by D. Moonfire
armored arm over his back, firmly guiding him down the center of the destruction that lead to one of the western gates.
Rutejìmo looked around at the damage and felt despair clutching his stomach. There was no way he could afford to repair the destruction, much less save Mapábyo from the Wamifūko’s vengeance. There were magenta fires burning from stalls and along the sidewalks. A large crack had sheared off the front of a store, the various runes that protected it hissed and popped among the jewels. A pair of guards stood over the jewelry, but no one else was nearby. The rest were rushing to fight a fire growing along one block and others were gathering up the shards of scorched glass. Even the dirt from the road had been blasted away and he could see it painting storefronts on both sides.
Finally, Rutejìmo had to say something. “I made a mistake.”
Gichyòbi remained silent.
“My brother… my clan is dead to me. Actually, I’m dead to them.”
The warrior came to a sharp stop and looked at him with a scowl. “What did you do?”
“I spent the last two nights with Great Pabinkue Mikáryo.”
At Gichyòbi’s piercing gaze and silence, Rutejìmo worried his lip for a moment. “I didn’t tell them I was going to, and they were upset.”
Gichyòbi pushed toward the gate. “Can’t imagine why. They spent two days tearing apart the city looking for you.”
“They really did?” Rutejìmo tried to halt himself, but the hard hand forced him forward.
“Yes, they pulled favors from a number of clans to look for you, including Wamifūko. In fact, I seem to recall spending most of my last night looking in the gutters for you myself.” Gichyòbi shoved Rutejìmo forward.
Rutejìmo shook his head and clutched his stomach. The urge to throw up rose in his throat, burning the back of his mouth with bile. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think—”
Gichyòbi grunted.
“I don’t have a word, actually, for what I did.” Rutejìmo bowed his head. “I ruined at least one life, if not two.”
“The little runner girl?”
He nodded. “Please don’t kill her.”
“I’m curious, Rutejìmo, why you’re worried about her if you were the one banned from your clan? Who is she to you?”
“It isn’t her fault.”
“Why?”
“Because she’s young and upset.”
“Upset about what?”
Rutejìmo couldn’t answer. “I don’t know.”
They came up to the final street leading to the gate. A crowd had gathered, but Rutejìmo could see the helms of more Wamifūko guards over their heads. Wavers of magic rose up from the center and Mapábyo’s sobbing drifted through the crowds. He could feel the Wamifūko magic around him; it itched along his spine and sent a throbbing ache through his head.
“Maybe you should work on figuring that out. Come on.” Gichyòbi strode forward. “Move!” he bellowed and the crowds split before him.
Rutejìmo followed, his cheeks burning with humiliation and shame. People screamed at him, shaking their arms and broken merchandise. Someone threw fruit and it splattered against his chest. He flinched and brushed it off his leg. It dropped onto his feet but he couldn’t shake it clear while walking.
At the gate, only feet from being outside of the city, Mapábyo knelt on the ground. Shoulders shaking, she sobbed loudly and held her hands up in a pleading gesture. “I didn’t mean it!”
Four warriors, blades drawn, stood around her. Unlike Gichyòbi’s open helm, the warriors’ closed visors hid any hint of humanity. One of them creaked with movement, but Rutejìmo couldn’t identify which one shifted.
Rutejìmo gasped and started forward, but Gichyòbi’s gauntlet held him back.
The armored warrior shook his head. “Don’t run.”
A fifth guard strode to Gichyòbi. Giving Rutejìmo a brief glance, he held something up to the man escorting Rutejìmo. Gichyòbi looked at it for a moment, gave a nod, and then whispered a command. The guard ran off, leaving Gichyòbi to walk past the guards surrounding Mapábyo and Rutejìmo to follow.
“What’s your name, girl?”
“S-Shimusogo Mapábyo, Great Wamifūko.” Tears ran down Mapábyo’s face.
Gichyòbi knelt down, his armor creaking.
Mapábyo looked up, and Rutejìmo’s heart almost stopped at the devastation in her face. “I-I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry, I was—”
“You just did a lot of damage to my city, girl.”
“I know, but I—”
“And, there is a price to pay for that damage.”
Mapábyo sobbed. More tears ran down her cheeks, soaking her shirt.
Rutejìmo stumbled forward. “Kill me. It wasn’t her fault.”
Mapábyo looked up at him, confusion written across her face.
Gichyòbi chuckled. “I’m not going to kill either one of you.”
Rutejìmo’s heart skipped a beat. “W-What?”
Standing up, Gichyòbi shook his head. “I’m going to ban you from the city.” He turned to Rutejìmo. “Both of you.”
Mapábyo let out a sobbing gasp.
Rutejìmo clutched his side, staring at the city guard. Dizziness slammed into him and bile rose in his throat, but he didn’t know why Gichyòbi would have spared either of them when it was his right to kill them. “W-Why? The damage—”
Gichyòbi patted Mapábyo on the head. “You’re lucky that Rutejìmo was willing to speak for you, girl. He doesn’t have a lot of favors left with this city after what he just did. And he just used most of his to keep you alive.”
Rutejìmo jerked and stared in confusion. Gichyòbi didn’t owe Rutejìmo any favors, and he probably never would. He was a warrior of his clan and had no reason to save either of them.
Sniffing, Mapábyo looked up at Rutejìmo, looking just as confused as Rutejìmo felt.
“Stand up, girl.” Gichyòbi’s voice was powerful and commanding.
She staggered up.
When Gichyòbi gestured for Rutejìmo to join her at the entrance of the city, Rutejìmo obeyed with a scuff of his feet. When he stopped, he stared at the ground.
The crowds inside the walls continued to yell and scream at the two Shimusògo couriers.
Gichyòbi stood in front of them, a scowl etched on his face. “I am Gichyòbi and I speak for Wamifūko. You two are banned from this city on the pain of death until a time that the clan allows you passage once again.”
Mapábyo pressed her hand against her mouth. Wamifuko City had been one end of her mail route for a year.
Rutejìmo nodded slowly while the guilt tore through him. Somehow, he managed to ruin her life as quickly as he did his own. In the back of his mind, he already prepared a route to flee for a different part of the desert to start a new life.
“I think two weeks is enough. Though, I expect the both of you,” he emphasized the word by tapping their shoulders, “to return to this city and tender a formal apology. I think treating me to dinner would be appropriate.”
Mapábyo gasped. “T-Two weeks? That’s how long it takes for me to deliver, um, that’s my normal mail run. I-I don’t understand.”
Gichyòbi’s frown cracked into a smile. “Imagine that. Then, I will see both of you ready to apologize for this in two weeks. Until then,” the smile dropped back into a scowl, “get out of my sand-damned city.”
Stunned, Rutejìmo turned and walked away. Next to him, Mapábyo did the same, her feet scuffing on the rocks.
Behind them, the jeers and cries rose up in a wave.
Rutejìmo Walks
A clan’s saying, such as “Ryayusúki ride,” is more than just words. It is inspiration and encouragement when the clan’s skills, loyalty, or reputation are questioned.
—Martin Debosun, Clans of the Desert
With a pulsating headache and an aching body, Rutejìmo staggered away from Wamifuko City. He walked alone lost in his sour thoughts, making no effort to run or even jog. He didn’t have anywhere to go, and the si
mple thrill of running no longer appealed to him.
He scuffed across the sands, his bare feet scraping along the rocks and ripples of sand that gathered along the hard-packed road that wound before him. The cuts and scrapes of Desòchu’s and Chimípu’s beating burned along his skin, the tiny grains of sand adding irritation to burning pain.
Rutejìmo didn’t know where he could go. No city or village in the area would take him if he didn’t have a clan. He didn’t know if anyone would give him shelter. He didn’t even deserve to wear the reds and oranges—someone might take the Shimusògo embroidered on it to be associating with his former clan.
For the briefest of moments, he considered lying, claiming he was still a Shimusògo. But as soon as the thought drifted across his mind, a cold shiver raced down his spine. He grew up with tales about warriors who tried to claim a clan not of their own; none of them survived, and all of them died horrifically. Rutejìmo tore his thoughts away from that possibility.
A year of loneliness loomed before him, and he shivered at the imaginary shadow crossing his life. He tried to imagine months but couldn’t. It was too long, too abstract for him to imagine. He wasn’t even sure what would happen by the end of the week.
Wind rushed past him, and he saw a flash of feathers before a cloud of sand peppered against his back. Reflexively, he held his breath until the cloud settled and then let it out between pursed lips.
Mapábyo came around in a wide circle before returning to him. Her movement had torn through the ground, ripping up sand and rocks in a deep furrow. She stepped out of the gouge and stood before him, her body still shimmering with fading magic and feathers. Grains of sand bounced off her