Tribal Dawn: Mordufa: Volume Three Page 13

  Zura sipped her sweet tea and relaxed, wrapping a fur blanket around her arms to ward away from the chill. Her mother sat opposite, reading and replying to letters and requests from other tribes. Jocelin gasped, intense eyes extinguished.

  “What is it?” Zura asked.

  “Tau’s been sent to the east.” She snapped the scroll closed and crossed her arms. “It wasn’t from him, but from his Heior, Jabali. The standard letter if something should go wrong.”

  “He’ll be safe, Mother.” Zura reached out and squeezed her mother’s knuckles. “He’s been perfectly fine all this time.”

  “Tau has only trained and worked in the north. This isn’t like that. He has been sent to a deadly war zone.”

  “But we knew this was going to happen one day.”

  “I know. And I suppose it’s better he’s had ten years training rather than three.” She chewed her lip and gazed at Zura, who was holding her tongue. “What did you want to speak to me about?”

  “Mhmm?” Zura withdrew her hands. “Nothing. It can wait.”

  “No, it can’t. I’m sitting here waiting for you tell me what is on your mind.” Jocelin leant on the table, caramel locks brushing the surface, an odd grey hair sliding across her eyes.

  “You know, years ago, I wanted to be part of the Teba Kardier but couldn’t because of my age? I’ve been thinking, in the spring time, when I become twenty-five, I want to go there.”

  Jocelin rubbed her brow but gave her daughter a smile. “If that is what you want to do, you know we will support you. The problem, however, is the travel. You hadn’t passed our perimeter when that scar-eyed stranger brought you home.”

  “I was trying to edge further out, slowly. I was all right, Mother, and I’m sure if I had the right people and equipment, I wouldn’t feel quite so terrified.”

  “It has taken you several days to recover from the sounds of your own hunters. While travelling, there are enemy tribes, bandits, hunters from friendly tribes… All could spark that reaction.” Jocelin flicked her hair over her shoulder and gathered the answered letters. “In the middle of nowhere, your father won’t be by your side. I want you to succeed in your desire to go out and learn, but I don’t want you to make any rash decisions.” She signalled a warrior and disappeared through the doors to the trokhosi room.

  Zura rolled her eyes and gazed at the turquoise sky. Every other day she had approached the area, she had been fine. She heard the hunters catching prey, and it was that one day she’d broken down. Maybe it was the spot and sounds had brought on too much too quickly. Now poor Vakaar was monitored, she suspected specifically on the orders of her mother.

  As she pondered methods of safe travel, a flash of guards carrying a stretcher, calling for her aunt almost made her fall off her chair. “What’s going on?” she asked.

  “Jinga, the old fisherman, fell into the river.”

  Her heart skipped a beat and her eyes widened. “Why do we need all this? Can you not lift him out?” she asked, though she already knew the answer.

  “No.” The guard shook his head, saddened. “Another fisherman said he saw the whites of his eyes. He thought he was joking. Then he fell into the water, out cold.”

  Zura’s mouth opened. She brought her fingers to her lips. Jinga was Nola’s uncle. Surely, this must have been wrong. He couldn’t have done anything harmful to his niece. He visited the orphanage weekly, bringing gifts of clothes, and soothed her tears. Vakaar had made a terrible error.

  She kept calm, cheeks flushed. Skirt ripped at the bottom and no shoes on her feet, she walked out the side of the garden. The instant no guards were in sight, she sped towards the village. The last thing she needed was her mother catching wind, especially after her protests about what she suspected.

  Relatives and friends of Jinga cried and leant on another for support, gathered in the centre. Zura dryly swallowed her guilt. The guards returned, holding the stretcher, a thin blanket covering the body. His pale hand was stretched out, stiff and soaked. A young woman, someone who had been visiting his hut as a mate recently five years after he’d been widowed, burst out crying and fell to the ground.

  Zura scanned for Vakaar. Her sight wasn’t working. People were blurs. The sounds of the woman crying on the floor engrossed her. Her heart raced, and she broke into a run. When she was sure that no one was watching, she went to Vakaar’s hut. She found him sitting calmly on a bench two streets away, basking in the sun as it passed through the clouds.

  “What have you done?!” she urgently whispered.

  He frowned and pressed a finger to his lips. “My job. Is there a problem?”

  Zura ruffled her skirt and sat beside him. “Is there a problem?! Jinga wouldn’t harm anyone! Why did you do that?!”

  Vakaar took a breath and clicked his neck. He twitched and narrowed his gaze. “What happened to your tooth?”

  She brought her hand to her mouth. “What? Nothing has happened to my tooth.”

  “That one, on the lower left. It’s crooked.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with my teeth! What has this got to do with Jinga?! The man was innocent.”

  “The thing is, little Kreiess, I’ve noticed your tooth because I’m more observant. I don’t make mistakes. Jinga was as innocent as I am.” Vakaar rested his head back and closed his eyes.

  Zura held her breath. She’d known the man for years. He delivered his best catches to her family and was rewarded in return. When his nephew died, he was heartbroken he couldn’t have his niece live with him. She remembered him as clear as day sobbing before the trokhosi, begging. “There must be a mistake, Vakaar.”

  “Look,” he huffed impatiently, “I followed him to his home like you asked. The girl was distressed and scared. I listened at his door and believe me when I say there is no mistaking what I heard. Do you really want me to tell you the sordid details of what he did? Because I can, or you can trust that I don’t make errors.”

  “You're serious. You actually heard—” She shuddered. “—things happening.”

  “Some people do surprising things when others aren’t watching.” Vakaar opened one eye and nodded to a woman cradling a sling. “She’s sleeping with one of the warriors she isn’t bound to in the orchards. He’s been faking his injuries because he’s affectionate for one of the trainee healers. She’s hiding that she gets beaten by a mate who wasn’t accepted as a warrior like the rest of his family.” Vakaar smiled. “Everyone has a dark side of life others would judge, some are just better at hiding it.”

  A man in farmer’s clothing dashed across, grey, greasy hair sticking to his forehead, hand covering his mouth in disbelief. The guilt wasn’t something Zura was used to. The one time she’d killed a person was ten years ago after Dizelai was struck with an arrow. Her father found her in the jungle, her best dress blood-soaked and Dizelai’s lifeless body before her. She stole her father’s sword and ran after the skinny Shadow warrior who’d killed him. She hacked at him until his skin flayed and he was nothing more than a pile of meat and muscle.

  “What will my aunt see when she inspects his body?” Zura asked, fighting her thoughts.

  “Nothing much. He was reaching an age when bones wear down. She’ll probably suspect his heart gave in, causing him to collapse.” He picked a cherry from a nearby plant pot and tossed it into his mouth. “If it makes you feel better, you were right, there is more than one.”

  “That’s meant to make me feel better?”

  Vakaar bitterly swallowed. “I mean it wasn’t in your head. There are three – two now – I suspect, but I need to follow them and work out an opportunity. The fisherman was easy.” He picked another cherry and rolled it between his thumb and forefinger. “You’ve done the right thing, as much as guilt riddles your lovely face. Those who survive childhood after that tend to turn out… well, like myself or their abusers.”

  Zura watched him play with the small fruit, hands cupped between her knees. Her brow knotted. “I hope it isn’t too late for them
.”

  “It might be for some, I can’t lie.” He ate the second cherry and pulled a face. “They are strangely bitter, but pleasant. Anyway, when I followed you, I was coming to tell you that I had proof of Jinga. With your dramas the other day, the guards and your mother dearest watching me, and then you disappearing off the face of Vuunis, I decided to take the opportunity presented.”

  She curled her hair behind her ear. “Thank you for telling me. I’m sorry about the other day, Vakaar. I didn’t want to draw attention to you or get you involved like that.” Zura went to stand.

  Vakaar tugged the back of her skirt and twitched. “Come into my hut.”

  “I can’t, I have things to do.”

  He stood with her. “Come on. I bought something which I think is a rug.”

  She laughed weakly and glanced to see if anyone was watching. The guards’ top priority was Jinga’s family. Her parents were inside, probably worrying about Tau. “I can’t stay for long.”

  Vakaar went ahead, hiding in the shadows. Zura followed, holding her nose as she approached the threshold, ready for the odour of damp. Instead, she was surprised. The tattered logs had almost all been fixed. The hole in the ceiling was covered, and the roof thatch had been replaced. A sun and moon emblem engraved the new, secure door. Beads, chimes and feathers dangled from the roof.

  “I was thinking of putting a mask above the door, or a skull. It seems to be the theme around here.” He rubbed his chin and glanced at the huts around them.

  “A skull will suffice. If you put up a mask, people will think you’re a witch doctor or a healer.” She smiled. “You must have worked hard to patch this place up. I could smell it from mine last week.”

  “It still has the odour, but I’m used to masking damp conditions.” Vakaar motioned for her to follow him in. “I’ve had a lot of free time on my hands. Next week, this hut will be the envy of everyone, six bedrooms to spare.”

  Zura stepped inside. The aroma of burning lavender oil hit her nose and tension melted from her shoulders. She held her dress off the ground until seeing in the rays of sunlight it was clean. The room had one cushioned chair in the centre on top of a colourfully striped and zigzagged rug, and one of the log stumps was being used as a table. The centre had its small fire, though now rocks kept the smoky embers and ash in place. The rug cushioned her feet as she sat down beside the fire.

  Vakaar closed the door and signalled to the cushioned seat. “We can’t have you sitting like a commoner now.”

  Zura pulled a mocking face and dropped into the comfort of the chair. She gasped, relaxing, the generous padding supporting her tense muscles. “Oh my, where did you get this?”

  “You don’t have them inside your hut? I would have thought your place was full of them.” He opened a satchel, took out two cups and a green, half-full bottle. “It was one of the better crafters in the northern end of the village. He was selling quite a few.” Vakaar poured a red liquid into the cups and handed one to her.

  Her eyes sparkled. She inspected the wine and pushed his hand away. “This is wine. I can’t drink it as a Moduma.”

  “You’re twenty-four. You can drink what you wish.” He pushed the cup back into her palm and sat on the ground. “I can tell you some stories about Modumas not sticking to vows that would make your glossy hair curl.”

  Zura swirled her drink and hesitated. She waited for Vakaar to take a gulp first. When he smirked knowingly, her cheeks flushed. It was safe. She took a sip and scrunched her face. The bitter and thick taste burnt her tongue. “How can you drink that? It’s so sour!”

  “I’ve been drinking it with meals since I was eight. Guess I’m used to it.” He shrugged. His sombre eyes intensified on her. “I wanted to ask about what happened the other day.”

  She dryly swallowed, the texture sticking to the back of her throat. As much as the taste wasn’t to her liking, the warmth it gave her chest made her take another sip. “I’m truly sorry.”

  “Don’t apologise. You said you wanted help with this boy who died. I gathered your reaction was about that.” He shuffled over the rug, knees crossed before her. “What exactly happened to make a high-ranking tribal woman fear a weapon she sees every day?”

  Zura was lost in his eyes, admiring them and his rough, roguish facial features. The meaning of the words delayed in hitting her. She took another sip, face scrunching, not only with the bitterness of her memories. “I was fourteen when I met him. I’d these boys and men shower me with gifts to bind, but all they wanted was to become Chief. My father came from a ‘nobody’ background. It gave hope to the boundless.” She took a breath, eyes shimmering. “I loved him. He helped the orphans, and that was how I became involved with them.”

  When she went to take another gulp, Vakaar placed his palm over the cup and lowered it to the floor. “That’s all well and good, Kreiess, but I don’t want to hear things that are obvious even to a blind man. Wait to drink. Otherwise, you’ll cry with your words. The day he lost his life, how did it happen?”

  Zura looked up, anticipating, and scraped her teeth on her lip. “He returned after he gave up your life and took me into the jungle, to that boat you saw me beside. He asked me to bind to him.” She closed her eyes, envisioning his face as if he was before her. His onyx eyes, the scraggly hair and the way he lovingly smiled in her presence.

  Vakaar tapped her arm. “Zura, don’t recall it. I don’t need images, I know how death works.”

  She flinched. “I said yes. We hadn’t kissed before. He tried when he was in a cell, but I told him no, I didn’t want my first kiss to be in such a dreadful place. He kissed me, and for a few moments, everything was perfect. I was his, he was mine, and our life together began.”

  Vakaar nodded. “It was after the kiss?”

  Zura laughed weakly, a tear staining her cheek. “No. I often think at times if it had been, maybe it would have left less scarring.”

  “While you kissed?”

  “Yes. I remember his weight falling on top of me and his breathing… it changed. It felt cold on my cheek rather than the heated thrill we’d had moments before. I stumbled, and he’d been shot in the back.” She swooped her wine and took another swallow. “He could’ve lived. But those Shadow bastards weren’t satisfied. I promised him my aunt would help. Another arrow. I heard it and ducked. It hit his throat.” Her chest was rising and falling. Her cheeks were warm and damp without her noticing. She had never recalled what had happened so clearly and remained as calm as this. The instant she realised she wasn’t feeling that familiar dip of grief, her hand trembled. “I need to… I need to go home.”

  Vakaar pushed her back down. Before she could try again, he leant on her legs with his bony elbows. “You’re not leaving here to panic and cry to your parents. You were alright until you noticed.”

  She kicked pathetically. “Please, I need my—”

  “You don’t need your father. You were fine with just me the other day.” He tilted his head and twitched. She wriggled away from his gaze. “You’ve explained it, and I’ve heard all I needed to, but I can’t let you go back outside grief-stricken after you’ve spoken to me if you want me to finish what you are paying for. Your family are already suspicious.”

  She was uncomfortable being touched. He backed away but stayed close enough to stop her if she tried to get up. Zura let herself cry, hiding her face behind her hands. “I’m sorry. I’ve never spoken about what happened to anyone.” She wiped her tears.

  “I’d imagine not many would know how to approach it, nor would they want to be the one to upset the Chief’s daughter.” He pushed her cup forward, sharing the last dregs. “Drink helps people to relax and get the truth out of them.”

  She took a bitter sip. A pleasant heat spread through to her fingertips the more she drank. Her head swirled in a way that wasn’t too nauseating.

  Zura finished what was left and stood, sudden dizziness causing her to stumble. Vakaar helped her balance. Something inside reacted differentl
y to his aid. For a flickering moment, she couldn’t control her desire to gaze at him. The instant her eyes drew to his mouth, she turned away. A jolt of guilt hit her, realising how alone and hidden from view they were.

  “I should go,” she whispered.

  Though she was on the verge of breaking down with a new guilt, Vakaar bit on his lip, contemplating. “You should. Don’t feel guilty, Kreiess. Drink is a powerful thing if you’ve never had it before.”

  Zura forced a smile, hiding her shame, and went to the door. When he closed it behind her, she held onto her tears and binding stone. She walked slowly home, stumbling on the way. She snuck past her parents and into her room.

  - CHAPTER FIFTEEN -

  Subira couldn’t sleep for excitement. This year, she was going to make a perfect sponge cake rather than the previous one that burnt at the edges. She turned, grabbing her blanket to cover from the chill, and heard a muffled scream. It was probably one of the drunks she saw during the day, or one of Nuru’s friends sneaking into the inn and causing trouble.

  A short time passed before she heard the front door bang. It must have been close to waking now. Smiling, the apprehension knotted her stomach. What would she get from her parents this year?

  Morning carts rolling on pebbles, the cries of roosters and women gossiping outside her home woke her up. She sat up and rubbed her eyes, catching a blurred glimpse of herself in the mirror. Her hair was a tangled nightmare. She slipped out of bed and looked at the ridges between the logs. Dawn had already broken.

  Taking her floral dress from the basket, she threw it on with a pair of brown sandals and opened the door to the living area. Clothes Nuru and Karasi had been cleaning and putting away were piled in the centre of the room. Strange. Her mother wouldn’t allow that. In the rocking chair, her father slept, mouth open, snoring away.