by Archer Swift
Chapter 38
Xakanic was unspeakably grotesque; if he was not so utterly frightening, he might actually look droll. More ogre or troll than chimp. Even for me, having met Miltredic just twelve hours earlier, the sight of the Head Chief of the Zikalic was unbearable—his intimidating laughter and deriding applause were the only sounds to be heard. While I expected the crowd to howl in fear, I realised they were deathly quiet. Unspeakable horror paralysed us all except for those who, with a dull thud, began to swoon across the field.
And all of a sudden, I became conscious of hundreds of Zikalic standing around the circumference of the field, surrounding us, as if they’d been there all the time. They must have been stationed behind or within the wall of smoke and on some prearranged signal, stepped through it like one would a curtain. I hadn’t heard a specific signal, nor did I actually see them step into our side of the smoke wall. They were just … there. Their eyes alternating between a burning red and a dark, haunting purple.
I wasn’t the only one who had now become aware of their foreboding presence. In what was almost synchronised timing, we all seemed to notice their appearance—abruptly, unexpectedly—and this sent bolts of hysterical alarm through our ranks; behind me, the knot of humanity tightened into the smallest possible tangled configuration in the middle of the field. There was no place to run. No place to hide. And screaming didn’t help.
I heard someone vomit violently, the tension too much for his stomach, and the strong stench of urine wafted my way as someone else’s bladder gave up.
Keeping my own bodily functions in check, maintaining my inconspicuous kneeled position, I scanned the ring of Zikalic warriors, numbering several hundred at a guess. I realised they were not young Zikalic; these were adult warriors, ferocious killing-machines. On their left side hung a scimitar; on their right side, a laser gun in holster. Xakanic’s intention was presumably to terrorise. If so, he had exceeded expectations.
How did they all get here?
I was dumbfounded. In the middle of the day, this legion of warriors, led by their Head Chief, seemingly appeared out of nowhere … having turned the bright, cloudless sky above our Gathering Place into midnight.
Much to my relief, Xakanic finally stopped laughing and ceased his incessant clapping. It was only when he stopped that I realised my entire body had been impulsively twitching every time he clapped. Trembling. My left hand still quavered. I ground my teeth to stop them chattering and watched those carrying the Zikalic ruler come to a halt just a few strides from where Dylain lay grovelling under his table.
To my surprise, my headache was gone, and my mind was clear. The terror and stupefaction of all that had transpired must have erased the pain. But I didn’t have time to enjoy the reprieve. I clenched my left hand into a fist to stop the shaking.
“Dylain! My loyal ally,” the monstrous Zikalic bellowed, “what are you doing under the table? This is no way for a Chief to behave. Come on … up, up, up! Introduce me to your subjects.”
Dylain quivered uncontrollably, gaping without words like a wild thing trapped. The look of sheer horror graven into his face at the sight of Xakanic told me one thing: he had not met the Zikalic leader in person, or perhaps the clandestine conference had been conducted in pitch darkness.
Yes, that probably sounds like Xakanic. Saving the shock and awe for now.
“Why … why now?” I heard Dylain find the words in a snivel. “I thought … I thought we had a—”
“Now, Dylain! Get up!” the Head Chief of the Zikalic roared; his eyes blazing red, his lips and ears and nose shaking with the force of the blast. Even after he finished speaking his distended facial features continued wiggling as Dylain strained to get to his feet.
“Up!” Xakanic growled. I was close enough to see Dylain showered in slobber from the monster’s order. “On your perch, little human. You wanted to be a Chief.”
As Dylain lifted himself on the table, it seemed the full weight of the truth spread swiftly through the mass cluster of humanity like an infectious disease. “What? Dylain!” rasped a hundred shrill voices.
“Silence!” demanded Xakanic in a sonorous timbre. “Your Chief must introduce his Sovereign!”
Quailing, Dylain turned to face the crowd; his shoulders drooped, and his mug twisted in terrible fear. The parading rooster was certainly plumped and plucked. “Th-this is Xakanic,” he clucked, “Head Chief of the Zikalic people … Ruler of all Ede … Z-Zika—”
“Louder!” boomed Xakanic as he jumped off his platform and strode alongside Dylain’s table. It was then that I noticed he was easily over six feet tall, a monster of a Zikalic.
Dylain coughed to clear his throat. “I present to you, Xakanic, Head Chief of the Zikalic people, Ruler of all Zika,” he tried to raise his tight voice, “and we are now a tribe under his sovereign rule … bow, please bow.” Dylain got on one knee and bowed. I heard the commotion of hundreds of humans bowing to their new master.
And with that, I stood up.
I was not sure why I did. Yes, my knees were killing me having knelt throughout the ordeal, but everything in me detested everything about this monster. It was not that I intended to be defiant; it was just that I didn’t want to be subservient.
Xakanic glowered at me in an amalgam of both surprise and indignation. “Who is this puny human insect that dares to defy me? Chief Dylain, who?”
Dylain looked at me aghast; his eyes wide in bewilderment. “Rist … please Ristan, just please … please bow.”
“Rist Ristan,” repeated Xakanic, as he seemed to chew on my name. “So … the infamous Rist. Little friend of Shumbalic…”—the monster masticated on his words as his face screwed up in disgust—“… I have heard much about you.”
I stood my ground as the monster came to inspect me. I knew in that second Shumbalic’s life was in danger; perhaps, she was already dead. But I couldn’t cave in now.
“Insolent, are we not?” he scowled at me dementedly, before glancing at Dylain sideways as his cheek-less mouth somehow pulled into a cruel sneer. “Chief Dylain, do command him to bow. Quickly!” I could swear Xakanic was deriving great pleasure from this, even though his eyes remained raging red in colour.
He is abnormal, mad. Psycho.
“Ristan, please … you endanger us all, just bow,” said Dylain, his hands clasped together in desperate petition. “Th-this is seriously not the time to—”
“I endanger us all?” I took my chance. Xakanic wanted to be amused, and I was going to give it to him. Showing some spirit might just buy us some time. “Me?” I glared at Dylain, “You yellow-bellied, two-faced, chicken-hearted coward!”
“Please, Rist?” His eyes widened as his once handsome face wrenched into a tortured mask of fear.
I inhaled sharply. “You were going to execute me for a heinous crime you’re guilty of, making an alliance with this … this thing here!” Easy now! I dared not even cast half an eye in Xakanic’s direction; instead, I continued my verbal assault on Dylain. “And you killed Scott, didn’t you? Didn’t you?!”
I lost it now. In that tiny sliver of time, I saw red and filtered out everything but Dylain from view. I ran at him, leapt into the air, and shoulder-charged him off the table. As I landed on my feet, he crashed heavily to the ground, and immediately curled up into a ball squealing for mercy. I loomed over him, wanting to beat the snot out of him, but he looked so pathetic, so pitiful. Despite my eyes on fire and my head shaking involuntarily on my shoulders in disgust, I managed to bridle my rage. Just.
“You’re not worth it,” I spat.
Xakanic burst into voluminous laughter, “Ha ha! Looks like I chose the wrong human. You are a plucky little insect, are you not?” Still holding his belly, his ugly mug broke into a strange, sardonic smile. “These words you use. Yellow-bellied. Chicken-hearted. I do not understand their intended meaning. In my tongue, peratu biyame would be the ultimate insult. Peratu means inside,” he tapped his chest, “or you would say ‘heart.’ Biyame is our word for
the pathetic, snivelling creature you call Hog.” His smile widened as he cackled. “Dylain is peratu biyame. He has the heart of a Hog.” And with that, the vile Head Chief’s entire body rocked as he chortled again.
Ignoring the lesson in Zikalic derision, I faced Xakanic, having reined in my fury. Everything inside me was trembling, yet I stared at him steely-eyed. “Xakanic, Head Chief of the Zikalic. I entreat you. We are no threat to you, or your people. Have mercy on us.”
“Ristan, Ristan, Ristan … you see, that is not possible.” Xakanic laced his huge hands together on his stomach. “I have made a promise to my people … to feed you to Mizumba, my beasts. We have got the most wonderful Great Arena; you will see it soon. If I do not make good on my promise, I will have unhappy people indeed. And no king wants to disappoint his people. Even you pathetic little creatures must understand that?” His face broke into a demented smile.
“And Shumbalic? She’s one of your people, what about her?”
“Yes,” a snarl replaced his smile in a heartbeat, “that is another story altogether now. Her and her meddling father and mother, a terrible blight on our great name as a people. Scrawny and snivelling they are. When the people hear of their treachery—”
“Have you harmed them?” I couldn’t help but ask, even though the question sounded more like an accusation.
With his broad, bulging nose twitching ridiculously, he grunted and snuffled the air, as though he could discern my character from my scent. “You show concern for them? Then you are as weak as they are.”
“Have you hurt them?” Again, I couldn’t soften the question, strung tight with tension as I was.
“Careful how you talk to me, puny insect,” his eyes blazed a sharper, furious red, and I realised I had pushed it too far. “Miltredic and his family are imprisoned for treason. They will watch me feed you to Mizumba, and then they too will suffer for their betrayal. If you must know, my spies followed Miltredic last night. Once the two of you left Mzee Scott, they alerted Dylain and helped him. Helped him and his cohorts end the life of your dear, venerated leader…” Xakanic spread both his hands out as if he expected me to applaud, “…setting in motion the glorious events of today—”
“No!!” screamed a number of voices from the crowd unable to contain their emotions, the depths to which they had been deceived now fully revealed.
“Ohhhh … I love the sound of your pain,” laughed the abhorrent Xakanic. “You humans will fill my Great Arena with great pleasure.” He jumped onto Dylain’s table, and blasted: “Now, shut up! Listen carefully. We will return to my bejewelled city, the City of Zika, to get ready for the festivities planned. In a moment, my warriors will bind you in pairs and then march you off in silence. You will remain silent for the entire journey, or you will not arrive at my city alive. Anyone who utters a word will die and cost the life of the human he or she...”—a manic grin split his face at his apparent mastery of the English language—“...is bound to. Yes, be afraid, much afraid … my beasts love the smell of terror.” He leapt off the table.
“But first, a taste of my hospitality,” he said, turning to Dylain. “Dylain! Dylain, get up! Stand up proud and tall like a Chief!”
Dylain struggled to his feet, his whole body convulsing. Fear had long since drained his face of any trace of colour, and sweat and dirt plastered his hair tight against his head.
“Stand up, stand tall and proud! Yes, that is better. Before you all, I make good on my word. Today, I authorise Dylain as Chief of the human tribe.” He drew his scimitar, a long curved sword, which glowed purple in the light projected from above.
Twisted with terror, Dylain’s face was morose, deathly pale. As pallid as some deep-ocean critter hauled to the surface in a fisherman’s net; his glazed, glassy eyes enhanced the pasty fish-likeness. There was no hint of the showman now. No ego left. No more self-aggrandising. Like a deflated balloon; like a shrivelled melon, Dylain fiddled with his hands and still twitching, his jaws flapped uselessly as he muttered gibberish under his breath.
“You see; I place my blade on his right shoulder like this and…”
