Tribal Dawn: Mordufa: Volume Three Read online

  Tau nodded respectfully. “Alright.” He left his friend. He didn’t want to. Another wave of guilt for buying the home they were meant to be safe in struck. He was going to break. The screaming, the blood, the death, the heat. It was too much to bear. Everything he did led to remorse and everything he didn’t do had the same outcome. There was no way of winning here. There was no pride in saving people. There was no sense of the excitement he’d feel when he returned to the Sun tribe anymore. Only his own dark conscience.

  He returned to the barracks square. In the centre was a bonfire, roaring and breathing flames as it devoured bodies and turned them to ash. The Sun tribe were keeping everyone calm, handing out flasks, blankets and rations of food. Warriors and healers arrived from other districts, handling carts to escort the injured to proper care. Those whose homes were destroyed were handed sheets to make tents.

  Wounded and traumatised people packed inside the barracks. Tau helped, serving warm food for the children. His skin was itchy from the dust. He wanted to disappear and bathe the stench of death off his skin. At the end of the night, he dragged a table upstairs to his bed and wrote letters to his family. He debated whether to tell his parents he was concerned he’d meet his end. Deciding against it, he kept to casual talk that everything was fine, he was safe, and he hoped everything was the same for them, Luaani blessing them all (even Dafari and Chika).

  He sat, rolled-up scrolls beside him. It hit him how much he missed home. Not the Sun tribe. The rainforest. He’d spent almost more time with golden warriors than in his birthplace, yet his fondest memories were of duelling his brothers, speaking to his sister and being nagged by his parents. Atsu had promised him the Stone land when he returned on the condition he’d settled down and intended to bring an heir into the world. When he cared for a family of his own, he wouldn’t want to fight anymore, his father wisely said. Either that or twenty years would pass. Tau needed a break after this. A proper one where he could be himself. Maybe he could pay his family to travel to the north.

  Ebhi quietly came into the room and wrote a couple of scrolls. “There is a woman who has become sweet on me back in the capital. I should let her know that I am alive.” He piled his on top of Tau’s to take to the messengers in the morning. “I see I am not the only one who has these thoughts.”

  “Yeah. My mother has been worried sick.” Tau rubbed his eyes and forced a grin. “A little lady, eh? You never mentioned it before. What’s her blood?”

  “Half Sun, half Moon. Her skin is as pretty as a porcelain doll, and her hair is golden. She is called Fliri and works as a servant for the Krenei,” Ebhi said fondly. “I have been keeping my distance from her. I fear she burdens my duties.”

  “The medu rids you of that, too?”

  “Yes. It rids you of anything you want it too. What was once an infatuation is disappearing. I could see myself binding to her before this.”

  Tapping his lip, Tau leant back to his belongings and grabbed the worn piece of paper he’d carried since he left Blood-and-White. Chika, upon seeing his stars, drew the portrait of the woman Tau was suited to. She was young, had untameable curls and an innocent face. He carefully pushed it forward for Ebhi to see in the candlelight.

  Ebhi smiled. “She’s pretty. Is this a girl before you left your tribe?”

  “No. I have no idea who she is. It sounds fucking mental, but I have a sense of being bound to her. I imagine she’s back there, waiting when those twenty years have passed. Kind of like a reward after it all, a bit of normality.” He took the piece and folded it. “I don’t think you should have asked to be rid of human contact, not if you hoped to bind to her one day.”

  “The basis of medu is celibacy, Tau. I could never give her the children she wished for nor could I ask her to remain celibate.”

  “I suppose that makes sense,” Tau said doubtfully. He glanced at Rura’s empty bed. There hadn’t been any word from him since he left. “I can’t imagine the shit Rura is going through right now.”

  “I heard that his mother’s home was hit.”

  “Yeah, it was. He pulled them out from the rubble. Said they were holding each other.” Tau shuddered and clicked his neck, straightening his posture. “He’s stayed with them to make sure they’re taken care of. I wish there was something I could do, but everything seems to make it worse.”

  “There is little we can do but protect, serve and be there for our brothers.” Ebhi took out his blanket and untied the laces on his armour.

  Tau stared at the scrolls. If Rura had been the one to take the medu, maybe it wouldn’t have been so bad. Ebhi had his aunt murdered on top him, and while shaken, he appeared fine otherwise. If Tau found his mother and sister dead after years of not seeing them, it would destroy him. He’d blame himself no matter what, either for being a curse or the reason they never had protection. He hoped that Rura was stronger than to give into the darkness, testing their souls in this hell.

  - CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN -

  Amongst the rows of graves, Zura stood dressed in black silk and the mask of Luaani, white with elegant pink lines and a thin black veil, covering her face. The orphans attended wearing floral clothing, tears, smiles and fond memories of Arda.

  Jocelin stood by her side, overseeing the ceremony. She informed Zura of her friend’s sudden demise over breakfast. She had been sick for thirteen days, coughing and spluttering. There was no apparent cause that Nyah could diagnose. Her fever soared in the night hours, and her spluttering turned red on her mother’s skirt until it was too much for her body to bear.

  Though Arda’s illness had been ongoing, it came as a shock to Zura. She shed tears, but not as much as she expected. Throughout the ceremony, she witnessed Arda’s parents despair, yet she remained level headed.

  They returned to the village. Jocelin linked her arm, draped in mourning robes. It was Jocelin’s scheduled concern, right on time whenever a death happened. “You’ve handled the loss of your friend well, Zura. You’re not bottling things, are you?”

  Zura removed her veil. “No, Mother. There aren’t many I can lose after Dizelai that would upset me. You, Father and my siblings are the only ones that would devastate me.”

  “I suppose as much as it’s a depressing thought, you’re right. Losing my father was bad enough. If I’d have lost your father during the war… well, I have no idea what I would’ve done.”

  “It's lucky Father is tough. What of the letter from Tau? How is the war going?”

  Jocelin spun around and rubbed Zura’s cheek, weakly smiling. “We’ve had news from traders that Inferno is in chaos. Tau writes he is well and everything is going as planned.”

  “You don’t believe him?”

  “No. He hasn’t written in months. Suddenly, when we know there has been a close call resisting the Aqua wild women he contacts us. He’s had a scare and will hide it until the day we have a golden messenger at our doors.” Jocelin looked at the orphanage. The children were outside, laying flowers and drawings beside Arda’s parents, who were sniffing and smiling at the dedication.

  Zura took notice too and sighed. “I should be with them. They’ve been through hardships recently, more so than normal.”

  “I understand.” Jocelin kissed her daughter on the cheek and summoned warriors to follow her into the hut.

  Zura went to the crowd of children. The younger girls pulled her skirt, dragging her to the pictures they’d drawn for the fallen Moduma. One of them was a charcoal lady in a triangle dress, her hair crisscrossed. Zura smiled and wiped away a tear. She saw Arda’s parents out the corner of her eye, gathering together the gifts to take home. They were a similar age to her own parents and their clothes were torn from day labours. The orphans memories lessened the heartbreak in their eyes.

  Nola gripped Zura’s hand. “Did Arda die because of us?”

  Zura frowned and shook her head. Kneeling, she rested a hand on her shoulder and whispered, “Let’s go inside.”

  It was unusually empty. The toys i
n the centre had been cleared away. Clothes were neatly piled there for Modumas to grab when they changed the children out of mourning garb. Teenagers who were more preoccupied in cuddling new love interests had chosen not to go and were hiding in corners, pretending they hadn’t been kissing moments before she entered. Rolling her eyes, she took Nola into the bedroom and sat at the end of her floral bed.

  “Why on earth would you think that Arda died because of you?”

  Nola kicked her legs. “Don’t know. Our parents died. And then my uncle died, and now Arda. A lot of people are going to Mordufa.” She brought her blanket to her chin and looked at Zura fearfully. “I’m scared you’ll die, too.”

  Zura wrapped her arms around her. “People who’ve died recently… it’s been natural. Your parents had a bad accident years ago. Your uncle was getting old and didn’t know he was sick. Arda, well she’d been coughing for a while before she died.”

  “What about you? You coughed the other day.”

  “I’m not going to die, little one.” Zura grabbed the brush on the side and brought it to Nola’s hair. “At least not yet. I can’t promise you it’ll never happen.”

  “Why? You’re the Chief’s daughter. Can’t he buy magic potions?”

  Zura laughed and shook her head. “I’m afraid nothing like that exists. If I got sick, I’d tell my aunt, and she’d take care of me. Then I’d come back in here and—” A knock on the door interrupted her. Zura called over her shoulder, “Come in.”

  “I hope you don’t mind the intrusion,” Vakaar said, leaning on the door. His hands were covered in bandages and bloodstains. “I was told to speak to a Moduma when a donation is made. The others are occupied.”

  Zura furrowed her brow and finished plaiting Nola’s hair. “A donation? I didn’t realise you had spare money to do such things, Kaari.”

  “Not all donations are gold, Moduma.” He winced, playing with one of the bandages. “I purchased more wood than was necessary to repair my home. I asked for the help of your craftsmen to turn the rest into something for here.”

  “Did you now?”

  “Yes.” Vakaar looked at the girl. He stepped before her and crouched. She hid behind Zura’s sleeve. “Do you want to come see the surprise?”

  Nola meekly smiled. “What is it?”

  “You’ll have to come see.”

  Zura held Nola’s hand and followed Vakaar. They edged through the gathering crowds. Outside Vakaar’s door was a smaller hut made from wood, glyphs of the tribe’s best crafters etched in the beams. It had painted doors, cloth curtains, and was an exact mini replica of the homes in the village. Zura clasped a hand over her mouth. “How much did this cost you?”

  “I told you, I had wood left over. Go inside.” Vakaar pushed her forward.

  Nola squealed and excitedly ran ahead. Zura ducked low and crept through the door. Inside, the walls were painted with tribal markings and depictions of her family, including an accurate one of her grandfather, holding a golden spear. Tears of happiness filled her eyes. Nola rooted through the barrels and boxes, new toys spilling out. One of the containers had been fashioned like those of warriors and was full of training swords, shields and bows.

  Vakaar tapped the ceiling. “If you follow it to the back, it has a garden.”

  Zura laughed and crawled past the pretend stove in the kitchen containing bowls and pretend food. Apples were painted with bright swirls, as were oranges and other types of fruit and vegetables. She opened the last door. A fence resembling the perimeter of the tribe was at the bottom. The space was enough to have several children inside. At the end, a target and a barrel of safe, blunt arrows and bows were bundled.

  Zura turned her head to see Vakaar leaning on the rooftop. She stood and stepped over the fence, shaking her head in disbelief, a huge grin on her face. “This is too much, Kaari.”

  “The wood will never be used otherwise.”

  Nola came out the back door and gasped. She ran to the pretend bow and arrows and straight away stood to train. “I can be a huntress like my mother was!”

  Vakaar helped her equip the bow and take her first couple of shots at the targets. Nola gave him a hug and ran back inside to play with the new dolls.

  Zura tilted her head. “How did you really get this?”

  “Oh, you know. Crafters aim for perfection, same goes for their lives. They always have secrets they want to take to the grave while on their mission striving for precision. A bit of blackmail to a greedy crafter never harmed anyone.”

  “They could tell the guards!”

  “They won’t.” He smiled. “Speaking of guards, I need them to take this to the orphanage. Can you use your great powers and make them do it? I asked them nicely, but they still don’t trust me, would you believe?”

  “You’re a trustworthy person; they’re clearly fools,” Zura mocked. “I’ll get them to take it tonight. Nola, we have to go back!”

  Nola popped her head out of the window. “But it’s only early, and everybody’s sad! I don’t want to go back yet.”

  Vakaar stepped back. “I’ve got nothing to do with it. If mean Zura wants to return, I guess you’ll have to.”

  Nola stared, puppy dog eyes widening. “Just a little longer, please Zura?”

  Zura frowned at Vakaar’s undermining. She glanced at the orphanage. All that was there was grief and mourning, more from the Modumas than the children. They were trying to play through it, understanding little of death. The worst in their lives had already happened. Nola had problems playing with others. It wasn’t the worst thing to let her have the playset to herself before the other children were introduced to do it.

  “Just a bit longer and then we’ll have to return to eat,” she said.

  Nola squealed and hugged Zura’s robes before disappearing back inside. Vakaar motioned to the bench outside his door and sat beside her. Considering the circumstances, Zura was happy. She gazed at Vakaar as he guzzled ale out of his silver flask.

  “This was kind of you to do.”

  “It’s disturbing, isn’t it?”

  Zura brought her knees up and swivelled to face him. “Ever so slightly, yes.”

  “I was brought up in an orphanage, Kreiess. I remember it being cold, shit and boring. I’m not saying yours is.” He raised his hands at the face she pulled. “I’m saying it forever seemed like that, even if you paint a bright smiling Solianga on the wall. We had one of these pretend homes, and for a few hours in the day, the girls could pretend to be mates and the boys Chiefs back from training.”

  “I could never imagine you as a young boy, simply playing Chief.”

  “No. I practised sneaking into the pretend hut to steal the so-called Chief’s gems and take them back to my corner. The girls had veils on their heads and tried to drag me to play binds. Even for the few who were raised like me, it was a happy place. A way to say they tried a normal childhood.”

  Zura nodded and rested her cheek on her knees. “You’ve had an interesting life, Kaari.”

  “Nah, it wasn’t interesting. It was what we were taught. In the morning, it was Mordufa, in the night it was Luaani. Things happened under the false protection of Luaani – only to those cursed with a shadow, as they say. The Modumas believed in punishing us. We tainted Luaani for breathing her pure night air.” He smirked and twitched. “Your orphans are safe from that type of harm.”

  “Yes, they are, thanks to you. It could’ve gone on for years otherwise, and before we knew it, it could’ve been too late to salvage what’s left of them.”

  Vakaar offered his flask and rested his arm on the back of the bench. “Mhmm. Your tribe is a happy, thriving place. The north is where misery lies. Mordufa’s duty is to remove darkness from light. Your people haven’t been tainted by advanced idealists, and it should stay that way. You don’t need the corruption of Kreneis. Anyway, I got your last payment. I will be writing for travel arrangements soon. I do have a question… when do you turn twenty-five?”

  Zura let h
er legs drop and counted her fingers. “Five days. Why?”

  “I want you to come to my hut, and we’ll have a celebration meal before I depart.”

  “I thought you can’t cook?”

  “I can’t, but I can drink and so can you. We’ll be able to talk properly instead of this whispering and false names. I might dress up for it.” He sniggered at her look of horror. “You don’t like the black, do you?”

  “It’s quite intimidating, Kaari.” Zura smiled weakly, her toes nudging the grass. “I’ll come around.”

  “Ah, good. You might want to bring back-up food. If you think I’m joking, ask Tau about the burnt mess I served him.” Vakaar patted her knee and stood. “Pick up the playhut when you’re ready. I need to go herbing to get this final pouch filled.”

  Zura sat in peace when he darted past carrying his basket and cutting supplies. Nola played happily, talking to her imaginary friends. Every now and then, Zura saw her face joyfully lighting in the windows. After half an hour, they returned to the orphanage to join the final prayers and console the children.

  They laid a feast of mourning in the dining room, dresses and outfits neatly tied. Rudo arrived to give his last prayers for the fallen Moduma and helped to write a letter to send to the Moon tribe. When a Moduma passed, they were informed as soon as possible. After a period of grieving, they would send another on the waiting list to train. There had been many eager women and men who wanted to go, but their tutors were full.

  When Luaani hovered in the sky, Zura tucked in the children. The guards brought the playhut through to the back yard. The yard was full of worn stone toys and little else but bloodstains from grazes. They decided it would be best for the children to wake up to the surprise after the recent tragedies.

  Nieces, nephews, daughters, sons, brothers and sisters of the abusers had reacted differently. Nola coped well, others didn’t. One teenage girl tried to run away and bit a guard, blaming herself. A small boy sobbed and believed Mordufa was after him like his uncle whispered. Though the bastards had been stopped, it would be a long road to recovery. It was challenging work for a Moduma to counsel children who’d been defiled by those they trusted and loved.