Beneath the Shining Jewel

by Balogun Ojetade

  “Hi Uncle Mba,” Surai Jima said, laying the young Gnaw Maw down. The little Gnaw Maw crouched by Surai’s calves. “Thanks for telling father I was here. He rescued me.”

  “No, Surai,” Mba sighed, moving back. “It wasn’t me.”

  “Maybe you can help me,” Surai said, lowering a hand and pressing the palm against the young Gnaw Maw’s skinned face.

  It looked up at her and clicked, then centered its gaze on Mba, and hissed: “Eeeat.”

  CHAPTER fifty-four

  Jima led his pack west through the open area where the tunnels branched and on toward the cistern where he had left Surai.

  She must be gone, he thought. She must be safe by now. I won’t let them hurt her. He felt a sudden rush as footsteps splashed near. More Gnaw Maws.

  Seven of them appeared. They had been chased north along the west tunnel and past the cistern. Binta and squad would be hot on their tail. Many of the Gnaw Maws bore wounds from arrows and swords. They moved like lightning despite the injuries, though, charging up to Jima’s little pack with Bacillus-enhanced reflexes and strength.

  They hissed and spat; pinched and poked. A pair of large Gnaw Maws – a male and female soldier, judging by their ruined clothes – pushed in close to Jima, hissing and snarling at him, spattering infected spittle over his scarred and naked chest.

  Jima snapped his teeth in their faces, bellowing “EAT.”

  Finally, the big Gnaw Maws fell in line.

  Terrified and wounded, his growing pack was in need of release. They submitted to his will out of fear and weakness, in need of Ritual. He snapped his teeth and clawed with his gloved hands, pinching the closest Gnaw Maws, herding them back the way they came, toward the cistern and the approaching squad.

  The small skin eaters moved close to Jima’s knees as the larger Gnaw Maws investigated their new Alpha, cautiously stroking his strange leg-braces.

  They soon exited the tunnel and clambered around its opening. The water had overflowed the cistern pool and flooded the stone walkway that ran around its perimeter. It was four feet wide and offered the Gnaw Maws perilous footing. The most anxious had to cling to their brethren to avoid falling into the bubbling pool of frigid water.

  Jima looked up at the chamber’s rounded ceiling. It was punctured at intervals by evenly spaced drains that belched rainwater into the central pond.

  He spotted a rusted iron ladder that led up to a portal that was undoubtedly locked.

  “EEEAT!” one of the males warned.

  But Jima knew – the squad was huddled inside the door with their lamps off. If he was leading the squad, he would let the Gnaw Maws assemble and then he would hit the lamps and come out firing when the last was clear of the tunnel.

  “Eat!” a female barked.

  The Gnaw Maws instinctively broke into two roughly equal-sized groups. One started north around the pool’s edge, the other followed the circular walkway to the south.

  “Now!” Binta shouted. The lamps sparked to life.

  Jima and the Gnaw Maws cowered away from the blinding flare. The volley of arrows began.

  “Eat! Eeeat! EEEAT!” the Gnaw Maws shrieked, leaping and running toward the squad.

  Jima took two staggering steps and felt a sudden sharp pain in his chest. He looked down. An inch below his skinned sternum, an arrow protruded. Blood poured out of the wound.

  He took another step and toppled into the cistern pool.

  He sank but rebounded from the bottom, lifted by the current that exploded from grated drains that opened on each point of the compass. The cistern was four feet deep.

  Jima coughed, clamped a numb hand on the cold stone lip long enough to hook his naked chin over it. And he watched. The southern group was cut to pieces when the constables, following Binta’s orders, concentrated their fire on the frontal assault. Nearly half the pack was destroyed. The squad, however, was now open for what came next.

  Faster and stronger Gnaw Maws hurtled around the cistern’s northern rim and got in close with the loss of only two of their number.

  The Gnaw Maws charged into the squad like battering rams. Two constables toppled into the water. The creatures pressed the attack, foiling the squad’s shortbows by charging close and forcing the violence into brutal proximity.

  Binta, recognizing the danger, understood the need to clear some space around the squad. She stepped forward and broke the knee of the closest Gnaw Maw, snapping its neck as it fell. With a whirling kick to the ankles, she knocked two of the closest Gnaw Maws onto their backs.

  One was shot by the constable Foots. Binta smashed the other’s skull with the heel of her boot.

  She followed through with a head-butt to the face of a big male. His face exploded, raining blood and infection into the water before it fell.

  Other Gnaw Maws, male and female, charged at Binta. One, in a ragged dress, sank its teeth into her shoulder.

  Binta drew her knife, then stabbed the creature in the forehead.

  The squad clambered to help as a male leapt onto Binta’s chest, his claw-like hands gripping her mask and then slamming the back of her head into the floor of the sewer as the others held her down. The squad charged the pack, drawing their swords.

  Jima watched from the water.

  The Gnaw Maws charged. “EAT,” they howled. “Eeeat!”

  The Gnaw Maws brought the battle to the squad.

  Swords cut; bones broke; skin ripped…

  Jima smiled. He was proud of his pack. He took a final breath. Shivering uncontrollably, he lost his grip and sank beneath the surface of the freezing water.

  CHAPTER fifty-five

  “It was just something I did to calm down. You know how people love to snack on fried hen skins, or fried fish heads? That was me. That is me.” Surai Jima said. “I started hiding the skin in napkins and sneaking it up to my room to eat when everyone else was in bed. It felt good.”

  “Your parents didn’t notice?” Mba asked.

  “They were too busy arguing.” Surai said, pacing across the tunnel.

  The young Gnaw Maw moved by her knees in a crouch.

  “And when they shouted, I ate more skin,” she went on. “They would yell; I would skin something.”

  Mba grimaced.

  Surai laughed. “Nothing living, Uncle Mba, just things like meat from our offerings to Eda, or fruit.” She smiled. “Just rolling it between my fingers was sometimes enough. Mom and dad would fight, but rolling that skin would calm me down. Eating it made everything right in the world.”

  Screams, both human and Gnaw Maw, erupted in the air.

  Mba nocked an arrow.

  The young Gnaw Maw cringed, wrapping its arms around Surai’s right thigh. She stiffened, looked down at the Gnaw Maw and then pinched a loose piece of skin off the back of its neck. She popped the morsel into her mouth. Her stance softened as she chewed.

  Sounds of metal slicing flesh, striking bones, echoed down the tunnels. More screams followed.

  Crouching, Mba kept his eyes on Surai and the little Gnaw Maw.

  Sounds of battle continued. Violent blows were being struck.

  “Do you think father’s okay?” Surai asked, taking a step toward Mba.

  “Stay there,” Mba ordered, pointing his shortbow at her. “I know what you are.”

  Surai smiled “Remember when mom would bring me down to the Stationhouse to see dad?” She asked. “I was little and you always put me up on your shoulders and ran around the transports.” Surai’s voice softened. “And we both knew father didn’t like it, but we did it anyway.”

  Mba nodded, remembering the bright-eyed girl running to him – open and innocent – unable to judge him, no matter how badly he was frogged.

  “When father got hurt and he went away, I was just a child,” Surai said. “But later I learned what happened and I understood why he stayed away and why he wouldn’t return mother’s letters or mine. I always thought I’d grow up to be a medicine priest and help him one day.” She chuckled
. “So we could be a family. But I was too nervous for university. I couldn’t take the pressure, you know, I spent a lot of time in closets eating goat skin. I got a job at a furrier.”

  “Ndeleya,” Mba said, as he struggled to his feet.

  Surai smiled and nodded. “We didn’t just make furs, though. We tested tissue samples from everywhere, for medicine priests and even the fools who made Ebandela.”

  She looked down, almost embarrassed. “I really tried to control it, but sometimes some individual or group would send in human skin for classification and disposal. Human Skin! When there was enough of it, well, I couldn’t resist taking some home…just to touch when I got nervous.” She put her hand over her mouth to cover her smile. “One time, when I was really nervous, I ate a little bit.”

  A smile spread over her face. She caressed the curves of her body and licked her lips. “It just happened, but...Daarila’s axe! It was like the feeling before, but multiplied a million times.” She shook her head. “It was beautiful! After that, I took specimens whenever I was going through a rough time. It’s a craving I can’t explain.”

  “Okay,” Mba said, pulling back the string of his bow. “No closer.”

  Surai had been inching toward him. She grinned and then froze, shoulders locked, as more sounds of battle echoed down the tunnel. The noise quickly tapered into silence.

  “I felt ashamed about eating it, Uncle Mba,” Surai said. “I knew it was wrong, but I couldn’t stop, so I built a special room in the basement, where I could do whatever I wanted with the skin without feeling guilty. I wasn’t hurting anyone.”

  “I saw the room,” Mba said.

  “About a month ago, we got some brain, glands and skin samples from a group that insisted it remain nameless,” Surai said. “The samples weren’t in a solution like the other specimens. I couldn’t resist real skin without that bitter taste, so I took some. It was…sweet.”

  “Stop moving, Surai!” Mba ordered. He aimed the shortbow.

  “After that, the cravings got worse,” Surai said, ignoring Mba. “I started dreaming about it and when I looked at people I only saw their flesh. I never considered the pain it would cause. I just imagined their flesh in my mouth; warm and soft. The idea felt good and the more I looked at people, the more I wanted their skin. I would get so nervous worrying about calming down. And it made me so excited. Then, one morning, I woke up feeling like I was outside myself, watching me. A voice whispered, telling me to eat. It told me to get the club I carried for muggers and go to a convenience store that night. When a man came out of the store the voice told me to talk to him. “I told the man my cart’s wheel was wobbling, so he came over and checked it and the voice clubbed him, and tossed him into the cart. Then I drove him from metropolitan Sati-Baa out here to Badundu, to my home and then tied him up in my secret room. You see, I used rope then. I should have used chains.”

  She smiled, searching her memory. “The voice just took a little skin at a time, in places that his clothes would cover. I don’t know how long he stayed but before he got away, we got excited and instead of using a knife and fork and plate, the voice licked at the skin and pulled it off with my teeth.” She shook her head. “It all felt so good, but the voice had to do it...otherwise, Uncle Mba, I was hurting that man and I would never do that.”

  “Does your father know?” Mba asked, aware that Surai had moved another step closer. There were still sounds echoing up the tunnel: screams, and then splashing, violent action.

  Surai shook her head and looked down at the young Gnaw Maw.

  “What’s happening to us?” She asked.

  “Looks like you were infected by the new Bacillus strain from the samples at the furrier,” Mba said. “It mutated and increased your own mild manifestation and then you passed it to your captive through your saliva. He took his carriage when he escaped and manifested as a Gnaw Maw when he got to Metro. He must have gone there for help. Before he left town he touched something or someone, leaving blood or body fluid somewhere public. Someone in Badundu got it from there.”

  Surai brought her hands up to her face and moaned.

  “Eeeat?” asked the young Gnaw Maw.

  “There’s nothing I can do,” Mba said, gasping raggedly.

  “Don’t let father know,” Surai pleaded, and then her eyes centered on him. The pupils dilated, blackness absorbed her irises. “Get ready Mba, the voice is coming!”

  The young Gnaw Maw hissed up at Mba.

  Mba locked his gaze on Surai – at the Poacher. Her…its face was hard and ashen. Her lips were pulled away from her teeth and her body shook in muscular spasms. The Poacher bellowed: “EEEAT!”

  Mba fired the arrow at the young Gnaw Maw as it leapt across the distance. Crimson mist rose from the young Gnaw Maw’s eye socket. The boy fell dead.

  The Poacher was on him, its hands around his wrist twisting, until something snapped. The shortbow fell from Mba’s damaged hand and then disappeared in the water with a ploop.

  Mba slammed the side of his forehead into the Poacher’s face.

  Surai gasped as teeth flew.

  Scowling, the Poacher swung him by his dislocated wrist.

  Mba tumbled along the tunnel, his head striking the stone. His vision blurred as he fell face-first into the water. He struggled, scrambling to his knees and whirled about.

  The Poacher squatted in the water, an intent look on its face as its hands trolled the liquid by its knees. It clicked its tongue and held up a small white object: a tooth.

  Mba rose, drawing both throwing clubs – his main club and the smaller spare.

  The Poacher turned to him, blood dribbling over its chin, and smiled. “Not enough room to raise your marungu for a throw.

  Mba held his marungu at his thighs.

  The Poacher charged.

  Mba whipped his arms upward, hurling the marungu underhanded.

  He cried out, falling back to his knees, as pain erupted from his damaged wrist.

  Half of the Poacher’s torso exploded in a haze of torn meat and blood as the heavy clubs hit home.

  The creature staggered backward and then slumped onto its haunches.

  Mba dragged himself to his feet and trudged toward the Poacher. Blood flowed from its torn body, flooding down its legs.

  Mba retrieved his clubs from the water.

  He sobbed as he cocked the club back to his hip.

  The first blow cracked Surai’s skull with a sickening crunch.

  She fell onto her back, blood spraying into the water.

  Mba wept as he put a knee on Surai’s chest and then brought the clubs down on her skull again and again and again.

  CHAPTER fifty-six

  Mba dredged around in the knee-deep mix of water and blood until he found his shortbow. He staggered deeper into the tunnel, slowing as it narrowed to open his calabash and drain it in one hard swig. He had not manifested yet, so he figured he was immune to this new strain of Bacillus.

  Lucky me, he thought. I’ll probably still die as some Gnaw Maw’s dinner, though.

  He slapped at his lamp to turn it off. Darkness closed in.

  He crept forward in a half-crouch.

  His face and back ached. His abdomen was a throbbing mass of wrenched muscle.

  He paused at the stone crossing, a culvert where the tunnel forked. He bent forward to investigate a submerged light. A lamp hung from a skinned corpse. The face behind the mask was stripped of expression. A Gnaw Maw had opened its skull and taken the brain out. He recognized the blade-name; it was the same as his given name: Bunseki.

  “Daarila, Bunseki...” Mba said. “Poor bastard.”

  He heard noises where the tunnel branched to the left – voices shouting; some frightened; some anxious; some barking commands.

  The water rushed noisily around his knees. Deep gurgling sounds came as he trudged against the current.

  His hood was ripped from the fight, so he could smell the dampness and the rot, but there was something more, a breeze
coming in from the open air.

  He kept going through the dark, unaware of time. After a while, he saw a light up ahead. It was the second cistern. He stopped. Someone was talking.

  “That should be enough,” a voice said.

  Mba recognized it – Kundo?

  Kundo’s usual steady tone had a noticeable quiver. He was panting too.

  “You know it is,” another voice said.

  Mba recognized that voice, too. It was Biko.

  Mba crept close. There was splashing as Kundo and Biko moved around, grunting and groaning from exertion.

  Mba nocked an arrow in his shortbow. His dislocated wrist throbbed. The pain made him fumble – almost drop – the arrow. He cursed, realizing he would have to shoot left-handed.

  The constant dripping splash covered his movements as he waded forward. Ahead, he caught shadows moving along the circular wall that enclosed the cistern pond. Mba froze when Biko’s stocky form backed into view, dragging a heavy barrel of oil.

  Kundo heaved a second barrel into place beside it. The big man was wrapped in leather, but wore none of the insignia that went with his rank. He wore simple padded armor that any constable would wear. Kundo was, most likely, wearing it for anonymity… or a Tiptoe….or murder. He was versatile that way.

  “How long should I cut the fuse?” Biko asked.

  “About fifty feet each,” Kundo said. “That should give us just enough time to get out of here, get in the oga’koi-koi and get underground.”

  “The squad hasn’t bagged the tunnels, yet,” Biko said. “Without containment, the fire will spread…you’ll burn the whole town.”

  “The whole town’s got to go anyway,” Kundo said, jabbing a finger at Biko’s face. “Look, you know what you have riding on this...”

  Mba leveled his shortbow and then moved to the end of the tunnel. He stepped out onto the stone walkway.

  Kundo spotted him immediately. “Mba?” The big man peered across the collection pond. “You look like hell.”