by Evan Winter
“They’re cheating. They’re using gifts,” Tau said, looking for the Gifted, the Enrager hidden in the crowd.
“No, they’re not,” said one of the Ihagu.
“End it,” said Abasi Odili, and Tau finally understood. This was a blood-duel, a fight to the death.
Tau strained against the men holding him. He shoved and pushed at them until a hand slipped off. He slapped one of the others and head-butted the last. He was free and ran for his father, who, in that short moment, had been beaten to both knees.
Tau was three strides away. His father was dazed and bleeding, sword down by his side. Kellan raised his weapon and swung.
“No!” Tau screamed, running, watching the bright blade burn through the air.
Aren lifted his sword to defend. Kellan adjusted, hitting him on the wrist, separating hand from forearm. Tau saw his father’s sword drop to the dirt. None of it felt real. His father screamed and collapsed.
Kellan stepped away and said to the crowd, “It’s done. I’ve taken everything from him that made him a man. The son’s offense is paid in full.”
With nothing on which to clean his sword, Kellan held it out from his body and walked back the way he had come.
“Stop!” said Tau. He couldn’t remember picking it up, but he was holding his father’s sword, its hilt red and slick in his hands. He had the weapon pointed at Kellan’s back.
“Put it down, boy.” It was Jayyed Ayim, the onetime adviser to the Guardian Council. “That’s a Greater Noble you’re threatening.”
Kellan turned to face Tau and Tau had sense enough to be afraid. Aren, with the hand remaining, clawed at Tau’s leg, trying to pull him to safety, but it was too late. Councillor Odili spoke.
“Dejen,” he said, calling his Body.
Face placid, Dejen drew his midnight-black sword and strode into the circle.
“Clemency!” Jabari pled.
“I stand for fief Kerem here!” Lekan shouted. “Councillor, I back your will.”
“Odili, it’s done,” said Kellan, arms wide.
Odili inclined his head and Dejen surged, driving his black sword so deep into Aren’s chest it tore open his back. Aren stiffened in shock, mouth open, and there was no time to move or breathe before the Ingonyama ripped the blade free, swinging it at Tau, spattering him across the face and body with his father’s lifeblood.
“Now it’s done,” Odili said.
BRAVE
The sword slipped from Tau’s fingers as he dropped to the earth beside his father.
“Councillor, it goes too far!” said Jayyed Ayim over the crowd’s din.
Tau held Aren, speaking to him, speaking words that made no sense. He spoke for no better reason than to hold his father’s attention, because as long as his father listened, his father was with him.
Aren’s eyes were unfocused. They fell on Tau, fell away, and returned with difficulty. His mouth moved, but he said nothing. He couldn’t, not over the horrible sucking sounds that came from his chest with every breath.
“Father? Father! Da…,” Tau said, as the man who had always cared for him convulsed, drowning in a sea of his own blood. “Da!” But it was too late. Tau’s father was gone and could not hear.
The noise of the fighting fields came back in a rush. It seemed everyone was shouting, until Odili’s voice cut through.
“This Common, a military man,” he said, pointing at Tau’s dead father, “fought a blood-duel on behalf of his son. The same son who assaulted one Noble and later raised his sword to another.”
The tumult did not settle.
“I see you are not satisfied,” said Odili, walking to Tau, sword in hand.
Tau watched him come. He didn’t move. Jayyed Ayim did. He stood over Tau with one hand near his sword hilt and the other raised to the councillor, blocking Odili’s way.
“Nkosi—” he began.
Odili brushed past and swung a killing blow. Tau didn’t flinch until the metal shrieked, Odili’s blade brought to a screeching halt by Jayyed’s sword.
“Peace,” said Jayyed, his sword arm quivering with the strain of holding the edge of Odili’s weapon away from Tau’s head.
Tau didn’t know when the large man had moved, but Odili’s Body had the point of his sword pressed into Jayyed’s cheek, dimpling it, drawing a bright flower of blood from the skin there.
Councillor Odili lifted his sword and stepped back. Dejen pressed his blade deeper against Jayyed’s face, forcing him away.
“Peace, again? Do you only play one note, Jayyed?” Odili asked. “You’re no longer an adviser to the council, and no matter how you preen, the Goddess and world can see you’re a Lesser. You think you’ve fallen far? There is so much farther to go.”
“Councilman Odili is willing to be merciful,” shouted Jayyed to the crowds without taking his eyes away from Odili and ignoring the Ingonyama looming over him.
Odili laughed, jerking the muscles of his face into an empty smile. He sheathed his sword and waved Dejen back. Dejen let his sword dip until it aimed for Jayyed’s heart, but moved off.
Odili kept his voice low, speaking to Jayyed alone, though Tau could hear. “Have this peace, Jayyed.” Odili’s grin stretched as if pulled by hooks. “It’s the most you’ll get.” Raising his voice, he addressed the crowd. “Clemency asked, clemency granted. The Lesser’s father has been punished. I’ll leave the boy to his fief.”
He said it like it was worth a cheer. The southern crowd did not oblige. Unfazed, Odili clapped Jayyed on the shoulder as if they were great friends and whispered, “You’ve been a pest. The old queen would not let me swat you, but the old queen is dead. Get in my way again and it’ll be the last thing you do.”
Odili slapped Jayyed’s shoulder a second time, laughed like they’d shared a jibe, and left. The enormous Dejen, Odili’s Body, followed. Trailing the two, disgust on his face, was Kellan Okar.
Tau didn’t understand. His father could help. He tried to wake him. After long days, Aren would often fall into deep slumbers.
A hand fell on Tau’s shoulder. “He’s gone.” It was Jayyed.
Tau looked up. “My da…” Tau couldn’t feel the ground beneath his knees or the sun’s heat. He glanced around. Jabari was there; so was Lekan. Tau saw Kagiso on the ground. The fat Noble, nose still a bloody mess, was nursing the spot where Odili had kicked him.
Thought of the councillor roused Tau. He placed his father on the ground, letting him rest, and reached for Aren’s sword. A strong hand with rough fingers fell on Tau’s wrist.
“I am sorry for this loss,” Jayyed said, taking the sword from him. “Your father was very brave. He knew if he stepped in the circle to fight Kellan, he would never leave. The Chosen are made less by his passing.” Jayyed called out to Aren’s Ihagu. “Come, take your man. Take him home for his burning.”
The Ihagu, glad for instruction, did as they were bid. Tau wanted them to leave his father alone. He wanted to snatch the sword from Jayyed and hunt down Odili, Dejen, and Kellan. He did nothing.
“Nkosi,” Jayyed said, addressing Lekan, “this Common is from your fief?” He was asking about Tau.
“Yes. Yes, of course,” Lekan said.
“He’ll be cared for?”
“What? Yes, yes. You can trust I’ll take care of him,” Lekan said. “And the testing?”
“Nkosi?”
“My brother is here, we all are, for the testing.”
Jayyed didn’t answer. He gave Aren’s sword to Tau and walked away.
“Who does that cursed Lesser think he is?” Lekan said to the Kerem men around him, low enough that Jayyed would not hear.
The Ihagu took Aren’s body away and Tau would have knelt in the dirt till the sun fell from the sky had Jabari not come to take him away as well.
“I will kill them,” Tau told him through tears. “I swear it to Ananthi and Ukufa, I will kill them all.”
BANISHED
The journey home was made in silence. Jabari sent run
ners to alert the keep that the ritual burning for Aren would be performed that same night. Tau marched without marking where they were or how much farther they had to go. He marched with Jabari beside him and marched when Jabari wasn’t. He marched as the sun beat down and kept going when it didn’t. They marched past nightfall, into the low cliffs of the Kerem mountains. None of it mattered.
“The pompous ass,” Lekan said, walking up to Jabari. “Does Odili even have the power to cancel the testing? Blasted Palm Royals all act like they’re birthed from the Goddess’s twat covered in gold.” Lekan barked at his own joke, no humor in the sound. The Onai family was in a perilous position as long as Jabari remained unconfirmed for the citadel. “What about you? We need you in the military. We can’t pay higher tithes.”
“I’ll travel to the North,” Jabari said. “They test later than we do.”
“How much later? This season’s tithes are due in—”
“It’s not the time, Lekan.”
“Why not? Because your pet Common got above himself and got his father—”
Lekan didn’t finish. Tau leapt on him, bore him to the ground, and struck him in the face. He raised his arm to hit him again, but Jabari shoved him away. Tau rolled to his feet, ready to attack.
“Kill him!” Lekan yelled, his left eye swelling shut. The Ihagu surrounded Tau, keeping him away from the frantic Noble.
“Kill him!” Lekan shrieked.
“They’ll do no such thing,” said Jabari.
“He attacked me. I’m heir to Kerem.”
“Get up.”
“He attacked me. He cost you your testing. I’ll have—”
“Shut up!” Jabari shouted, startling his brother, before turning to Tau. “High Common Tau Tafari, you have attacked my brother, a Noble, and the punishment for that crime is death by hanging.”
“Fine, I’ll do it myself!” said Lekan, reaching for his blade.
“Everyone here knows the crime and its punishment,” said Jabari to the Ihagu and Drudge with them, as much as to Tau. “We also know what this day has cost you, and, for the love I bore your father, I will both honor and consider that in rendering judgment over you.”
Tau felt cold. He knew Jabari was talking to him but couldn’t make himself care.
“I cannot ignore your crime, but as the second son of fief Kerem, and as a neutral Noble, not the aggrieved party, I commute your sentence.” Jabari swallowed and cleared his throat. “Tau Tafari, you may attend your father’s burning this evening, but when the sun rises, you will no longer be welcome in Kerem.”
Lekan was only a few strides away when he pulled his sword from its scabbard. “No more banishments, Jabari. I’ll take my own justice.”
Jabari was in his brother’s way. “Another step and you’ll need to take it over my blade.”
Tau looked at the two Nobles posturing in front of him. One of them, his friend since childhood, had just banished him from the only home he’d ever known.
“You may appeal my decision, taking up the crime and offered punishment with Umbusi Onai,” Jabari told Tau without taking his eyes off Lekan. “Be warned, she may look less kindly on a Lesser having struck her heir than I have.”
“Jabari…,” Lekan growled, his voice aggressive, predatory, in stark counterpoint to his lowered sword and reluctance to step closer.
“Get on, Tau,” said one of the Ihagu, one of his father’s men. “Get on.”
Tau looked for the speaker, couldn’t find him, and turned back to Jabari and Lekan, hating them both with enough force it had his hands shaking, hating them all.
“Get on…”
A hand touched his shoulder, encouraging him to move, and Tau’s vision began to blur with tears. His father was dead. The tears came faster, and refusing to shame himself further, Tau shook the hand loose and left.
His gait was jerky, almost a stagger, like he’d had too much gaum to drink and couldn’t find his balance. He half expected the Ihagu near him to reach out, steady him. Instead, they moved away, letting him leave, and Lekan, perhaps realizing that demands to stop Tau would go unanswered, held his tongue.
A span or two later, Zuri found him in the home that was no longer his. Tau didn’t have much, but what he had, he was packing. She ran to him and held him.
“Tau,” she said, “I’m sorry. By the Goddess, I’m so sorry.”
Tau couldn’t stand to be touched but couldn’t summon the will to move away.
“We’ll attend the burning tonight and then we’ll go,” she said. “We’ll leave Kerem and all of this behind.”
“I have nothing to give you,” Tau said.
“Give? I want to be with you. I won’t stay in Kerem without you, and I won’t let them take me.” She was breathless, wide-eyed, skittish. “I-I had my test, but it doesn’t matter. Tau, they don’t deserve either of us. We’ll—”
“Test?” Tau found there was enough in him to feel surprise. “You’re… you’re Gifted?”
She didn’t answer, didn’t need to. “If we leave now, if we leave together—”
“Gifted. I knew you were special.”
“We can—”
“No,” Tau said. “We can’t. They’ll hunt to the ends of Xidda to get you back.”
There was no argument against that. It was a truth neither could deny.
“Gifted,” he said again, the word feeling foreign. Tau turned away, closing his eyes. His head was pounding. “I’m going to kill them, Zuri. I’m going to kill the men who did this.”
“Who? The Nobles?”
Tau gathered up the last of his things.
“Tau, if you kill a Noble, they’ll execute your sisters, your mother, your mother’s husband. They’ll find out if you have cousins, aunts, uncles, they’ll kill everyone they can, and once that’s done, they’ll hang you, cut your body open, and leave it in the sun to rot.”
Tau strapped his father’s sword and his sword, the one that had belonged to his grandfather, to his belt. He walked out of the tiny hut, into the twilight.
“You’re letting them take your life too,” Zuri said.
He kept going and she ran up behind him, taking his arm and pulling him so he was facing her.
“Don’t do this,” she said. “Come with me to your father’s burning. You… you don’t have to be with me,” Zuri said, “but don’t lose your life and everything you are to this.”
Tau took Zuri’s hand off his arm. Gifted, he thought. The Nobles weren’t satisfied with wiping out Nkiru’s family or the murder of his father. They’d taken Zuri too.
“Goodbye, Lady Gifted,” he said, using the title that would become hers, the title that placed the woman he loved in an elite caste outranking all but Royal Nobles. Zuri Uba had gone farther from his reach than the stars.
Zuri shook her head. “Tau, please, don’t do this.”
He left her there and took the path to Daba. He would circle back when he was lost to sight. He didn’t want Zuri to know he was going to the keep. He didn’t want her to know that he was about to pay Lekan Onai a visit.
LEKAN ONAI
Lekan was angry. The day had been exhausting and the evening worse. He’d had to explain the events at the testing to his mother and father with Jabari present. Everything he’d said, Jabari had undercut. His mother had been furious and his softhearted father had mourned Aren’s loss, excusing himself to get ready for the burning.
Lekan didn’t believe the Lesser worth the bother. Aren had grown too bold and his end was the natural outcome of an unworthy man caught up in his unnatural pride. If Aren had been more humble, his son would be too, and the boy wouldn’t have tried so hard to show up Kagiso. If both Lessers had better known their place, the morning’s unpleasantness could have been avoided.
As it stood, Lekan had been castigated by his mother. He’d been made to suffer for the mistakes of others. They’d have to find a new inkokeli for the Ihagu, she’d said, and without Jabari in the citadel, the fief was in a difficult enough posit
ion. She’d cursed the stupidity of men, claiming the Goddess had forsaken her by sending her sons.
Lekan, knowing his mother’s moods, took it in silence. Jabari had tried to argue. She’d sent him from the room.
When it was just the two of them, she’d given Lekan the one positive thing to come from the day. She wanted him to arrest Tau Tafari at his father’s burning. They’d hang him the next morning for attacking a Noble. That’s what Lekan admired about his mother. She knew when a firm hand was needed.
Later that night, hundreds of women and men came out for the burning, many weeping and sobbing like they’d lost a war hero. Lekan was there with several keep guards, but the Tafari boy did not show his face. Refusing to have another failure on his hands, Lekan sent men to Aren’s hut. The boy wasn’t there either.
Empty-handed and with the evening growing late, Lekan had given the men, the ones who had dealt with the Common whore and her family, the duty of finding Tau. That done, Lekan went to the cellar. He picked a well-aged jug of olu. His mother would lash him with her tongue if the Lesser slipped through his fingers, and that, when added to the rest of his day, had earned him the expensive liquor.
He downed it, and when it didn’t soften the world’s edges or dull the pain around his eye where Tau had struck him, he’d taken a second jug to his chambers along with a bowl of half-ripe avocados from the kitchens.
The second jug helped. He’d also enjoyed cutting up slices of avocado, imagining his dagger digging into Aren’s son’s flesh. Warmed by the olu and stomach full, he’d tumbled into bed, falling asleep with his breeches and tunic on.
Lekan was a deep sleeper, but that night it had begun to rain, an uncommon event in any season and rare during Hoard. On a normal night, the rain wouldn’t bother him. His chambers were on the second floor, where he couldn’t hear it pitter-pattering against the ground, and Lekan’s room had thick shutters. No, Lekan could sleep through a thunderstorm, but he couldn’t sleep through being rained on.