Tribal Dawn: Mordufa: Volume Three

by Cassie Wolf

  The smile switched to seriousness. The man shot him a glare as if he hadn’t realised his loud mouth drew attention. “Aye, a great hunt with the Chief and his son.”

  A hunt might be what he needed. Camping out in the jungle, sharpen his arrows and blades to shoot an animal in their prime. And the blood, that bursting red of satisfaction when it hit the sweet spot. “How do you take part in this hunt?”

  “Don’t know if outsiders can.” The man dismissed him, stirring the stew. “Didn’t you hear me? Not just anybody can join!”

  “Shurrup, Pa,” the younger one said. “Ya need to get a bow and join the queue at the side of the hut. If ya shoot the target, ya can go. Closer to the middle means ya will be guaranteed a spot, rest have to stay to guard the tribe.”

  Vakaar thanked the stranger and returned to his hut. He searched for hidden coins. There was nowhere enough to purchase a bow. Muttering, he left and went to the orphanage. He inspected the colourful stick men drawings on the logs, inwardly criticising their poor technique. If they’d had the same Modumas he had, those stick men would have had flesh or the children would be whipped for the lack of perfection.

  A young woman with braids and a lip piercing answered the door. “Yes?”

  “I need to speak to Zura please.”

  “Zura? Some bloke is here for you,” Arda called.

  It was a miracle she heard over the wild screams, the crash when the fun ended and then, the crying. It reminded him of his Silent sisters having drunken nights in. One would push it too far and end up getting hysterical about their life choices. Zura stepped outside, shutting the door behind her. “Is everything alright?”

  “Yes. I need some money,” he said, straight to the point.

  “Oh, of course.” She fumbled in her pockets and handed him a full pouch. “That’s all I have on me.”

  He rolled the coins on his palm and hid them away. “That should be enough. Thank you, Kreiess.”

  “Wait!” she called, stepping forward. “What is it for?”

  “I’m going to take part in this hunting event with your father,” Vakaar said casually, his focus on the bowyer’s stall.

  “You can’t do that! You’ll be right under his nose!”

  “As long as your father isn’t really your mother, I’ll be fine.” He patted her on the cheek and grinned. “I have needs, two of which have been greatly starved. If you want me to keep on working, I need to feed at least one.”

  Zura grudgingly nodded and returned to the orphanage. Vakaar ran to the stall. Nothing was particularly special about any of them. They were bland, carved bows and basic feathered arrows. A crowd of people had gathered to purchase a weapon last minute. He slipped through the shoulders and got to the front, feigning he’d been there a while and was going to take his business to the stalls up ahead if he didn’t hurry up. The bowyer, panicked, chucked him a bow and gathered his coins without counting them, which was lucky considering Vakaar still didn’t have enough.

  He followed the lines of people, young, old, sick and healthy around the hut to where the river beside the village trickled past. Men and women played nervously with weapons, some whispering about the feast and scandals that had happened before. It was said that at previous feasts, four people had died, either through flooding their blood with alcohol or fighting over a man or a woman.

  The line moved slowly. Vakaar tapped his feet. Finally, he was guided through the gate into the patch of garden between two buildings of the Chief's hut. Two figures sat beside the doors that led to the trokhosi hall. A hole-ridden target board marked with charcoal was on the other side.

  Chief Atsu, looking better than he had when Vakaar first saw him, was wearing the skull helm that clung to his jaw and hid his face. Vakaar didn’t like people who did that. He couldn’t read them. The one beside him, however, caused him to smirk widely. A skinny man in robes that draped his skeleton turned pale. His bulbous eyes popped out, glaring nervously at Vakaar. His hooked nose was almost big enough to draw attention away from the scar on his eye.

  Atsu stared at Vakaar. “Name?”

  “Kaari,” he responded. He couldn’t help but watch the messenger beside the Chief squirming. “I’m an outsider and was a trader. My passion has always been for the hunt.”

  “I don’t give a shit what you love,” Atsu said bluntly. “I asked for your name.”

  “Chief,” the snake voice of the robed individual hissed, “as an outsider, he can’t take part. Would you really trust a stranger to stay in the same camp as you and your son?”

  “Shut the fuck up, Rudo.” Atsu whacked him on the back of the head. “Sick of your shit today. Making me feel like I’m going to burst a testicle.” He pointed to the target, lazily. “Everyone else has to get at least one out of five to be considered. I want three out of five from you, Kaari, because whether I like it or not, this snivelling prick beside me has a point.”

  Vakaar nodded humbly and stood between two plant pots. He drew the bow and nocked the first arrow. Don’t be too accurate, he told himself, don’t stand out, you must look like a nobody. You are a trader. He lined up for a perfect shot and hesitated.

  “Hurry the fuck up!” Atsu yelled.

  The arrow hit direct centre. That wasn’t impressive; he just had to miss two. A memory of being on horseback flashed in his mind. He had nothing but a stolen bow after being imprisoned with another of his brethren. The warriors, fearing punishment from their Chief, ran after them. They wounded most, killed a couple and escaped. Since then, stationary targets were no challenge.

  The second arrow hit shy of the first. He could get away with that. When he loosed the third, at the last second his instincts turned him to get the shot. Atsu was craning his head. With the fourth, he squeezed his eyes shut, whispers swarming his mind. Women wearing robes, how they loved to punish him when he didn’t hit the target. His aim swayed but was still too close to the centre. The Chief was leaning forward now. Vakaar picked up the last arrow and drew it. Sweat poured down his forehead, mind echoing with the shrill voices of the Modumas. He snarled and let go. A twitch took it in another direction, pinning into the top of the board.

  Vakaar burst out laughing. Atsu hadn’t taken his eyes off him, and Rudo was too worried about his own skin to admire the skill.

  “Alright,” Atsu finally said, “you can come.”

  “Chief,” Rudo squirmed, “I really don’t think an outsider should be taking part, notably one with such accuracy.”

  “What part of that makes any fucking sense? If we had it your way, we’d be taking aimless bastards and be out there all night. Better aims, better kills, the more enjoyable tomorrow night will be.” Atsu signalled for Vakaar to leave.

  Vakaar was shaken. The horrors of the Silent-step Modumas were never pleasant to recall. He normally hushed them with alcohol, killing and mating, things that he lacked here. The fine wine he purchased was too expensive to keep a steady supply. In the south, it had to be brought from the Sun tribe through bandit country. At least now he could enjoy a night of hunting.

  He got ready, giddy with excitement. It had been an age since he had physically attacked something; the light was threatening to wear him down and give him some sort of conscience. Vakaar sharpened his arrows and made a few more of his own as well as a quiver. There wasn’t anything he could do to his armour other than hope that whatever they hunted wasn’t hungry for a Silent-step-shaped shadow. The groups would depart at sunset.

  Vakaar watched the cracks of light through his door, waiting for the shadows to show Solianga falling in the sky to make way for Luaani. He packed his stuff, including a skin of wine, and met a group of heavily-scarred, armoured tribesmen and women, gritting their teeth, more eager than he was. They guided him to the back, behind one of the largest men he had ever seen. A shaved head, gurning jaw and boots that stuck to his thighs, this monster towered over them all, like an out of place pillar.

  Atsu emerged from the hut, wearing hunting attire and a fancier b
ow than the rest on his back. Vakaar recognised the craftsmanship. The Isikapen Fecteur were a small tribe of the highest quality weaponsmiths, unbiased when it came to their customer base. They made arms for the Silent-step, Sun tribe, anyone who had the gold to pay. Their weapons were deadly and often passed down generations without a scratch. Jocelin was by Atsu’s side, giving her farewells before he joined the pack of followers.

  Vakaar edged away, wondering where he was going. Atsu stopped in front of him. For a moment, he thought he was going to talk to him. Atsu grimaced at the giant. “Where is your mate?” he asked.

  The giant stretched his fat arms and squinted his narrow eyes. “Eating.”

  “What a fucking surprise,” Atsu said. “You’re taking the front half, Dafari.” He eased through the rest. The larger man barged to the front, almost throwing everyone on their backs.

  Vakaar stared in amusement. He knew the names of Atsu’s children and had heard Zura mention them several times. She said Dafari and his mate still lived in the village, but Vakaar had naturally looked for someone built like Zura or Tau. Never in a thousand years would he have expected this giant to have come out of someone as slender as Jocelin. He had met Dafari before and insulted his eating habits over a fire, though Dafari didn’t seem to catch the meaning of the words. Instead, he broke into a duel with another man for eating more than he had.

  Dafari’s group was mainly bulky warriors. Atsu’s were hunters and the few average traders who had honed their archery skills in spare time. Dafari led his heavy-footed men, their share of barrels and camping equipment north of the village, past the Chief’s hut. Atsu’s party walked out the gates and followed the pyramids of skulls through the jungle, cutting vines as they went. Birds tweeted goodnight lullabies to the world. The scent of death from the skulls drifted to Vakaar’s nostrils, teasing his craving. Trees appeared to be touching the purple clouds as they marched through the soft soil.

  The night sky became a dark blanket for Mother Moon Luaani, curved into a sideways smile, twinkling crystals of white around her. Vakaar folded his arms to keep warm when the party came to a halt. He glanced over the shoulders of the others to see what was happening.

  Atsu climbed on a stump and called, “We’ll be setting up here for the night and take it in turns to hunt. Some of you will be sleeping here, others will return with what we catch. Probably the poor bastards who get injured. Butchers, stay here.” Atsu waited until they stood up front. “Half of the rest of you—” He pointed a line through the middle. “—stay here to set up. Right half, go get the first catches. Don’t be fucking stupid with it either. No loud noises, no shooting at others. Find the juiciest fresh kills there are.” He jumped down, took out his weapon and joined the right side.

  To Vakaar’s delight, he was on the right side, too. Twenty men and women split into smaller groups of four. His party made up of what looked like a hunter carrying either thirty-plus years’ experience, or else bad luck with animals judging by his scars, an incredibly masculine-faced thin woman and someone dressed in cloth who didn’t seem to understand what was going on. How he got picked baffled Vakaar as they trod the rough terrain to the east.

  There were always noises in the rainforest. Vakaar found it difficult to concentrate. Crickets chirped, and birds that never needed sleep hooted in their own unique manners. Leaves and vines had to be cut, and the swish of blades was another distraction from listening for prey. He trampled fruit casings, swearing at the coldness seeping through the temporary leather boots he had to wear. The woman hushed him vigorously; he half thought she was turning around to punch him.

  His first catch was a fat rabbit. The instant the arrow caught its throat, his tension fell away. The blood of a new wound dyed its cotton-white fur. They caught small animals and draped them on strings across the back of the clueless man and searched for the perfect main course. Finally, they had their hunt. A creature he’d never seen beneath the night sky, an antelope elegantly grazing on a patch of grass beside a pool of water. Beams shone down from Luaani onto its beige fur and striking white stripes. They snuck into line in the bushes. Vakaar and the hunter released their arrows at the same time, hitting it in the neck, taking it down as gracefully as it was eating. The woman insisted on carrying the kill back to camp.

  Adrenaline newly satisfied, Vakaar was comforted by the orange glow and crackles of cooking food. Butchers were chefs, serving up meals, sharing ale and saving the hides in a barrel to be taken back to the tribe along with the biggest hunts. Tents were erected, small square shelters for them to stay overnight with padded bedding to rest their heads.

  At first, he had to double take when he looked at Atsu. The Chief had removed his helm. His jaw was surprisingly squarer than it appeared, nose straight and eyes rounded and oak-brown. Most Chiefs he’d seen were overweight, adorned with jewellery, and would never be seen laughing and speaking to those below them. Atsu was fit for his age and didn’t have that same air of entitlement. The fact that this average, foul-mouthed man was Chief explained to Vakaar why others gifted tokens to Zura, hoping to bind and become heir.

  They were shown their tent for the evening and another four departed in the direction they had come from. Vakaar followed the others who, of course, wanted to be seated by the Chief. He kept to himself, eating and drinking the sweet beer. The three from his hunt departed one by one, leaving just the two of them knocking back drinks. Vakaar tried to keep quiet, sharpening the dagger he used to skin.

  Atsu looked around the camp and sipped his drink. His eyes were doing everything they could to avoid the roaring flames in the centre. Flinching, he caught sight of Vakaar. “Outsider,” he called, “come, sit with me.”

  Vakaar checked he was speaking to him and dropped the weapon. The last thing he needed was to anger any jumped-up warriors in leather thinking he was going attack the Chief. He was calm, the release of the physical kill and catch of such a lovely creature flooding his toes with satisfaction, warmed by the campfire and ale.

  “Inferno, eh?” Atsu said, leaning back on his elbows. “A trader from the candlestick tribes, hitting targets. Albeit, your nerves were a fucking wreck, but you still achieved what some of my finest hunters can’t. I had four men hit five and eleven hit four today.”

  “When you live beside the desert, you need to hunt frequently and for days on end. The moment you see the first traces of a healthy beast to fill the bellies of your family, your arms and fingers know what they need to do.” Vakaar smirked. “The pressure of being before a Chief adds to the accuracy.”

  Atsu leant forward and picked slivers of meat from a bone. “I’d call bullshit if I didn’t believe wanting something can make you do things you’d thought you were incapable of. In front of Chiefs that aren’t yours, too.” He caught Vakaar staring at his scarred hand and put his fur glove on.

  “Apologies, Chief. I’ve not seen many with wounds from fire in the tribe.”

  “It was before I lived here, no secret to anyone.” He scratched his chin and chucked over a bottle. “When I came here with Joce and her father, I could see in the fucking gawping they weren’t used to this type of scar, either. Four siblings and my parents perished in a fire back when I was in the Blood-and-Shadow tribe. I got out.”

  Vakaar twitched. He wasn’t expecting that. Maybe a cooking fire getting out of hand but not something as grim as losing an entire family. “That’s devastating. I’m sorry for your losses.”

  Atsu roguishly grinned. “It was thirty-nine years ago now. I can’t remember their voices. Their faces I won’t ever forget. As much as it sounds shit, they were probably blessed with death. I don’t know if you’re old enough to know of the cunt Chief Jasari – he made life for my family a nightmare.”

  “I know of Jasari.” Vakaar crossed his legs. “And of Turpu, his sister—” He smiled at the memory of slipping her poison. “—his daughters and, of course, Dia. There are rumours in the north that Chieftess Jocelin choked him with his soul until his eyes popped out. I
wouldn’t have believed it, but then I saw the delightful jar in the trokhosi hall.”

  Atsu laughed. “It’s a fucking terrifying thought if it was true. For my own life more than anyone else’s. She used a snake to kill him and then cut out his eyes as a reminder and a token of vengeance for her father.”

  Vakaar watched the embers glowing gold. “That’s different to your daughter.”

  Atsu tensed. He sat straight and faced Vakaar, sternly. “What the fuck does that mean?”

  “I didn’t mean to cause offence, Chief,” Vakaar calmly said, not turning from the glare. “Your daughter seems timid. I can’t imagine her doing anything bold like that.”

  The Chief contemplated his words, the crease in his brow fading. “I know what you’re getting at. She isn’t defenceless. She killed when she was fourteen; there is no concern on our part that if she needed to chop a dick off, she would.”

  Vakaar did a double take. “I didn’t know that.” He gazed at the night sky, the brightness of the moon, waiting for Atsu to ease his stance. When he was sitting comfortably, veins no longer on show, Vakaar yawned. “I should get some rest.”

  Atsu grunted. “I saw your skill today, even with that fucking weird twitch you suffer with. We could always use more permanent warriors.”

  “I’d love to, but unfortunately I have duties at home I can’t ignore. If there was a spot that I could have temporarily, you have no idea how far I’d jump to take it and help kill your enemies.”

  “Understandable. I can’t give it as temporary, because of the training shit and initiation length alone. Aside from your comments about my daughter, you’ve impressed me somewhat, and that’s not a fucking easy feat.”

  “I’m honoured, Chief. May Luaani guide you.” Vakaar piled his cup with the rest and headed to his tent after Atsu drunkenly dismissed him. He ignored the snoring from the masculine woman lying opposite, mouth gaping open and drool drizzling down her chin. Wrapping up in the furs, the cogs in his mind turned to Zura. The trauma she suffered was evident. That there was a hidden murderess beneath that innocent gaze was a surprising revelation.