Familiar hands touched his bare back. Matasa was surrounded by family. His father looked concerned, and Hinah, his sister, handed him a water skin. The dust and exertion had left him parched, so Matasa drank deeply and almost vomited. Strong arms held him up as more villagers gathered around. Matasa heard his name and Finyaka’s mentioned.
“Nahrem hasn’t returned?” someone asked.
“He’s salvaging the dead.”
“I heard he killed a hound.”
“Only one? I heard three!” someone else said.
On it went; the stories growing as the jostling crowd did. Everyone had something to add to Nahrem’s exploits, expanding them.
Matasa felt sick, and not just because of the wound. Someone placed a stool behind him and guided Matasa to sit. He winced in pain.
Sinaya the old wise woman, placed a stool before him. Her old joints popped as she sat and rested her hands on his cheeks. Her dark piercing eyes peered into his as she moved his head to the left and then the right.
“Harrumph.” She removed a long, thin reed from her healer’s kit.
“Chew on that. It will ease the pain. Now, tell me everything, boy, every detail. Leave nothing out.”
Matasa winced and nodded. He took another sip of the water skin then the proffered reed and chewed on it. Halfway into the reed, his pain began to subside, but Matasa felt lightheaded. His family squatted around him, and Elder Yorumo, leaned on his staff beside the wise woman. The villagers pushed in closer to hear his tale.
“Finyaka and I were with the herd when we were attacked by ghost hounds. One of them tackled me to get to the goats. It was on me before I saw it. I twisted and felt something cut into me. I fell. As Elder Yorumo said, I caught a horn. When I rose the last of the hounds ran off.”
The buzz of conversation rose in pitch and volume as the crowd discussed Nahrem’s supposed exploits. Nahrem’s name was constantly bantered about.
That castrated show goat. Matasa spat.
Sinaya touched his side, and Matasa inhaled sharply. She tsk-tsked, then closed her eyes and hummed something.
“Should you do that?” Yorumo gave her a pointed look.
Sinaya returned his glare with interest. “The boy has a broken rib. If I don’t heal it, he’ll be useless for weeks.”
“He might not be able to do anything for few days once the Council is through with him. Especially if Nuroimo has his way. Tsimunuu's sons and his family is involved after all.” Yorumo tugged his robes, so the geometrical shapes and designs that showed his position among the elders hung straight.
Sinaya huffed. “Nuroimo should have the interests of the village in mind instead of just one family.”
Matasa moaned. Part of the herd was dead, and all except a few of the kids had been taken on his watch. Worse still, this had happened on Nahrem’s watch. Nahrem’s father, Tsimunuu, was a powerful man within the village. If Matasa was found negligent—and Tsimunuu would most likely find a way to get that verdict—the penalty could be severe. His fate was in the hands of a man that hated his family.
“Nuroimo does, Sinaya. You should as well.” Yorumo gave her a reproachful look.
“You do what you need to when the time comes. Right now, he needs that rib healed.” Sinaya bent to do her work.
The murmuring increased as the crowd jostled for a better view, squeezing Matasa’s family off to the side.
“Give me room to work!” Sinaya elbowed a few unlucky spectators out of her way.
Cries of “let him face the Council first,” and “save your Radiance for Nahrem,” rose above the hum of conversation.
Sinaya set her jaw and carried on. She hummed, but repeated shouts for Nahrem drowned out her song as a deep warmth spread from her hands into Matasa’s aching side. When she removed her hands, there was only a dull throb where the sharp pain had been. A thin dark line marked the spot where goat horn had sliced him.
Yorumo glanced at the crowd, taking its measure. “Where was Nahrem?”
Matasa glared at Yorumo. “With Sanjah,” he spat.
The crowd erupted in shouts of “liar” and “scandal.”
Yorumo had to raise both hands to quiet them. “That is a severe accusation.”
Matasa sat up straighter. “I’m sure it’s true. He left just after we reached the grazing hill. Said he was getting water. He came back after the attack.”
“Did you see Sanjah?” Yorumo gripped his staff.
“No. But it doesn’t take half the morning to get water, then come back with no water skins.” Matasa cut a glare at the most vocal members of the crowd, and they responded with more jeers.
Many in the crowd defended Nahrem while others volunteered Sanjah’s whereabouts.
Yorumo nodded. “Fair enough. How many times have you watched the herd with Nahrem?”
“Twice.” Matasa paused then realized he was wrong. “No, three times including today. Normally, I watch them with my Dah and brothers. But Finyaka asked if I could join him today.”
“Your father is a disgrace!” yelled someone from the crowd.
Matasa craned his head to see who had said that. His brothers stood with their backs to him. Their hands clenched into fists.
“Has Nahrem gone off before?” Yoruma stifled a yawn.
Matasa scowled at the elder. “Not with me, but Finyaka said he has.”
“Why hasn’t Finyaka said something?” Yorumo looked for the younger boy, but Finyaka was the centre of another crowd.
“Because it’s a lie!” shouted the crowd.
Matasa curled his hands into tight fists. “Nahrem beats him and tells him to keep his mouth shut.”
That silenced the crowd. Even his father looked concerned. His sister squeezed his shoulder, but there was anguish in her eyes.
“Another severe accusation. Are they all true?” Yorumo tapped his chin in thought. “Or do you lie to hide your own guilt?”
Matasa stared at the elder, mouth agape as his family spoke out in his defence. But the crowd hollered, demanding Matasa stand before the Council for his lies.
Just like mother’s death, no one believed us then either. Shaking his head, Matasa shook with righteous indignation. He rose from the stool and shouted over his brothers and the swelling crowd. “Finyaka and I were attacked by a pack of more than a dozen ghost hounds. By the dark, what did you think would happen?”
Yorumo raised a hand and waited for the crowd to quiet. “Watch your tone in the future, boy. You’ve been taught what to do when the ghost hounds attack. Did you do any of that?”
Matasa’s father scoffed at that question, and a few of his brothers swore. Many in the crowd laughed. The elder gave Matasa’s family a stern look.
“I was watching the haze and listening for yips. But the goats didn’t react until the hounds were in their midst. We had no warning.” Matasa slumped onto the stool, exhausted now his was anger was gone. There was nothing we could do.
The crowd jeered at him.
“Nahrem was in charge,” Elder Yorumo stated. It wasn’t a question, but Matasa treated it like one.
“Yes, he’s older than me by at least five summers,” Matasa replied bitterly.
“He’s twice a man than you’ll ever be!” someone shouted, and the crowd laughed.
“Where was Finyaka?” the elder’s face was calm, almost peaceful.
“Humping the goats,” someone shouted, and more laughter greeted that.
Matasa sat up straight and squared his shoulders. “On the opposite side of the herd, watching, as we are supposed to do. He was attentive and awake.”
The other elders drifted toward a nearby date palm. Yorumo turned to join them. “I see. Eat, rest. The Council will discuss the matter.”
The crowd erupted into scattered conversations.
Matasa glared at the old man’s back as he shuffled away. Many villagers followed the elder, asking all manner of questions. Matasa’s family all spoke at once, but Matasa didn’t listen. Nahrem cost us part of the her
d. I’ll make sure he’s punished.
“Nahrem had been with you the whole time?” Elder Akmalo asked again over the constant murmuring of the crowd.
Most of the people surrounding Finyaka were his father’s cronies. Most were drunks and ruffians, but some were decent when sober. Finyaka hated all of them.
He was sore and shaken by the attack and just wanted to sleep, not answer the elder’s questions, or listen to the jeering of the crowd.
His mother brought him a small basin to wash off the blood, and she took his stained tunic away. She had even brought him some water to drink, even though that would get her in trouble. His powerful father stood nearby, glaring at him.
“Nahrem was with us, yes.” Finyaka picked at a pull in his sarong.
“And he killed the one hound?” Akmalo placed a hand on Finyaka's shoulder—something his mother often did to calm him.
The crowd murmured about Nahrem’s prowess as a fighter.
“Yes,” Finyaka had already answered that question as well. Why does the elder keep asking me the same questions? His right leg bounced as the tension mounted. The afternoon sun and the close crowd made it far too warm even though they were outside.
“Matasa was no where to be seen?” Akmalo squared her shoulders and ignored the crowd.
“Typical,” someone shouted.
Finyaka started. “No elder. Matasa was on the other side of the herd.” That was an odd question.
“With Nahrem?” Akmalo leaned forward, so did the crowd.
“No, Nahrem was…” Finyaka swallowed. “Yes, Nahrem was on the other side as well. I think. I only saw them briefly before the hound leaped at me.” His heart was in his throat. What is the elder doing?
“So, you are unsure where Nahrem was?” Akmalo raised a brow at that.
“What are you getting at, Akmalo?” asked Tsimunuu as he pushed through the crowd to stand before her.
“The truth.” She narrowed her eyes at him, and the crowd went silent. Akmalo gestured for Finyaka to continue. “Where did you say Nahrem was?”
Finyaka hunched his shoulders. “On the other side of the herd.”
“With Matasa?” Akmalo pressed.
“Yes…”
“And you were by yourself?”
“On my side of the herd.”
“And Nahrem was nowhere to be seen?”
“Yes... no, wait...” Now, Finyaka was confused.
The crowd came to life. Accusations of ‘liar’ and ‘whip him’ rose above the cacophony. The crowd pressed in close to get at Finyaka.
“Enough,” roared Akmalo. “Calm yourselves!” She nodded to Finyaka. “Your father has told you the punishment for lying?” Her tone was so matter of fact that Finyaka started.
The crowd laughed.
Sullenly, Finyaka nodded. “Yes, elder, I know the punishment.”
“What is that punishment?” Elder Akmalo’s eyes bored into Finyaka.
“Five lashings and no water for a day.” Finyaka bowed his head.
“Are you thirsty, Finyaka?” she asked.
The crowd laughed again. Akmalo held up her hand for silence.
Finyaka swallowed. If he told the truth, his brother would thrash him. Finyaka checked to see who could hear then leaned forward. “I don’t know which is worse.”
The throng quieted.
Elder Akmalo considered his statement. “What would do you mean?”
“Lashings or a switching.” Finyaka hug himself.
Akmalo studied Finyaka. He couldn’t tell what she was thinking. But her eyes narrowed, and her brow furrowed as she looked past Finyaka at something.
“Wait here.” She stood and waved to part the crowd. “Clear a path and leave the boy be.”
Tsimunuu took a seat before Finyaka. “What did you say to her, boy?”
Finyaka flinched. “That Nahrem was there.”
Tsimunuu grabbed Finyaka’s forearm and leaned in close, so Finyaka could smell the alcohol on his breath. “Mark my words, boy. If this brings our family shame, you will bear the brunt of it.”
Finyaka strained to hear the elders over the growing crowd. He was alone now since his father had left him after forbidden his mother and siblings to go near him. But only his mother would have. Finyaka was responsible for losing part of the village’s herd, and that had brought shame on his family.
Akmalo looked over at him. She was grim-faced. Finyaka’s heart fell. He was going to get the lash after all.
One of the elders shouted, “Nahrem!”
Finyaka shuddered.
His father and brothers pushed through the crowd to join his blood-stained elder brother. Nahrem greeted them with hugs and accepted the water skin his father produced. They laughed and gestured as they talked. Nahrem’s name was now on the lips of most of the villagers as they reassembled nearby.
“Nahrem, a word.” Elder Nuroimo’s voice was cold.
Nahrem gave Finyaka a deadly glare. Then, his face appropriately grave, he approached Nuroimo. “Yes, elder.”
“We will hear your side of the tale.”
The village was dead quiet.
“We were on the grazing hill. I had gone to fill our waterskins when I heard a commotion. I rushed back to see a massive pack of ghost hounds attacking the herd. I joined the battle and helped scare them away, but by then, it was too late. We’d lost over twenty does and two dozen kids.” Nahrem gave the elder a sorrowful look.
“Why didn’t you have Finyaka get the water?”
“He would have gotten lost or forgot what he was doing and never returned,” Nahrem lied.
The crowd laughed.
Finyaka blushed. He knew he should say something, but if he did… He sank down on the stool in defeat.
“Why didn’t you take enough supplies?” Akmalo asked Nahrem, but she looked at Finyaka as if she could see into his mind.
“Uh, I had, but Finyaka had forgotten them this morning.” Nahrem shot his brother another glare.
“Finyaka’s such an idiot,” someone shouted.
Finyaka hunkered down. He wanted to be anywhere but here.
“Oh? Then they should be at the pen.” Akmalo glanced that way, but the crowd blocked all sight of the pens.
“I found them there this morning elder,” Tamika, one of Finyaka’s brothers, chimed in. He was Nahrem’s confidant and accomplice. As Tamika glared at Finyaka, a mischievous grin spread across his face.
“Why didn’t you take them to your brothers?” Akmalo was calm, but her gaze wasn’t as she settled it on Tamika now.
“I was busy. I had work to do.” The young man didn’t seem so cocksure now.
The crowd began murmuring again. Some were starting to question Nahrem’s story. Finyaka’s father stood still; arms crossed, and brow furrowed.
“Is work more important than the herd?” Akmalo pressed. Her scowl said it wasn’t.
“What is the elder trying to imply?” Finyaka’s father stepped forward. He met the older woman’s eyes and held them.
“The village has received a significant blow, Tsimunuu. Two of your sons were on watch when it happened. They have given us conflicting reports. I want the truth.” Akmalo stamped her foot, and the crowd nodded in agreement with her.
“Then believe Nahrem. He’s the eldest and is respected by the village.” Tsimunuu looked to his cronies who nodded and shouted in agreement, riling the crowd to join them.
Akmalo touched her chin as she considered that. She glanced briefly at Finyaka then at the other elders.
“The son of a she-goat lies like a lion in the heat!” growled Matasa from the other side of the circle. Everyone looked at him as he pushed his way to the centre, away from his concerned family.
“You dare challenge me?” Nahrem dropped his hand to his belt sheath.
“Sit down and leave this to the adults.” Tsimunuu turned his back on Matasa.
Matasa’s father started to come forward then stopped.
“Matasa is an adult,” Akmalo re
minded them. “As such, he has the right to be heard.”
“He’ll lie to save Finyaka.” Tsimunuu shook his fist at Matasa.
His father’s words stung Finyaka. He turned away, fighting tears again.
“And you’ll lie to save that heap of an ass, Nahrem,” spat Matasa. “You and your cronies are good at lying.”
Some men in the crowd stepped forward in defence of Tsimunuu. Their hands rested on their belt knives.
Tsimunuu drew his. “How dare you insult my honour.”
Matasa glared at his uncle; fists clenched at his side. “How dare you defend that pile of excrement.”
“Enough!” shouted elder Nuroimo as he pushed between them.
The crowd hesitated until Tsimunuu raised a hand to his men then they relaxed. The elder made the sign of the sun disc with his fore fingers and thumbs. His eyes narrowed as they met Finyaka’s.
Finyaka looked away quickly and tried not to squirm. Please don’t ask. Please don’t ask.
“Finyaka, did you forget the water skins this morning? Did you create a situation where Nahrem would have to return to the village? Speak boy.”
The silence was deafening.
Finyaka wanted to crawl into a hole and die. He clasped his hands together in his lap to still their shaking. If I lie, my brother and father save face. They’ll still switch me, but not that bad. If I speak the truth, they’ll kill me.
“Well, Finyaka? We haven’t got all day,” Nuroimo reminded him.
Finyaka caught Matasa’s defiant gaze. I want to be like him. He turned his head quickly, looked from the corner of his eye at his family and saw their hatred of him. So many people supported his father.
“I… I forgot the skins,” Finyaka mumbled, accepting his fate.
A collective gasp ran through the crowd.
Elder Nuroimo signalled for silence again. “What? Speak up, so we can hear you, boy.”
“I forgot the skins,” Finyaka blurted out.
Loud cheering erupted from the crowd.
Matasa’s shoulders fell. The pained look that crossed his cousin’s face stunned Finyaka. His father, however, smiled, but Nahrem glared at him.
Magic Underground: The Complete Collection (Magic Underground Anthologies Book 4) Page 19