Tribal Dawn: Mordufa: Volume Three Read online

  “Maybe. I don’t care. My father would be no more proud of a corpse. I’m going home, Tau. I can’t wait to leave this fucking freezing cold village.” He finished his drink and pushed past Unika as Rura returned. “I have things to get ready. I wish you all luck in the east – you’re going to need it.”

  Tau and Unika exchanged glances before Rura joined them. “His father is a snide and proud prick who’d prefer a corpse over a coward…”

  Rura smiled grimly. “We’ll probably all be in that bastard cart by the end. If there is ever a resolution. Every time you think there’s peace, another Chief rubs the Kreiess of the Aqua tribes the wrong way. Now the crazy bitch is trying to dominate my lands. She can fuck off and drown in the waters she loves so much for all I care.”

  - CHAPTER SIX -

  Luaani’s rays of fluorescent light shone above the Blood-and-White tribe. The Chieftain’s abode was quiet. In the barracks, all the warriors slept, as did Zura’s parents too. Her brothers, Dafari and Chika, had purchased separate huts to live in within the village. Chika often returned to sleep in his old room, particularly if he was piled high with star-calling work. He said his mate Rozi was an unbearable distraction.

  Zura looked at the ceiling and listened to the trees outside howling. Storms came this time of year. They were nothing to fear. She found them relaxing as the winds wailed and battered rain outside while she remained snug near the embers and wrapped in blankets.

  Covering her walls were three hundred pieces she had been gifted, offerings to take her as a bind. She never accepted them. Warriors, those who knew her father or her siblings, and even those old enough to have trained with Pazade. It didn’t matter who they were familiar with, they had their eyes on one prize: her father’s trokhosi. Their intentions were transparent, and she politely dismissed them. All except Dizelai.

  Every night, the fragments that made his face were slowly fading away. His voice had long gone. Now she held onto what was left. The binding stone around her neck, and his dagger.

  Unable to sleep, she shifted from the bed and went to her desk. She quietly opened the bottom drawer as if when it was revealed, it would awake and alert everyone in her home to the traitorous secret she kept hidden. None of them could know she grieved for a Silent-step. Especially her mother. She would be sickened at the thought of paying for his tombstone if she ever found out.

  Wrapping a thin cloak around her shoulders, she slipped on her boots and sneaked across the hut, careful not to wake anyone in the land of slumber. The guards were used to her late-night wanderings, yawning when they greeted her.

  Outside, she gazed at the emptiness and exhaled. She didn’t know what she expected. She didn’t know what she was looking for or if she had done it right. It had been a few weeks since she wrote the note; maybe she did it wrong, or the wind had claimed it in the wilds.

  Hugging herself, she strode across the rough path, gazing at shining Luaani’s orb, her children twinkling crystal drops around her. A clear night, though there was a storm waiting to peak based on the force of the breeze.

  She passed through the gates. The messengers’ stables were empty. The smell of horse faeces, however, was strong and she pinched her nose. Ropes strayed, the hay was scattered on the floor, and windblown twigs and berries floated on the surface of the water troughs.

  To the east of the entrance, tall reeds full of frogs surrounded a small pond. A shaded figure sat upright, charcoal and leather scraps in hand. The crickets chirped and the glow flies scattered around him as if he was a witch doctor and they feared his experimental touch.

  She smiled and walked over. “Chika, you’re still reading at this hour?”

  He stifled his surprise and looked her up and down. Chika had been the one child of the four that had been treated differently. Thin, pale, his nose slightly curved and eyes bulbous brown, something of him subconsciously reminded his father of their enemy, the Blood-and-Shadow tribe. Every day, he was insulted or pressured into mandatory violent training, something he never wanted to partake in. Instead, he preferred to record significant events and track the night skies. When he was thirteen and realised he had a skill in the subject of star-calling, people asked him to read the births of their children or for advice on who to bind with. On those occasions, he drew pictures of who he believed to be suited based on the constellations in their charts. The parents took his advice and picked the choice that most resembled the portrait, hoping it would bring good fortune to them and their children.

  “Yes, I am. It is last minute work before me and Rozi have to depart,” he said in a low tone, jotting down the shooting star as it dashed red across the sky. “Are you having one of those nights, I guess?”

  She nodded and shifted the wet pile of leaves to the side, elegantly sitting down. “Yes. I’m troubled with thoughts of the past. And thoughts of the future.”

  “What troubles you about the future? We don’t know what will happen yet.”

  She peered over her shoulder and lowered her tone to a soft whisper. “Promise not to tell a soul?” He nodded and leant closer. “There have been some dodgy goings on in the orphanage, but I can’t put my finger on it. Children have been visiting distant relatives or friends of their parents and returning with marks and nightmares.”

  He poked his tongue over his lip in thought. “Have you told Father this?”

  “I’ve tried, but he says he can’t do anything without proof. I try to keep track, but there are many children there now, Chika, it’s hard to monitor everyone’s relatives and where they’re going.”

  “Is it a certain few or more? Because you could track individually.”

  “No, it’s different. One is harmed, a girl weeps for her mother, and there’s a boy who doesn’t want to sleep in bed unless there is a Moduma with him. They’re the main ones who can’t hide it. Gods know how many there are. I’m at a loss for how to approach this.” She rested her chin on her knees and flicked the tall reed nearby. “I was going to send for help… from the Moon tribe or something. They would have experience in this.”

  “Hmm. I think it is the only thing you can do. Though they are a distance away and it may take some time to get a reply, or any action at all. Not many in the northern world care for us, little sister, let alone the orphans of us, the ‘savage types’.” He hissed and gathered the papers together in a bundle, tying them with a white ribbon. “I am done here for the night. I shall have to get ready for the journey to the mountains.”

  Zura sweetly smiled. “I’m happy you’re going. I know how much you have wanted to for years. We could have a feast before you leave.”

  “No, that isn’t necessary. It’s a small trip and I will return before a year has passed. Maybe I’ll be able to give Rozi to a feral tribe or something.” He tapped his chin and stood. “That would be a delightful treat to return with. My own space.”

  Zura rolled her eyes. “Chika, you shouldn’t be so harsh on her. She lost four of your children. It’s probably why she is bitter and hostile, even more so than usual.”

  Chika turned, a sickening grin twisted on his face. He feigned a laugh. “Oh, dearest Zura. You don’t know the half of it. I shall see you when I return, if I don’t see you in the morning. The Teba Kardier are arriving early – I will make sure to take your papers and chart to them on the way.”

  She embraced her brother and wished him luck for the final time before splitting off back to the Chieftain’s hut. Ten years before, when Dizelai had been so harshly struck down by the boy warrior from Blood-and-Shadow, it was Chika who told her that her life could have purpose working for the Teba Kardier.

  The Teba Kardier were a large tribe split across the world. Animal trainers and tenders, they resided mainly along the outskirts of the desert and charged a fee to escort people safely through. There was no one better to travel through harsh conditions than the Kardier group. Their dwellings were small, and most times the tenders and travellers slept and lived out in the wild.

  Zur
a had to be twenty-five before she could be taken to the closest encampment to learn to heal sick animals. She had hoped that maybe, like her Moduma training, she could pay for one of the best to come to her. She feared travelling outside the tribe’s borders. The Kardier told her they couldn’t offer her a tutor, and she would have to somehow gain the courage to go to them if she honestly felt it was her calling in life. When she was fourteen and not old enough to travel, she took a knife to her womb, ruining her fertility to become a Moduma. Now the years had passed and she had an itch to scratch to care for animals as well as children.

  In the spring, she would be of age. She prayed by then a miracle would occur, giving her the confidence to leave. Despite the fact the Kardiers where the best people in the world to have as travelling companions, that wasn’t enough.

  She went to her room and looked at the blackened dagger one last time, said a prayer in the hopes Dizelai heard, and slid beneath her covers.

  The sound of warriors outside her door said it was the early hours of the morning. The roaring elements pounding the hut told her that the storm had arrived. She got out of bed, put on her faded blue hooded robe and left her room. The door at the back of the hut was slightly ajar showing her parents eating breakfast together, whispering about the news they had received from Rudo. Even in his role, writing scrolls and healing beside her aunt, Nyah, Rudo was never listened to. Her father had always despised him and never hid his feelings.

  Droplets were hammering down when she opened the door. The rain on dry soil filled the air with an earthy aroma. She gritted her teeth and kept her arms crossed, protecting her warmth. Her clothes weighed down. Guards tried to keep their postures, their cheeks and knuckles red from being exposed. Only those villagers who had shelters over their stalls were out, albeit reluctantly. A couple chased windblown items down the puddled road.

  When she battled through the wind and arrived at the orphanage, the children grouped around her in greeting before being called to the dining room at the top for breakfast. A young woman called Arda, who Zura had known since she was young but didn’t speak to until she was in her twenties stood by the door, rubbing her pink hands together, gathering wood for a fire.

  Arda, braids in her hair and a fang lip piercing, grinned at her friend. She got a couple of sparks going, holding her shivering hands above the small pit. “I didn’t see this storm coming after the blissful day we had!”

  “It was too calm, Arda. I went for a midnight stroll and the sky was clear.” Zura placed scraps of paper to crumble into flames. “How did the meeting go with your parents? Are they determined you will become bound?”

  She chewed her lip, poking out the piercing. “Yes. I’ve told them there is no point. Who would want a woman who can’t carry a child? Yet, they still try. I’ve had a couple of offers from warriors, but they run away once they hear the truth of it. They desire big sons and homely daughters.”

  “It’s such a shame they’re like that. I hope your parents come to understand in time.”

  “They won’t get a choice in the matter, Zura. Before I was sixteen, I could’ve taken on a bind. I received offers after my naming ceremony, but they refused them all, saying I was too young to take on the life of a mate. Their intentions were right at the time. They weren’t to know a feral tribesman would stab me in the jungle.” She grimaced and danced on her tiptoes. “I told them any man I take would have to be a Chief’s relation and willing to adopt from the orphanages. I won’t have it any other way.”

  Zura smiled. “Setting impossible standards, then?”

  “Of course! Talking of the impossible, though, your Tau isn’t bound, is he?”

  “No, he’s not. He’s just on the other side of the world. My parents are still getting letters for him. Some have seen him in the capital and wrote after that as if he’s some attractive god or something.” She shuddered and raised an eyebrow at her friend. “Arda, don’t look like that. He’s a man like the rest.”

  “A man trained by the Sun tribe and graced with the appearance of Pazade.” Arda giggled. “My mother told me Pazade was born in blessed waters. She said her mother helped with the birth and when he was born, the stars in the sky changed colour and swirled.”

  “He was born in a bloody bed, rags beneath him like we all were. Except for Chika. He was born in a cave, a pack of wolves lurking outside. Apparently, the blackened moon panicked them. Must have been terrifying for my mother. My father cut down the alpha and saved its skull as a trophy.”

  A cracking outside took their attention. It wasn’t the children; they were eating breakfast. The pair looked to the ceiling as a beam shed its dust.

  “The winds can’t be that bad, surely,” Zura muttered.

  “It does sound pretty violent, more than I have heard in years.”

  Zura took her shawl and wrapped it around her. “I’ll be back in a moment. I’ll go see if it’s the building.” She opened the door and was nearly blown back. Fighting against the wind, she straightened. Twigs and leaves flew wildly. Turning around, she put her strength into closing the door behind her before facing the full force of the storm, burning her eyes.

  As she swore and struggled on, her clothes soaked through to her skin and her arms went numb. The entrance gates were open, guards gathered around them. Her teeth chattered, and she kept as close to the stalls side as she could, ducking when large pieces of debris flew past.

  She tried to draw the attention of one of the men. The mess and boom of the wind made it impossible. Striding through puddles, water splattering up her legs, she shielded her face and looked up. They were surrounding someone. Apparently, the more mischievous in her tribe couldn’t help but steal, even at times like this.

  “Zura? You should be back at the orphanage!” one of the senior warriors called.

  “I was, but a noise made me come out to check the outside wasn’t damaged.” She lowered her hood away from her mouth and pointed to the upcoming warriors. “What’s happened? Is it stealing again?”

  “An injured person wandering around the jungle. When we got to him, he asked for help.” He motioned. The men had nearly reached them. “He isn’t armed, and we can’t leave a man out there to die. His colouring suggests he’s from the Shadow tribe.”

  “How do you know he isn’t trying to get inside to take advantage of our generosity?”

  “I’m yet to meet a Blood-and-Shadow tribesman who can put on an accent, Zura. He’s from the Inferno tribes, the Whites I think from the twang. Sounds northern.” He stumbled back.

  “That’s a long way from home. Do you thin—”

  “Look out!”

  Zura turned. The glint of a sword flying towards her. She opened her mouth. A weight forced her back and to the ground, gasping as the mud and rain splattered her head to toe and the sword spun overhead and embedded into the roof of the nearest stall. The icy cold ran down her spine, sharp. She sat up, the male on top of her.

  The stranger stayed low and relieved her of his weight. She went to say thanks. Instead, her eyes widened. Dark straggly hair, a slender frame and a scar marking one of his sombre eyes. Something about him bewildered her and carried a sense of familiarity. His clothes were ragged and ripped apart either from the roughness of the jungle or the weather, covered in dark, dried bloodstains.

  “You should be more careful,” his soft voice whispered.

  “Yes, I should. Thank you.”

  He smirked. Two men ran towards them, hauling him to his feet. They had worry written on their faces. The weapon that had flown freely was clearly that of a soldier who’d lost his grip.

  “I'm all right,” Zura yelled as another helped her. She watched as the men helped the ‘weak’ stranger to her hut, no doubt to see Nyah. Wiping down her skirt, she cleared her throat and looked back to the orphanage. “I’ll go back inside until the worst of this has calmed,” she mouthed.

  - CHAPTER SEVEN -

  Dance rehearsals had been ongoing for weeks. The dancing Unthysha of youn
g women who were going to participate, a kind and patient woman, quickly transformed into a demonic being, shouting and screaming orders like a banshee if they arrived a few seconds late. In the morning, Masika dropped off Karasi and Subira for the final practice before the evening performance.

  The feast celebrating the goddess Dizilais was one held by southern tribes. Men were sent out to catch the biggest game. Women practised rituals and dressed children ready for their part. Sacrificial bows and spears were crafted from wood for those in her line of honoured works to throw into the bonfire and receive her blessing. If any didn’t contribute to the flames, they were thought never to have her best interests at heart, gathering and hunting instead for greed. They wouldn’t be punished by the Chiefs. Instead, it was believed they would be cursed by the goddess herself, inevitably falling prey to animal attacks in the days following the ceremony.

  Preye, not much older than Masika, had mousey brown hair, light blue eyes and a small frame, even compared to the rest of the malnourished tribe. Wearing dull, tattered clothes not much different from when he first set his eyes on Masika when she stumbled out of the jungle, he sat beside her in the crowd.

  The area where the girls trained was used for the celebration. Bitty ale created in excess already had people drunk. Women were groped by drunken fools. Children sipped cups unbeknownst to their parents. The Chief, Yissia, sat to the side with his family of three, purposefully isolated from the rest. It wasn’t out of disrespect for his tribe, nor believing he was above them. He was one of the rare Chiefs who wore as little as his own people. He was a round man, fat squashed against the bamboo sticks of the chair that was struggling to support him.

  Either side of him, were his mate and only child. Ekua, the Chieftess, was a bone-thin woman, with rounded eyes and a haggard appearance like a witch. She worked in the fields besides the other women. There were rumours she did it to spy on their whispers. Some had been taken to the cells the same night she had ploughed the earth by their side.