Tribal Dawn: Mordufa: Volume Three Page 4

  “It’s not as simple as that.” She gently dabbed the cuts lining his ribs. “Atsu has his own family. He believes I died thirty years ago. We can’t show up and disrupt his life like that.”

  “Why not? If I thought Kara or Subira had died and then turned up years later with children of their own, I couldn’t say no to them. I wouldn’t have to think twice about it.”

  “Nuru, the last time I spoke to him…” She looked at him and shook her head. “It isn’t the same as other families. We grew up together believing we were going to bind as one. When our parents and siblings were killed in the fire, we were as close as anything.”

  “Then what’s the problem?” He pushed her away and paced around. “Look at where we live, Mother. There is no food, the hunting meats are terrible, and the star-caller admitted there was nothing here for Kara, Subira or me. After the come of age dance, how many do you think are suitable for either of them? They could be bound to proper warriors, not some fucking criminal farmers.”

  Masika ignored him and wrung the cloth until the blood couldn’t come out any more. She walked to the door to empty out the water when Nuru pulled on her arm.

  “Don’t ignore me. Why don’t you want better?”

  She held her breath and stared. “Because we already have better. The sooner you realise that, the better. There won’t be any change to our life whether here or with Atsu. We wouldn’t sleep in a Chieftain’s hut and eat the finest cuts of meat. Your sisters may be bound to ‘real men’ as you call it, but in my experience, warriors aren’t the ideal protectors. They inflict more pain and bring enemies. Get this idea out of your head, Nuru. Preye is your father, and that’s how it’s staying,” Masika said, voice steady.

  - CHAPTER FOUR -

  In the western forests, Vakaar cautiously stepped over every aged branch that tried to bring him to his knees. Autumn winds brought a dance of gold and amber leaves twirling in the air. He hugged himself, preventing the cold from sneaking through his black leather attire. This deep into the forests, it wasn’t necessary to keep the scarf over his face. There were bandit camps littered across the area, but most were culled before they became problematic on the Silent-step route.

  The afternoon sun was a blessing. Rays of light sprinkled the damp ground. The smell of wet wood filled the air. Spiders weaved silver-lined webs on branches, and fat red squirrels sat, cheeks crammed with nuts, chewing happily.

  Vakaar stuck to a familiar trail only noticeable to the trained eye, tired and weary. He climbed the stone steps to the top of the cliff face. At the top, the moss-covered wall welcomed him, the outline of the door visible beneath the overgrowth. He took out his key and then a noise, low moaning nearby made him spin around and draw his weapons.

  Had a bandit followed him? Or a Sun warrior? Another low rumble in the bushes. He watched. Groaning, and the leaves trembled. His lip twitched in confusion and he lowered his weapons. He must be extremely fatigued. It could be an animal. Or a Silent-step couple mating.

  Another sound. He brought up his weapons and marched over. Half of a feminine foot stuck out at an angle. Vakaar chopped the green away, careful not to touch. It might be a trick.

  “Vak…kaar…” a woman strained.

  “Fucking hell,” he muttered and bent down. He cut the bush away until a full pair of legs came in sight, then a leather-covered torso and eventually, a head full of mousey brown hair and a pale face. She clung to her sweating forehead, despite the cold air. He scooped her to her feet. She stumbled forward into his chest like she had no bones. He kept a firm grip on her trembling arm. “How long since you’ve had some?”

  The young woman shivered, lip split and covered in dry blood where she had been repetitively chewing at it. “N-n-no.”

  “I didn’t ask a yes or no question. Let’s go inside. Next time you fucking withdraw, stay in your room.” He struggled to get the key into the notch of the limestone door. Finally, it clicked and opened.

  The near-black corridor led down into the depths of the cave. Water dripped further inside. Sconces lit the stone a faint red and gave a welcoming warmth against the dreary autumn cold. The aroma of flowery incense, something the Silent-step used to mask the odour of damp, drifted to Vakaar’s nose.

  The hall split off into different sections where the brethren lived. Carved and broken archways peeked through to the masters’ quarters, each furnished with a desk, leather chairs of luxurious comfort, collectables and weapons and armour from the fallen legends who’d lived in each space. Each master's section was joined to the rooms of their members, having up to six.

  Vakaar hobbled down the steep, stone stairs. The girl slipped out of his grip and fell down. He swore under his breath and called out, “Anyone near?” His voiced echoed. He picked her back up.

  “Vakaar, is that you?” a rough voice responded from the second set of quarters.

  “No, it’s fucking Solianga come to tear you a new hole with his light.” He waited and rolled his eyes when he got no response. “Yes, it’s Vakaar.”

  A trim man with wispy, sandy blond hair and steely blue eyes popped his head out of the arch. When he saw the girl, the rest of his bony frame emerged, rushing over to throw her other arm around his shoulders. “What happened? She went out to catch something to eat.”

  “She was having a nap in the bushes. We all have those days, Jomia. Get a big job, come back tired, hungry, withdrawing, and decide to go to sleep right outside the fucking entrance.” Vakaar cackled then straightened his face.

  The three entered the master’s quarters. Vakaar and Jomia kicked together the closest cushions to resemble something like a bed on the stone floor. Jomia grabbed a blanket and Vakaar straightened her, rooting inside her pockets.

  “She isn’t going to have anything to take.” Jomia laughed and threw the blanket on top of her carelessly.

  “I was looking for her Trezoquile.” He pulled his mouth to the side and buried deep, “Nothing.”

  “Yeah, she won’t have, no one does. The east hasn’t sent any. The cart they eventually managed to sort was hijacked on the way. There’s about twenty withdrawing in the healer’s quarters.”

  “I thought this would be resolved by the time I got back. When I left, there were six in there. That’s the most I ever remember seeing.” Vakaar raised his eyebrows at a pouch of crushed healing herbs and took them. “She might die. Someone’s got to use them.”

  Jomia sat beside the quivering girl and brought a flask to her lips. “Healers have been feeding them water and checking them. They’ve told us to do the same until they become near death.”

  “Oh, the troubles. However would we know the colour before death?” Vakaar grinned and sat down, rubbing his eyes. “Have you stayed here since I left?”

  “Yes.” Jomia nodded, disappointed. “No one’s got money to kill their enemies anymore, least not where I can disguise easily. Chiefs are getting smarter – they’ve been hiring golden cunts to smell the poison and watch them night and day. All the jobs have been east, and that sanctuary eats them up in the war.”

  Vakaar itched his stubbled chin and flicked a dead leaf from his arm, “Might be time to move then. There have been no jobs at all?”

  “Not really. A couple of jealous lovers, ferals, maybe an angry brother or two. Nothing of note. We received one from the south somewhere.”

  “Sky-and-White?”

  “I wish; I could have done that one. I stopped listening after I heard it needed dark hair and Inferno skin. Every Inferno is withdrawing. I don’t know if it’s been shelved.”

  Vakaar narrowed his eyes. “It’s a Blood tribe by the sounds of it. Probably another payment by Dia for the Velaquez family.”

  “Poor bastard still hasn’t got the message we can’t do it.”

  Vakaar walked to the desk and pulled out the drawers. “You’d think after the first three times, he’d understand.” He took out a silver flask and two stone cups. “Someone that stupid deserves to have all his money taken away.
” He sniffed the sour wine, made a face, then poured it. “Probably all that incest. It can make a man go insane.” Kicking the leather chair to face out, he passed a cup to Jomia and sat, crossing his legs.

  “Probably.” Jomia sipped, scrunching his eyes. “My master won’t be happy you’ve touched his special wine.”

  “Your master can go fuck himself. I need a drink before I go to mine.”

  “Ah, Leko.” Jomia awkwardly shuffled.

  Vakaar downed the rest of the sour wine and poured another. “Yes, Leko. I’m not going to walk into a corpse stuck in a chair, am I?”

  “I wouldn’t know. You’re the only member he has left. I don’t think anyone else would check on him unless there was a smell.”

  “Well, I guess we’re going to find out.” Vakaar nudged the chair back in place and guzzled two more cups. “Mordufa watches, brother.”

  Dizzy, Vakaar cackled and swayed into the archway. Straightening his posture, coughing, he listened carefully. Newborns screamed to be fed, small fires crackling in rooms and the orgasmic screams of men and women, either incredibly skilled or demonstrating their acting talents. If they performed like that when undercover, no wonder so many were killed. The incense that disguised the damp was overtaken by crushed herbs used in potions and the candles dripped on flesh to seal wounds. The howls of those receiving this treatment came from the healing area. Vakaar tripped over a young man, rocking back and forth, whispers of withdrawal turning into cries for help. The man threw himself forward to grab Vakaar’s leg but was met with a swift kick in the side.

  In his master’s quarters and it was surprisingly dim. The decorations lining the walls weren’t shining in speckled candlelight. The tapestries, ordinarily smiling, appeared sad and abandoned. That mask, that one witch doctor’s mask, always grinned. High-quality wood blessed by Luaani’s waters, painted in swirls of white, red and blue, made the shape of a face watching over the brethren when they entered the room. Every time, without fail, it sent shudders down Vakaar’s spine.

  “Vakaar,” a weak, gravelly voice said.

  Behind the elaborately engraved desk was the frail frame of his hooded master, scars glowing on his jaw in the light of the nearby candle. The paperwork that used to be piled up to be signed was a single piece in Leko’s skeletal hand. With only one to mentor and such little demand, the eighty-year-old slept most of his days away in the comfort of the cushioned chair.

  “I thought you were dead for a moment.” Vakaar sat opposite and threw his legs over the arm. “I’ll save you the breath you’re dearly clinging onto. Yes, I killed the group. It took several days to pick them off, and there was a group of Sun tribe warriors tailing them too. No, I didn’t kill any of the warriors, only the bandits, and used their bodies to keep predators away.” He scattered the pouch of teeth on the desk. “There’s the chompers. They didn’t have many.”

  “Good,” Leko sneered. He pulled back his hood, revealing his gaunt face. “We ran out of teeth for the pyres with this shortage of Trezoquile. Many have died. I want to make sure there is enough for me.”

  “It’s been confirmed?” Vakaar asked seriously, bringing his legs forward to pay attention.

  “Yes. Before we discuss that, I have a job for you.” Leko nudged the paper forward.

  Vakaar ran his finger over the charcoaled crescent moon. “Is this it?” He flipped it over, looking at the back. “There are no details on it. I’m guessing it’s from a Moduma.” Tapping his chin, he pushed it back. “Moon tribe work would be better for Jomia or one of the other silver-haired. I stand out like a sore thumb amongst them.”

  “It wasn’t from the Moon tribe. It was from the south.”

  “Oh, this is that contract that required Inferno skin.” Vakaar widened his eyes and laughed. “No fucking way, Leko. Come on. Are things really that dire we’re taking half-year contracts from savages? The Shado—”

  “It’s not Shadow. It’s Blood-and-White. Yes, it’ll take a while. I do not wish to send you back there. There is no one else who will fit in. It’s probably a blessing because I need someone to keep my old trainee under wraps. The little shit has been working for Chief Atsu and Jocelin since he murdered her father.”

  Vakaar twitched. “I’ve never been there.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Sending me back there. I’ve never been south. Not to those dirty tribes.”

  “Excuse me for my confusion,” Leko snapped. “Mordufa awaits me, my mind is not what it used to be. There won’t be any contracts for a while, Vakaar. This war is one of the biggest for decades. People are dying quicker to boulders than to a blade. Coin in the north is being spent on warriors – everyone is protecting what they hold dear. They don’t have time for foes when the stampede of Aqua bitches threatens to storm across the desert. They are the people who are wanted.” Leko attempted to stand. He slumped back in his chair.

  “So, the east is living well.” Vakaar got up and hooked his arm in his master’s, helping. “This southern one, the way it’s inked reeks of a setup.” He crumpled the paper in his pocket. “I’ll go and see what it is. I’d go to the east to work, but I don’t want my beautiful face smashed by rocks.”

  Leko gripped Vakaar, hobbling. “Good. If nothing else, you can see what is happening in the area. It’s been a while since I received any updates.”

  Vakaar grinned. “I’m taking you to rest on a pyre, yes?”

  Leko slapped his arm and snarled. “Not yet. Dining room. We have other things to discuss.”

  The pair walked through the gloomy corridors. Withdrawers crawled out of rooms, sobbing and convulsing in pain. They desperately pulled down on Leko’s robes before receiving a swift boot in the face from Vakaar. A man pissing against the wall laughed in mania until Vakaar smashed his head against the wall to knock him out of his insanity.

  Tapestries of Mordufa hung unevenly on the rough walls of the dining room. Brass candelabras dotted each table, coated in layers of wax. Red velvet tablecloths draped to the ground, scuffed at the bottom.

  From the kitchen, hidden behind a wall of barrels, drifted the delicious smell of meat, freshly cooked over the circular stone fire, skewers of fruit and vegetables grilling beside it. Clean spoons, bowls and cups filled one of the barrels. Another was overflowing with a cheaply made wine.

  Vakaar sat his master down before approaching the unattended cooking area. He sliced thin slivers of meat and put two of the skewers in bowls. Balancing these on one arm, he dipped two cups in the wine and brought them over.

  Leko was repelled at the food put before him. He grunted and reluctantly bit a piece. “When you return, I shall be with Mordufa.”

  Vakaar nodded. “If you’re going that soon, what’s the point getting information from the south? I might skip the job, take a break in the Moon tribe mountains, and go east.”

  “You care too much about your soul to do that,” Leko said, a twisted smile curving on his face. “You’ll need that information for when you’re master.”

  Vakaar choked on his drink and patted his chest. “What?”

  “What were you fucking expecting? I had six trainees. Three of them, you made the mistake of fucking and believing they wouldn’t trick you into pregnancy. Of course, they will, Vakaar. Our women are broken. You gave them a fantasy. I thought you would’ve learned with Yimi.”

  “To be honest, I thought the second would’ve learnt from Yimi’s mistake… same for the third. And I did feel bad about killing them. I have to go to fucking Sudasters now…”

  “Well, they didn’t learn. Another of my trainees turned out to be a coward and resides in the southern tribes. My oldest died earlier this year.”

  “I did wonder what happened to him.” Vakaar tossed a burnt cherry in his mouth.

  “He fell out of a tree. Fucking idiot thought he was as agile as when he was twenty.” He shook his head. “That leaves you to take my place.”

  Vakaar scraped his chair back to the wine barrel and ref
illed. “Are you making sure I can’t go elsewhere deliberately, Leko?”

  “Yes. We need you on this side of the world. We need everyone we can get.”

  “I get to pick my own trainees?”

  “Indeed. Choose wisely. Unlike my decision with that southern fucker,” Leko spat. “His chart showed a coward; I should’ve known. But I took him for his intelligence. How naïve I was.”

  “Mhmm. Master Vakaar…” He grinned and swirled his cup. “I like it.” Taking Leko’s plate, he cut the meat into smaller chunks. “Something that troubles me about this Blood job. They don’t let just anyone into the tribe.”

  “They take in people who’ve had accidents in their jungle.” Leko grinned sadistically. “You came from the Inferno-and-White tribe, exiled beside the desert. You were trading your wares in the Sky tribes and got lost returning. That’s how you ended up in the region. You need to earn money for the journey home.”

  “What if they give me the money right away?” Vakaar pushed Leko’s plate back. “I’ll have no reason to stay.”

  “Then you want to show your gratitude by working for them. The tithe for the camels of Teba Kardier is too costly for them to give it to you. You shouldn’t have any issues.” He took a sip of his wine and pursed his lips. “Except for Chieftess Jocelin.”

  “What type of issue will she bring?”

  “She is highly suspicious of strangers since the death of Pazade. Everyone believes her mate to be the aggressor… he is merely the puppet. Jocelin was taught well, unfortunately, and is cunning. You will need to hide your blade and use odourless poison.”

  “If she’s cunning, how’s her father’s murderer under her nose? Surely the old gal would sniff that out.”

  “She is blinded. Her tribe never speaks ill of the great Pazade. In her witch’s eyes, only a stranger could do it. Apart from that, she’s elusive and hides her tracks skilfully.”

  Vakaar stuck his tongue in his cheek. “She must be nearing fifty. She can’t be that much of a threat.”