by Archer Swift
Chapter 29
“According to our customs,” explained Miltredic, “one of the Chiefs can challenge the Head Chief in a battle to the death. The winner assumes Headship of the Zikalic.”
I was utterly astounded. “And you’d challenge him … for us?”
Miltredic’s voice dropped as his eyes dulled. “Yes, but I would lose, and you would be no better off.”
“You’d lose?” I couldn’t imagine how he could lose a battle.
“You have not seen Xakanic. He is the fiercest, most powerful Head Chief to ever rule the Zikalic. He has destroyed many challengers in the past. He is so brutal, so sadistic. Before killing them, he tortured every challenger … slowly. In the Great Arena, before all the people, he chopped off their…”—he went silent for a glum moment—“…let me just say, no one has challenged him for nine cycles … you refer to them as years.”
I was engrossed. “How long has he ruled?”
“Eighteen cycles, and will rule many, many more.”
“Does he have any weaknesses?” asked Scott tactfully.
“No, and he is loved by the lower classes. He amuses them with the deaths of many so-called traitors and beasts in the arena, and with the promise of the destruction of your species.”
“But you’d challenge him?” I asked unable to contain my fascination and awe.
“If it helped somehow, if it bought favour with my people, I don’t know.” For the first time, Miltredic looked vulnerable, on the verge of doubt.
“Hmm. No weakness?” Scott muttered rhetorically. I could see he was probing, pondering.
“Actually,” said Miltredic, “he does have one weakness, a flaw inherent to my people, the Zikalic.”
“Yes?” I couldn’t help myself.
“Arrogance … we are supremely arrogant, a self-conceited people, and Xakanic has turned it into an art form.”
“Arrogance?” Scott was thinking hard.
“I’ve noticed your people; some of them pray,” Miltredic eyes visibly widened as he reflected, “you talk to a … what you call? … a God. A Creator? It gives you hope outside yourselves. Beyond your own capabilities. You have what I think is a healthy distrust in yourselves and … how you say? … a reliance, a faith that fosters humility of character, a strength of resolve. That gives you hope. But not us. The Zikalic have never had a faith like this. We assume we have always existed, ruling this planet as gods, subjecting all its creatures to our desires.”
A soft squeak escaped my mouth, amazed at his mastery of our language. My cheeks flushed instantly, but Scott’s musings saved my embarrassment.
“No faith base, ever?” he wondered out loud.
“It means we are soulless, empty creatures … amused by petty things.” He almost spat out the words.
“Our species is capable of the same self-reliance and blind arrogance as yours,” said Scott sadly. “It destroyed our planet. Now, in brokenness and great desperation, I think many of us have recognised our need for something beyond … or outside ourselves.”
Miltredic nodded his head with remarkable understanding. “We have never had this brokenness you speak of. Not yet anyway…” His voice tailed away.
“Can I ask you something, Miltredic?” asked Scott.
“Please, anything,” he said, finding a cordial smile. It was hard to fully grasp just how safe I felt in his company.
“You seem so aware of your people’s limitations, almost disapproving of … of them?”
“Yes,” Miltredic hesitated for a moment in stern deliberation. “I am deeply troubled at the direction my people are headed, Scott. There is goodness in us, but I see it buried under layers of pride and greed and vanity. And we habitually use our potential to exploit and abuse. I am truly concerned about the fate of your people, but I must confess to a hidden agenda.”
“Yes?” Again, the word escaped my lips without my permission.
“Once Xakanic has destroyed your people; I fear he will turn on his own for amusement. I sense he will not stop until he has destroyed everything on this planet to feed his insatiable lust.”
“I’m so sorry,” said Scott putting his hand on Miltredic’s shoulder in a heroic show of compassion. “I understand your discomfort. It seems our species are distressingly similar in this regard. Peratuka: my heart touches with yours.”
“Peratuka, my dear friend,” said Miltredic with heart-warming earnestness, even as a sad ghost of a smile alighted on his face. “It is I who am so, so very sorry.”
“Miltredic,” Scott asked, “please tell me about the weed … the toxic weeds that have started growing along the river?”
“Yes, it is from those weeds that we make the poison for our weapons. While the secret of turning it into a workable toxin is complex, if you eat them, death is certain. Of course, one is not likely to eat them as they look so foul.” Miltredic grimaced. “Xakanic gave the weed-seedlings to Dylain. To plant them over a period of time as a source of poison he could use in his battle against you and the Mzees,” he paused for a pensive moment. “It was yet another way Xakanic could assure Dylain that they had formed a true alliance.”
“But the Mzees know about it,” I said confused. “It was announced at our last Gathering. So…?”
“Yes,” Scott sighed heavily. “Sarah and I found the weed and discovered it was poisonous. We shared our findings at our last meeting together as Mzees, the one preceding the Gathering of the Clans. Dylain volunteered to organise a group to remove any trace of the weed. There was just something about his reaction to our discovery, like he already knew.”
“You are a wise and discerning leader, Scott,” said Miltredic. “You need to find a way to unmask him. I will attempt to secure the confidence of our Chiefs. Time, however, is not on our side.”
“How many Chiefs are there?” Enchanted by the Zikalic, I couldn’t help but ask.
“Twelve Chiefs and one Head Chief, Xakanic,” he replied. “We all fear him, but I think more than half of us would like to see the back of him. However, the only way to see him off; the only way to stop him … he must die at the hand of a Chief.”
“Were there ever other tribes or sentient species on this planet?” asked Scott—using the opportunity afforded to extract as much information as possible.
“The Zikalic have been a warmongering people since antiquity,” explained Miltredic. “Many different awakened species roamed Zika since its dawn—what we call Zarkame, the Great Awakening nearly four thousand cycles ago. But when we discovered the power of the Zika-jewels, the Zarke, we considered ourselves superior to the other species. Eventually, we destroyed every other sentient race on this planet in the Kolo-Kole, the War of Wars, leaving only the peace-loving Tsibi to coexist with us.” Grief seemed to wear into his expression as he paused in deliberation. “Our previous Ruler brought great reform, purging us of barbarianism, maintaining our peace accord with the Tsibi, but Xakanic’s reign has plunged us back into gross darkness.”
Miltredic’s wide mouth turned down at the edges, and his narrow cheeks crimped. “In his first year of rule, he waged war against the timid Tsibi. In half a cycle, we killed them, killed them all. Every single one … men … women and … ch-ch-childr…” the word got stuck in Miltredic’s throat, and a despairing shade of ash-grey drained all colour from his eyes. He looked instantly ill, gravely sick. For a moment, I thought he might even recede into a sunken dejection. I was startled at his deterioration, and how quickly it happened.
What memory could haunt him so?
“Why has he kept us alive for so long?” asked Scott carefully, sensitive to Miltredic’s regression, yet eager for answers.
“He said that he learnt from the Tsibi … he said we killed them too fast. He said he wanted to have more … fun with your people.” Miltredic seemed to spit out the details, evidently trying to control his despair. His sentence finished on such a note of finality, my chest tightened.
“And our girls, our females, he allows them as pets…” I said as part q
uestion, part statement, not sure who I was actually addressing. Miltredic’s expression had thrown me. I couldn’t bear even a moment of silence.
“Pets?” gasped Scott, instantly distressed, an aghast frown on his face. My breath caught in my throat; I hadn’t told him this part.
Hog’s breath! I’m not helping.
“Yes, I am sorry, Scott,” Miltredic seemed to find his resolve at last. I let out a sigh of relief, strong enough to extinguish a camp fire; grateful that he broke the brooding silence that had descended upon us.
“You see,” he continued unaffected by my blatant show of nerves, “among our people; women are revered, honoured. Ironically, they have very few rights, but they are valued as the carriers of the next generation of Zikalic. To harm a woman is considered an offense; to kill a woman is considered a very bad omen indeed. And Xakanic is insanely superstitious.”
Miltredic’s resolve grew stronger with each word, a strong burst of purple flooding the iris of his eyes. A tinge of red might even have swirled in the purple too, but I couldn’t be certain with the lambent light.
“Xakanic was curious about your women,” he said, choosing his words prudently around a sensitive subject, “and came up with the idea of capturing your women as household pets. In this way, he could appease the people, and study your ways firsthand.”
I chose to keep my eyes averted from Scott, but I could sense the magnitude of his distress in the cold face of this gut-wrenching revelation. I wished that I had found the words to break the news to him earlier, but I knew there were no words to soften the shock-heavy blow. In my own musings over Monix, I was yanked violently in opposing directions: a split second after being run through with sheer relief that she could be alive; I’d lose my breath, reeling from the horror at what she might have suffered as a Zikalic pet. What she might still be suffering. The psychological damage, the mental affliction, and who knows what else. The disturbing question I tried to beat out of my thoughts: in this case, was death the better option? I couldn’t even begin to fathom Scott’s grief over his daughters.
Miltredic continued. “They are not to be harmed, and many are now well looked after, although of course, it is most demeaning. My family, and especially my dear wife, has campaigned for their protection and their well-being.” He muttered this last sentence impassively; clearly trying to reassure us, not looking for any credit for his family’s good deeds. In fact, just the opposite. There was a hint of self-loathing in his voice.
I now forced my eyes in Scott’s direction; again, he listened patiently and respectfully. There was no vestige of judgment on his face despite his obvious anguish.
Miltredic inhaled slowly. “Realising that this would leave you with too many men, and too few females, Xakanic added both options to the initiation rite of our youth into adulthood. He gave our youth the choice: to kill one of your leaders, preferably male, or capture one of your young females as pets. Unfortunately, it has become fashionable to have a human pet, it is the popular choice.” He exhaled with a shudder. “I am so very sorry.” And he was. An ash-grey made his eyes look hollow.
Do they shed tears?
“And what does your Head Chief plan to do to them when he destroys us?” asked Scott, his voice thick with raw emotion.
“Already he has started rumours that they have carried disease into our valley territory,” explained a distressed Miltredic. “I am certain he plans to destroy them, too. He had no mercy on the Tsibi women once he sensed he had the people behind him, and was able to … how would you say? Darken … no … demonise them. I am very sorry, Scott. I was so proud of Shumbalic … she could not do it; she could not take one of your girls.”
“You’re a great father,” said Scott, placing his hand on Miltredic’s chest. A tear ran down Scott’s left cheek.
“I know what you want to ask me, my friend,” said Miltredic. “Yet you seek first to comfort me … we have so much to learn from you...”
I was confused for a moment, moved by his sincere and honouring words … but then I realised what he was saying.
“Yes, Scott,” Miltredic looked into his eyes. “Yes; your two daughters are alive.”
At the news, Scott started weeping. Heart-wrenching sobs that raked his whole body. Miltredic put his powerful arms around him. “I am so, so sorry for your pain, but they are alive, and I have done everything in my power to make sure that they have been treated well. I wish I could have done more.”
“Thank you,” sobbed Scott. “I so long to hold them in my arms again.”
Human and Zikalic grieved in each other’s embrace, and I was speechless. Besides how utterly bizarre it looked, illuminated by the luminous purple crystal; it seemed so natural. While their physical form appeared so contradictory, their spirits were kindred. Two old enemies, two new friends.
What is Scott’s secret?
Just as the question popped into my mind, I knew the answer. Forgiveness. Scott held no grudges.
