by D. Moonfire
brother inspired everyone but Rutejìmo. Everyone loved him, just as they loved Chimípu and the rest of the warriors. Coming around the fire, Desòchu pulled nervous children into a line dance with an easy smile and infectious enthusiasm. He was showing them the way of becoming part of the clan, not by lectures, but by example. He loved everyone in the clan and would protect them until the day he died.
Rutejìmo turned away and trudged up the trail. He made it to his cave when he realized there was a cloud of pipe smoke around the entrance. Slowing down, he called out for Gemènyo.
Gemènyo stood up from the side of the entrance, the smoke wafting around him. “I thought you’d be sulking.”
“I’m not sulking, I’m just…”
“Avoiding your brother?”
“I’m not in the mood to get yelled at, and I don’t even know why yet.”
Gemènyo chuckled and gestured for Rutejìmo to approach the edge of the trail.
Rutejìmo stepped up to it and looked down at the celebration. Mapábyo stood on the platform with a smile larger than her father’s. She wore her red ceremonial outfit, heavily embroidered and tight around her hips. Rutejìmo was surprised she could wear it with her shoulder bound up in white bandages from her elbow to her neck. Her left eye was swollen shut, and there was more gauze around her other hand and across her forehead. He noticed more bandages on her legs, barely visible with the swirls of her dress when she moved from one person congratulating her to another.
Gemènyo rested his free hand on Rutejìmo’s shoulder. “We led her over to a Wind’s Tooth and told her to run home.”
Rutejìmo shook his head. “Is the answer to all of life’s troubles to throw someone in the middle of the desert and see what happens?”
“Pretty much, though when Hyonèku and Kiríshi were having trouble with their marriage, we actually chained them together.” Gemènyo’s teeth were a shock of white when he smiled. “But Mapábyo here ran into a pack of wild figaki tòra.”
Remembering his own encounter with the wild sand hounds, Rutejìmo cringed. They were nearly hairless dogs with large teeth. Mostly they traveled in large packs at dusk and dawn. They were tenacious and always hungry in their short, violent lives.
“She outran them pretty well, but then she missed the signs and fell into a mizonekima chyòre pit. It was a big snake too, a female. We were all lucky that she wasn’t protecting any eggs, otherwise we’d be bringing back a corpse.”
Rutejìmo stared at Mapábyo with shock. “And she only broke her shoulder?”
“Yeah, girl had some smarts to her. She used her trousers as a sling and was firing the bones around the pit into the chyóre’s mouth.” Gemènyo switched to the feminine accent to refer to the female snake. “And when the tòra joined in, they went after the snake. Normally, it would just leave the bodies, but Pábyo started throwing the bodies into its mouth until eventually,” he laughed, “it choked.”
“That’s… better than me.” Rutejìmo watched her celebrate. He smiled to himself. She earned it, both in finding a way to listen to Shimusògo but also proving herself in the clan’s eyes. He never had a doubt that she would be able to listen to Shimusògo.
“No, Jìmo, it isn’t better. Just different. You saved Pidòhu when he fell off a cliff, despite a broken arm and almost being killed by Tsubàyo. You found your strength too.” Gemènyo patted him on the shoulder. “Don’t belittle yourself. You found a path and so did she. Mapábyo won’t be a warrior, but she’s a good strong runner.”
Rutejìmo nodded. He started to turn away, but Gemènyo’s hand gripped his shoulder tighter. Frowning, he looked at the older man. “What?”
“Look at her neck.”
He turned around, a strange feeling running along his skin. Desòchu was pulling her off the stage while being both gentle and excited. As he set her down, he pulled her toward the fire.
Around her neck was a leather thong with a broken-off tooth hanging at the center of her almost black throat. She ran up toward the fire and joined in with the circle of dancers, the necklace was a shock of white that bounced with her movements.
“W-Why?” Rutejìmo shook his head. “Why did she make a necklace out of that?”
“We’re wondering about that ourselves. You know, because you’re the only other person who wears a necklace. One might say,” Gemènyo’s voice grew quieter but deeper, “it is more of a night clan tradition instead of the Shimusogo Way.”
He felt thin and drawn. “I-I didn’t tell her that.”
“Really.”
Rutejìmo jerked at the strange tone from Gemènyo. He peeked over but the older man just smirked.
“Your brother thinks otherwise.”
Rutejìmo glanced back down.
Down in the valley, Desòchu was looking up at Rutejìmo. There was a dark look in his green eyes and a frown furrowed his brow.
Rutejìmo stared into his brother’s eyes and a ripple of fear ran down his spine. They were a hundred feet apart, but he could feel the icy gaze even from there.
Desòchu’s hand slipped from around Mapábyo’s waist and the older man stepped out of the ring of dancers. He slipped around a group of men and women chatting, moving more like a creature than a man. His eyes glowed for a moment before the darkness swallowed him.
“Jìmo,” Gemènyo said in a soft voice, “do you want me to stay?”
Rutejìmo opened his mouth to speak, but then Desòchu ripped him from the edge of the trail and slammed him back against the stone wall. The impact drove the air out of his lungs, and sparks exploded across his vision.
“What did you say to her!?” Desòchu yelled, punctuating his words by slamming Rutejìmo against the stone. “What!?”
Rutejìmo gasped for air, unable to draw in a breath. His back burned from the impact against the rock, and he could barely focus on the furious face of his brother.
Desòchu’s passing brought in the heat of day and a howling wind. It blew past quickly, and the sand draped over both of them in a thin blanket.
Gemènyo stepped up to the two brothers. “Great Shimusogo Desòchu, isn’t that—”
“Choke on sands, old man!”
Gemènyo stopped with a surprised look on his face. And then, a flicker of a harder emotion ran across his face. “No.”
Rutejìmo stared in shock at Gemènyo. The older man had never stood up like that before, not to Desòchu at least.
Desòchu’s lip pulled back into a snarl. “What?”
“You heard me, Great Shimusogo Desòchu. If you are going to castigate Rutejìmo, then I’m going to have my say. You are angry—”
“Damn the spirits, of course I’m angry. Mapábyo wouldn’t have come up with that foolish idea on her own! It had to be him!”
Desòchu slammed Rutejìmo against the wall, the impact cracking Rutejìmo’s head against the rock. “Shimusògo don’t wear hunks of our enemies on our bodies. We are runners, not hunters, and not sands-damned horse bitches from the night!” His bellow echoed against the walls.
With a wrenching sensation, Rutejìmo’s lungs drew in air. He gasped for breath. His chest hurt where Desòchu was holding him against the stone.
Golden flame rippled along his older brother’s body. It was thin and wispy, like a mirage, but the heat rose around both of them. Desòchu growled and thumped Rutejìmo against the stone. “Why!? Why are you trying to destroy this clan!”
“I-I—” Rutejìmo could barely speak. “I didn’t tell her to do that.”
“Sands!” Desòchu yanked Rutejìmo off the wall and slammed him back. Energy flared from his body, briefly lighting up the rocks.
Rutejìmo’s head hit the rock hard, and more sparks of pain washed over his blurred vision. He slumped but Desòchu held him pinned to the stone.
A blast of air slammed into both sides of Rutejìmo. He wasn’t sure if he was falling but rocks peppered against his chest and arms.
“Boy,” snapped an older voice, drawing Rutejìmo’s gaze to the speaker. It was Tejíko, t
heir grandmother and clan leader. She ruled with a hard fist, and everyone was terrified of her but respected her commands. Her long, white hair cascaded down her back. It had broken loose of her braid and plastered against her wrinkled skin.
Desòchu snarled at Rutejìmo, not looking away from him.
Tejíko stepped up and grabbed Desòchu by the shoulder. Her fingernails dug into the muscular skin. She twisted and pulled him away. “I mean you, Desòchu!”
Desòchu stepped back. “You saw the necklace she was wearing!” He gestured down to the valley. “Shimusògo don’t do that! Night clans do! Horse bitches do!”
Rutejìmo slid to the ground, clutching the back of his head. It was sticky and hot. He pulled back his hand and stared at the bright red on his fingertips.
Chimípu knelt down next to him, and he jumped when he noticed her. Without a word, she tilted him forward to look at his head. He could smell perfume and sweat from her.
“I know,” Tejíko said in her cracked voice, “Shimusògo don’t, but Shimusogo Rutejìmo does. He has—”
“He’s been holding that shikāfu for ten years!”
Rutejìmo’s grandmother lifted one hand, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. “Yes, but we all have our own path.”
Desòchu balled his hands into fists. He glared at his grandmother; his flames flickered and wavered with his emotions. “He’s a poison to this clan, Great Shimusogo Tejíko.”
“You tolerated it for a decade.”
“I can live with his obsession with that bitch, but when it starts to affect the others, I cannot. He brought night