by Cassie Wolf
Zaki thought back to the jungle, to when he had first awoken on that cold ground. He had taken a heavy blow to the head. He must have been out cold for days rather than hours. Shaking his head, he thought back to the last time he saw Masika. She was cooking when he kissed her on the forehead to say goodbye.
“I can’t… I can’t have lost Masi, Inari.” Zaki placed the cup on the ground. Less than an hour ago, he felt like the victor, like freedom for him and his sister was so close and could become a reality, or at the very least, he’d win some respect within the tribe. Now he was upset he had failed her.
“If you had come home on time, it wouldn’t have made a difference.” Inari pushed himself to his feet and reached for a green jar with what appeared to be a bitten ear floating inside. “The only difference would have been a roof full of regrets. This time you can rebuild.”
Zaki narrowed his eyes at the floating body part and cocked his head. “What do you mean? Is that… is that Masika’s?” He felt the heat rising once more until the witch doctor shook his head.
“This was Gugu’s. Your sister bit it off. She was given the choice of death or Dia.” Inari sighed and pushed the jar forward. “Many of the tribe see the binding as a desperate attempt to regain strength in a quickly-weakening bloodline. There have been whispers about how Gugu cowered before the strength of such a petite young woman. Jasari knows of the whispers and has not yet had an excuse to put on a show of strength. Masi would have given him one by choosing death if I had not intervened.”
- CHAPTER NINE -
When the witch doctor walked out of her cell, Masika was left in complete solitude. The only noises she could hear were the weak scrapes against the floorboards as the other prisoners writhed in agony and their occasional pleas for death. The screeches sent shivers down her spine as she sat, trying to lose herself in her own thoughts.
For two nights, she grieved for her brother, not knowing what had happened to him. Her frame ached with bruises and hunger soon clawed at her stomach. Every few hours, someone would unlock the door and toss in a mouldy piece of fruit and a flask of water. Masika thought she would be able to resist temptation, opting to die of thirst, but her natural instincts soon threw her palms around the squished fruit and cold liquid, shoving them into her mouth as if afraid there would never be any more.
When her body felt tired and told her it was night, she would curl up on her side in a small ball, clinging onto fistfuls of straw to make it comfy and rest her eyes. But each time she awoke there was another muscle aching with tension and her bruises seemed to worsen.
By the time the third day came, she had lost track of time. The outer door screeched open and she heard warriors approaching. There stood Jasari. Even in the blackness, Masika could still make out the smugness on his face.
“It has been twenty-eight days. Your brother has not returned.”
Feeling numb to the bone and already believing he was dead, she shrugged her shoulders at the Chief. “So I am yours now. Fine.”
“Oh no.” The Chief pushed her door open and crouched down on top of the thin layer of hay. She saw him flinch at the smell of fresh urine. “See Masika, I am going to give you a choice, not that you deserve it.”
She snorted in disgust and turned her head away. “What are these ‘choices’?”
“You always knew what the option would be when your brother didn’t return. You are to become bound to Dia after a year has passed and the Gods have received his blessing from the latest bind. But,” the Chief said, leaning forward with a wicked smirk twisting on his face, “you attacked my daughter. Your sister. In fact, many now see you as more worthless than before. You are a risk to my blood. So I will give you the option to be released from this life.”
Masika’s heart hammered against her aching ribs. She paused before replying. The Chief knew that the obvious choice for her was death. It was something she wanted and what she’d told Dia she would do rather than be his. They wanted her to pick death. As to why, the cogs spun in her mind and she tried to piece it together.
“We need an answer now, Masika.”
Masika wiped away the spit from her cheek and tried to quicken her thinking. It was too obvious and easy for her to pick death; there was a reason behind the offer. Then it hit her. The Chief must know her brother was alive and if she was to die then it would destroy everything left of their family. There would be no chance he would stroll through the gates on his return and sit by idly without a fight if his sister were dead. Jasari and Dia would love an excuse to torture him.
“Answer, now.”
Masika raised her head and swallowed past the dryness of her throat. Her stomach knotted and her body went numb from what she was about to say. Taking a deep breath, she finally responded, “Dia. I will bind to Dia.”
For a moment, the warriors and the Chief remained silent. They seemed to be expecting her, like she’d thought, to pick the other option. No one did anything for the longest seconds until the Chief finally threw out his hand to grip her upper arm and drag her to her feet.
“Good girl. Now let’s take you to the hut.”
Masika couldn’t cry any more tears. She had fought this for too long. Her father had died to keep his mate and his daughters safe from this family. Within the space of a moment, she had thrown away all that fight and given in on the gut feeling her brother was still alive. What if he was dead? She would have tied herself to Dia for the rest of her life for no reason. But then again, her family, her blood had been dead for many years now. They didn’t have to keep the fight up for as long as she and her brother had done.
She squinted the moment the blinding midday sun shone down on her. The ground felt hot beneath her toes compared to the icy floor of her cell. One of the first things which hit her was the smell of the slices of beef roasting over the open fires around the rich huts. Her stomach grumbled loudly with eagerness; the meagre pieces of mouldy fruit of the past few days had done nothing but tease her endlessly.
As they trod the winding alleys through to the smaller huts, Masika couldn’t help but feel the slightest bit relieved she was out. She wanted more than anything to bathe that rotten stench from her skin and eat something freshly grilled or roasted.
Eventually they came to a stop outside a wooden door. The Chief took out a key and swiftly opened it before nodding to the warriors to bring the tired young woman through. Masika couldn’t believe her eyes as she struggled to stand in the hallway. The first room was bigger than the entire hut she had lived in her whole life. There was a small brick fire attached to the wall for the cooler months with metal pieces of cookware, none of which had a hole in or even a sign of rust in sight. The barrels in the corner she could see were full to the brim with fresh water and had large silver buckets to fill them with. Beside the fire was an oak dining table with three matching chairs, all of which were covered in different animal skins with another matching one serving as a rug on the floor.
Jasari let her take in all the details of her quarters before he nodded to the warriors to release the rope bonds around her wrists. Masika, not paying attention, nearly fell and slumped onto the floor when her hands were free. She glanced over at the Chief, and he signalled to her she was free to look around.
She took a few stumbling steps forwards, nearly falling face first onto the ground again, clutching onto the closest chair for support. The hut felt as if it was too much, it was more generous then she had ever thought. But then again, she was expected to remain in these rooms until the day she died.
Jasari helped her into the chair, trying not to grimace as he sat opposite, away from her smell. When the door was closed and he seemed confident in their privacy, he turned to speak to her.
“Masika, for years your family has seemed to be under the impression that we were offering to put the females of your family under some form of torture. This… this was all we were ever trying to offer them.”
Masika nodded weakly and brought her broken hand to the table. She
blinked at the Chief, lost for words. “But my father, he was in love with Mother and she was with him. You tried to take his mate off him. You couldn’t have expected him to accept.”
Nodding, Jasari brought a pitcher and stone cups from near the fire and filled them both to the top. “I was young. Your mother turned a few heads, not just my own, as I have no doubt you do too. Your father was a selfish man and wanted you to live in the slums, as did your brother.”
Her eyes widened with horror the moment he said that word, “did”. Maybe he knew Zaki was dead and just didn’t want her acting out. But right now, she had to keep him on side before she could ask him or Dia any questions. She could feel her anger building, as well as nausea and confusion over her brother’s apparent demise. The word selfish was the last thing she would ever attach to Zaki or her father. She tried not to dwell on the words and instead, forced a grin as she glanced over at the barrels.
“How am I meant to get water?”
“There will be a slave who will do that every morning for you.” Placing down his cup, Jasari glanced suspiciously at her. “You have agreed to this now, Masika.”
“I know I have. Is there a way I can hunt?”
Jasari let out a deep, sarcastic belly laugh and shook his head at her. He gulped down the rest of the water and stood. “There is no way you will ever be trusted with a weapon, dear young Masi. Don’t worry, there is absolutely no reason or excuse for you to leave these rooms without myself or my son.”
“What about Inari?” Masika whispered.
“He can, and you will be granted a regular slave who will have permission too. Other than that, welcome to your new hut. Get used to it as quickly as possible; it won’t be long before you are fat with my grandkin growing in your belly.”
With that, the Chieftain left, slamming the door shut and locking it. Masika stared around the room full of treasures she had never known before in her life. Of everything in the world, the only thing she wanted was her brother.
- CHAPTER TEN -
On the first night of his return, Zaki stayed in the Witch Doctor’s hut until dawn was upon them. Inari had a visit from a messenger who warned him not to give the young tribesman a place to stay or he would be punished. Zaki had failed his trial and now had to face the consequences, which meant living on the streets to show the shame he had brought to his family’s blood. He was also given restrictions for a full moon: he was not allowed to chop wood to make a new shelter nor could he receive any generous servings of meat. At best, he could consume scraps when the sun was in slumber.
As Inari went to protest, Zaki stood up and reassured him it was all right. Reluctantly, the witch doctor nodded and sneaked him a pouch with a couple of coins, bread and a working leather flask to drink from.
Leaving the hut, Zaki eyed the Chieftain’s dwelling to his left, the rays of light forever basking around its edges as if it was a gift from the Gods. He knew the truth of it though. There was nothing godly or even remotely innocent about those who lived in there. Except Masika.
After Inari had explained to him everything that happened, he found it hard to decide if what she’d done was understandable or incredibly stupid. Biting the ear from the Chief’s daughter, he could understand that part, but accepting to be Dia’s bind? Not only did it mean that she was now and forever his, it also meant that Zaki had to try and find himself a mate with the reputation their blood had within the tribe.
Sighing, he trudged down the hill, towards the heap that was previously their home. There was one guard at the pile, no doubt waiting for him to arrive and to make sure others didn’t scavenge whatever was left.
The guard gave him a nod as he passed and knelt down to the ground. The logs had been chipped into a thousand pieces. The stones from the stove he had built were scattered along the path, still painted in the black of the charcoal it once contained.
“The Chieftain asked us to save you these,” the warrior suddenly said. He passed over a tattered bag.
Zaki rummaged through the chunks and pieces of debris that were scattered inside. He was surprised the Chief had wanted anything of his left at all. “Did he say why?”
The warrior kept his empty glance straight ahead as he spoke. “Every failed trialist is entitled to some of their belongings or the Gods will grant the Chieftain misfortune.”
Zaki snorted at the comment and dug deeper. He could feel the shape of small, carved wooden objects, almost like spears. Pulling them out, he couldn’t help but smile when he saw the tokens for his ancestors. They brought a warmth to his stomach and for a brief moment, a slight sadness. He missed his parents and his other siblings so much more than he ever wanted to admit. His little sister Adana had only been a month old when the fire burnt down their home. She had the same wide eyes they all had and a thick mane of dark hair from the day she was born.
The evening of the fire, Zaki remembered coming back inside after training with his father and seeing his mother cradling the delicate bundle wrapped in thick blankets of fur. She was humming a simple lullaby while the bright pink newborn face looked anything but tired at all. She peeked out of the blankets full of curiosity and pulled the funny faces a new soul does in the world.
Zaki remembered how his mother told him to approach quietly. On his tiptoes, he snuck across the wooded floor and couldn’t hide the grin on his face when he saw the gentle little miracle glancing at him. He leant forward to kiss her head for the night but instead she tried to suckle on his nose. His mother giggled, clearly tired from the rings under her eyes, and continued to rock her daughter to sleep.
During the fire, the cries of little Adana were what woke him. Smoke was pouring into the room and the closest sibling to him was Masika. Without thinking about it, he quickly tried to wake her. Her eyes fluttered and rolled to the back of her head. He covered her with a thin linen sheet and tried to wake his other siblings but they couldn’t open their eyes. With the heat increasing and the black fog seeping beneath the doors, Zaki believed he was going to die. There was no way out and the only person who seemed to be awake was Adana, screaming across the hut.
That was when cracks began to shoot through the beam above. Rocking backwards and forwards with his sister in his arms and his siblings still asleep, he covered his mouth with a ragged tunic and prayed to the Gods for a miracle. Another snap told him the Gods weren’t listening. His prayers turned to rushed whispers lost over the sounds of the enveloping flames. Anger built inside; they weren’t answering. The beam cracked for a final time…
“Zaki!” Inari yelled in the distance.
Snapping out of his thoughts, Zaki tried to swallow the memories, throwing the models back in the bag and glancing over his shoulder at the witch doctor. “Yes?”
“You forgot your sword,” Inari said, holding his side to regain his breath. He handed over the simple weapon and eyed the bag in Zaki’s grip. “Ah, the mercy of what is lost.”
Zaki nodded and tied the weapon to his waist. “That’s what they want people to think. If he wasn’t scared of the Gods, he would have destroyed it all.”
“We have every reason to be scared of the Gods, Brother. They are unknowing, powerful and judge us on everything we do.”
Zaki ignored the comment and turned towards the nearby drinking hut. For years the few deemed trustworthy enough to return from trade had been sent out to get different kinds of ales and wines to enjoy at festival time. But after a couple of wars, and with more backbone than before, the warriors protested that alcohol was not available daily. For the Chief at that time, this was a blessing. It motivated more of the workers to harvest in the fields with the relief of a promised ale at the end. Now the tribe traded much of its fine cloth and wools, wool from animals found nowhere outside their territory, and could easily afford the alcohol. Luckily, not many were overly keen on the stuff and many were wary it had been tainted by enemies, even when seeing the serving females brew it.
“You think that is wise?” Inari asked.
; “If I have to live outside for a while, I might as well try to warm the blood up. Are you coming?”
“Best not, I have to go meet with some guests who will be arriving tomorrow.”
The witch doctor nodded towards the young tribesman and the pair went their separate ways. The moment Zaki entered the hut, the strong smells of the crushed fruits mixed with the fermented sugar barrels set the mood of the cosy drinking place. There were tables dotted around the hut with matching short stools. In the centre stood a cluster of skeletons, some animal, some human, with candles burning in their skulls and bones covered in dripping wax. Nearby was a smoking fire with silver racks holding succulent fillets of meat browning in the heat.
Zaki drooled at the smell and approached the woman who owned it all. No one knew her real name, everyone had just called her “Bee” as far back as he could remember. She was a plump woman, more plump than normal for the tribe and her hair was forever pinned up with sticks and feathers, almost as if it was a bird’s nest. In her forties, with three sons who worked to help keep the fruit fresh and the meals serving, the woman had a welcoming aura about her. The family had owned the place ever since the first order was given to them years ago, and yet it still had the same happy feeling even now.
“Can I help you, handsome?” Bee smirked and took out a cup.
Zaki glanced over his shoulder and blinked for a moment before realising she was talking to him. “Oh. Orange ale please.” He rummaged through his pockets for the coin.
Bee gave him a wink and poured the drink while he sat himself down in a shaded corner, away from prying eyes. The table was sticky with a mixture of dried dark blood and bitter fruit ale matted together into the crevices.
He twiddled his thumbs as the server came over and sat herself down in front of him. Her own leather rags looked incredibly worn, as if she had held onto them for decades.
