“No!” said Nuru. “We’re Growers.”
That stopped everything.
“Impossible,” said the Captain.
“It’s true. We’re from the Wheat District,” said Efra.
One of the Birds raised a torch and the squad gathered around to examine them.
“Let’s see the bottoms of your feet,” commanded the Captain.
Nuru kicked off one of the awkward sandals and showed the callused and scarred sole of her foot.
“Well I’ll be thrown from the wall,” said the Captain. She glanced back toward the gate into the Wheat District. “Bring them.”
The Birds carried the two women back to their home ring. The guards outside turned in surprise as those escorting Efra and Nuru pushed them, blinking, into the morning sun.
For the first time, the lack of colour struck Nuru as strange. Theirs was a world of stone and sand, grey and red.
It’s intentional. It’s control.
“Captain Dziko,” said a small, mean looking man with a big nose and an angry mouth.
“Tariq,” the Captain answered with ill-concealed distaste.
“Who are these two?”
The Captain gestured at Nuru. “Growers, apparently.”
The man scowled at the girls. “No. No way a Dirt was in the Crafters’ Ring.”
“They say they’re from the Wheat District. They must have come through your gate.”
Tariq looked ill.
The Captain displayed the tools and paints. “And they stole these,” she said. “What’s the nearest parish?”
“Cloud Serpent. New nahual—”
The Captain lifted a hand, silencing him. “Send two of your men to fetch the nahual.”
“No need,” said Tariq. “One of the Guard assigned to him is camped out in a Grower hovel across the street.”
The woman glanced at the endless rows of tenements. “Poor bastard. He must have really pissed off the nahual.”
All the Birds nodded in commiseration.
“He’s an alright sort,” said Tariq. “Funny, too. One time he said he caught two Dirts fucking during a sermon. They were doing it standing, and—”
“Not interested,” snapped Captain Dziko.
Tariq shrugged like it was her loss. “Wambua, go get Sulo, you lazy Dirt-fucker.”
The Bird shot him a look of purest hate and departed for the nearby tenements.
Tariq, watching him leave, muttered, “Stupid cunt,” loud enough for everyone to hear.
The other Birds laughed or smirked, except for the Captain.
It never occurred to Nuru that there might be tensions and division within the Birds. They always presented as united in front of the Growers.
They know we’re going to die, cast from the Sand Wall. The thought tore an odd mix of emotions from her. Fear, and a longing to see what the world looked like from atop the tallest wall.
Beyond the Sand Wall, endless desert. A dead world. She couldn’t comprehend the scale. Bastion was huge, it was everything, everywhere. As a child she dreamed of walking beyond the walls, of the freedom. You’ll get your chance. It was, however, unlikely she’d survive the fall. She’d heard sermons about the few who did. Inevitably they lay wounded and screaming in the red sand. Few lasted more than a day. Heat and dehydration took everyone.
Nuru stifled a laugh. For the few heartbeats it takes to fall, I’ll be free. The nearest Bird elbowed her in the gut. She doubled over and crumpled, wheezing, to her knees.
“Here he comes,” said Tariq.
Eyes watering, Nuru heard the gritty sound of sandals on stone as Wambua brought the other Bird over to the squad.
“Sulo,” said Tariq. “We caught that scarred Dirt cunt you’ve been looking for. You didn’t mention that the other one was such a stunning piece of slash. Keeping her for yourself, are you?”
“Get her up.”
Nuru lifted her head. I know that voice. She stared, uncomprehending, at Chisulo. He wore the red leather armour of a Bird, right down to the strapped sandals. A cudgel hung at his hip. Never before had she been so happy to see a squished nose. She bared her teeth at him in a snarl to cover her surprise.
“Dirt cunt knows you,” said Tariq.
“Use that word again,” said Captain Dziko, “and I’ll cut you one of your own.”
Tariq swallowed, muttered something that might have been ‘sorry’ and stared at the ground. His face flushed red.
“I’ll take them back to the church,” said Chisulo. “I’ll need those tools, too” he added, speaking to the Bird holding them. “The nahual wants to see what they went to collect.”
The Bird handed them over without question.
“What would Dirts do with tools anyway?” asked Tariq. “They’re too stupid to use them.”
Chisulo gave a shrug that somehow said, Not my place to question. “Let’s get moving,” he said, turning to Nuru and Efra.
“Alone?” asked the Captain.
Chisulo made a show of examining the girls. “Bind their wrists. Two little Dirt girls won’t give me any trouble.”
“Didn’t you hear?” asked Tariq. “Dirts dragged a member of the Guard into a tenement basement and beat him to death. Cracked his head.”
A look of guilt crossed Chisulo’s face and was covered by a growl of anger.
“I’ll walk back with you,” said the Captain.
“Should I come too?” volunteered another Bird.
She flashed him an annoyed look and suddenly everyone was binding Nuru and Efra’s hands. It was weird, because it really shouldn’t have taken that many of them, but no one wanted to look like they weren’t busy. Even Tariq made a show of overseeing things, offering pointless suggestions and advice.
“Umm,” said Chisulo when they finished.
“Lead the way,” said the Captain, gesturing toward the Wheat District.
Pushing Nuru and Efra out in front, Chisulo set off. He walked slowly, limping slightly. The woman matched his pace, looking calm and comfortable.
“My name is Dziko,” said the Captain, once they left the other Birds behind. She walked so close to Chisulo their shoulders touched. Efra glared death at the Bird like she wanted to kill her.
“Sulo,” said Chisulo.
“You’re with the nahual in that reopened church of Cloud Serpent?”
He nodded.
“Whose porridge did you shit in to get that posting?”
He coughed a sputter of laughter. “More than one.” He had that easy grin in place.
Efra, jaw clenched, eyes blazing hate, looked like she wanted to strangle the woman and hadn’t yet decided what she’d do to Chisulo. It wouldn’t be pleasant.
Nuru listened as Chisulo and the Captain blathered on like they didn’t have a care in the world. The Bird bitch kept touching him, a hand on his shoulder as she laughed at some stupid joke. She even said how much she liked his shaved head and ran a hand over his stubbled scalp.
He doesn’t have a plan, Nuru realized with a start. He’s stalling. What did he think was going to happen? The church wasn’t that far. Half an hour at most.
“What’s the young nahual like?” Dziko asked.
“He’s all right.”
“Maybe after,” Dziko said, “you and I—”
“I have to pee,” said Nuru.
“And I’m going to puke if I have to listen to you two flirt,” added Efra.
Everyone stopped, turning to stare at her.
“What?” she demanded. “Just fuck already. Look.” Hands bound behind her, she gestured to the nearest tenement with her nose. “In you go. Have a fast one—I can’t imagine him being capable of much else—and we’ll wait out here.”
“The stupidity of Dirts,” said Captain Dziko, “never ceases to amaze me.”
“I’m going to piss myself,” said Nuru. “Please, just let me go inside. Pick the building. Come in and watch. I don’t care. Just let me pee!”
Dziko glanced at Chisulo.
&n
bsp; “I don’t want to spend the next half hour with a whining Dirt who stinks of piss,” he said.
“Fine,” said Dziko. Picking an abandoned tenement, she pushed Nuru toward the entrance.
“We’ll come too,” said Chisulo, shoving Efra in front of him. “Just in case they’ve somehow set a trap or there’s someone inside.”
Dziko slid her cudgel from its loop in her belt and held it ready. Chisulo drew his too, though he looked a lot less comfortable with it. Dried blood and hair matted the end. Keeping Efra before him, just like a paranoid Bird would, they followed Nuru and Dziko into the tenement.
Dziko slowed, looking around.
“Never been in a Dirt tenement before?” Chisulo asked.
Efra rolled her eyes.
“No,” said Dziko. “Never been in this ring before. I work the tunnel through the Grey Wall. Entire days where I don’t see the sun.”
“The waste room is in the back,” said Chisulo, as if giving a tour. “They shit into a hole in the ground. They’re supposed to throw food waste in there too, but they’re too damned lazy.”
You’re a little too good at this. Did Chisulo enjoy being a Bird?
As the Captain turned away, he pushed Efra aside and stepped forward, cudgel rising, ready to strike Dziko from behind. The Captain spun away from his attack, her own cudgel held at the ready.
“You have to watch your shadow,” she said. “You were back lit.”
Chisulo advanced.
“Loa assassin?” she asked, retreating, keeping an eye on all three of them.
Chisulo bared his teeth. “No.” He faked an attack, trying to draw her out, and she ignored it.
“Then what? The nahual wants her, but not for sacrifice?”
“Nope. I’m just a stupid Dirt.”
Dziko blinked in surprise and then laughed. When Chisulo attacked, cudgel lashing out to crush her skull, instead of retreating, she stepped in and straight kicked him in the gut. He folded, and she kicked him in the knee, buckling it.
Hands tied behind her, Efra threw herself at the woman. Dziko side-stepped her charge, but Nuru hit her from the other side. The Bird went down, tripping over Efra. Nuru dropped on the Captain, sprawling across her torso, and immobilizing the arm holding the cudgel. Dziko punched her fast and hard with her free hand, squirming to get free.
Struggling to her feet, Efra kicked Dziko in the side of the head. She had to do it three more times before the Bird stopped moving. She was lining up for another when Chisulo’s hand on her shoulder stopped her.
“No,” he said. “No need.”
“Not dead yet,” panted Efra.
“She’s out. She can’t hurt us.” A look of utter guilt and misery crossed his rugged features. “If you keep kicking her in the head, she’ll die.”
“That’s the plan.”
“No!” He pushed her away. “Turn around so I can untie you. Nuru, watch Captain Dziko.”
Relief surged through Nuru. He wouldn’t let Efra kill the Bird.
“Captain Dziko.” Efra spat on the unconscious woman before turning.
Chisulo untied Efra and Nuru and bent to use the same rope to bind the Captain’s hands.
“We have to kill her,” said Efra, rubbing her wrists. “She’s seen us.”
More dead. “No,” said Nuru. “They’ve all seen us. What do you think will happen when she doesn’t return?”
“She needs to die.” Efra rounded on Chisulo. “It’s us against them. There’s going to be a war. I’ve seen it.”
Chisulo turned a questioning look on Nuru.
She hesitated and then nodded. “She’s right. But we still don’t need to kill the Bird.”
Nodding at the rough knot, Chisulo stood. He didn’t look happy. “The Birds are looking for a scarred Grower girl. Only Efra. No mention of a street sorcerer. No mention of a Grower with a crushed nose. No mention of the biggest Grower anyone ever saw. Just her.”
“The Cloud Serpent nahualli wants her,” said Nuru. “Smoking Mirror talks to her. She’s important.” Though she still didn’t understand how.
“You’re wrong,” said Efra. “It’s you that matters. You and that carving.”
Nuru shook her head in denial. “We can’t fight them. We have to run. We have to hide.”
“No,” said Efra. “That’s what Dirts do. If we want to be something more, we have to act like something more.” She turned on Chisulo. “Where were you? You said you were going to stay with us.”
Chisulo hung his head in shame. “I got jumped by two Birds. Some squealer pointed me out to them, told them I knew a girl with a scarred face. It got violent.” He lifted the leather armour to show bruised ribs beneath. “But the locals saw what was going on and stepped in. They threw rocks and shit at the Birds and I used the distraction to run. I hid in a tenement and they had to split up to search.” He swallowed. “I killed one.”
“Good,” said Efra. “That’s one less Bird we have to fight later.” She glanced meaningfully at the Captain.
Chisulo ignored her. “We fought and I took his cudgel. Cracked his skull. I stole his armour and weapons and left him in the basement.” He looked to Nuru, eyes haunted. “I’ve never killed anyone before.”
“It gets easier,” said Efra.
Does it? wondered Nuru. When? Did she even want it to? Shouldn’t murder remain difficult?
Chisulo looked doubtful.
Efra flashed a quick grin. “You got the tools and the paints.”
“Took me forever to come up with a reason they should hand them over,” he said.
Efra snorted. “That’s because you’re dumb as sand. You forgot to get the Crafter clothes.”
Chisulo cursed.
“Don’t worry about it,” she added, voice softer, touching his arm. “We’re going to do it. We’re going to hide in a basement, and Nuru is going to finish her spider thing.”
“Happy will have to do the food and supply runs,” said Nuru. “No one is looking for him and the Birds know what Chisulo looks like.”
“How long do you need?” asked Efra.
“I need narcotics first. Jainkoei. Foku. Aldatu.
Chisulo whistled. “That won’t be easy.”
“I know who can get it for us,” said Efra. “The Artist. He knows everyone, and everyone knows him. If Happy tells him I need it, he’ll give it to us.”
Chisulo’s eyes narrowed. “Why would he do that for you?”
“Because he’s in love with her,” said Nuru. “But don’t worry, she feels nothing for him. I saw it.”
“I wasn’t worried.”
“Right.”
“Can I hit the Bird one more time before we go?” asked Efra.
“No,” said Chisulo. “We’re better than that. Surviving means nothing if we surrender our humanity.”
“You’re better than that.” Efra thought it over, rubbing at the scar where it crossed her lips. “I don’t know how much humanity I have to lose. Does that make it more precious, or less?”
“More,” said Chisulo.
“I knew you’d say that. But held against survival, what was it really worth?”
Nuru wondered if perhaps Smoking Mirror chose the girl specifically for that lack of humanity.
AKACHI – DEAD OR BROKEN
Perception is causal, defining. Each point of perception collapses its own reality.
The nahual bring those realities together, bind them into a working civilization.
The nahualli, however, learn to infiltrate and control those myriad realities.
—The Book of Bastion
After spending a day in bed, telling anyone who asked that he didn’t feel well, Akachi rose the next morning feeling strangely reinvigorated though slightly detached from reality. Needing to act, to move, to show his father and his god and Yejide he wasn’t a failure, he immediately dosed himself with foku and got to work carving new animal spirit allies. They were almost finished and he took them out to the courtyard to work in better light
. Detail was everything.
The foku kept him sharp and alert.
The erlaxatu kept him calm and balanced.
He studied the figurines. The bear, Indar Handia, was the size of his thumb, paws and claws raised, so detailed it looked alive. Bihotz Blindatau, the pangolin, with its many over lapping plates of scale-like armour. He’d already completed Gau Ehiza, the puma caught in mid-sprint, muscles bunched, limbs extended.
Yejide stood nearby, arms crossed, attention on the street. Sweat dripped from her tightly braided hair, followed her sharp jawline and then her fine neck, to disappear into her armour. The days got hotter and hotter. In all his nineteen years, Akachi couldn’t remember it ever being this brutally scorching. It felt like the gods sought to burn the world clean and start again.
The Captain never talked about Lutalo, or Khadija. When Akachi asked why, she said the dead weren’t the responsibility of Southern Hummingbird. He thought he understood.
Each day the sun was a blistering rage from the moment it peeked over the horizon until Smoking Mirror chased it away. The Dirts shuffled slower and looked a little more bent. The heat turned them into wizened strips of dried leather. Every day more dead were found sprawling in fields where they fell, or stinking in their tenements. Those the sun didn’t get, died in the cold of night.
“Are these like the others,” asked Yejide, gesturing at the carvings, “for focus as a nagual?”
“Yes, though they work for peyollotl’s totemic magic as well.” Seeing her look of confusion, he added, “A peyollotl can turn the carving into a real creature. You have limited control of it, which can be dangerous, but a skilled practitioner can see through the creature’s eyes, hear what it hears, taste what it tastes.”
Hot blood! The crunch of bones and cartilage cracking beneath his fangs! Akachi flinched at the memory. “There are legends of ancient nahualli creating huge fire breathing lizards, flying lions, and all manner of fantastical creatures, but that’s just myth, stories for children.” Stories the Book of Bastion recounted as if fact.
“The puma I understand,” Yejide said, “but why would you want to become a pangolin. They’re slow and dumb as Dirts.”
“Armour.”
“They’re beautiful.” Stepping closer she leaned in to examine the carvings and Akachi inhaled the scent of her hair. “You’re really good at this. Have you used carvings like these before?”
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