by D. Moonfire
came to a halt in a blast of wind. Her reddish hair fluttered in the fading light of translucent feathers. “Great Shimusogo Desòchu–”
“What!?”
“I humbly ask for you to give Great Shimusogo Rutejìmo a chance to explain himself.”
Rutejìmo’s body burned from his scratches and injuries. He blinked to focus and stared into his brother’s face, seeing the anger and fury burning his eyes.
Desòchu threw Rutejìmo down and stepped back.
Groaning from the impact, Rutejìmo slumped to the ground. Sharp rocks dug into his back, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from Desòchu.
The warrior stepped back. “Well, boy, who kidnapped you and chained you for two days? Where are the marks of your torture?” Desòchu’s growl brought a fresh pang of fear, guilt, and sorrow ripping through Rutejìmo.
“Great Shimusogo Desòchu….” warned Chimípu.
Rutejìmo looked helplessly at Chimípu and then back to Desòchu. He heard the others of the clan stopping close by. The rush of wind of three runners rolled over him: Hyonèku, Kiríshi, and Mapábyo.
He closed his eyes and shook his head.
Chimípu stepped up to him. He opened his eyes to see her holding out her hand. “Stand up.”
Rutejìmo jerked at the sudden tenseness in her voice. He squeezed his eyes tightly for a moment, but held up his hand.
She gripped it and pulled him to his feet. His fresh scratches sent sharp pains sparking along his senses.
He staggered until he found his balance.
“What happened?” Chimípu asked. She sounded concerned but wary.
Rutejìmo tried to pull his hand free of her grip, but she clamped down. He tried again until she squeezed tight enough to grind his joints. When he looked in her eyes, he saw the same anger, but hers was tightly contained, a knife about to strike instead of a furious beast like his brother. He shivered at the thought and again tried to pull his hand free, and again failed.
Unable to look into Chimípu’s green eyes, he looked over at the others, his gaze drifting to Mapábyo.
“What happened?” Chimípu repeated. The pressure on his hand increased.
Turning to her, he cringed. “I-I’m sorry.”
Her grip tightened, and her lips pressed into a thin line.
She took a deep breath before she pulled him closer.
“I… I met…” He tried to say the words, but the words froze and refused to escape.
When she exhaled, a glow spread out from her body. The heat rolled over her skin, and he felt it gathering in her palms. It licked at his skin, prickling it, but soon it turned into a sharp pain.
“… I,” he gasped. The tears rolled down his cheeks. “I-I found Káryo.”
Something flashed across her eyes. It wasn’t compassion but sadness. When it turned into regret, he choked back a sob. He tensed, knowing that they were about to punish him.
“Did you choose to stay?” The quiet question almost dropped him to his knees.
He almost lied to her and said Mikáryo kidnapped him. But looking into Chimípu’s eyes, he knew it was too late. Guilt tore through him, and he glanced at the ground.
When Chimípu cleared her throat, he forced himself to look into her hard eyes. He saw mercy but also anger boiling inside her gaze. He wanted to drop to his knees and beg for forgiveness, but his gut said that there was nothing he could say anymore. He had made his choice.
Rutejìmo closed his eyes tightly until the tears ran down his cheeks. “Y-Yes, Great Shimusogo Chimípu.”
Desòchu stepped up, his bare feet crunching the gravel. The heat of his anger rolled over Rutejìmo. “Do you,” he growled, “know how much we ran around this city looking for you!?”
Rutejìmo tensed with anticipation.
Desòchu’s fist caught him in the stomach, and the pain folded him in half. He felt the wind blasting around him from the magic in Desòchu’s strike.
“We were worried about you.” Chimípu’s voice almost cracked with her own tears, but that didn’t stop her knee from catching him in the chin, throwing him back up.
“We didn’t stop looking for you!” Desòchu’s foot caught the back of Rutejìmo’s shoulders, but before he could curl up to protect himself, he was thrown forward.
Chimípu punched him in the left shoulder, and a blast of heated power spun him around until he lost all sense of being. He wanted to open his eyes, to try dodging the attacks, but he knew he had no chance.
Desòchu and Chimípu rained punches and kicks against him. The air grew hot with their magic and his body screamed out in agony. Every time he thought he was going to fall, their attacks threw him back up. He bounced between their blows, unable to do anything but gasp for breath. The blows sent sparks of pain across his vision and the impacts wracked his body. He couldn’t tell left from right, or even up from down.
One fist caught the ridge of his eye and blood splattered across his vision. He tried to collapse to protect himself, but a foot came up between his legs and drove him off the ground. A sharp explosion of agony radiated from his testicles. His feet left the ground before another blow spun him in the air.
The last time Rutejìmo had seen this form of punishment, it was Tsubàyo who staggered between the blows. Rutejìmo fled before the end came, but this time, there was no escape. They slammed into him, one side and then the other. Magic flashed around him, translucent feathers forming a vortex with him in the center.
And then, nothing.
Rutejìmo swayed for a moment before collapsing. The ground crashed into his body, and he felt a hundred bruises, cuts, and burns screaming out. Before he could cry out again, he heard a single heart-wrenching sob from Mapábyo.
The sound of the young woman’s cry somehow made the agony even worse. He curled up into a fetal position and broke down himself.
Strong hands grabbed his arms and pulled them apart. A sharp kick knocked his leg to the side. Rutejìmo tried to raise his hands to protect himself, but Desòchu batted his hands away before yanking him to his feet. “Stand up, excrement of a maggot!”
Rutejìmo flinched and struggled to his feet. He sobbed and waited for the new round of blows.
Desòchu cleared his throat and stepped back. “I am Desòchu, and I speak for Shimusògo.”
Shaking, Rutejìmo clutched his aching stomach and forced his eyes to focus on the double images of the glowing man in front of him. The air wavered around his brother, and the flames were so bright it looked like he was standing before the sun.
“Rutejìmo, you have betrayed the trust of your clan, and you are corrupting the purity of Shimusògo.” Desòchu’s voice was a growl. “For that, you are dead to us for one year.” He turned away from Rutejìmo.
Rutejìmo dropped to his knees, his injuries forgotten in the sudden shock. He never heard of someone being ostracized from the clan for so long, a day or three usually, a month at most. He turned sharply to look at Chimípu, pleading with his eyes.
The other warrior bowed her head, the regret and sadness obvious even with his blurred vision. She turned away from him, her back muscles tense and shaking.
Rutejìmo looked to the other side, to the three others. Hyonèku and Kiríshi stood with their backs to him, but Mapábyo stared with a trembling lower lip and tears rolling down her cheeks.
Hyonèku tapped Mapábyo. “Turn around,” he whispered loud enough for Rutejìmo to hear.
Mapábyo shook her head. “N-No, you can’t—”
Kiríshi turned around enough to hold her daughter’s shoulder. Her light brown skin was stark against Mapábyo’s almost black. “Not now. Just turn around, you need to.”
“Mama,” Mapábyo cried, “you can’t—”
Rutejìmo cleared his throat to interrupt her.
Mapábyo jumped and stared at him.
Closing his eyes, he whispered through his split lip. “Turn around, Great Shimusogo Mapábyo.” He didn’t know why he said anything, but it felt right that Mapábyo didn’t make the
same mistakes he managed to make himself.
“J-Jìmo?” Her voice cracked. She stared at him pleadingly.
“Turn around,” he said.
Mapábyo sniffed before turning around. Her feet scuffed on the ground while she made a slow half circle. His eyes came into focus with her movement but it took all of his effort to remain still until her back was to him.
He stared at her shaking shoulders for a moment before turning back to Desòchu and then Chimípu. None of them were watching him now.
With a groan, Rutejìmo pushed himself up to his feet. Everything hurt. His right eye began to swell shut, the pain radiating across his face. He swayed to find his balance. He opened his mouth to say something, but realized there was nothing he could say. He closed his mouth. When his split lip throbbed, he winced. Staggering backwards, he watched all five of their backs. For all but Mapábyo, he hoped one would turn around and speak up for him. For her, he silently prayed to Shimusògo that she wouldn’t follow his footsteps.
When he was far enough, he turned on his heels. Limping away, he pushed himself to run. Every step turned into a storm of agony, his legs not moving as fast as they used to. His breath came in a blood-flecked wheeze, but he strained to run faster. It didn’t matter how much it hurt, he needed to know if Desòchu’s proclamation also stole his powers away.
The dépa raced past him, and the rush of power burned in his veins. A bliss and peace spread out along his limbs, blending with the agony and humiliation.
Rutejìmo sobbed with relief. Shimusògo had not abandoned him.
Without any direction, he ran blindly after the