Eden, Dawn

by Archer Swift

  Chapter 5

  I watched Judd swallow hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “No, no,” he said stroking the tip of his nose anxiously, all colour draining from his face. Smarter than me. “I just want us to talk about this. Don’t we always discuss things like—?”

  “Not anymore,” barked Ruzzell. Shawz snickered on cue, his ball-shaped head bouncing on his square shoulders.

  This time I sent a look in Judd’s direction, an appeal to back down. Standing up for Gellica was a battle worth fighting; causing a scene over a bow was not. Judd sighed and dropped his line of questioning, evidently in agreement.

  Ruzzell was drunk with power, and I was now convinced: he did have something up his sleeve. Gathering with the other clans at the anniversary might give us a platform to address some of these issues. To take him on now would help no one, and only fuel his ego trip.

  I’m not always a quick learner, but this I’ve got.

  “Listen now, no more interruptions,” said Ruzzell, the frown on his face making his two thick-set eyebrows become one, forming a dark frame above his deep-holed eyes. “When we get to the Gathering of the Clans, we’re all going to give a good report on how things are going, understand?”

  We all remained silent, startled by the demand.

  “Understand?” said Ruzzell, his cheeks quickly red with anger. “We’re a happy little clan, and we’re managing well since Victor’s death … got it?!”

  “Yes, yes,” murmured everyone except Judd and I.

  “What was that, Judd?”

  “Ruzzell—”

  As quick as a Serpent’s strike, Ruzzell notched his bow with an arrow on the string. Aimed straight at Judd’s head. Instant fear descended on our camp. Slapping Gellica was a total shock to the system, turning a weapon on one of our own was a close and jarring second. I felt my pulse race.

  “Ruzzell, please!” Judd begged in a placating voice.

  “Hey, Ruzz…” I subtly tried to distract his attention from Judd; the cruel look in Ruzzell’s eyes made the hair on the nape of my neck stand on end. I dared not try anything rash.

  Ignoring me, Ruzzell spoke softly yet tauntingly. “Pretty Boy. Give me your word. You’ll say nothing tomorrow. Got me?”

  Judd rubbed his nose. “Yes, fine.” His dull, compliant tone was one of full-scale surrender. A hangdog expression of self-contempt stretched over his good-looking face.

  In an instant, Ruzzell swung around and let the arrow fly from his bow.

  It was a crazy moment, but somehow I knew it was coming.

  Of course, he wouldn’t kill me; he would battle to keep the clan settled, a ‘happy little clan,’ if he murdered me the day before the Gathering. Even he knew that.

  Ruzzell was an excellent archer. I was handy myself and could hit a Hog in the eye from twenty strides. He could do it from thirty. I suppose I could inflict a flesh wound from ten strides if I wanted to. To Ruzzell, it was a cinch.

  So instead of trying to dodge the arrow, I stood my ground. Moving would only endanger myself. My vision was partly limited after all.

  The sting of the arrow as it opened the flesh on my left arm was painful; the soft twang of the bowstring and the solid thud of the arrow impaling the tree behind me seemed abnormally loud in the stunned silence of the camp. But I didn’t flinch. I stared straight into the eyes of my adversary, determined not to give him any pleasure. I was not going to cause a scene, but I was no coward.

  Every eye fixed on me as blood spurted from my arm. Wanting the moment to rebound back on Ruzzell, I let it gush even though covering the wound would be wiser. Once everyone saw that I was okay, despite the blood running down my arm, every eyeball—loaded with contempt—glared at Ruzzell.

  Squirm sucker.

  Frozen in the act of shooting, he still held the empty bow in his hands; his forehead creased and his eyes wide open. He had no doubt expected a far more dramatic reaction to his brash and brazen intimidation.

  “Cover your wound, Risteen,” said Ruzzell, dragging out my name mockingly, trying to deflect the clan’s collective stare. “You don’t want to bleed to death.” Then he looked around the clan, “Lighten up, you know I can shoot. Freak! It’s just a little fun.”

  “Dank dude! You’re awesome man!” chuckled Shawz half-heartedly, knowing his leader needed a show of support. Catching on, sixteen-year-old Cartyr Rimfell shouted, “Oorah!” and started clapping loudly, until a leering eyeball from Ruzzell cut off the applause.

  “Listen, pal,” said Ruzzell slowly, his cold eyes returning to me, “not a word tomorrow. Understand? You’ve broken trust. You’ve got to earn it back.”

  I’ve broken trust? Me?

  I wanted to take him on, feeling the balance of power had shifted slightly, but in that moment I saw Gellica’s eyes look back my way.

  Besides looking at me when the trajectory of the arrow had pulled all their peepers in my direction, it was the first time our eyes had met since I had stood up for her earlier. She offered me a tight smile, but I wasn’t entirely sure what she was thinking. Was her guardedness an attempt to avoid provoking Ruzzell further? Perhaps she felt bad that we hadn’t spoken since doofus pounded on me. Whatever the reason, my heart melted; my mind went blank and in that instant, I lost my nerve.

  My silence visibly unsettled Ruzzell. “Do you understand, Risteen?” He wasn’t exactly forceful this time, but he was insistent.

  “Yes,” I said as even-toned as I could manage, and felt the whole clan relax a little. Wiping most of the blood from my arm, I pressed my hand against the wound so the blood would clot.

  “Good. Now…” Ruzzell continued—immediately, the tension returned; it seemed we’d all hoped his little speech was over—“…Judd, when it’s time for nominations, you will nominate me.”

  Victor had served as a Mzee for our people, a senior leadership group of older men and women overseeing the clans. Currently, we had seven in total. Traditionally, the leader of every clan served on a supportive leadership tier that assisted the Mzees called Huduma—another Swahili term we borrowed, a word meaning, ‘service.’ Together, this combined leadership body helped guide us in our desperate attempt for survival.

  As the average age of the clan leaders dropped with the worryingly frequent deaths of the older men and women, the leader of a clan was no longer automatically part of the second tier of leaders. One needed to be nominated for consideration. The chance of Ruzzell being asked to serve on Huduma tomorrow was slim, but a nomination tomorrow would mean in a year’s time, he would be a certain bet for appointment.

  I wasn’t sure why he wanted to serve on this leadership group. It was a serious, responsible task and even made one a target of them. There certainly weren’t any perks that I knew of. Careless, pushing a sure-fire case for feckless, Ruzzell thought only of himself.

  What is his agenda?

  “Well…” Judd’s face folded in concentration, hesitant about how to frame his argument against the nomination; Ruzzell’s barefaced command perceptibly robbing him of words.

  Ruzzell clicked his knuckles impatiently. “Our clan needs a representative on Huduma.”

  Judd took in a cautious breath and stroked his nose. “I’m not sure—”

  “Freak! This isn’t a negotiation or a discussion. Are we clear, pal?”

  Judd went pale as his jaw stiffened.

  I gave him a subtle nod, urging him to agree. I was pretty sure the Mzees would see through it. Today, we just had to get through Ruzzell’s tyrannical demands.

  When Judd fumbled his words, I couldn’t help the ones that jumped into my mouth. “He’ll do it.”

  “Well!” snarled Ruzzell, snapping around to me. “You’ve come around, haven’t you? I should have shot you earlier.” He glared at me suspiciously, his eyes twitching in their sockets. Perhaps he was wondering what I was up to. I wish I could claim that I was concocting something more than merely seeing the day through. Alive.

  “Okay, Ruzzell,” said Judd resignedly. �
��Yes, I’ll nominate you.” A quick glance shot my way spoke of his gratitude. I’d given him the chance to find his voice.

  “Hey, Ruzz, what about Gels’s bruise and Ristan’s shiner?” asked Shawz cocksure; his exaggerated grin betraying a game plan in motion. Surely, it was too much to ask Shawz to come up with a question like that?

  “Good point, Shawzie. Good point,” Ruzzell rubbed his cheek, scratching at his facial fuzz. He seemed to mull over an answer. “Yes, yes … Risteen hit Gels, and I had to defend her.”

  I knew it! Ruzzell put him up to it.