“Why hasn’t Finyaka said something?” Yorumo looked for the younger boy, but Finyaka was the centre of another crowd.
“Because it’s a lie!” shouted the crowd.
Matasa curled his hands into tight fists. “Nahrem beats him and tells him to keep his mouth shut.”
That silenced the crowd. Even his father looked concerned. His sister squeezed his shoulder, but there was anguish in her eyes.
“Another severe accusation. Are they all true?” Yorumo tapped his chin in thought. “Or do you lie to hide your own guilt?”
Matasa stared at the elder, mouth agape as his family spoke out in his defence. But the crowd hollered, demanding Matasa stand before the Council for his lies.
Just like mother’s death, no one believed us then either. Shaking his head, Matasa shook with righteous indignation. He rose from the stool and shouted over his brothers and the swelling crowd. “Finyaka and I were attacked by a pack of more than a dozen ghost hounds. By the dark, what did you think would happen?”
Yorumo raised a hand and waited for the crowd to quiet. “Watch your tone in the future, boy. You’ve been taught what to do when the ghost hounds attack. Did you do any of that?”
Matasa’s father scoffed at that question, and a few of his brothers swore. Many in the crowd laughed. The elder gave Matasa’s family a stern look.
“I was watching the haze and listening for yips. But the goats didn’t react until the hounds were in their midst. We had no warning.” Matasa slumped onto the stool, exhausted now his was anger was gone. There was nothing we could do.
The crowd jeered at him.
“Nahrem was in charge,” Elder Yorumo stated. It wasn’t a question, but Matasa treated it like one.
“Yes, he’s older than me by at least five summers,” Matasa replied bitterly.
“He’s twice a man than you’ll ever be!” someone shouted, and the crowd laughed.
“Where was Finyaka?” the elder’s face was calm, almost peaceful.
“Humping the goats,” someone shouted, and more laughter greeted that.
Matasa sat up straight and squared his shoulders. “On the opposite side of the herd, watching, as we are supposed to do. He was attentive and awake.”
The other elders drifted toward a nearby date palm. Yorumo turned to join them. “I see. Eat, rest. The Council will discuss the matter.”
The crowd erupted into scattered conversations.
Matasa glared at the old man’s back as he shuffled away. Many villagers followed the elder, asking all manner of questions. Matasa’s family all spoke at once, but Matasa didn’t listen. Nahrem cost us part of the herd. I’ll make sure he’s punished.
“Nahrem had been with you the whole time?” Elder Akmalo asked again over the constant murmuring of the crowd.
Most of the people surrounding Finyaka were his father’s cronies. Most were drunks and ruffians, but some were decent when sober. Finyaka hated all of them.
He was sore and shaken by the attack and just wanted to sleep, not answer the elder’s questions, or listen to the jeering of the crowd.
His mother brought him a small basin to wash off the blood, and she took his stained tunic away. She had even brought him some water to drink, even though that would get her in trouble. His powerful father stood nearby, glaring at him.
“Nahrem was with us, yes.” Finyaka picked at a pull in his sarong.
“And he killed the one hound?” Akmalo placed a hand on Finyaka's shoulder—something his mother often did to calm him.
The crowd murmured about Nahrem’s prowess as a fighter.
“Yes,” Finyaka had already answered that question as well. Why does the elder keep asking me the same questions? His right leg bounced as the tension mounted. The afternoon sun and the close crowd made it far too warm even though they were outside.
“Matasa was no where to be seen?” Akmalo squared her shoulders and ignored the crowd.
“Typical,” someone shouted.
Finyaka started. “No elder. Matasa was on the other side of the herd.” That was an odd question.
“With Nahrem?” Akmalo leaned forward, so did the crowd.
“No, Nahrem was…” Finyaka swallowed. “Yes, Nahrem was on the other side as well. I think. I only saw them briefly before the hound leaped at me.” His heart was in his throat. What is the elder doing?
“So, you are unsure where Nahrem was?” Akmalo raised a brow at that.
“What are you getting at, Akmalo?” asked Tsimunuu as he pushed through the crowd to stand before her.
“The truth.” She narrowed her eyes at him, and the crowd went silent. Akmalo gestured for Finyaka to continue. “Where did you say Nahrem was?”
Finyaka hunched his shoulders. “On the other side of the herd.”
“With Matasa?” Akmalo pressed.
“Yes…”
“And you were by yourself?”
“On my side of the herd.”
“And Nahrem was nowhere to be seen?”
“Yes... no, wait...” Now, Finyaka was confused.
The crowd came to life. Accusations of ‘liar’ and ‘whip him’ rose above the cacophony. The crowd pressed in close to get at Finyaka.
“Enough,” roared Akmalo. “Calm yourselves!” She nodded to Finyaka. “Your father has told you the punishment for lying?” Her tone was so matter of fact that Finyaka started.
The crowd laughed.
Sullenly, Finyaka nodded. “Yes, elder, I know the punishment.”
“What is that punishment?” Elder Akmalo’s eyes bored into Finyaka.
“Five lashings and no water for a day.” Finyaka bowed his head.
“Are you thirsty, Finyaka?” she asked.
The crowd laughed again. Akmalo held up her hand for silence.
Finyaka swallowed. If he told the truth, his brother would thrash him. Finyaka checked to see who could hear then leaned forward. “I don’t know which is worse.”
The throng quieted.
Elder Akmalo considered his statement. “What would do you mean?”
“Lashings or a switching.” Finyaka hug himself.
Akmalo studied Finyaka. He couldn’t tell what she was thinking. But her eyes narrowed, and her brow furrowed as she looked past Finyaka at something.
“Wait here.” She stood and waved to part the crowd. “Clear a path and leave the boy be.”
Tsimunuu took a seat before Finyaka. “What did you say to her, boy?”
Finyaka flinched. “That Nahrem was there.”
Tsimunuu grabbed Finyaka’s forearm and leaned in close, so Finyaka could smell the alcohol on his breath. “Mark my words, boy. If this brings our family shame, you will bear the brunt of it.”
Finyaka strained to hear the elders over the growing crowd. He was alone now since his father had left him after forbidden his mother and siblings to go near him. But only his mother would have. Finyaka was responsible for losing part of the village’s herd, and that had brought shame on his family.
Akmalo looked over at him. She was grim-faced. Finyaka’s heart fell. He was going to get the lash after all.
One of the elders shouted, “Nahrem!”
Finyaka shuddered.
His father and brothers pushed through the crowd to join his blood-stained elder brother. Nahrem greeted them with hugs and accepted the water skin his father produced. They laughed and gestured as they talked. Nahrem’s name was now on the lips of most of the villagers as they reassembled nearby.
“Nahrem, a word.” Elder Nuroimo’s voice was cold.
Nahrem gave Finyaka a deadly glare. Then, his face appropriately grave, he approached Nuroimo. “Yes, elder.”
“We will hear your side of the tale.”
The village was dead quiet.
“We were on the grazing hill. I had gone to fill our waterskins when I heard a commotion. I rushed back to see a massive pack of ghost hounds attacking the herd. I joined the battle and helped scare them away, but by then, it was too late.
We’d lost over twenty does and two dozen kids.” Nahrem gave the elder a sorrowful look.
“Why didn’t you have Finyaka get the water?”
“He would have gotten lost or forgot what he was doing and never returned,” Nahrem lied.
The crowd laughed.
Finyaka blushed. He knew he should say something, but if he did… He sank down on the stool in defeat.
“Why didn’t you take enough supplies?” Akmalo asked Nahrem, but she looked at Finyaka as if she could see into his mind.
“Uh, I had, but Finyaka had forgotten them this morning.” Nahrem shot his brother another glare.
“Finyaka’s such an idiot,” someone shouted.
Finyaka hunkered down. He wanted to be anywhere but here.
“Oh? Then they should be at the pen.” Akmalo glanced that way, but the crowd blocked all sight of the pens.
“I found them there this morning elder,” Tamika, one of Finyaka’s brothers, chimed in. He was Nahrem’s confidant and accomplice. As Tamika glared at Finyaka, a mischievous grin spread across his face.
“Why didn’t you take them to your brothers?” Akmalo was calm, but her gaze wasn’t as she settled it on Tamika now.
“I was busy. I had work to do.” The young man didn’t seem so cocksure now.
The crowd began murmuring again. Some were starting to question Nahrem’s story. Finyaka’s father stood still; arms crossed, and brow furrowed.
“Is work more important than the herd?” Akmalo pressed. Her scowl said it wasn’t.
“What is the elder trying to imply?” Finyaka’s father stepped forward. He met the older woman’s eyes and held them.
“The village has received a significant blow, Tsimunuu. Two of your sons were on watch when it happened. They have given us conflicting reports. I want the truth.” Akmalo stamped her foot, and the crowd nodded in agreement with her.
“Then believe Nahrem. He’s the eldest and is respected by the village.” Tsimunuu looked to his cronies who nodded and shouted in agreement, riling the crowd to join them.
Akmalo touched her chin as she considered that. She glanced briefly at Finyaka then at the other elders.
“The son of a she-goat lies like a lion in the heat!” growled Matasa from the other side of the circle. Everyone looked at him as he pushed his way to the centre, away from his concerned family.
“You dare challenge me?” Nahrem dropped his hand to his belt sheath.
“Sit down and leave this to the adults.” Tsimunuu turned his back on Matasa.
Matasa’s father started to come forward then stopped.
“Matasa is an adult,” Akmalo reminded them. “As such, he has the right to be heard.”
“He’ll lie to save Finyaka.” Tsimunuu shook his fist at Matasa.
His father’s words stung Finyaka. He turned away, fighting tears again.
“And you’ll lie to save that heap of an ass, Nahrem,” spat Matasa. “You and your cronies are good at lying.”
Some men in the crowd stepped forward in defence of Tsimunuu. Their hands rested on their belt knives.
Tsimunuu drew his. “How dare you insult my honour.”
Matasa glared at his uncle; fists clenched at his side. “How dare you defend that pile of excrement.”
“Enough!” shouted elder Nuroimo as he pushed between them.
The crowd hesitated until Tsimunuu raised a hand to his men then they relaxed. The elder made the sign of the sun disc with his fore fingers and thumbs. His eyes narrowed as they met Finyaka’s.
Finyaka looked away quickly and tried not to squirm. Please don’t ask. Please don’t ask.
“Finyaka, did you forget the water skins this morning? Did you create a situation where Nahrem would have to return to the village? Speak boy.”
The silence was deafening.
Finyaka wanted to crawl into a hole and die. He clasped his hands together in his lap to still their shaking. If I lie, my brother and father save face. They’ll still switch me, but not that bad. If I speak the truth, they’ll kill me.
“Well, Finyaka? We haven’t got all day,” Nuroimo reminded him.
Finyaka caught Matasa’s defiant gaze. I want to be like him. He turned his head quickly, looked from the corner of his eye at his family and saw their hatred of him. So many people supported his father.
“I… I forgot the skins,” Finyaka mumbled, accepting his fate.
A collective gasp ran through the crowd.
Elder Nuroimo signalled for silence again. “What? Speak up, so we can hear you, boy.”
“I forgot the skins,” Finyaka blurted out.
Loud cheering erupted from the crowd.
Matasa’s shoulders fell. The pained look that crossed his cousin’s face stunned Finyaka. His father, however, smiled, but Nahrem glared at him.
“Are you sure?” Elder Akmalo asked over the din. She didn’t believe him.
Finyaka nodded.
Akmalo closed her eyes and shook her head, before turning away.
Matasa tried to shout above noise. “Of course, he’d agree with his family. Otherwise, they’d beat him.” The pain on Matasa’s face wrenched Finyaka’s heart.
“Silence,” Elder Nuroimo snapped.
The mob became silent.
“Finyaka lies to protect himself. Nahrem will beat him if he says anything else.” Matasa turned as he spoke to rally the crowd, but it wouldn’t be swayed.
“Silence!” shouted the elder as he turned on Matasa. “Know your place, boy. Learn it. Speak only when you should. The three of you have dealt the village a serious blow today.” Spittle flew from the elder’s mouth as he shouted, “As far as I’m concerned, you should all be cast out!”
There were shouts of outrage from the crowd.
Finyaka stared at the elder, mouth agape.
“Elder, Nahrem hasn’t—”
“Silence Tsimunuu. Don’t draw my ire as well.”
His father bowed his head and took a step back. Finyaka had never seen him cowed before. The onlookers grew quiet.
“The situation needs to be discussed before the Truth Stone, Nuroimo. We need to look as this rationally.” Akmalo’s voice was calm and steady. She folded her arms.
There was grumbling, and nods of agreement. Though, many of the villagers looked upset with the proceedings.
Nuroimo stood rigidly, his hands in the shape of the sun disc again. His lips moved wordlessly in a prayer. Then he ran his hands through his short white hair. “I agree with your judgement, elder. However, until this is discussed, I want these three under watch.”
“I can take them elder.” Tsimunuu raised his hand.
“That would be ill-advised,” Elder Yorumo said flatly. “A neutral party would be better suited for this, Sinaya, perhaps.”
Collected murmurs of agreement came from the crowd.
The wise woman raised an eyebrow and looked at Yorumo sideways. “If I must.”
“Sinaya, please, until we can figure out what to do.” Nuroimo gave her an unreadable look.
“Fine, you three, follow me.” Sinaya hurried away without a backward glance. The crowd reluctantly parted for her.
Finyaka almost tripped over his own feet as he followed the wise woman. When he passed his brother, he flinched at the concern on Nahrem’s face. If Nahrem is frightened… Finyaka swallowed hard and slunk after the wise woman, praying under his breath.
Matasa tried not to glare at his cousin. Finyaka was scared enough. But a heavy weight pressed down on his chest. He’d defended Finyaka, and in return, he’d been thrown to the hounds. He lied for them. How could Finyaka lie for them? Look how they treat him! Matasa glowered as he shuffled along behind the wise woman.
When they reached Sinaya’s small hut, the wise woman turned to address them. “You’ve been well-behaved on our journey here. Keep it that way. The first to so much as look at me the wrong way will feel my Radiance. Do I make myself clear?”
Matasa nodded, and Finyaka did the same. Nahrem g
rimaced and scoffed at the wise woman. Sinaya folded her arms and locked eyes with the young man until he squirmed and looked away.
“Disrespect me again, Nahrem, and you won’t have to face the Council. I’ll sing your funeral dirge. Are we clear?”
Nahrem nodded, but the sneer on his face said volumes.
“I didn’t hear you.” Her eyes narrowed to slits, and her mouth compressed into a thin line.
Sweat beaded across Nahrem’s brow. “Fine, we are clear.”
Sinaya continued to hold his gaze until Nahrem turned away with a shudder. She nodded and unfolded her arms. “Excellent, shall we get you three fed and cleaned up?”
Matasa’s eyebrow shot up and he stared as they entered her hut.
Once inside, Sinaya retrieved a ceramic bowl from a cluttered shelf. Humming softly, she closed her eyes and placed the bowl on the table and sang.
Matasa’s eyes widened as the basin filled with tepid water. He had felt Sinaya’s Radiance earlier, but it was something else to witness it in action.
Finyaka made the sign of the sun disc and prayed to Anuu. Nahrem paled.
“Stop gawking, Matasa. Clean up. You still have dried blood on your side. Finyaka, Nahrem, you both are still bloody as well.” Sinaya puttered around the hut. “Or would the three of you rather wallow in your gore?”
Matasa began washing the wound that had scarred over thanks to Sinaya. Finyaka flinched when his brother brushed past him and scuttled to the opposite side of the table. Matasa’s hands involuntarily balled into fists. Nahrem glared at him.
Her back still to them, Sinaya casually said, “Will you please clean up and sit down? Now.” She turned, wiping her hands on her apron. “By the Great Sun, if the three of you keep this up, I’ll make you regret it.”
Matasa looked at the table then away when Nahrem grunted.
“Can we help with the meal?” Finyaka asked.
Matasa nodded. “What would the wise have us do?”
Sinaya smirked. “Dig in then.”
Matasa busied himself with the meal prep, and Finyaka set the table. Nahrem did little, but he stayed quiet and even stopped bothering Finyaka, more or less. His cousin still flinched when Nahrem passed him.
Matasa tried to catch Finyaka’s eyes, but his cousin wouldn’t make eye contact with him. That hurt more than the betrayal, though Matasa couldn’t say why.
Hidden Magic Page 19