by Archer Swift
Chapter 47
I heard the loud swish of the razor-sharp scimitar slice through the air.
Felt the heavy blow of the weapon.
I heard the sick sounding slash and rip of tender flesh.
Felt warm, sticky blood engulf me.
Heard the staggered gasp of the crowd … monumentally deafening.
My mind was blank, yet I knew my heart was still beating. Pounding.
I don’t know what I expected next, but … but I felt no pain.
How can I describe it?
It felt as though I’d been struck by a solid bar … with a safety pad between my body and the weapon.
And in a moment of sheer baffled awareness, I realised the blood in my eyes, in my nose, in my ears, in my mouth, and pooling in the dirt around me wasn’t mine.
“NOOO!!” I heard myself scream as I forced my gummed-up eyes open.
Then I heard another’s scream … this time, the piercing cry of a broken-hearted father.
Covered in a copious amount of oily, dark-purple gunk, I wiped life-fluid from my eyes to try to clear my vision.
Her blood.
On tier one, I saw Miltredic snap the last of his bonds; the warriors no longer holding him—they, along with mortified tens of thousands of Zikalic, stood stock-still, frozen in starched shock.
Then I saw Shumbalic’s body … cleaved in two, on either side of me.
She had thrown herself upon me as Xakanic’s sword fell.
Shumbalic, I … I…
She had paid her debt, a debt I didn’t want her to pay.
In a bitter brew of rage and horror and grief and so much else, I scrambled to my feet, my knee in excruciating pain, just as I saw Miltredic skirr through the air and slam hard into the dusty arena floor. Ready for war; his face twisted into terrifying thunder, his eyes roaring red.
Where’s Xakanic?
The monster’s huge blood-stained scimitar lay abandoned on the ground a short distance from me. Then I saw him; galumphing across the dirt floor, mumbling incoherently. Like a drunk. No. Staggering as one mortally struck.
Next, Xakanic stopped and slumped to his knees staring in my general direction, but he wasn’t looking at me. He wasn’t looking at anything at all. Mindless, he just gawked; his mouth agape, his slimy, black tongue lolling out of the side of his mouth.
The monstrous freak appeared hollowed out, emptied. Desiccated. Even his swarthy face had blanched, and his once proud distended features drooped. The colour of his excessively bulging eyes, however, was the most noteworthy thing about him.
They had turned altogether ash-grey, not a hint of colour.
Not a speck.
Maybe he did have a soul? Perhaps he was remorseful for his actions. I doubt it. He had killed a Zikalic woman, and it was a bad omen. His own superstitious imagination would torment and torture his mind. Demon-wraiths from a Zikalic nightmare would assail his soul. For the first time, I saw fear … no, unbridled terror in the terrible creature’s face.
I expected to feel pleasure in this moment, my hatred satisfied in his agony. But I didn’t. Inexplicably, I felt … only pity.
In what seemed like ultra slow-motion, Miltredic lumbered over and picked up Xakanic’s scimitar from the dirt; his murderous rage now cooled, and the red in his eyes subsided. Still, the stadium sucked in the cloying fragrant air as he fronted up before the Head Chief of the Zikalic. Raising his voice loud in the language of Zika, a charge that brought the hairs on every part of my body to attention, he swung that heavy sword with all his might.
The crowd gasped for the last time as the large head of the Ruler of Zika teetered and tottered, his long, stiff tongue trapped protruding from the twisted line of his mouth, and then his pate toppled off his shoulders. Bizarrely, his body remained upright for a few seconds, several dark streaks of blood squirting in the air, before it crashed to the ground with a loud thump—kicking up a dust cloud that hung heavily over the slain remains of Xakanic.
I sank back to the ground, the relief overpowering, the sadness overwhelming, the exhaustion dizzying; my emotions frayed. I closed my eyes and felt gratitude bubble out through my lips in thanksgiving. For Shumbalic’s sacrifice.
I heard hurried footsteps slap-slap the dirt beside me, but before I could take focus, Gellica landed next to me, her arms thrown around me. She burst into tears; words weren’t necessary. I held on to her even as I heard Miltredic’s voice boom around the arena.
He spoke briefly in his native tongue before continuing in ours. “People of Zika! Xakanic is dead, killed at my hand. The blood of my daughter avenged. According to our customs, I am the new Head Chief, Ruler of all Zika.”
The crowd shouted a word in the Zikalic language, clearly a term of approval, something similar to “Hail!” or “Salute!” I’d guess. They were manifestly stunned by the events that had unfolded—every last Zikalic had slumped in their seats, sixty thousand pairs of eyes shaded a dull purple—even so; they quickly shifted into ritual obligation at the changing of Headship.
“And now that I am the Head Chief; first, I honour the sacrifice my daughter was willing to make,” Miltredic choked. I looked up, and even from where I hunkered, I could see the same look of despairing sadness in his eyes. Just as I had witnessed the night before—a surreal sensation turning my friable mind over, it seemed like a jaded memory from a long, long time ago.
Turning slowly on his feet in the centre of the arena floor, his eyes trawled the vast shell-shocked crowd in the Great Arena. He held the pensive moment as sixty thousand Zikalic seemed to hold one almighty, hesitant breath.
With a herculean effort, Miltredic continued in a deep but raspy voice. “She gave her life for a Human, because that Human first saved her life. Yes, the Human named Rist showed mercy when he could have killed her.” He coughed, trying to find the fortitude to continue. “She honoured the Zikalic vow: a life for a life. And so, today … today, I declare peace between Zikalic and Human.” He started clapping and swallowed deeply. “To Shumbalic … to Rist, to sacrifice, to mercy … to peace! I salute!”
I looked up. Slowly, the Zikalic people started applauding; significantly, from the first tier up. I started clapping, too. We were applauding sacrifice, honouring the value of forgiveness. We were celebrating … peace.
If this is a dream, don’t wake up!
“Second…” Miltredic croaked, as the clapping subsided. I tried to imagine how difficult this was for him. To keep from tearing away from what he needed to do, to allow himself to grieve at his daughter’s side. “Second, we have much to learn from the Humans … about forgiveness, humility, leadership and faith. Xakanic was leading us down a destructive path; any Zikalic with a clear head could see this. But I have watched the Humans over these years, studied their leaders. They are not our enemy; they are a gift, a chance for us to set a new course. There is so much we can learn from them. It will come at a price; it will mean significant change and require great reform. However, if we see it through, we will create a wonderful future. We will return Zika … back into a Paradise.”
Most of the first-tier Royals stood now and applauded fervently. Some, by far the minority, did so reluctantly. My eye caught one of the Chiefs, a tiny little gremlin of a Zikalic, his ludicrous headwear almost dwarfing him, who appeared to be disgruntled with Miltredic’s declaration. He shut up, and his bottom lip curled hilariously right over his nose when the stately-looking, white-haired Chief, who’d spoken up against Xakanic, seemed to reprimand him.
So, that’s what a Zikalic pout looks like.
I felt my heart swell in the knowledge that Miltredic’s allies were coming out of the woodwork at last; my eyes then panned around the arena delighted as those on the second and third levels now enthusiastically joined in the applause.
“Third, we will share our resources and our wisdom with the Humans. We will serve this species on the verge of extinction and help them become a thriving tribe on this beautiful planet … a planet that is bountiful and big enough
for us to coexist in peace together.”
This time, the stately Chief with regal white hair, spoke up—in English, presumably for our benefit: “Miltredic! I am behind you. Me and my family … we support you. You have given us a most wonderful picture of the future. I salute you!”
“I salute you!” rang around the arena as the Zikalic people pledged their allegiance to their new leader. Miltredic’s hunched shoulders and diffident posture was in sharp contradiction to the haughty, parading Xakanic, who had soiled the arena earlier.
I looked over at my people. Most of them were on their knees or haunches, holding on to their loved ones and friends in sheer disbelief at the events unfolding. I held Gellica tight.
“Now,” said Miltredic, “close those doors and lock away those beasts!” It was only then that I realised the Sabres had become bored; one was licking the wall, one was snarling softly, and the last one was licking itself.
Miltredic turned to my people, his eyes a greyish purple.
“I cannot thank you enough for your courage today. You have shown us a glimpse of what we as a people can aspire to be. I salute you! In honour of your courage, I declare this arena forever closed to barbaric, shameful displays such as was planned today. Never again will needless blood be spilled on this ground. In the name of my daughter, I make this v-vow…”
I could see him tremble, but hold his nerve. The courage of Shumbalic kept the audience in respectful silence and restrained, no doubt, any unhappiness with the decision.
Swallowing deep, Miltredic continued with valour and consideration as his eyes roved over my people: “Now, I invite you all to our public bathhouse; no Zikalic will disturb you, and you will have the chance to clean up and rest. We will bring you food and refreshments. The City of Zika opens its arms to you. Stay as long as you want; leave when you choose. All I ask is this: may your Mzees meet with our Chiefs once you have eaten and rested?”
I saw Matthew, Sarah, Deborah, Shino and Lee nod their heads in vigorous agreement.
He turned to face his people again: “On this day of peace, I declare that there shall no longer be Human pets among the Zikalic. Please allow the Humans in your home to leave. If, for whatever reason, they choose not to, some of them have become like family, and are treated as such. If they choose not to, that will be their decision. The arena is now closed, please return to your homes. I salute you!”
With a heavy sigh, Miltredic spun around and headed straight towards me and the body of his dead daughter.
I hobbled to my feet and embraced him as he got to me.
“I am so very sorry,” I said, as the tears streamed down my cheeks; tears mixed with his daughter’s blood.
“No, it is I who am sorry,” and then looking me in the eye, he said words that I would never forget: “Rist … now you know who you are. Courageous and brave.”
He knelt down beside his daughter’s body. An almost familiar-looking, beautiful female Zikalic came running towards us. Torn with grief, she fell down next to Miltredic.
Shumbalic’s mother!
I watched as Miltredic and his wife poured out their sorrow over Shumbalic’s dismembered body. I so wanted to wrap my arms around them both, but I knew they needed the space to grieve. It was the very least I could give them.
Their child’s sacrifice spared the human race.
