Tribal Dawn: Blood-and-Shadow (Volume One) Page 4

  “Masi has done this lots of times, she is fine!” he yelled to himself. With the flame dying in his wad of wood shavings, he took a few dry leaves and placed them around before hastily taking a few steps back.

  He brought his palm over his mouth with relief and quickly looked to the fish. Without gazing at the fire anymore then he had to, he prepared his meal for the night and hesitantly threw it over the fire to bake.

  As the sun set over the jungle and his stomach felt near-busting with fresh food, Zaki couldn’t help but smirk. For once, he felt as if he was victorious. Jasari had sent his own warriors so far out for his trial that he had killed them himself. He had built his own fire, cooked his own meal and had been left in a place with his own freedoms, away from all those bastards.

  Lifting the beaded necklace with his scarred fingertips, Zaki kissed them as he had every night with thoughts of his sister.

  “You would love it out here, Masika. When we are free, I will bring you here, I promise.”

  - CHAPTER SEVEN -

  The cages in the Blood-and-Shadow tribe’s punishment area were extremely grim. The hut in which they were kept was studded with sharp pieces of metal scrap to prevent escape. The enormous room itself was at most times pitch black, with only the light coming through the cracks in the front door to show the time of day. This was the one place in the village which was rarely ever guarded; anyone who was deemed stupid enough to attempt trouble would be bringing an early death on themselves.

  Each cell was lined up to make narrow boxes against the walls and each prisoner could speak to their cell mate. However, to make physical contact with one another they would have to rip open their skin against the barbed iron poles, each riddled with salted meat scraps to sear any open wound. The smell was putrid when walking through, a rancid stench of death and decay. The skeletal remains of those who had died here were never removed to be buried, instead kept within their cells to remind criminals of what became of them.

  The scents of vomit, faeces and urination actually helped to combat those of the deceased. The place was rife with diseases and only those who committed petty crimes were released back to the tribe. But these cells weren’t the ones Masika was taken too.

  Even the warriors, as practised as they were with prisoners, couldn’t help but hold back their own vomit when the ripeness hit the back of their noses. They tried to ignore it as a skeletal woman dragged her frame to the front of her prison, begging for water in a low, husky voice. Her arms were covered in ragged scars, clearly from attempts to get out. Masika felt a swell at the back of her throat when the woman could barely find the strength to make another sound. With her arm stretched out across the soiled hay, her dry gasps for breath were a struggle and the tears had long dried from her bloodshot sockets.

  Passing through the prisoners, the room grew darker the further back they went. Some were scratching their nails on the floorboards, most begged for food or water, while others even murmured for the mercy of death. Masika felt pity for those who had made mistakes in the past, those locked in here for disagreeing with the Chief’s “perfect” society or for thieving something as humble as a slice of bread for their family. She knew some of the people were known murderers, while others had only declared their love for partners outside of their family. For this, they were punished.

  The warriors came to a stop. Masika tried to focus her eyes but the only thing she could make out was the dark wall in front of them. The male to her right let go of her arm and fumbled with his belt to grab his keys. Her stomach churned at the sound, but all her fight had been depleted. This was not the time to argue, in fact if she had been anyone else she probably would have been killed without question. She knew, and they knew, they wanted her bloodline far too much to do that.

  With a screech and a waft of invisible, putrid smoke, the wall turned into a door. All three of them coughed from the foul stench as the compact space of her cell opened before them. The floor was as cold as ice and the walls prevented any form of contact whatsoever. These few, isolated cells were reserved for the worst. Masika noticed the decaying smell didn’t appear as strong as it was near the front of the hut, but she soon put that down to the fact most of the prisoners in these were killed in public to run fear through the tribe, rather than left to die by starvation or disease.

  The warriors threw her to the cold floor and quickly locked the door behind them, their footsteps soon becoming a distant echo. Masika held onto her bruised ribs with her straight hand, cradling the swollen muscles as she tried to adjust to the room. From what she could feel, there was barely any hay on the ground to sit on. The foul stench of faeces and urine in the corner made her back away to the opposite side, hissing under her breath at the hammering pain in her side.

  She couldn’t move her entire left hand at all for the pain. Every time she tried, the urge to scream came with it. The pain was unbearable and made her sick to her stomach. If it wasn’t for the fact she had already emptied the contents of her gut on Jasari’s floor, Masika knew she would have now.

  Staring into nothing, she pondered what was going to happen to her now. What had become of her brother? How come he hadn’t returned when twelve year olds had within a couple of days?

  After what felt like an age of waiting, the sound of approaching footsteps echoed outside along with the soft brush of heavy cloth on the dusty floor. Masika mumbled under her breath and tried to wet her cracked lips with her tongue. But all she could taste was the bitter copper of dried blood. Her eyes widened when she saw the faint glow of a candle beneath the door. She pushed herself back against the wall, ready for whatever was coming. She didn’t have any plans, but Masika was prepared.

  “Masi!” a warm voice whispered. Inari stood at the door, his satchel on his side and a lone candle in his hand. He looked down at the broken girl as she burst out crying.

  “Inari!” Masika screeched and fell forward in an attempt to hug onto his robes.

  The witch doctor quickly knelt down beside her, placing his candle on the ground and got to work straight away with splints, bandages and herbal buds. Whenever Masika smelt the scent of the flowers, it always made her feel safe and warm inside. It was the only scent in the world which she could ever recall reminding her of home.

  “Masi, you silly, silly, girl,” Inari whispered and took her palm in his. Clicking his lips and shaking his head, he took out a bundled ball of cloth and gave it to her good hand. “Bite down on this, it will hurt.”

  Masika sobbed with no tears as she bit down on the ball. Inari took her fingers one by one and started to stretch them. As soon as she felt the first bone begin to move back into its joint, her body wriggled against the pain. The screams she tore into the cloth were so loud that they echoed across the entire hut, her throat raw. Her jaw trembled with the pain and the tears couldn’t fall down her cheek to show.

  “Shhh now, Masi, deep breaths,” Inari whispered in his soothing tone. Quickly, he took out the splints and lined each of her broken fingers to one before wrapping them tightly in cooled cloths.

  After he had bandaged her hand, he gave her a cold wrap to place on her ribs while he fed her some fresh water before taking out a bowl of soup to feed her. Ever since the day the siblings had lost their parents, he had always tried to be there for them as best as he could, even after his year had ran out to guide them. Inari couldn’t help but see the pair as children he had never had and whenever they came under unfair judgement, he was quick to use whatever weapons at his disposal to make sure it was turned.

  “I… I didn’t mean to, Inari,” Masika whispered after taking her first sip of the vegetable soup from the wooden spoon.

  “Masi, what you did… Gugu is the daughter of the Chief. By all rights you should be dead now.” Inari withdrew the spoon from her lips and filled it back up with another generous serving. “There is only one way you will make it out of this alive.”

  “I can’t. I won’t. Brother will kill him!”

  Inari brought
the spoon back to the bowl and emptied it back into the chunky mixture. In the low glow of the candle, Masika could just about make out the withdrawn look on his face. She tilted her head forward and felt the tears building again.

  “Do you know where my brother is?”

  The witch doctor’s narrow, bright eyes connected with hers. He sternly shook his head. “No. I don’t.”

  “You are keeping something from me. Inari, tell me. Please.” Masika placed her good hand over his knuckles.

  Sighing, Inari bit on his lip and placed the bowl to the side. He gave her a weak smile and cupped her hand in both of his. “The warriors who took him never returned.”

  “But that doesn’t mean anything about Brother. He could still be out there.”

  “Masi.” Inari shook his head slowly. “Zaki has two nights to return. This has been the longest any trial has gone for in known history. The warriors who were armed didn’t return. Your brother had nothing on him.”

  Masika’s eyes widened. She shook her head as her stomach sank like an anchor plunging into depths, souring the vegetable soup she had just eaten. Something was pulling her down and her shoulders slumped forward from the pain. “No… he’s… he’s not dead.”

  The doors within the prison hut opened once more in the distance. Masika could see the bright light of day shining down on the village, while all the prisoners were wasting away, dying, starving, decaying.

  Inari nodded to the guards near the main entrance and gripped Masika’s shoulders. He leant in as far as he possibly could and whispered to her in an urgent breath, “Don’t accept death here. You can get out of this alive, for your family.”

  “I ca-”

  “Listen to me Masi, joining to Dia would mean you were close to him. Being that close could mean more accidents might happen. When accidents happen, people run amok in the chaos.”

  Masika shook her head and couldn’t understand a word of what he was saying. None of it made sense. All she could think of was her brother out there in the wild, and whether he truly had been killed. If his body had been eaten by predators, mangled and unrecognisable or even worse, if the warriors had killed him with their own hand.

  Inari leant forward and kissed her softly on the head. “It wouldn’t be the worst thing, Masi,” he whispered and swiftly took his leave under a blanket of purple cloth.

  - CHAPTER EIGHT -

  The days soon turned into weeks for Zaki. As time went by, his skill at hunting started to flourish. By the end of the second week, he was enjoying feasts that he had never had within his tribe. Fresh, fat fish, venison left to roast with wild berries on top and colourful fruit platters for breakfast. He doubted why he should even return to life within the walled community.

  The danger of the predators lurking nearby shot a thrill through his body he had never experienced before, even while casually hunting for him and his sister. His heart would pound with the danger, the sweat would drip from his forehead and on more than one occasion he saw death in the form of powerful claws and jagged teeth waiting to rip him to shreds. But each time he managed to get away with a little more adrenaline and self-belief then he had had previously.

  For the first time in years, he felt full and healthy. He would sleep just after dark and wake when the sun started to rise. Instead of the usual weakness and dizziness he had suffered for years, Zaki found he was yearning to explore the jungle some more while reluctantly finding his way back home. His face had colour in it, instead of the greying signs of malnourishment, and even the hollows below his high cheekbones had a healthy bronze.

  It was coming to the end of the fourth and final week, the twenty-eighth night since he started the trial. The trees were becoming recognisable once more and his stomach fluttered at the thought of seeing his sister again. The path to the village was a couple of miles away and once more they would be reunited.

  With his sword strapped to his waist and his legs burning from his quickened pace, he dared not waste another moment. The moon was a bright, clear circle in the sky, closing in on the time he had left.

  Zaki trampled through swirling swamps full of croaking frogs and crickets chirping a song to the Moon Goddess, Luaani. He was so close now he could even smell the familiar fires from the huts, fires which once had brought him panic but now reminded him of his sibling.

  His mind told him not to return. In fact, he was believing that maybe Jasari had known what he was doing. Maybe he had sent him into a freedom he knew he would never have back at home, to try and tempt him into staying away. There had been times, especially during the rainy nights, that the thought had come to him, but he had made a promise.

  The trees that had been clustered together separated as the path emerged in between. The woodcutters worked day and night to gather logs to build and rebuild the homes of the hundreds while the herbalists picked the medicinal herbs within the roots that once were. The acidic smells of the berries and flowers set his stomach churning with familiarity and an uncontrollable roguish grin was spread over his face as he picked up his pace once more.

  Zaki was near jogging as he passed the trees hung with the bodies of trespassers. Each one was nailed to a wooden cross and painted with marks of the Blood-and-Shadow tribe. Most were little more than bones. Some of them were so old that there were small piles of dust at their feet where they had crumbled over time, while the more recent ones still had ragged shreds of flesh pecked at by the birds.

  The path became wider, the ground was smooth and just ahead he saw the silhouette of a warrior beside the gates. Never in his life did Zaki think he would feel relieved to see one alive like he did right now. The male stood without moving the slightest inch as the worn tribesman approached.

  “Who are you?” he snarled behind the mask. His eyes were worn out from the night shift.

  “I am… Brother… Zaki. I did… I did the trial…” he stammered. As much as he had felt on top of the world for the past few days, his increased pace over the last leg of his journey was hitting him hard. It was as if his body knew he was so close to being able to relax in bed and wrap himself up tightly within his animal skin blankets.

  “Wait here.” The warrior gestured with his palm and strode through the gate.

  Zaki nodded and plonked himself down on the sandy ground. He couldn’t believe he had actually done it. He was back at his tribe, alive and feeling like the victor in a grand war. Jasari had tried to throw him off and had failed. With a smirk on his face, Zaki pushed himself back to his feet as the man returned.

  “The witch doctor is waiting for you.”

  Zaki didn’t hesitate and ran through the open gates. The village was always eerily silent at this time of night, and only the soft glow of fading candles stood out here and there.

  He darted past as those on patrol raised their eyebrows and gave him funny glances as he sped towards his house. The thudding he could hear in the distance didn’t concern him; he assumed it was just a woodcutter nearby. Zaki smiled to see a group of five figures outside his hut.

  But that smile faded as quickly as it had appeared. Four warriors stood by his hut with axes and were smashing the walls apart. With a crack and a cloud of dust, the roof collapsed to the ground. They were tearing apart his home, piece by piece, until it was nothing but a pile of rubble of the ground.

  Inari stood beside them, watching. He spun to face Zaki and must have seen the anger clouding his face. As quick as he could, Inari stepped forward as Zaki dropped his hand to his sword.

  “What the fuck are they doing?!” Zaki spat, his pulse pounding.

  “Calm down! Don’t make this worse!”

  “They are tearing down mine and Mas-” For a moment, Zaki’s voice faltered. He glared into Inari’s eyes. “Where the fuck is Masika? Where is my sister?!”

  Inari brought his arms up to restrain Zaki as he spun in the direction of the Chieftain’s hut. The witch doctor grabbed his upper arm and turned his face back, leaning in to speak more quietly. “Zaki, you are too
late.”

  The young tribesman shook his head again, feeling his eyes burn. He glanced up at the Mother Moon Luaani. “No… no… tonight is the twenty-eighth night! I made it back on time!”

  Inari didn’t relax his grip. “You are two days late. Listen… listen to me, we will go to my hut. Your sister is fine but this is not the time or place to make a scene.”

  “What the fuck are you talking about?! My sister isn’t here! I have made it back on time and they are tearing down my home!” With a last ditch effort, Zaki went to throw himself towards the warriors in the rubble.

  Inari grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and dragged him back around to whisper into his ear. “This is NOT the time. Let’s go.” It was more of a statement then a suggestion as the witch doctor dragged Zaki up the hill in the direction of the purple-painted hut.

  Zaki watched in disbelief as the rubble pile got smaller in the distance. He glanced at the moon again and was entirely certain he was on time; he had counted ever so carefully from the moment he woke up with his head throbbing in the cold.

  Inari shoved him into his hut and quickly went to the bubbling cauldron over the fire. It was a huts others might have deemed as for the insane. Every window was covered in drapes of blue and violet and random cushions were scattered on the floor next to worn-out scrolls and texts the doctor had been studying. The sweet smell of incense filled the air. Wherever there was space on the walls there were shelves holding jars filled with body parts, organs, animal parts, insects and rare preserved flowers. They were probably the most luxurious furnishings in the tribe; to have such items required an exceptionally rare type of craftsmen.

  Inari filled a cup to the rim with a fizzy blue liquid. He pushed Zaki down onto a cushion and shoved the cup into his hand. “I counted the days, Inari,” Zaki said, staring into space. “Twenty-eight days since I woke up.”

  The witch doctor sipped his own and sighed. “I can tell you now, it has been thirty days since you left.”