Tribal Dawn: Mordufa: Volume Three

by Cassie Wolf

  “No,” Nuru muttered. His hands dropped. Uncontrollably, he started to dig.

  The warriors hooked their arms beneath his. “We’re going back.”

  “No!” Nuru tried to batter them off. He didn’t have the strength. He needed to be with her. “Get off me!” He kicked at the grave and tried to get to it that way. “No! She died alone! She died scared in this fucking place! She didn’t deserve that!”

  The warriors pulled their scarves over their faces and restrained him. He called and cried all the way back, wanting to be at his mother’s side. Glimpses of her smiling hit him hard. She fought for their freedom. She did it at the cost of her last breath. The heat of the sun beat at him as he was dragged back to the hut. Everything was distorted. Nuru didn’t notice when he was thrown back into his quarters.

  He slumped on the ground and broke down. There was nothing he could do. He was trapped here forever without saying goodbye to his mother. Disgusting methods of ‘punishment’ played through his mind. Karasi was classed as being kept safe, and Masika had been promised a life of torture. He didn’t know what was worse, the fact he’d never see her again or the pain she must have suffered at the hands of her worst nightmare. He covered his face, the aroma of the soil embedded in his nails.

  “Nuru?” a voice above him asked.

  He moved his hand away. Umbu stood over him.

  “What’s happened?!”

  Nuru rushed into his room and broke off a scrap of leather. He threw out the drawers until he found a nub of charcoal and stormed back into the living area. “Where is Kara?”

  “She’s in the bath. Why? What’s wrong?”

  He grabbed her by the shoulders and dug his fingers deep. “I need to get a letter out of here. I know there is a way and I know garasums know it.”

  Umbu, startled, blinked at him. “I… I know of one way. Please, tell me what’s happened?”

  Nuru shakily emptied the figurines on the table. He scribbled on the scrap, wrapped it around a figure and shoved it in her pouch. “It needs to get to Blood-and-White. It needs to get to Atsu. Dia has killed my mother.”

  She stepped back and gasped, shaking her head. It revealed another bruise growing on her face. “I’m so sorry, Nuru. I will… I will send this straight away. I can’t promise when it’ll get there.”

  “It doesn’t matter when he gets it. I’m not waiting. I’m giving him the excuse he needs to cull this place once I’m gone.” Nuru wiped his nose and stared at the handprints on the wall.

  Umbu chewed her lip and glanced at the doors. She shuffled over and closed them. “I can help you.”

  “No. The last time a garasum helped us out of here, she died. I’ll never forget that.”

  “Nuru, let me help. I’ve thought of escape for years, but I’ve never had someone I can do it with. Seeing you return and hearing how the world is out there, you’ve given me the taste of something I want for my child and me.” She grabbed his hand, sweet eyes sparkling. “I need to get away from here, too.”

  Nuru looked at the bruise on her face. He could tell she was serious. He couldn’t use her pregnancy as an excuse, either. Masika had been heavily pregnant when she escaped. It gave her the drive to do it. “I… I don’t know. I don’t know how I’m going to do it.” He heard the swish of water pouring over the side of the bath in the room next door.

  “We’ll discuss it another time.” She smiled. “We’ll do it together, and you can show me this tribe without garasums and colourful dresses.”

  Nuru tried to smile. His face was like stone. He couldn’t feign one if he tried. Karasi was dressed in a robe, frail, marked and embarrassed. She grabbed a brush and sat opposite. “Nuru? What is it?”

  - CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE -

  After the ruins, Vakaar kept to himself. He did small jobs no one else wanted to do. To the villagers, it was freezing, to him, it was roasting. Every bit of money he earned he spent on clothing or home repairs, nothing to spare towards his journey home. The money he’d brought went on the first day he arrived. He was proud of the transformations he’d made to his tiny hut.

  When he was by the farm, he took his time to search for herbs, waiting for his victim. The farmer was old but healthy, and in the day, he was surrounded by children. Vakaar had to be careful. His children and grandchildren seemed happy and unaffected. It was when visitors from the orphanage came that things changed. He wasn’t certain at first; they already had a sense of tragedy and the victim’s glaze in their eyes. When his teenage daughter was caught kissing an orphan boy next to the chicken coops, Vakaar didn’t think much of it. A father being protective was natural. He’d half expected Atsu to punch him in the gut at the feast, let alone what he’d do if Zura told him about the shrine.

  Then, things changed. The girl cried, and her father didn’t listen. He dragged her to the tool shed when he saw Vakaar. When they came out, she couldn’t walk, and his face was puffy. It was still difficult to judge. It could just have been keeping discipline away from prying eyes. Then a Moduma brought the orphans for a trip to watch the chickens hatch in spring. One of the children cried that he didn’t want to go inside the shed. Vakaar recognised the signs. Teenagers could brood and hide their abuse; younger children couldn’t do it as skilfully.

  With the beginning of spring, the farmers were busy. That meant Wamia’s family were too. It was tricky to foresee an opportunity or spot a drink or meal he’d make that the younger generation wouldn’t pick up. Everything was shared. The kill was going to have to be intimate and in the twilight hours. That meant Vakaar putting on his gear and sneaking around the tribe. Nearly half a year he’d been here and had no issue predicting the guard's paths. The hunters concerned him more. They were experts in their field, especially the night ones. They could spot anything that breathed in the dark.

  Vakaar bought a carved bench to sit outside his home. He contemplated how he was going to deliver the final blow. Arda strolled past having left the Chieftain’s hut and waved. After the feast, she’d looked down her nose at him. In the past couple of weeks, since Zura hadn’t been near, she’d been trying her luck. He was tempted, particularly after the teasing torture he put himself through at the ruins, but couldn’t do it. His Silent-step brother Kyda had bedded a girl some years ago, and his cock turned green and grew blisters. It turned out she’d slept with hundreds of men in the hopes of having a child. Arda whispered into the ears of warriors and the next day they’d itch their crotch. This warned him to stay well clear.

  Vakaar watched the farmer by the stall, his pack of children surrounding him. He tapped his chin and sipped his now cold tea, pondering. His vision was blocked. Arda stood deliberately in front of him, unsatisfied with the wave. He gulped the rest of his drink and sat back. With spring, the weather was making him hot under the collar.

  “Hello, Kaari.” She smiled and flicked her braids playfully, though her face was sickly and gaunt.

  “Hello,” he said, deliberately bored.

  “You’re not bound, are you?”

  “Have I travelled back in time? I believe you already know the answer to that.”

  “You never told me why you were cuddling up to the Chief’s daughter at the feast. A bound man wouldn’t do that.”

  Vakaar smiled. “First, you never asked. Second, it’s not your business but you seem curious, so thirdly, I was never going to mate with her. There is no risk of that with a Moduma who sticks to her vows. It works out well for the lonely man. I don’t break my bind, but I get to touch some soft skin and have inspiration for those late-night urges. I’m sure you understand that between fucking warriors.”

  Arda’s face changed and she crossed her arms. “I was going to offer you a special night, but you seem to have mistaken me for a northern whore.”

  “No, girl. Northern whores are clean, and you pay for the class. You have none of that going on.”

  “Enjoy your lonely nights, Kaari,” she hissed. “I’ll make sure to tell Zura that you defile your friendship,
imagining yourself taking her virtue.”

  “Please do, and don’t skimp on the details – a lot of rope, candles and pointy objects. I’ll inform her of your great friendship, offering these special nights. Or give her the names of the bound men you’re sleeping with. Maybe Jocelin will be better to speak to. I heard she does extraordinary things to women she thinks will go near her darling Atsu.” Vakaar patted her on the head. “Never try to outsmart anyone, Arda. You lack the capability.”

  Before she could make a comeback, he disappeared inside. He prepared his Silent-step outfit and took out some chunks of meat to sizzle over the fire. While it cooked and the aroma rose, Vakaar emptied his coins and planned his departure. With Zura’s money and his combined, he would’ve had enough to request the Kardier horse straight away, right at the door, if it wasn’t for his lavish tastes. Now that workers were coming out, eager for spring, jobs were lessening. He’d have to wait at least another fortnight for Zura to give him the difference.

  Taking the beef from the heat, burnt at the sides, he contemplated his plan. There was no certainty that the farmer would be alone tonight. He had to wait for the golden moment. He took out the pouch of phials and delicately lay them on the floor, counting colours. Red, orange, black, blue… the green was missing. Vakaar frowned. He picked up the sack and peeked inside. It wasn’t there. Swearing under his breath, he emptied it again. Nothing.

  It must have been misplaced. He ran to the bedroom and checked if it had fallen behind the hay mattress. He checked his food even though that was stupidity at its finest, but not unheard of. That was safe. There was one other person who’d been inside his home.

  Widening his eyes, he hid his equipment and darted out the door. He greeted people as normal, waving, smiling, searching for Zura. He casually strolled to the orphanage. She’d tried to take her life before. Maybe he’d pushed her too far. If she died, Jocelin would have guards swarming him.

  He knocked and waited. The crying of babies and infants told him the Modumas were busy. Impatiently, he knocked again, twitching.

  “Excuse me, the children were having a nap!” Zura shouted, opening the door. She froze when she met his eyes.

  Vakaar exhaled and cackled, rubbing his brow. “Thank fuck.”

  “Language, Kaari!” Zura ushered a finger to her lips and stepped outside. “Is something wrong? You look sickly.”

  “Have you been in my hut recently?”

  “Not inside. I slipped some coins under your door about a fortnight ago.” She gasped. “Have you been robbed?”

  “No. I’ve misplaced something. If I were robbed, they would’ve taken more.” He rubbed a hand over his mouth and watched the village. There was no clue who it could have been. Maybe in the heat and haze, he dropped it. He signalled to Zura to stand away from the orphanage. “I’m doing the last one tonight. I’ll let you know how it goes.” Relieved she was safe, he walked off before she could ask any questions. Tonight was already going to be risky.

  He squatted at his door and inspected for tracks. No one other than him and Zura. Dismissing his worries, he picked up his cold burnt food and chomped it down, refocusing.

  When Luaani’s silvery half-sliver glistened, Vakaar pulled on his gear and placed the black phial in his pocket. The last part of the job was always jittery. He poured himself a drink, waiting for the worst of the twitches to stop. The pitter-patter of light raindrops turned into violent lashings, shaking the hut. He peeked through his front door and thanked Mordufa for the bad weather. Guards swore when their torches hissed.

  Vakaar crouched in his leathers, pulled up his scarf and quietly closed the door. The huts around him had their window candles doused and covered. He snuck behind the rows, watching the guards. They patrolled and whined about being soaked through. His hair was sodden, and rain drizzled down his neck. Shivering, he was about to bolt across when two warriors ran down the path to meet the nearest patrol.

  “One of the Modumas has fallen ill! Have you seen Nyah or Rudo?”

  Vakaar’s breath caught. She best not have lied to him.

  “Nyah’s in the crypts. Is it Zura?”

  “Nah, the other young one! Arda!”

  He stared in disbelief. Did Zura take the phial and kill her friend? Zura had issues dealing with her attractions but to kill her Moduma sister? Arda did have the appearance of someone deathly pale in the day. He assumed it was the sickness the warriors had been getting. Apparently, it was a seasonal thing. Vakaar shook his thoughts off and concentrated. When the warriors had their backs turned, he darted across.

  The perimeter fence was right in front of him, as were the first guarded watchtowers. He touched the wood of the first, feeling the footsteps at the top. He dashed to the second. An infant cried in her sleep, and her mother lit a candle. Vakaar ducked. His heart raced every moment she sang her lullaby. She doused the candle. His gloves were covered in mud. Under the third tower, guards were walking away. Ahead was the farm’s low fence. He sprinted and over it, landing in the crops. Keeping his head down, he waited. The shed was occupied. The animals were riled by the weather. The girl was thrown out into the rain. Her father followed, wiping his mouth and trousers. That familiar mania coursed through Vakaar’s veins. The hunt when you caught them in the midst of their crime. The adrenaline of the kill.

  His boots squished in the mud. Vakaar twitched at the sound and dived to the wheelbarrow. It was time to check the chicks. This weather could unsettle them. A good farmer wouldn’t want to leave them wanting, now. Wamia grabbed the feed and sheltered it. He shuffled inside the coop. The chickens called in gratitude. Vakaar glanced around and crept inside.

  The old man was bent over, whispering to his birds. “There now ol’ girl. Settle down. It’s just a bit of rain.” Vakaar grinned and took out the phial. Wamia stood straight, long grey hair stuck to his back. “Nothing to be frightened of.”

  Vakaar booted him in the back of the knee and swiftly wrapped his arm around his throat. Wamia’s old eyes pleaded, his voice silenced by the perfect pressure. Vakaar bit off the phial lid and rammed the poison down his throat. Satisfaction tingled at the intimacy. He could feel the old man's vocal chords wriggling beneath his fingertips and imagined what he was begging with. Gold, his stock, his daughters. It’s funny what death brings out in people.

  He stroked the hair away from Wamia’s bloodshot eyes and relaxed the pressure from his neck. He was going limp quickly. “Nothing to be afraid of? Is that what you say to your children?” Vakaar whispered. He kneeled. Wamia was falling back, tears of regret in his eyes. He waited for that last breath and his face to stiffen.

  Vakaar snuck out as fast as he could. He climbed over the fence and ran back to his hut, sticking to the shadows. He stalled outside. Someone was there. It was dark enough not to be spotted but too black and muddy to read tracks. He rested his hand on his knife-hilt and crept to the door. Nudging it open, he stood straight.

  “I knew what you were the moment I saw you,” Jocelin said. She sat elegantly at the table, dressed in red robes, legs crossed, holding an empty phial. “Did you lose something, ‘Kaari’?”

  Vakaar stared her down. He couldn’t deny it. He kept his hand on the dagger’s hilt, closed the door and kept his distance. If he blocked the entrance, she couldn’t run out.

  “Wise boy. I rarely give second chances.” She slid back the chair and stood. “Tell me now, child, who are your parents?”

  Vakaar, confused, furrowed his brow. “Why did you take it?”

  “It will take the guards two seconds to come here when I scream. Your parents, what are their names?”

  “I was never told.” He glared at her, watching as she paced across his home and added sticks to the dwindling fire. “I was given to my master as an infant.”

  “You never asked? You were never curious who gave you away?” She approached him carefully, intense eyes narrowing. “You never wanted to kill them for the marks that you were given while every other child lived in peace?”
>
  Her eyes were flickering. She was holding back tears. He shook his head. “I never wanted peace. Mordufa is my father.”

  Jocelin grabbed the bottle of wine and poured herself a drink. “Did you ever have your stars read, child?”

  “Of course I was read. Whoever gave birth to me didn’t come into it. They weren’t of relevance, and it doesn’t matter. They searched for ability.” He glanced at the phial. “Why did you take it?”

  Jocelin swayed and pursed her lips. “I won’t have sluts in my tribe. I won’t have them upsetting my daughter either. I was born in the Moon tribe mountains. They read my stars, too. My father met a master of your brethren when I was born.” She tilted her head. “When he declined their offer, they told him the best thing he could do was climb the highest peak of the mountain and throw me off. They said if I settled, storms of chaos would shatter my life until I couldn’t deny my nature any longer. ‘The madness of Mordufa will descend if ignored,’ they said.”

  “You were born a shadow and your family kept you.”

  “Yes, a shadowed margay. I swore when my father died if I ever came across your kind, I’d make you suffer. Who am I to judge, hmm?” She smiled over her shoulder. “Jasari wasn’t the first. Arda won’t be the last. Elders I didn’t like when I was young had accidents, female lovers before Atsu that I wanted to own and possess were incredibly unlucky. Men and women who’ve destroyed families got what they deserved, too.”

  Vakaar relaxed his hand and sat down, feet icy cold. “I do not understand what it is you want from me. You haven’t called for guards. You haven’t asked for anything.”

  “I wondered for years who killed my father. Now I don’t want to know. Maybe in the same way you don’t want to find out who gave birth to you. I know Zura hired you to kill those child molesters. It’s no loss to our people.” She straightened her dress and stared at his scars. “I won’t exile you on one condition. Whenever someone orders you to kill one of my family, you decline their offer and inform me who gave the order.”