by Archer Swift
Chapter 9
Never! It was against the rules. Or more accurately, against the spirit of the Rule.
We never entered another clan’s camp unless invited, or in case of emergency. And this applied strictly to the course to the Gathering, when our route would take us past neighbouring campsites along the way. The rule of thumb was fifty strides. A travelling clan had to keep at least fifty strides from an empty camp.
It was about respect and dignity, the Golden Rule. We would want the clan south of us to respect the privacy of our camp. We should do likewise.
I thought we all bought into the values the Mzees cultivated among us. Admittedly conservative, even traditional, these ideals provided order and harmony to an existence so lacking in either.
I guess I was wrong. Ruzzell’s been trampling all over them since Victor died.
Infuriated now, propelled by a sense of injustice, I was not even sure how I covered the distance that separated me from my clan so quickly.
“Come on, Ruzz; please…” I heard Judd’s toadyish tone as Ruzzell and his young bucks rummaged through the camp unashamedly.
“What’s he up to now?” I heard the anger twined in my own voice fuelled by my growing frustration with Judd’s feeble wet-blanket attempts to stand up to Ruzzell.
“Rist, don’t…” Judd put a strong arm across my chest. “This time I will deal with it.” I checked my rage and stood down when I saw the grimace across Judd’s face. He looked like a man carrying the weight of the planet on his shoulders. Almost as though he owed us something. Owed me something. With his jaw set and his eyes cutting a determined look, Judd turned in Ruzzell’s direction and raised his voice: “Ruzz! Stop this!”
In response, Ruzzell whooped loudly and continued poking around our neighbour’s camp. “Hey, guys,” he snickered, blatantly ignoring Judd, “make sure it looks like some wild beast wrecked it.” And then, as if to taunt us all, he defiled the camp by urinating over their Base Stump.
I felt my own jaw hang agape with shock. Livid, it took all my will power to contain myself. If not for Judd’s request, I would have flung myself into Ruzzell—even though I’d certainly get another whipping.
“Ruzzell!” Judd was beyond desperate; frantic to stop him from desecrating the camp further, and anxious to stand up to the bully at last. “Ruzzell … if you don’t stop, I’ll report—”
He didn’t get the words out. Ruzzell was on him in a heartbeat. Even I was caught out by his remarkable speed for a big man.
“You’ll what?!” he growled as he towered over Judd, pressing his gnarled brow against the smaller man’s head.
“Ruzzell, come on…” Judd’s shoulders slunk, his defiance evaporating quickly. Browbeaten, he looked like a school kid before a bully on the playground.
Without mercy—and I swear, with perverse glee in his eyes—Ruzzell swung his fist in a full arc, catching Judd in the midriff. He buckled, wheezing, gasping for air.
Caught in two minds, not sure whether I should take Ruzzell on or check on Judd, I hesitated. When I saw Nadalie reach for keeled-over Judd, I decided to confront Ruzzell.
“Unh-unh! Don’t even think about it, dude,” said Shawz, his upper lip curled in a sneer. Sensing my intention, he’d notched and drawn, and his arrow was pointed at my heart. My bow. I froze. I had not taken him into account.
As cool as you like, Ruzzell’s eyes stared me down. “Geez, Risteen! And then you went and decked Judd. Heck!” He turned to his disciples. “The man’s gone rogue. We’ve got a tale to tell the Mzees, don’t we, boys?”
Shawz laughed loudest as Ruzzell’s young bloods all snickered. At first, I didn’t understand what he was on about … blinded by rage, the logic centre of my brain had shut down. When the sardonic hee-hawing finally petered out, the penny dropped. Of course, I would now be given credit for striking another clan member.
With Ruzzell evidently satisfied that he had milked this unabashed foray on our neighbour’s campsite for all its worth; it was time to carry on our journey. He and Shawz headed off first; the second group of two, an ashen-faced, winded Judd and a concerned Gellica would leave next, after one-hundred-and-twenty counts. Jordi and skinny sixteen-year-old Brucie would follow them, before a group of three—Cartyr, Satoru and Nadalie—would go before us. Dixan and I would again bring up the rear.
While I waited our turn, I tried my best to clean up the camp Ruzzell and Shawz had trashed. It was then, I noticed Nadalie Palmer in the corner of my eye.
Nadalie’s father died on our maiden night in Eden. During the first assault of them. Her mother dodged The Plague on Earth only to die of some mystery illness on Eden during our fifth year. That left Nadalie’s clan down to seven; ours down to ten. That’s when our clans merged. A year younger than me, nothing seemed to faze Nads, and I can’t recall her ever losing her bounce. I so enjoyed her company. To be honest, I even felt a little envious of her carefree spirit. Green … in a good way. More like admiration.
Wish I could be a little more like that.
“Hey, Rist,” Nadalie called for my attention as she held out her closed hand.
“Yes, sorry … what?” I tried to drag myself out of my own head. “Um, everything okay?”
“Yeah, for sure.” Even now, her untroubled smile brightened my mood. “Here, take this,” she said waiting for me to open my hand.
“What?” I asked bemused as Nadalie dropped a small pendant of sorts in my palm. “What’s this, Nads?”
“It’s from Gels.”
“Whuh—?”
“She asked me to give it to you.” Nadalie wiped her ash-blonde hair from her pretty face.
My thoughts seemed stuck in sludge. “Wh-why?”
“Well,” she hesitated for a moment and her eyes looked into me, “to thank you for yesterday, but mostly as a promise—”
“But, but this looks precious, sentimental to her.”
“Yeah,” she said, scrunching her pert, upturned nose. “It was her mother’s.”
“What? I can’t take it.” A promise? “Nads, um, what do you mean, a promise?”
“I can’t say too much, because she can’t. Or doesn’t want you to get hurt.” Nadalie leaned in closer. “She’s pretty cut up about yesterday, and all that’s going on. But she wanted you to know, you know, well…” Her voice tailed off but she tipped her head like I should get her meaning.
I felt my arms cross in front of me, to control the apprehension building inside. I couldn’t connect two logical thoughts together. “Pardon?” was the sum total of all I could muster.
“Listen,” Nadalie’s face turned solemn, and her eyebrow’s pinched together. “By now you know Ruzzell is out to get you and Judd. And he’s threatened Gels—”
The muscles in my neck tensed as fire exploded in my veins. “Threatened Gellica?!”
“Calm down, Rist. That’s just the reaction she’s trying to avoid.” Nadalie put her hand on my shoulder, and sighed. “I’m saying too much already, but sometime after Victor died, the jerk told her he wanted her. You know … his exact words were, I’m going to be a king, and I see you as my queen.” She shook her head and pressed her lips into a thin line. “Stupid turd.”
I clenched my fists—enjoying the bite of the pendant in my right palm—and pulled my arms tighter across my chest, trying to master my steaming anger.
Nadalie squeezed my shoulder. “Please, Rist; don’t do anything rash. This is why…”—her eyes darted beyond me, and when they came back to me, her voice lowered—“Okay, here it is. When Gels told him that she wasn’t interested, like, at all, Ruzzell then threatened to take you and Judd out … you know, figuring she fancied one of you two.”
I exhaled trying to shed my rage and think straight. “Geez! Why didn’t she tell us?”
“Because, Numbnut. You’d do something dim-witted and play into Ruzzell’s hands. Again.” She smiled warmly. “She wasn’t really sure what to do, and didn’t want to paint a bigger target on you.”
&nbs
p; “Too late,” I snapped more sternly than I intended to. “I mean…” I explained myself, “…I’ve already done the stupid part.”
