by Cassie Wolf
Vakaar quickly got off and sat right back, holding his hands in the air.
Her closeness with Dizelai rushed back. She remembered his face, his voice and how much he adored her. She crawled, sobbing, frustrated and let out a hysterical scream. Zura shook as she clambered to her feet and hurried to the edge of the platform. She glared at the necklace with love and hate. Crushing her fist, she yelled and threw her weight into letting it fly to the jungle below.
Vakaar grabbed her by the waist and dragged her from the edge. “We’re going back.” He picked up the dagger before she could and put it in his other sheath.
“What do you know of grief?!” she spat, kicking and punching. “You take lives away! You don’t even think about it! You could kill someone who has the potential to discover the greatest cures in the world, but that doesn’t fucking matter when you’re a shadow!”
“Like you did, you mean? How did the blade feel when you sliced that boy to death, ever so angelic Zura?” Vakaar hauled her down the steps. “When we get back, we’ll no longer spend time like this. I can’t help you. You’re far more broken than I thought and you’re risking my name every day. Unlike some, I earnt my position rather than simply popping out of the right pussy.”
Zura sobbed as he carried her and didn’t respond. She wanted to go home. She needed to be by Dizelai’s graveside and to share a feast with her parents to remind her of normal times. Not of what Vakaar was trying to turn her into. Sinful one-night pleasures and thinking nothing of Mordufa’s devastating kiss.
The atmosphere was frosty between them on the walk home. Vakaar changed back to Kaari and kept his distance from her. When they arrived at the tribe, they stared at each other, struggling to find words.
“I’m sorry, Kaari. I didn’t mean to ruin your Leraawla,” Zura muttered.
“Things get heated, and words were said. I’ll finish the last part of the job as soon as I can, and I’ll be gone.” Vakaar twitched and picked up a herbalist’s basket from the ground. “Maybe I was wrong. I’ll keep my distance from you, Kreiess.”
“I don’t want that.”
“Neither do I.” He grinned. “We’re both volatile for different reasons. I can’t risk that.”
Zura nodded and gave him a sad smile. “I know, and I can’t apologise enough to you. This is… it’s all new to me. The things that aren’t new are surprising.”
“You don’t handle surprises well.” Vakaar smirked. He patted her on the shoulder. “I’ll let you know before I leave.”
Zura smiled and watched as he disappeared through the crowd. Despite the traumatic images coming to her mind, some of her grief had shifted when she threw the binding stone from the edge. Feeling lighter, she strolled home.
- CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR -
When Nuru was thrown back into his quarters, he stared, waiting for time to go by. Dia stumbled into his room, furious. Nuru expected to be punished. He prepared for beatings and foul breath spitting undigested food. Instead, Dia shoved his warriors in the chamber. He ripped off their helms and decapitated them.
Nuru watched in disbelief. The first man took his death with no expression. It showed when the head rolled to Nuru’s feet. The second whimpered, cried and begged for his life to be spared. Dia struck his neck and kicked it like a ball.
“I have fucking idiots working for me!” He growled, neck covered in worm-like veins. “Disrespectful cunts!”
Weeks passed with no news. He was granted a few minutes a day, hands bound in the garden. Whenever he asked about Karasi or his mother, he was ignored. The only conversation he had was with the pregnant garasum girl, Umbu. She informed him it was winter. It’d been months since he’d seen his mother and Karasi. He tried to not think of them. His best bet was to keep quiet and do as he was told, biding his time.
Dia frequented his visits, speaking of his family and how Jasari was a great man. When Nuru asked about his mother’s side, Dia clammed up and told him it didn’t matter, they were dead.
“Can I at least see their graves?” Nuru asked.
“Why? They’re dead. No, no you won’t see their graves. We’re focusing on your future.” Dia fiddled with his loose armour, “There is the matter of the naming ceremony. By rites, you should be called Brother by our brethren. I won’t let anyone call you that like you’re a piece of shit in the slums.” He took out a wrapped-up package and pushed it forward.
Nuru pulled the paper. Leather armour, worn and ancient, missing teeth on the shoulder. He stared at it, emptily. He could see in Dia’s eyes it meant a lot to him. “Thanks, I guess.”
Dia looked wounded and huffed. “Not just any armour. This was my father’s. Twenty-nine years ago today, he died.”
Nuru hid his disgust and slid back in his chair. “Twenty-nine years since the war?”
“It was the day your mother lost your brother. I remember it well and the years of hell after. Particularly from the fucking Moon tribe.”
“The Moon tribe? They’re nothing but archivists. How did they give you trouble?”
Dia rubbed his round chin and shuffled. “My father wrote the infant as his heir. When we bind to spares, it is seen as a sign of respect to name the firstborn son after the woman’s father. Your grandfather, having powers of Chief, declared earlier. He called him Yera without us knowing until you were born. I explained to them he was sick. We had no body to prove my son had died before I found Inari. The bastard refused to write to confirm it.”
“If my brother lived, he’d be ruling over you?” Nuru asked, confused.
“Yes. My rule is as a substitute until I confirm his death or fifty years pass since his birth. I’m the Chief, nothing will change that. When Masi told me she was carrying you, I informed them straight away that you’ll be my heir.”
Nuru took the armour and spread it across the table. He ran his fingers across the worn seams and missing pieces. It wouldn’t last in battle, not for extended time. He put it to the back of his mind that it was Jasari who’d last worn it and forced a grin of gratitude. “I’ll wear it with pride, Father.”
“You’re a good boy.” Dia grinned, baring his gums. He ruffled Nuru’s curls like he was five. “When you return from your trial, there’ll be a ceremony.”
“Of course. I’m the great Chief’s son, returning victorious with a name.”
Dia chuckled. “Not just that, Nuru. You’ll be bound to Karasi.” He took the armour and covered it back up.
There were many things he’d let slide. He’d been a good son and not questioned where his mother was. He didn’t ask why Karasi was beaten black and blue, either. Binding to her? Like a lover? The annoying little sister he had to put up with all these years? “Bound? You mean… for show, don’t you?”
“No, you’ll have children together. Ten years I’ve waited for this.” He walked to the door. “The guards are bringing her to your quarters, Nuru. Try not to give into temptation before the binding.” Dia smirked.
When the door locked, Nuru ran to the bucket and retched. Tears stung his eyes. He had nothing to vomit. He missed his mother. The way Dia spoke of her family and her, it was as if she was dead. He’d already killed her. Nuru shook and huddled into himself. He’d never known grief. If he closed his eyes tight enough, he could see his mother’s face and pretend he was in the Sky-and-White tribe. He couldn’t believe she was dead, not without seeing her.
By sunset, Nuru was in bed. The front door unlocked and he heard the warriors. They threw his sister into the table and locked the door behind them. Nuru rushed into the living area and lit the candles.
Karasi trembled and sobbed in his arms. The swelling from her bruises had settled, but a couple of the truly vicious ones remained. She rocked back and forth, auburn curls filthy, matted and sticking to her face.
“Nuru, I can’t take it here. I can’t! I want to go home!”
Bloodstains ran down her leg. He clenched his fists, sickened, and held her. “We’re together now, Kara. They won’t harm you anymore. Tomorrow
, we’ll have a garasum, bathe this filth off of you and think of a plan, alright?”
“We can’t get out of here, Nuru. We need help! The warriors…” She threw back her locks. Her lip trembled and her eyes shone. “They subdued me. I couldn’t stop them. I screamed for them to get off. They kept going and laughed. They brought in more warriors and took it in turns. They didn’t care!”
Nuru squeezed her hand hard and kissed her curls. “We’ll get the help. If it’s the last thing I do, I’ll get us out of here.”
When her aches settled enough for her to walk, Nuru helped her to the bedroom. Inside, his rage swelled. He was revolted at what they did to her. If this was his real home tribe, he’d have killed every one of them.
Nuru tucked her in furs and caressed her hair and set up his own bed opposite. Fatigued and dizzy, he went to lie but Karasi tugged on his tunic. “I need sleep, Kara.”
“Can you share with me? I’m scared, Nuru.”
Nuru waited for her to move over and curled at the edge, facing the spacious comfort he would’ve slept in. Karasi pulled his arm over her and rested her head beneath his shoulder. Rolling his eyes, he lay on his back and let her snuggle. Her breathing was restless and jittery. He stroked a finger down her nose like he had when she was young, praying she’d fall asleep. When she finally snored, he let his hand fall on its side and closed his eyes.
When he finally fell into a deep sleep, he had a pleasant dream, one he’d not had for a while. A girl he had a thing with for a moon, golden-blonde hair and cherry lips, a mix of Hartcoriyo and Pruiryp tribes. She wanted him to chase her through the fields. Like an obeying lap dog, he sprinted after. He grabbed and pulled her back. She shook her head and pushed him to the ground. She licked her lips and whispered in his ear. She wanted his seed. He let her take over, grinning. She straddled and kissed his jaw. He felt the softness of her lips trailing to his mouth. He grabbed her hair and kissed her passionately.
A spluttering woke him. Nuru opened his eyes. “WHAT THE FUCK, KARA?!” he yelled and threw her off.
Karasi fell on the floor and banged her head against the dresser. She shivered and shook her head, eyes streaming with tears. “I’m sorry, Nuru! Dia told me if I didn’t have your baby, I’d have to have Iniko’s! I don’t want to have Iniko’s baby!”
Nuru rubbed his eyes. It was too early for this. He glanced down and thanked every god they were still clothed. He’d woken up before she’d managed to do any damage. He rolled out of bed. “Are you fucking serious?! You’ve just tried to rape me!”
“I don’t want Iniko’s baby, Nuru! I’m scared and hate it here!”
“I hate it here too, but I’m not trying to force myself on you!” he argued. He couldn’t look at her. He kicked the dresser and snarled as the pain throbbed his toes. “I’ll get a garasum to clean you up. Wake the fuck up, Kara. Fuck me.” He stormed through the living area and banged on the door. “Can we have a garasum in here! I want an escort too. I want to go to the wells or something.”
“You can’t go the wells, fire boy,” a deep, muffled voice responded.
Nuru growled and hammered at the door. “What the fuck is a fire boy?! Take me to the fucking wells now or tell my father I’m chopping off my own cock and he won’t have any grandkin.”
“No man would do that.”
“Seriously? Do you want to test me on it? Two of your brethren made fine decorations for my shithole quarters. The smiles on their dead faces really brighten up the place.”
There was no response. After a few moments, his ear pressed against the door, he heard the warriors’ feet shuffle as they took out keys. The instant the door opened, he stepped forward, holding his wrists out ready to be bound. “Give me a collar if you must. I don’t care. I need to get out of here.”
The warrior grumbled and took the leather brace from his waist. He clipped it around Nuru’s neck and signalled to another guard. “The pup wants to go for walkies.”
Nuru disregarded their shared sniggers and let them lead him through the winding halls to the trokhosi room. His father wasn’t there, luckily. The guards pulled on the chain, choking him for fun. He remained calm. The doors opened, bright sunlight blinding his eyes. The garden didn’t receive such a greeting from Solianga, the pillars and walls blocked it.
People pointed and whispered. Others were picking at critter traps for every scrap of meat they could get. Nuru didn’t focus on them. He watched the patterns of their movement. There wasn’t a messenger stables. The closest thing was a young boy, scroll-filled pack on his shoulder, running between huts. Everything about this place was cut off from the rest of the world. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw the traders. When he was young, there was one horse they shared to deliver goods across the tribe and trade with bandits if things got arduous. Since Jasari’s war, they could never partake in deals with other tribes. Dia didn’t want visitors to witness the disgrace of the place.
The guards pulled him down the hill and compared him to the women crawling on all fours, naked and bruised. They turned at the foot, towards the queue for the well. People lined up in threadbare rags and holding rusty buckets, waiting their turn to dip for the day.
“There we go. The wells,” the warrior spat and kicked him forward.
There were no walls. It was open space between the village and the jungle. This was where they’d arrived in the prisoner cart. He looked at the fallen fishermen’s shacks. The water was dead, debris, rotting foods and other pieces of junk clogging it. “I want to look at the shacks.”
The warriors grunted and walked a few paces forward, leaving enough room for Nuru to investigate the debris of the two nearest. There was crushed hay, some of it charred. The rest was rotten. He rifled through when the warrior yanked him up.
“There’s no use looking for weapons, you little shit.”
Nuru pulled the chain back. “I’m not looking for weapons.” He ran his nails through the dirt. He was certain it was here. When he was four, and his mother filled her bucket, he’d played with the small dolls. He didn’t think anything of them back then. Not until years later when she spoke of the heirlooms she was given. When she was taken by Jasari, they were given to her brother. He threw debris to the side. A tiny carved spear stuck out. He couldn’t read the names under the bases when he was a child. There was hope. He dug everything out of the way, splinters and cuts on his fingers. There it was.
The palm-sized warrior figurine stood tall and proud, wearing a loincloth, a spear and thick dreadlocks over his shoulders. Nuru turned it and looked at the name. “Yera three-five-four.” He dug deeper and felt the sack. He dragged it out and laughed. “Nuru II, four-two-three, Ishi IV, three-nine-nine.”
“Look, the boy has found himself some toys!” the guard taunted.
Nuru kept on laughing. They didn’t understand. This was his way out of here. It was his treasure trove of help. Only his blood knew who these were. Atsu couldn’t say no to these. He’d have to help.
After a few moments of deranged laughter, the guards tugged on the leash. “We’re going back.”
Nuru tied the bag to his waist. He had to think how to get them delivered with a note. All the pieces were there. There was a horse, proof of who he was, and armour if he asked his father in the right way. Nuru glanced at the sticks in the ground on the western hill. “I want to go the graveyard.”
The warriors stopped and exchanged glances. “No. We’re going back.”
“As your future Chief, I demand I be taken there. If you fucking deny me, you’ll be the first two I’ll slice, dice and mix in a pie for my sister to feast on. I’m sure she’ll enjoy ripping your balls with her teeth after what you did to her. Unlike my father, I’m no fucking coward with my words.” He thought they were going to laugh at him. Instead, they directed him onward.
He didn’t like the act of the big, hard male. Inside he was crumbling apart. The person he was several months ago seemed a distant memory, back when the worst was comments directed at
his sister, rather than actions. She was twelve and could already be carrying their children.
The hillside turned steep and quiet, rows of the dead on either side. There weren’t any fresh, bright flowers like in the Sky-and-White or trees to sit under and contemplate your thoughts. It was bare. A field of the dead in every respect. Graves were labelled with twigs and sticks, knotted to spell the names of those resting beneath. Some didn’t have any sign. There were simply dead petals on dry mounds.
“Graveyard. There you go. Anything else? Want us to rub your poor feet?” the warrior snapped. He appeared to be in a rush to leave.
“My mother’s family. Where are they?”
“How the fuck am I meant to know?”
Nuru’s heart raced. There was something not right. He scanned the graves around him. None of them were names he knew. “I don’t believe you.”
“Listen, kid, a lot of people have died in the past thirty years,” the older one said and pulled on the collar.
Nuru resisted. “You’re hiding something.” He strode forwards. The warriors struggled. There was a grave in the distance, its soil recently turned. His jaw clenched and throat went dry.
The men saw what he was looking at. “Let’s get back to the hut. We don’t want any more trouble.”
Nuru shook his head. Spinning sharply, he caught the two off-balance and bolted. The men yelled behind. He slowed the nearer he got and read the names on those leading to the fresh grave, hoping in his heart and praying it wasn’t. ‘Warrior Lerato, mauled’. ‘Star-caller Rehani, punishment’. ‘Kiah, warfare’. Nuru didn’t want to read to any more. His eyes had to see it. ‘Ishi, crushed’. ‘Tumo & Kalifa, twins, crushed’. ‘Adana, suffocation’.
Nuru’s chest ached. His stomach warped, and hands trembled. Dia wouldn’t. ‘Yera, suffocation’. ‘Zura, suffocation’. His heart pounded. He shut his eyes and denied it. The warriors caught up and grabbed the leash. They didn’t pull him back, though, nor did they taunt him.
Nuru opened his eyes and looked at his feet. The soil was fresh. He kicked it and inhaled. ‘Masika, punishment’. When his mind understood the words, he dropped. He reached for the dirt. His breath was heavy. He wanted to be sick. The last time he saw her, she’d screamed at her children to escape.
