by Archer Swift
***
The trip to the City of Zika, situated in what we called the Shadow Valleys, turned out to be quicker than I could have imagined. The route we took also answered the mystery of how Xakanic, and all his warriors, had magically emerged in our midst.
As I was yanked behind his procession, the Ruler of Zika jabbered away, gloating of his power and glory and superiority and … just about every other English word for praise he knew. He had clearly studied us, and our language, with great care—a psychotic attention to detail.
Xakanic then went on to explain how he had built the underground tunnel we now hiked through, linking the City of Zika to our place of gathering.
The Zikalic had completed the impressive tunnel in just three moons, and he had kept it secret from the other Chiefs of Zika. Apparently, it gave him an advantage in the betting stakes, which he was determined to win. By any and all means necessary.
The tunnel was completed nearly a full moon ago; still it seemed my random meeting with Shumbalic had forced him to hasten his plan.
“You! You nearly spoiled things for me,” he said with a snort, glancing back for a moment, his massive bulk perched up high in front of me. “That feeble Dylain was moving so slowly, struggling to incite division among your Mzees. Things accelerated a little after we killed that meddling Victor. Still, Dylain failed to deliver. But then you met Shumbalic, and my plans nearly unravelled. I had to step in quickly; otherwise, Mzee Scott would have exposed Dylain. Then I would have missed out on the glorious fun we just experienced, see?”
I didn’t say anything; not wanting to give him reason to stop talking. I knew he didn’t need my help to keep blabbing on and on and on … and I needed to extract all the information I could. Images of Jordin’s mangled body assailed me in my weaker moments, which were frequent. The nagging guilt of my failure to protect him lashed at my stomach. But above the raking remorse, the gnawing sadness of Scott’s death tortured my mind. I couldn’t bring myself to accept it. Questions drilled a deep hollow in my soul, but I forced my thoughts into some semblance of order.
Just focus. On what’s in front of you. Survive this.
The tunnel was impressive. Easily twenty strides wide and ten strides high, it was illumined by purple glowing orbs suspended overhead every forty strides or so. How they developed this underground highway; I had to admit, was beyond remarkable. Clearly, they had access to advanced resources we hadn’t yet discovered; presumably, the power source behind the purple lights could be harnessed in multiple ways.
The surface beneath my feet was smooth, level and clear of all obstructions unlike the uneven, spongy jungle ground with its foot-grabbing tangle of roots, unseen divots and boulders, and myriad of mantraps—poison-tipped thorns, treacherous sinking sand, spider webs and gargantuan bugs, and steaming, stinking piles of animal faeces.
“I always wanted to make my appearance at one of your delightful little Gatherings,” he muttered away in his condescending tone. “Of course, we could have killed you all in a one-night blitz, but where would the pleasure in that be? Crowd panic, collective hysteria, deceit, betrayal ... it was wonderful!” He roared in glottal laughter, and the platform swayed from side to side under his weight—even though he was never in danger of toppling off.
Pity.
“I would have let him kill you,” Xakanic chortled and glanced over his shoulder to savour my discomfort; his face twisted in cruel delight. “I was going to let Dylain slit your throat once I had made my impressive entrance, but he turned out to be such a cowardly human being. Lopping off his head in front of his subjects … that was always how I imagined it!” The despicable Zikalic Chief erupted into another grating, guttural gush.
