous in size from what he observed, having at least five rooms. This one had two. The first had rusted pans in the corner and a burnt spot on the ground where the former occupants, however long ago they’d lived here, had cooked food. Hay stuck to his bare feet. The stench of damp was stronger than in his sanctuary’s cave. She showed him the back room which was in better condition than the first. The walls didn’t have as much rot, and the roof was in one piece.

  “It isn’t much, I know, but it’s a roof.” Nyah beamed.

  He wondered what she was proud of and matched her smile regardless. “Indeed it is. May I ask, how does one go about logging and repairing these holes in the roof? I may be used to residing beside a desert, but I’m not an animal…” He lowered his tone and smirked. “At least not completely.”

  She snorted. “Explore the village. We have farmers who store most of the hay, woodcutting is free for everyone, and you can pick from the orchards once a week. I hope you enjoy your stay, Kaari. I will explain to Atsu and the guards that you’re here for the time being.”

  As she walked towards the door, he grabbed her and bowed, kissing her hand. “I’m incredibly grateful, Nyah.”

  Nyah blushed. Shuffling on the spot, flustered, she took her leave into the chaotic weather. Vakaar stared around the empty space and sat down on the floor. His feet were freezing cold and filthy. The scratches on his chest ached. Some were from bushes that he was certain contained traces of venom. His eyesight turned blurry, and hallucinations of talking trees appeared like after the mushroom he tried when he was thirteen.

  On the way here, the journey hadn’t been kind. The Kardier riders he hired were nature lovers to the extreme and the further south he got, trading in horses for newer, rested ones and with that, refreshed riders, the more they despised him taking a piss on a particular type of flower. They were treasured and had a part to play. Going against a tree with a wildcat in the branches watching was fine and not the least bit dangerous, however.

  Exhausted and aching, there were no wool blankets or enough hay to make a place of comfort he could lie or sit. His clothes and weapons were hidden not too far outside the tribe, in a spot free of the tracks of hunters or warriors. For now, all he could do was sit and wait until the winds calmed. Maybe then he could find something to eat at least.

  For hours, the storm howled and screeched. The hole in the ceiling leaked rain and debris from the roof onto the floor. He counted the logs and how many cracks he could see to pass the time. When the gales ceased, he dared to open the door. Everything was calming down. There were a couple of unarmoured people strolling up and down.

  Men as heavily scarred as he was had wheelbarrows and were gathering windblown pieces. A couple of old women carrying baskets, wearing woven skirts and beads up their arms walked with sticks to the lucky stalls that remained unharmed.

  Some gave him second glances, but none seemed to care. A few greeted him as if he had always lived there. Something he found curious was a group of men, bows on their backs and war paints slapped on their cheeks, making a fire. They shared meals out in the open and to passers-by. Rations of well-cooked meat in hand, they laughed as
if nothing had happened. In the Sun tribe, whenever there was hazardous weather, men and women cried about it for months. How the golden ones loved their possessions.

  One of the chefs noticed him and called him over. He carved Vakaar a thick chunk and gave him a spare water pouch. “If the Chief’s allowing you in, you’re one of us for now,” the stranger said, the other hunters agreeing.

  Vakaar took his stick and chewed on the meal. He overcooked his food, hypnotised by the fire that danced beneath and changed it from fleshy pink to crispy brown.

  More people emerged from their homes, holding children and wares for the stalls. He blended amongst the scar-ridden easily. He walked to a bench nearby and observed as they went about their business. Now he was here, he had to find who sent the message.

  Shifty people caught his eye until they broke their gaze. They weren’t looking for anyone. The guards took pride in their job from the way they patrolled. They cared for their Chief and tribe and would happily snap the necks of their enemies with their hands. No, it wasn’t one of them.

  Confused, he followed the path outside the gates to the front, where the rock markings were. The pond to the right had frequent visitors and didn’t help him work out who had sent for him. Usually, the employer was too anxious to hide or couldn’t mask it well. The ones who did and had a change of heart after making the call had to be killed if they didn’t provide the names of their victims.

  He asked a passing young herbalist for a knife and a basket and dug into work in the roots. The rock was just behind him. The people were friendly and secrets too well hidden on first impressions. A pride-filled tribe, to ask for help would be a massively shameful thing to bring upon them. The letter was written with inexperience. Maybe the person would lurk near the rock after seeing his new face amongst the old. If not, they might be looking out for a sign of his arrival.

  He ran his fingers through the soil, scanning for floral clumps. The sun peeked through the smoky clouds above, destroying the last remnants of the storm. The heat rose from the ground, a humid one that made him sweat. All the roots had nearly been picked clean, but he told another herbalist he could scavenge from nothing, which was half true.

  After a couple of hours spent crouched, his back hurting and basket full, a hooded woman finally arrived. He peeked over his shoulder as she elegantly sat down and pulled her hood down. The young Moduma that he had dived on top of sat and stared at the pond. From what Nyah said, this was her niece. It couldn’t be. He hadn’t seen anyone else approach the area all day. She was as calm as a person could be when a sword had nearly slashed their face in half.

  He watched her for a split second and caught her gaze drawing to the rock. It must be her. He put the knife in the basket and walked over, inspecting her dress.

  “A little bird told me that I saved the Chieftain’s daughter from a rogue weapon.” Vakaar crouched.

  She crossed her legs and didn’t look him in the eye. Instead, she did what daughters of Chiefs do best: put on the snobbery, head held high. “Yes. Thank you, stranger.”

  Vakaar nodded and gazed at her legs. She tugged down her skirt. “I’m not after payment.” He looked over his shoulder and lowered his voice. “Although I’m incredibly curious where you got that distinguished dagger that’s poorly tied to your waist.” Her eyes widened, and she jolted up. Guards behind looked at them immediately.

  “Keep calm, little Kreiess. They will search you and me otherwise.” He took out the flask and handed it to her, a friendly gesture. “This is a peculiar place to stick around considering the vast amount of space surrounding your tribe.”

  She reluctantly sipped the water and sat back in front of him. Her hand trembled as she let go. “Sorry,” she mumbled. “I’m… I think I’m expecting someone.”

  “You think or do you know?”

  “I… I know. I’m waiting for someone to help with an urgent matter.”

  “Well then, darling Kreiess.” He crossed his legs and played with the dirt. “How is the help assured this isn’t a setup? Your family aren’t very welcoming to outsiders.”

  “Then you know how hard the decision must have been for me to make.” Zura brushed her hair over her shoulder, looking at the guards and where their attention was drawn. “I need help, and I have the money to pay. I don’t care how much it costs.”

  “Your lovely aunt set me up with a roof not too far from your home. Tell her you want to thank me or some other bullshit. We’ll discuss it there.” He patted her on the shoulder. “And, Kreiess, if this is a setup... well… let’s take your word it’s not. Some brethren don’t respond well to losing one of their own, especially the bloodthirsty types.” He twitched and walked away.

  - CHAPTER NINE -

  Fifteen Sun tribe warriors were being sent to aid the east. Tau, Ebhi, Unika and Rura made up four. Another six were newly certified. The rest had been waiting in the wings for a few years but were not as inexperienced as Tau’s group at fighting in wars.

  Mala timed it perfectly, leaving when they were officially ordered. Tau and Rura called him a coward. It was before dawn, and the warriors were packing for the sleepless journey. Dry food, polished weapons, finely stitched clothes and other provisions for the Inferno effort filled carts and carriages.

  Tau sat before the fire, rubbing his hands after eating the bland morning bowl of porridge. Rura was in his chair, spiky hair sticking up all over the place. The pair had barely said two words to each other since waking. Rura’s temper – snapping, drowning his sorrows and then sulking in a corner like a child – had become unbearable to live with. He brawled with rowdy men and had been thrown into solitary more than once over the days building up to their departure.

  Tau stabbed the fire with a stick. He took out his sword and whetstone, sharpening to fill the silence. “Have you got everything you need?”

  Rura sipped from his metal flask engraved with a dripping candle like the tattoo on his arm. “As much as one can fucking take to prepare to die.”

  “Rura, for fuck’s sake we don’t know that will happen. Why didn’t you go to the Sudasters while you could? Or the healers? If it fucking bothers you that much.” Tau’s finger slipped. Swearing, he chewed on the cut and resumed.

  “No. Have you seen what’s happened to Ebhi now? He’s a mind controlled freak.” Rura threw his flask to the blanket pile in the corner. “When he came out of it, he wouldn’t have a drink at the inn because it’s fucking bad for his mind!”

  “They’ve only told him to do things he already wanted to do. If he doesn’t want to drink, least it’s lighter on our pockets.” Tau shrugged and put his weapon back in its sheath. When Ebhi went for his final session and met them after, his conversation wasn’t normal. “We’ll need to go soon, Jabali’s a grumpy tit at the best of times.”

  “Why do we need to leave early? We’ll just be travelling no matter what.”

  “Because of the feral cunts lining up the beaches. If it weren't for them, it’d be a nonstop ride through. Kardiers have been attacked recently.”

  “They’re getting cocky,” Rura spat. “Bastards, the lot of them. Gouge their eyes out and fuck their mothers.”

  Tau rolled his eyes. He went to his room and packed up the last items of clothing and the letter for his family, as well as the one to be delivered if he shouldn’t return. At first, when they were sent on dangerous missions and asked to write them, he was certain he was going to die. Why would they write such grievous words if it wasn’t going to happen? Now he knew it was so the healers had an easier time and didn’t have to explain as much in papers if the worst should happen.

  Throwing his pack on his back, he walked out of their small abode. Autumn leaves from the surrounding forests swirled in brown, scarlet and orange twirls. He greeted the blacksmith who fixed up his attire whenever a rabid animal got the better of him or a bandit managed to strike at the right time. He looked at the people around. Fifteen years he’d spent in his home tribe. The moment he left, he missed his
family like he never believed. A decade since his arrival, Mordufa could be waiting on the other side of the world. It was as daunting as it was when he left home. This freezing cold place had become his stomping ground, and his brethren were his new family. Would he struggle in the hot weather like he did his first bitter winter here? His skin couldn’t have forgotten how to settle in choking heat.

  Striding to the barracks, he found carts led by worn out horses at the front. Jolly and optimistic Kardier were ready wearing travelling gear to withstand any weather and the facial scars inflicted by the animals that they loved dearly.

  Unika skipped out of his home, Ebhi lurking behind. He beamed a toothy grin, unnatural with such thin lips. “Are you ready, Tau? I’ve barely slept!”

  “Yes, I’m ready. Rura should be along soon.” He looked at Ebhi, concerned. “How are you feeling, brother?”

  Ebhi mumbled and shook his head. He brought his hands to his brow as if in striking pain before dropping his bag and running back. Tau glanced at Unika. “He’s been like that since the last medu trau. He said it was hurting his head.”

  “Is that normal?”

  “Apparently so. At first anyway. They said he shouldn’t be going out to the war yet. He needs to give it time to get used to the whispers.” Unika clapped his hands together and approached the horse. “Oh, what a beautiful creature! She’s a lovely old girl, isn’t she?!”

  “I don’t know much about horses, I’m afraid. Ebhi, did he say why he shouldn’t?”

  “No. He said it was better if he rested but he is bound by duty. He sees everything as work. I tried to speak of his family last night, and he refused to. He said, ‘That type of talk is appropriate for idlers, it is not a requirement,’” Unika said, in his best fancy Ebhi impression. “I told him we’re off duty. Didn’t make a difference to the silly sausage. He went to bed after that.”

  “It’s going to be a load of fun with him and Rura. I kind of wish Mala hadn’t left.” Tau patted the horse’s mane. It snorted in response as if disgusted by his touch. “Jabali will be waiting for us,” he said, wiping his hand on his pants.