Tribal Dawn: Mordufa: Volume Three Read online

  All that was for nothing. Nuru drifted in and out of sleep, slumped in a corner, bruised. He’d been fed the last of the raw herbs to soothe his feisty nature. Karasi was curled to the side. Masika searched for guards. They had set up camp close by. Harsh laughs echoed through the trees and the smell of pork, crackling as flames cooked it a crispy brown, made Masika’s hungering stomach grumble. She crouched low and reached through Karasi’s bars.

  Her daughter stared, wet lines streaking her nose. Slowly, she turned and wiped her cheeks dry. “I don’t understand what’s happening. Where are we going? Where’s Subira?”

  Masika wanted to hug her daughter, lie and tell her everything would be fine. “We’re going where you and Nuru were born.”

  “I thought we were born in the Sky tribe? I heard them mention Dia, he’s the Blood-and-Shadow Chief, isn’t he?”

  “Yes, he is.” She hiccupped a breath. She’d hoped for years this day would never come or Mordufa would claim her before her children were dragged back to hell.

  Karasi’s onyx eyes widened. “But… it’s the incest tribe.”

  “Yes.”

  “How can we go there when our father is Sky-and-White?”

  Masika slowly shook her head. “He’s not.” Karasi was mortified. Masika leant close, icy cold bars pressing her cheeks. “Kara, listen to me. I’m sorry. I have lied to you and your sister for years. I shouldn’t have. I hoped we’d never be found. I should’ve known that Dia wouldn’t give up easily.”

  “Dia? Dia?!” Karasi repeated and shuffled, sitting upright. “Our father is Chief Dia of the incest tribe? He is your brother?!”

  “Karasi, please keep calm.” She brought a finger to her lips. There was sudden silence in the camp. “Dia isn’t my brother. I do have a brother who is alive, but it isn’t him.”

  “What about Subira? Why isn’t she here? Is she Preye’s?!”

  “She was born in Sky-and-White tribe, and no, she’s not. She’s Dia’s daughter, too. Please Karasi, they will do things when we get there, and it may seem unfair your sister has gotten out of this, but I am begging you with all my heart, please don’t ever tell Dia of her existence.”

  In her anger and confusion, Karasi didn’t understand the importance of this request. “So, little perfect Subira gets to be free, and we’re dragged back to some man we don’t even know who fucks his sisters? You’ve lied to us, and we’re being taken to a torture tribe because of you.”

  Masika banged on the bars, wincing. “Karasi, what I did was to protect you. You have no idea what these people are capable of. They will chain you on a leash and drag you around the tribe like a wild dog. If you wear revealing clothes, they’ll shove you to the ground and rape you until you bleed from every hole and then give another warrior the next turn.” Karasi crossed her arms, sulking. “I know what they will do so don’t you DARE question why I lied about your father. You and Nuru will get out of this. You have tasted freedom and can fight to redeem it. There is no reason to take Subira away from Preye unless you’re truly made of venom.”

  Karasi stared at her mother, quivering. This wasn’t a horror story like her friends told around the campfire. She was speaking true. “What do you mean, me and Nuru?”

  Masika fought her tears. The sense of hopelessness swelled in her gut. The image of Inari’s face when Dia drove the blade through the side of his skull sent a bone-chilling shudder down her spine. “Nuru is Dia’s heir, and I took him away. I can no longer bear children. My friend, a garasum, murdered his sister so we could escape.” Masika sniffed. She went to open her mouth. Instead, her hand clasped over it, the truth of it choking her. “He’s going to kill me, Kara.”

  Karasi shook her head and knelt up against the bars, shedding tears. “No! He can’t do that, Mother! You can’t leave us with him! Don’t speak like that!”

  They linked fingers tight. “I need you to promise me you’ll never mention Subira to him. No matter what happens to me or what they do, this is all I ask of you and Nuru. You’ll escape him, I know you can.”

  Karasi wiped her nose. “I promise I won’t.”

  “When the day comes, when you have that opportunity, you take it. You run, and you run, no matter how much your legs burn because they’ll not stop hunting you down.” Masika took a pained breath. “And you find Chief Atsu.”

  “Chief… Atsu? Blood-and-White tribe?”

  “Yes. He is my brother and your uncle. I should have contacted him long ago. I believed we were safe. I didn’t think his aid was needed. I was wrong. I should have left the Sky tribe the moment I recovered from birthing Subira like I planned.”

  Karasi slumped to her haunches. “Mother, I don’t want you to die. I don’t want to see Dia or Atsu. I want to go home to my real father and my friends.”

  Masika opened her mouth. The fires in the camp hissed and dwindled. There were sounds of metal being picked up from the grass and leather boots stomping on the plants. The pair lay down in their cells, feigning sleep. Guards stationed close by the prison cart whispered and sniggered.

  Through the night, Masika watched her daughter quietly crying. She turned, and Nuru was flinching, the doses wearing off. It broke her heart to witness this. Subira, miles away, gods knew what she was told. Grief gnawed at her; she’d never see her children after today. The sky was tinted pink between the gaps in the trees. It wasn’t Solianga rising, but Mordufa, climbing higher and higher. He was going to fully bloom for the world to see. She’d begged Jasari and Dia to kill her a hundred times at sixteen. When she gave away her son, she was certain it was going to happen, not that she deserved the peace. This time, she couldn’t accept it. She had plenty of life left to see and questions that needed answers. Karasi and Nuru growing into their potential, becoming bound and having children. What would Subira think of her? Would she remember her when she had her own family? What of her son that she gave away? Did he wonder where he came from? He’d be twenty-eight if he were alive. And Atsu. The last time she spoke to him, they created their child.

  The women dragging the cart were hitched and fed like common horses in the morning. The wheels rolled, creaking and snapping over rocks and twigs. Mushrooms they knocked released a sour smell in the air, reminding her when her father came home, the odour stinking up the hut. The humid heat brought back memories of her family. She couldn’t allow herself to think past when they perished until her escape. No, she wasn’t going out of this life with nightmares.

  “Mother?” a weak voice said.

  Nuru’s eyes were wide open. Past his bruises and swellings, the unharmed patches were ashen beneath. He reached into her cage. They gazed at each other, knowing what was waiting at the end. Nuru remembered the escape and his father. They had spoken over the years about this happening. He didn’t need to be told. “You look after your sister.”

  “Dia… he cared for you… back then. He might not—”

  She smiled weakly and shook her head. “Nuru…”

  Voices ahead jolted Masika. She leant on her elbows. The log perimeter came into view. The wrecked fishing shacks, equipment piled outside, stood like they hadn’t been touched in years. The guards’ tattered leather armour, faded coloured patches where they’d been worn for three decades and passed on from the dead, sickened her. The different teeth sewn into the illusion of an open jaw on their shoulders was the symbol everyone recognised of the warriors of Blood-and-Shadow. When she left, Dia recruited young boys to be part of his army. Now they were men and surprisingly they weren’t starving compared to the ones who’d picked her up. The cart was inspected and got the all-clear from two guards holding rusty swords, faces covered by dark scarves. Eyes glared at her and her children.

  The cart went to the left side of the village. There was a gap between huts. Masika broke down. The home Atsu had built at nine with Inari’s help was incredibly small, but it didn’t matter because they had each other. They were going to bind, and it was going to be everything she dreamt of. Jasari and his family took it away
because the women of his blood were ugly, weak and infertile. When Atsu failed his trial, the warriors took pride in smashing their home to pieces and taking Masika like an object.

  It turned the corner to the hill. People were coming into focus. Women were naked, crawling around on chains, their brothers controlling the leash. Children playing were dirty and stealing from the stalls. A couple were punched by guards. Others screamed for their mothers and were kicked by their fathers.

  The cart halted outside the grand circular hut. Either side, walls of metal and wood spikes secured it from intruders. At the back, halls and walkways spiralled in different directions, making the entire complex separate from the village. There were quarters for mates and relatives to live in. The garasums’ rooms were at the far back, as were the barracks and the dining room that was seldom used. To the front, charms decorating a purple-painted dwelling where Inari once lived had been destroyed, the remains of the silver shining in the soil. Masika swallowed back the memories that crept up her spine.

  The warrior tapped the cart and yanked each of them out of their cells, rebinding their hands. Karasi shivered. She was keeping it together. Nuru wouldn’t dare show his emotion and kept his eyes down. Masika stared at the door, a barrel of feelings smashing inside uncontrollably. Her physical self was calm. She had to be.

  “Is that Masi?” garasums dressed in charcoal rags whispered. “I heard she was dead.”

  “I heard she was in Atsu’s prison.”

  “Nah. She was cursed by Turpu’s spirit after she killed her.”

  The gossip didn’t faze her. She gave her children a reassuring glance before being led inside. The door creaked. The darkness of the trokhosi hall was worse than before. The stench of blood and death had never left. Walls were bare of trophies, something that Dia decided when they rebuilt. He wanted a new beginning. Guards patrolled the room, as busy as it had been thirty years ago rather than the scarce few who’d occupied it ten. Doors leading off to the bedrooms of the Chieftain’s family were closed, moans and mumbles behind them.

  Masika froze. In his new beginning, Dia had a basic undecorated chair for his trokhosi. It had changed. The abominable seat of Jasari made from a giant skeleton was in its place. The bones were mismatched and tied together with vines. Without the decorations or patched quilts, it was more intimidating and uncomfortable than before. The rib cage formed an opening for the Chief to sit. The spine curved, attached to the jaw of a mismatched, undersized creature that dangled over the top. The spine curved, attached to the jaw of a mismatched, undersized creature that dangled over the top.

  Dia, once a round man, was as skeletal as the horrific chair he sat upon. His face was gaunt. The crooked nose left by his duel with her brother had lowered with age. The curly hair his blood was renowned for had thinned to palm-sized patches on his scalp. Burn scars grazed his cheek, and his attire was the best quality Masika had ever seen. He didn’t look like Dia anymore, the man who had the slightest bit of humanity inside. He was the spirit of his father.

  Beside him, a bony boy about Nuru’s age awkwardly sat, curls and facial features identical to Dia’s. Masika knew straight away it was his son, Iniko, the one he had with Gugu before Kanzi the garasum murdered her.

  The room was silent except for Karasi’s shivering. Dia took slow, deliberate strides to Masika. She glared into his dark beady eyes, full of hate. He acted as if she didn’t exist, glancing over her shoulder, and turned around.

  “When you left, Masi,” his deep voice started, “You were carrying my child. Where is he?”

  Karasi skipped a breath. Nuru tensed. Masika felt a dip in her gut when she thought of Subira, her beautiful face and innocence. “He didn’t live.”

  Dia spun around, face scarlet and clenched fists white. His crooked nostrils unnaturally flared. He marched to Masika, shy of touching her nose. “You gave my firstborn son to the traitor, Inari,” he spat, breath reeking of meat. “And now you’ve failed as a mother again. One job, you had. I gave you everything I could give.”

  “I’ve never failed as a mother,” Masika hissed, ignoring her children’s confusion. “You and your blood failed as humans the moment you took your first breaths.”

  Dia growled and backhanded her with a deafening clap. She stumbled to the floor and rubbed the handprint burning her cheek. It was too familiar. The room, the intimidation. A smile crept on her face. He was predictable, like the rest of his family.

  Nuru hit the guards either side of him and lunged forward. “Don’t touch my mother again, you sick bastard!”

  Dia, offended, strode to Nuru as he was punched in the stomach. He grabbed him by the hair and pulled him up, inspecting his face. “Nuru, my son. Look at you, all grown up. There is no need to fight me. Your mother is my mate… she made you suffer by living in lies. I’m not the enemy here.” He released his grip and walked to Karasi. She kicked and tried to scratch. A guard held her firmly by the neck. “My Karasi. Wow… you’ve really grown into a woman. Almost how I remember your mother looking when she was young.” As she cried and whimpered, Dia smiled, stroked her hair and kissed her on the cheek. “You’re home, now, Kara. There is nothing to afraid of. I’ll keep you safe.” He crouched to the floor and tilted his head at Masika. “You’re old and worn now, Masi.” Dia slipped his hand to his sheath.

  Masika pushed her hair away. Her eyes glistened. Her heart hammered. Lightheadedness made the room spin. She leant forward and whispered low, “On the night your father died, I promised him my child would slit the throats of every last one of your family. I’m making the same promise to you.” He snarled on her neck. The sound of steel sliding out of leather turned her stomach. Karasi sobbed. Nuru yelled inaudible words. “Atsu will come for you. My children will come for you.” Mania glossed her eyes.

  “That’s where you’re wrong, Masi,” he said, sword scraping the stone floor. “Our children won’t harm me. Atsu? Do you know what he said when he heard you’d gone missing? ‘If she or any of her half-cunt children enter my tribe, I will string them up myself for dirtying my blood.’” When he saw her smile fade, he grabbed her by the hair. “Head forward.”

  Her heart pumped fast. The thump of blood filled her ears. She couldn’t hear Karasi screaming or Nuru protesting and getting punched again. She stared at the grey stone floor and put her arms before her. She didn’t realise she was shaking. Masika turned to her children, tears flooding. “Go to Atsu!” she shrieked.

  Dia paced. She watched his shadow moving. The sword rose above her. She squeezed her eyes shut. Her body tingled, breath caught. Karasi screamed. Nuru yelled. This was it. Dia growled and swung his arm.

  “For ten fucking years, you put me through torture! My mother, father and my sister, dead!” he roared. The sword rang, dropping on stone. He grabbed Masika off the floor and forced her to face him. “You cost me two sons and the life of my tribe has suffered searching for you and what is mine!”

  In shock, Masika panted and wriggled in his grasp. Her legs kicked and being so close to death gave her a surge of adrenaline. She spat, scratched and fought, screaming as loud as she could. Guards clustered around her and her hysterical children.

  “Ten years of torture deserves a fucking life of it!” Dia yelled, hurling her to the group of men. “Throw my children into locked, guarded quarters! As for her.” He pointed at Masika. “Put her in solitary until the end of her days!”

  “I won’t ever stop fighting you!” Masika cried, outnumbered. “Don’t ever forget, your blood is only half of who they are!”

  “We’ll test how much fight you have against me when I visit you. I believe it’s been ten years since my spare breeding bind met my needs.” Dia sneered, watching the three dragged away.

  - CHAPTER SEVENTEEN -

  Vakaar was itching to kill something. The cooling of the air was minor but not enough for his northern skin to notice the difference. His hut resembled a home. Hours of working had gone into further improvements. He hadn’t forgotten the trail of hi
s targets, though. They were difficult to trace amid friendly faces.

  His twitching worsened when everything was deathly quiet. His hands shook when he cut roots. Yes, the fisherman was dead, but poison was never the same as drawing a blade through the neck or shooting a bow.

  Miserable and hungry, he sat with a group of warriors around a fire pit, eating breakfast. His culinary skills were lacking and had never improved. This tribe religiously cooked all hours of the day to keep its people thriving. It was unnecessary for him to make a botched, burnt creation of his own when the devotees of chopping, dicing and stewing loved to share their perfect masterpieces.

  He held the bowl, cupping the warmth. Trembling as he did so, he spilt some of his food. He’d managed to purchase shabby leather pants, a matching tunic and a pair of finely-stitched hunter’s boots. On days where he went further than the perimeter, he’d adopted their tradition of wearing red and white war paint on his cheekbones.

  Two men sat opposite wearing guard gear and carrying bows rather than glinting swords and spears. One of them didn’t look much different in age to Vakaar. The other looked like his father, with aged dull brown eyes and greying dreadlocks, tied back.

  “Atsu doesn’t allow anyone to take part, son,” the senior guard said. “It’s a prestigious tradition that goes back generations. Why, my grandfather killed the biggest buck the tribe has ever seen!”

  “I know, Pa. I heard ya. I heard ya a thousand times.” The younger one rolled his eyes.

  “Did you, though? I don’t think you did. Tonight, my boy, we’re waving goodbye to the autumn god Houfono with the arrows of Dizilais. Tomorrow, we’ll have a feast, welcoming the colds of Invebusika!” He patted his son on the leg enthusiastically, knocking him off the stump.

  Vakaar twitched and placed the bowl down. “A hunt, did I overhear?”