Eden, Dawn

by Archer Swift

Chapter 28

  “Did you?” Scott shot back immediately.

  “Did I?”

  Is he testing me?

  “Do you think you’ve made a mistake?” His question searched me, but it was void of incrimination. “An error in judgment?”

  “I don’t think so,” I said. “No. If he wanted you dead, he wouldn’t need me to draw you out … he could have killed you with ease at any time. He didn’t even need me to direct him here, or to your tree.”

  “You trust this … Shumbalic?”

  I hesitated. “Yes.”

  “You trust her father?”

  “Yes.” No hesitation this time.

  “Are you confident in your judgment?” he probed.

  My confidence waxed. “Yes, I think I am.”

  “Think?”

  “I am.” My certainty grew through his questions, although it didn’t mean he was persuaded.

  “Ristan…”

  “Yes, Scott,” my heart hammered so loudly in my chest that I thought I would wake up the entire planet.

  “Whatever happens … you have done well. I’m proud of you.”

  “Pardon?” I wasn’t sure I had heard correctly.

  “You’ve shown remarkable courage. You’ve followed your gut, and for the first time in months, I have real hope.”

  I cleared my throat. “Sorry … I’m not following.”

  “You’ve thought everything through. You’re right. They could have killed me at any point. In fact, for the longest time that’s what puzzled me. Why keep me alive? I’ve had the most influence among our people, at least, until recently…”—he paused, stalled in thought; I assumed he was referring to Dylain’s rise in power—“…but I’m sure they know that. Why haven’t they killed me yet? Why have they let me live all these years?”

  “Why?” I could only echo his question.

  He sighed. “I concluded they must be up to something … they plan to kill me at the most opportune time, a moment that suits some plan that they’re working. What the young female told you makes complete sense to me; it fills in all the missing pieces.”

  “It does?” I desperately wanted to hear Scott’s perspective.

  “Yes, Dylain’s growing confidence, his arrogance, his attempts to undermine and divide. His brash recruiting, his strange reaction to the weed—”

  “The weed?”

  “Yes, I’ll share with you more on this later, what’s important for now is this: you’ve shown fearless daring at great risk, and you’ve used your noodle, too. And if this, uh, girl and her father are the real deal; they represent our only hope. If they’re not; well, it was just a matter of time before my number was up.”

  I puffed out my cheeks. My mouth was so parched, dry as arid sand. “I can’t tell you how relieved I am. You had me thinking I’d set you up.”

  “I’m sorry, but I was testing your resolve, my boy,” he said with a warm but weary smile that split his beard with white teeth. “I may not have much time left to get you ready.”

  “Ready?” I gulped.

  “You’re going to make a fine leader … once we get those penalty-points off your record.”

  I felt my eyes crinkle at the corners. “What if I don’t want to be a leader?”

  “You already are, my son. If you were clutching after it, you wouldn’t be ready.” Scott’s words imparted courage to my desiccated soul. “Now, introduce me to your friend.”

  “One other thing,” I said as I just remembered it.

  “Yes?” His longsuffering knew no limits.

  “Ruzzell took most of the guys with him to some leadership meeting yesterday.” Despite knowing the answer, I asked the question anyway. “Do you know anything about it?”

  “Most of the guys?” Scott knew everyone by name.

  “Yes, except Jordin and myself.”

  “Even Judd?” he asked. I nodded.

  “No, Rist,” he said; a look of disappointment flashed across his face. “I know nothing about this meeting. Dylain has been scheming for some time, but it seems he’s stepping up the pace. Just so you know; we agreed to Ruzzell’s nomination only to keep a better finger on the pulse, to try to keep up with what was happening in your clan. It seems we’re well behind the play, and we’ve drastically underestimated just how far Dylain’s treachery extends. But now,” Scott exhaled pensively, “introduce me to this Chief friend of yours.”

  “Are you sure you’re ready?” I wasn’t certain I was.

  “Of course, in ten years I’ve never seen our enemy properly, let alone met one. It’s well overdue.”

  “Okay,” I sucked air in through my teeth. “I’m supposed to turn off the light, and then he’ll come. He doesn’t want to scare you.” Even as I said it, my mouth jerked into a grin.

  “Well, well … a considerate foe.” I caught an affable, matching smile on his wise face as I tapped the light. “Who would’ve thought?”

  Instant darkness enveloped us. Startled, we both jumped; it was abruptly frightening, immediately suffocating. Before I could say a word, I sensed his foreboding presence and caught his redolent odour. I heard Scott gasp softly, unmistakably sensing him, too. Miltredic had not made a noise, but I knew he sat on a branch parallel to ours, a stride away.

  “Hello, Scott. I am Miltredic,” hummed his deep, resonating voice. “Don’t fear. I come in peace. Your enemy is my enemy.”

  After a nervous chuckle under his breath, Scott found his voice: “That’s good to know, Miltredic. I am glad to meet you finally, and I am at your mercy. Ristan, can you turn on that light again?”

  “Uh-huh,” I said short of breath as I tapped the crystal.

  Instantly, the striking form of Miltredic was apparent, even though it seemed that he tried to make himself appear less daunting. The visor off his face, he wore a sincere, conciliatory smile. His eyes sparkled a thrilling blue.

  “Oh, wow!” I heard Scott say aloud. “Oh, my ... wow.” He put his hands to his chin in instinctive petition. And then he exhaled sharply.

  “Among my people,” said Miltredic, not allowing any tension to settle, “we greet each other by placing our right hand on the chest of another. Like this…” He placed his enormous hand on Scott’s broad chest. Yet it made Scott seem small. “And we say, Peratuka. Pronounced: Pe-ra-tu-ka. The greeting comes from two words. Peratu, pronounced Peraa-tu, meaning ‘heart,’ what is inside me. My essence. Tukame, pronounced Tu-kame, means, ‘to touch or connect.’ Peratuka, Scott. My heart touches with yours.”

  “You … you speak our language,” Scott gasped, the full realisation startling him. “So, so perfectly?”

  “Yes,” replied Miltredic with his hand still upon on Scott’s chest.

  Scott swallowed hard; bravely raising his hand and placing it onto Miltredic’s chest. “Like this?”

  “Yes, perfect!”

  “Peratuka, Miltredic. My hearts touches with yours,” smiled Scott in astonished awe. “And I guess we have a lot to catch up on.” My heart swelled with pride for this dear man. He was so valiant, so courageous.

  “Yes, we do. Are you all comfortable? Anyone thirsty?” asked Miltredic.

  “Yes, thirsty,” I said raising my hand foolishly like a kid in a classroom, “and nervous, my throat is as dry as a bone.” It was no exaggeration; my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth.

  “Here,” Miltredic offered me a leather pouch filled with water. “And pass it to Scott, if he is thirsty. I am also nervous, so I will drink after you, Scott.” Miltredic’s grin was endearing, and his attempts to reassure us most welcomed.

  Scott chuckled. “I like you already.”

  As I threw back a mouthful of water, Miltredic began to explain in full what Shumbalic had only shared in brief. Xakanic, the Head Chief of the Zikalic, was bent on playing with us until we tore each other part, or until he fed us to the beasts in his arena. He was deceiving Dylain into being his puppet to get the show into full swing. And once he’d served Xakanic’s purpose; Dylain would die at
the mad tyrant’s hand.

  “Even if the Wolf sound like good company, it’s foolish to join them for a meal,” Scott muttered one of his proverbs out aloud.

  “What was that?” asked Miltredic.

  “Sorry, just a saying we have. Miltredic,” asked Scott, serious and sober, “when am I supposed to die?”

  “You are a brave man, Scott,” said Miltredic, his eyes shimmering and his voice swollen with admiration, “and you have worked us out correctly. Xakanic plans to kill you at the climax of the civil war he hopes to bring down upon your people.”

  “Why did Victor die? Do you know who Vic—?”

  “Yes, I did,” Miltredic broke in gently. “We know everything about you.”

  “Why did he die?” Scott again measured his tone. “He was a very influential man, and like me, I wondered why he wasn’t killed earlier. Then he was killed shortly after vehemently opposing Dylain’s appointment…”—this time his voice fluttered—“…the timing? It wasn’t a coincidence, was it?”

  “No, it was not. You have again pieced it together,” Miltredic said, steepling his fingers under his chin. “To prove the alliance, Dylain asked Xakanic to eliminate Victor. A request Xakanic was only too willing to indulge.”

  I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. A hit. Put on Victor by one of us. Sick to my stomach. Anger, red-hot anger. I felt my fingers curl into fists. In the radiant purple glow, it seemed Scott’s facial features went limp and turned pale as his head shook. I had lost a leader; he had lost a dear friend.

  Scott cleared his throat, and blinked hard. “But what can we do, Miltredic?”

  “I do not know the answer to this. Perhaps look for a way to expose Dylain for the traitor he really is. I have to figure out a way to stop Xakanic. If it comes down to it, I will challenge him.”

  “Challenge him?” I asked intrigued.