Tribal Dawn: Mordufa: Volume Three Page 19

  The living area had simple tables and chairs to the left. The barrels and counters on the sides still held pans, bowls and spoons where his mother last cleaned them. Clothes on the side were piled together where they’d been cleaned by their garasum Kanzi. They barged him through the memories to the bedroom and locked the door.

  The bed was tiny and cramped, and the corner beside the broken dresser was hung with old blankets and children’s clothes. Charcoal drawings plastered the walls, Masika’s way of passing the time when they were young. His and his sister's small handprints crawled up the wooden logs and stopped at the roots of a tree, monkeys hanging in the branches and lions snoozing in the grass.

  Karasi was meant to be locked in with him, but when she bit one of the guards, they’d pulled her away. Even weak and bruised, Nuru protested and yelled. He wanted his mother and his sisters. When there was no answer and the guards merely shoved pieces of bread and water through the door, he gave in. There was nothing he could do.

  Half of him expected the raven hair and coffee eyes of the garasum Kanzi to pop around the door to bring him his meals. His mind protected him from her actual fate more than he’d realised. On the night Masika carried them out, Kanzi stabbed Dia’s sister, Gugu so they could get away over the rooftops. She’d reached the top with them, but then she was shot through the throat, blood spattering all around her, and fell back. Nuru had screamed until Masika muffled him as they fled.

  Ten years of a life outside he’d enjoyed. He never understood until he was older exactly what Masika went through. He’d witnessed Dia beat her, and on one occasion, he intervened and smashed him over the head with a vase to make him stop.

  Staring at the ceiling was a pastime. If he looked at the walls, it was like the last ten years never happened. Ideas came and went, either unfocused or unbelievable. Dia wanted him as his heir now he had Iniko, too.

  Once he had been fed crusts, the door opened. He waited. The two guards yanked him out by the arms. He didn’t resist and kept calm. He wanted to kill everyone. At the table, the broad-shouldered figure of Dia sat without any weapons, tapping his fingers.

  Nuru scowled and was thrown into a chair. His temples throbbed and his arms and legs ached, powerless to move.

  Dia stared at him. His warriors stayed by Nuru’s side. “I never wanted bad things for you.”

  “Then let me go. Let my mother and Karasi go.”

  “I can’t do that. You’re my son and the future of this tribe. When Masi lost my first child, I scoured every dirty piece of land to find who took him. She left here, a glowing woman, growing another son in her belly.”

  Nuru winced and shook his head. “I’m mother’s eldest, and I’m right here. Are you blind?”

  Dia chuckled. “She never told you, did she? You were too young to remember us talking about it. Did she tell you of Zaki? Oh, my mistake, Chief Atsu?”

  “Yes, she told me years ago.”

  “She told you because she was facing death. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have known. I’ll be honest with you, Nuru. Masi is a liar.”

  Nuru couldn’t clench his fists. His head swirled. He needed a meal and water. Lazily, he muttered inaudibly. Inside, he wanted to roar and lash out.

  “When Pazade took Zaki and named him after his dead child, Masi was already living in this hut. After her feral brother attacked me, we made a son.”

  Nuru didn’t want to believe this. None of this. Masika hinted at what she went through for years. She suffered nightmares she couldn’t explain to Preye. Nuru knew what it was. He glared at Dia. “Jasari raped my mother at the same time. If in your fantasy she fell pregnant, it could’ve been his.”

  Dia’s beady eyes flared. His crooked nose wriggled, and he slammed his fist on the table, shy of smashing Nuru’s fingers. “Don’t you EVER speak of my father like that. He was a great man!”

  “Great men don’t rape their son’s mates.”

  A guard grabbed the back of his hair and slammed his face into the table. Nuru growled and clutched his head, pounding and ringing in his ears. A coppery taste slipped on his tongue.

  Dia watched him and tutted. “Let’s get this clear. Masi is a liar. She didn’t tell you properly where you came from and hasn’t told you about your brother. My son was kidnapped by a witch doctor. In his care, the infant died. I killed the doctor after nineteen years of searching because my children mean everything to me. Masi took you, Kara and my unborn. Her stupidity has cost me the life of another child.” Dia pushed back his chair and gazed around the room. “I remember the day you left. I’ve lost people to pay for trackers. We’ve lost harvests to search the jungles, the mountains, the forests and the fucking desert.”

  “Now we’re home, and you beat my sister and lock my mother away. Was it worth the price of your people, Dia?”

  Dia grumbled. “When I looked at you and Karasi, you know what I saw? The lost orphans forty years ago. The cursed siblings who cradled each other against the fear of fire. You have Ibhubesi blood running thick in your veins.” He leant on the table, breath reeking of rotten meat, gaps between his teeth showing the brown of his gums. “The same blood that gave me these scars. I’ve had a humiliating rule, Nuru, but I’ve had to bear it until I found you. Zaki won because he had nothing. He fought for everything when he attacked because that’s what’s in his veins. If I died without you and Iniko took the rule, Atsu’s three sons would flourish in a war against us. He thinks his children better than my own but they are weak.”

  “I don’t want your tribe. Zaki, Atsu, whatever the fuck he’s called can have this wasteland.”

  Nuru struggled to keep his head up. Dia’s gritty voice drilled through his thumping head. “Atsu doesn’t understand what he did by breeding with a Velaquez. Our people thrive in our own line. We mate with our siblings and stay strong. My own blood has been weakened because we brought in spare binds long ago. Ibhubesi was one of few that were still pure. The further it went, the stronger the generations became. Atsu and Masi were the last thoroughbreds. You are stronger than Velaquez because my family has incest ties. Tell me Nuru, in your time at Sky-and-White, did you ever see Atsu or his children?”

  Nuru closed his eyes. The words barely made sense. He didn’t care about any of this family and vengeance talk. It wasn’t his fight and wasn’t the blood he knew. Over the years in the Sky tribe, Chiefs arrived in secret. There was one he remembered. A thin robed man with slick black hair and a matching snooty-nosed mate dressed in emerald. “One of them. Chika the star-caller.”

  Dia laughed. “Chika. Yes. He’s a great example. He is a pathetic stature of a man. Weak bones. His brother Dafari is a giant. Neither Atsu or Jocelin have that in their blood. These are deformities. As the line continues, the fertility of their blood fades unless they are linked. Then, our enemy becomes an issue.”

  “I don’t understand any of this.” Nuru saw Dia was desperate. He’d prepared this speech and had been waiting for this moment for years. All he could do in his situation was follow in his mother’s footsteps. Earn his trust. Nuru agonisingly swallowed. “Father… I can’t take in your words with no food or water. I'd be able to study our cause if I wasn’t locked away like a woman cooking for her mate.”

  Dia doubtfully looked at his guards. He nodded to them. “We’ll take the extra lock off the bedroom door. These two will escort you to the garden for air while we make your quarters safe. I’ll have a garasum deliver food to your door.”

  Nuru blinked. He wasn’t expecting Dia to accept so easily. He really must be desperate. “Thank you… Father. May I ask if I can see Kara? And my mother?”

  Dia picked up the metal pans on the side and piled together anything else that could be used as a weapon. “You will see your sister in a couple of days.”

  “And Mother?”

  Dia didn’t respond. He ignored him behind the sounds of metal and wood clashing. The warriors escorted Nuru out of the room.

  Nuru stared at his surroundings. The guards were starved, an
d the passing garasums were worse. The ripped charcoal robes sent a shudder down his spine. They were drowned in the weight of the material over their bones. His stomach turned. If after nineteen years Dia killed a doctor for his apparent brother's death, why would he keep Masika alive? Was it to keep Nuru from acting out? Why didn’t he tell him she was alright? He choked on his thoughts. It wasn’t the time to be weak.

  “We’re watching you,” the guard whispered and shoved him forward.

  Nuru hadn’t realised they had arrived. When he was a child, the garden was a stone, cold area packed with workers on their breaks, wooden pillars rising to the roof. It was from here that they escaped. Now, the pillars and the walls were covered in thorny plants to prevent anyone climbing. Where there used to be chairs, there was nothing. It was grey, dull and had a couple of people slumped around the edges. Some were sobbing, others were laughing. When they saw him, they whispered amongst themselves. He stepped carefully to a shady corner.

  Bruised and sore, he grimaced. He sat and inhaled the rainforest air. He went to lean back, but a prick in his neck shot him up straight. He wanted to break down. His mother truly believed he could escape. If he could, it wouldn’t be anytime soon. The warriors wouldn’t take their eyes off him.

  “Nuru?” a squeaky voice asked.

  He narrowed his eyes and focused on the round figure standing over him. A young girl stood there, similar in age, a small pregnancy bump, curly black hair, and two pink dyed dreadlocks clipped to her front, a huge dimpled grin on her face.

  “I’m sorry, do I know you?”

  “Do you not remember? It’s me, Umbu!” She settled before him and blew her hair out of her face. “We used to play together!”

  Nuru gazed at her. She reminded him of Subira. Her curls were similar, innocent dimples and a pretty smile. “I do remember!” He grinned weakly and leant forward, hugging her tight. It was a relief to see a friendly face.

  “We were told you came back. I didn’t believe it was really you!” She turned to the guards watching. A flick of her hair showed a purple bruise on the side of her face.

  Nuru frowned, staring at it. She made a subtle motion to not question. “We didn’t come back on our own. My father found us.”

  “Oh.” She smiled bleakly. “Well, I’m happy you’re back. I remember the day you left. I cried in my mother’s arms for days. Where did you go? Did you live in the jungle?”

  Nuru lowered his voice. “We lived in another tribe called Sky-and-White. I was going to be a warrior, stronger than any of these weak bastards.”

  Her small eyes widened unnaturally. “Oh my, really? I’ve never heard of Sky-and-White. What do their garasums wear? I’ve always wanted another colour robe.”

  “They don’t have garasums. Everyone, men and women, does what they want. My sister danced and my mother farmed in the fields. As for robes? Everyone wore whatever colour they could get their hands on.”

  Umbu rested her hands on her stomach. “I’ve always wanted yellow robes, you know, like Solianga. I can’t believe you’re home, Nuru! I always hoped you’d return. I missed playing in the sun out here. Do you remember when your mother yelled at us?” She sniggered behind her hand.

  “Yeah, I do.” Nuru chewed his lip. “She’s back, too and my sister, Karasi.”

  “Karasi?” She flickered her eyelashes. “I didn’t know that was her.”

  “Who?”

  “There’s been a girl crying near the garasum quarters every night. But… erm. When she cries, we hear warriors going in.” Umbu rested her hand on the ground and pushed herself up, fearing she’d said too much.

  Nuru grabbed her arm. “What do you mean?”

  “Shush. I need to go, Nuru. I’m so happy you’re safe!” she said and dashed off.

  Nuru watched after her. His escorts were talking to each other in a world of their own. The girl could be anyone. It didn’t mean it was his sister. Dia wouldn’t let harm come to her. What if it was his mother? There were two other warriors in the square; one had his tongue down the throat of a garasum on the floor, the other was falling asleep. Nuru edged away. No one noticed. If he did this, it’d cost him his freedoms, as small as they were. If his sister and mother were dead, it didn’t matter. There was no point in prolonging the agony of unknowing.

  Ignoring the tightness and burning in his legs, he dashed towards the doors. The warriors behind were slow to react, shouting after him. He struggled to open the doors, then sped through to the garasums’ quarters.

  He hammered at each door in turn, sweat dripping, clothes sticking to his skin. “KARA!” he yelled. No response. He went to the next and panicked. The warriors were coming. He didn’t have much time. He roared again, “KARASI!”

  A door opened. He didn’t think twice and charged through it. The guard tried to grab him. Nuru headbutted him out of the way and gagged.

  In the small, dingy, damp room, a single candle flickered. Karasi lay on a mattress of hay, clothes torn, shredded and bloodstained. Her auburn curls were clumped with dirt. Cuts and bruises covered her bronze skin. She shivered, unable to move.

  The guards were in the corridor. Nuru grabbed the neck of the one he was struggling with, threw him out and wedged the door shut with a chair. He rushed to Karasi’s side and gently caressed her hair.

  Tears glimmered from her eyes, streaking the dirt on her face. “Nuru… kill me.”

  He leant his head beside hers and whispered, “I can’t kill you, Kara. I can’t. Who did this? Was it Dia? Tell me which cunt did this to you!”

  “No…” a gasp scraped her throat. The chair shook: guards, kicking down the door. “Loads of them. Nuru… I can’t do this. Please make this stop.”

  “We’ll get out of this, Kara. I promise you, little sister.” Another smash on the door and the chair budged. He grabbed her and kissed her forehead. “I’ll get us out of this. I’ll get us help.”

  “What about Mother?” She reached for his fingers and weakly squeezed. “Where… where is she?”

  Nuru remained silent.

  “Mother… she’s dead?” Karasi trembled. Her nose ran and she clung to him, dryly sobbing.

  “I don’t know where she is.” He flinched at another bang. “Don’t fight them, Kara, no matter how much it hurts. Obey them for now.” He wiped away her tears. “We’ll get out. We have family out there who want these bastards dead as much as we do.”

  “Get him!” The door gave in. Guards swarmed Nuru. He didn’t fight back.

  Karasi reached out. “Nuru! No!” she screamed. A guard kicked her in the gut.

  Nuru, helpless, wanted to crumble. He couldn’t fight. He was pulled back and forth, punched and kicked along the way, and took it all. The sight of his sister disturbed him.

  They threw him in his quarters. Despite what he’d done, they didn’t confine him to the bedroom. He tugged at his hair and punched the wall, injuring his fingers. Wondering what happened to his sister had been bad enough. Seeing her lying near death was an image he couldn’t get rid of.

  He didn’t know where his mother was or if she alive. Karasi was though, and despite Dia’s promises of caring for his children, she had already been harmed. If Subira had been dragged into this, she’d have the same. Dia was right about one thing: his people were weak. With or without his mother, Nuru had to find a way to escape.

  - CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE -

  Vakaar cleaned himself up and earnt coins for the night’s celebrations. He watched the stalls and purchased attire to match the villagers’. Flimsy fur leggings and war paints were all he needed.

  There were two names left. Nizam, a warrior in his thirties, and Wamia, reaching his mid-fifties, was a farmer. From what he heard, they were distant relatives of sorts, and their families were huge. The orphans that were getting harmed were friends of their children and were told they were being treated and should be grateful for what they got. They’d mentioned Jinga and worried if his niece was going to speak to a Moduma about what happened. They’d di
scussed killing Nola and making it seem like an accident. Vakaar didn’t tell Zura exactly what they said – she wore her emotions for the world to see – but told her to forbid the child from leaving the place until either one of them was dead. The problem now was getting the opportunity.

  Wamia always had children around him and if not, animals that would alert him if anyone came close. If he was finished first, it would make Nizam much more problematic and suspicious. Vakaar didn’t doubt he could kill him one on one. He just couldn’t kill the thousands of tribesmen that’d chase him.

  Nizam was incredibly focused and surrounded by his brethren. Because he was young, it made it difficult to make the end of his existence appear natural in an otherwise healthy tribe. The one thing that he had against him was his short temper.

  Vakaar pulled out his bag and rifled through the herbs. He snapped and boiled stems and emptied the red mixture into a phial. Now the issue was getting close enough to Nizam and grabbing the correct drink while remaining unnoticed. He hid his dagger in his boot just in case and drank some wine before leaving for the feast.

  The entire day had been mayhem. People scrambled in different directions laden with food, drinks, barrels, bandages, drums, toys and all other manner of things that Vakaar wasn’t entirely familiar with. He followed the glow and smell of the bonfire to the left of the Chief’s hut.

  Many were already drunk either from the hunt the night before or starting early in the day. The women wore revealing clothes and danced to the drum beats, a displeasing distraction for a frustrated man who wasn’t used to their behaviour. He twitched and shoved through, grabbing someone else’s cup on the way, until the press of bodies ended and there was a space to sit.

  Dead leaves, sprinkled salt, nuts and hay decorated the centre ring. On the far side, the bonfire roared. People threw in dedications to say goodbye to the god for the season. Chairs and tables had been brought up. None were as extravagant as the top one. This was long and carved with hunting images, piled with mountains of food and lined by nine chairs, three empty, representing family members. Atsu sat in the middle, his mate on his lap, the pair drunk judging by their mischievous laughing. Dafari stuffed his face with his mate Dede, who matched him in both proportions and appetite, beside him, a disc piercing her lip. On the other side of Atsu, Zura sat humbly with her aunt, swaying back and forth, drink in hand.