Tribal Dawn: Blood-and-Shadow (Volume One)

by Cassie Wolf

  “I… I…” Dia started before another blow across his face stopped him. He whimpered from the contact, trembling.

  With his anger rising, Atsu didn’t even feel the whisper of rain landing on his flesh, spattering against the open scratches on his arm. He growled at the pain in his shoulder as he hauled Dia up by the scruff of the neck.

  “What the fuck did you do to Masi?!” Atsu yelled and kicked his victim in the back of the knee.

  “Nothing! I came back for her!” Dia stammered. His lip quivered. He sagged in Atsu’s grip like he wanted to kneel but Atsu held him firm.

  “Fucking liar!” Atsu spat and shinned him between his legs. There was movement behind him. His warriors had caught up. Without letting go of Dia, he signalled to them to hand him back his sword. Twisting his fingers through Dia’s hair, he dragged him by the scalp back to the battlefield and he pointed at the disembowelled bodies. “You killed my family but you fucked up killing Pazade! Everyone one of my men wanted to fight for their Chief.” He threw Dia into a mangled roll of intestines and heard him gag in response to the stench. “How many of your men died out of fear of your cunt family?!”

  Dia spluttered, nose full of the dead man’s blood until Atsu pulled him out of it. The drops pouring from the coal-black sky slowly doused the flames. “I didn’t want… this,” Dia sobbed and brought his hands to his face.

  With his jaw aching from clenching, Atsu watched on. He heard some of his warriors whispering that he should end Dia’s misery there and then.

  “You’ve won,” Dia mumbled under his breath.

  “Atsu!” came a cry from behind. Nyah was approaching with an escort of a few warriors. She looked pale and shaken as she glanced at the corpses. She broke into a jog, feet splatting in the cocktail of mud and blood. “Jocelin ran off! I can’t find her!”

  The Chief turned back to the whimpering Dia and looked to his warriors. “Tie him up, take him back to sleep with the scouts.” Two of them nodded and heaved their captive up by his arms. “Take the wounded back,” Atsu spat to the others as he looked at the broken arrow in his shoulder. “Someone blow on any horns you can find, let them know it’s over. We will go and search for Jocelin.”

  - CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN -

  Jasari pursed his lips around his cup and winced at the bitter taste of the spirit as it slid down his tongue. Smirking, he glanced around his tent, not too far away from the remainder of his tribe, those he hadn’t sent away with his sister-mate and the rest of his misbegotten family, but set just how he liked it. With a hog roasting over the fire and drink in hand, he broke out in laughter when he heard the first explosion. Thinking of the bodies as they scattered in the air, thinking how Atsu would have been forced to cower in a corner during the fight while his men were overpowered. Yes, Jasari’s were smaller in number, but he had beaten fear into them. After their stay in the cells, they were each fighting for their freedom when all was won.

  When the horn sounded, he once again cried in joy to himself. His warriors had won the battle.

  The last dregs barely even filled a quarter of his stone cup. Sighing, he sat back on Inari’s violet cushions and called out to the guards outside his tent, “Someone get in here.”

  A warrior slipped between the flaps, adjusting himself as he stood before his Chief. “Yes, Chief?”

  Jasari sat forward and cocked his head. “I need more of this stuff… this Sun tribe drink.”

  “Of course,” the boy responded and backed low out of the room.

  “Oh, get me a dancer. No reason why the army should have all the fun,” Jasari hissed.

  With a quiet murmur, the warrior left the warmth of the tent to get what was asked.

  The Chief hummed a song beneath his breath as he thought about his tribe. All of the people who had told him he was weaker than a boy, weaker than Pazade, they were all wrong. In a night, carvings would be made for his victory and if he was lucky, his infant would be born strong and healthy while Masika struggled for breath. He would make her beg for a healer, beg while he mated with her until she was on the verge of death, then he would save her. She wouldn’t ever say no to him again after.

  Dia, sent to the west to where the wild animals roamed with his sisters and sister-mate, they would all be dead by the morning. This was going to be a new start, one with respect which he had earnt.

  “Chief?” The warrior popped his head between the flaps again. “The dancer has a pet. She wants to know if it’s alright to bring in?”

  Jasari narrowed his eyes. “What kind of pet?”

  “A snake. She was a handler, lived at the back of the village near the shacks.”

  The Chief nodded suspiciously and rested his head back against the comfort of the cushions.

  A young woman, tall and slim, entered the hut. Wearing a pleated straw skirt to her thighs and with leather covering her breasts, she swayed into the room with a particular elegance. Her face and hair were masked behind a veil of black linen as was the custom for entertainers in times of war, out of respect for those who died. The snake had emerald and brown scales and was at least six feet long. It rested on her shoulders and slithered down her arms as she stepped forward, bottle in hand.

  Jasari licked his lips at the woman. Filling his cup to the brim, he took a sip and watched the woman place her pet on the ground before she approached him.

  “Is that thing safe?” Jasari asked and shuffled on his seat.

  The woman stopped in her tracks and eyed the snake. She bent over, carefully picking it back up, and brought it over with her. Jasari shook his head but couldn’t seem to find his authoritive tone, lost as he was within her bright eyes and swaying hips.

  The dancer crawled onto his knee, straddling him as the snake swayed its head and flickered its tongue in the Chief’s direction. Jasari shuffled uncomfortably but the woman drew his attention away from the creature with her soft fingertips and made him watch her body.

  He bit down his lip with lust as she started to grind teasingly against his crotch. He could feel the fertile heat radiating between her legs and his hands wandered across to her pelvis.

  The woman tilted her head forward and brought her full lips to his neck, breathing heavily into his ear while she pressed against him once more. Jasari dug his fingers into her hips and shuddered beneath, inhaling her feminine scents.

  “How about,” he whispered into her ear and dragged his hand to her thigh, feeling her quivering as he pulled the straw out of the way, “I give you my seed?”

  The woman sniggered softly and ran her thick tongue over her lips before dragging it across his neck. “How about,” her husky voice whispered in his ear, “I enjoy the performance first?”

  Jasari widened his eyes; her voice was familiar. He went to look at her eyes again, when something smooth and heavy landed on his shoulder. Before he could throw her off, the snake lashed forward and sank its teeth into his cheek, coiling itself quickly around his arms and torso before Jasari’s shock wore off and he could react. The woman backed away and picked up the bottle and the cup before dragging a wooden chair over to sit down.

  The panicking Chieftain gasped and tried to grab the body of the beast, but with its coils tightening and his upper arms pinned he could do little more than ineffectually flap his hands. The woman sat crossed legged and poured herself some alcohol, watching.

  “Bitch!” Jasari yelled, thrashing at the animal, trying to stand, but it was far stronger than his old bones.

  “Shut up.”

  Jocelin pulled away her linen veil and regarded him with a stab of victorious satisfaction as she sipped from the cup. “Answer me and I will help you. Is Atsu your son?”

  Jasari couldn’t do anything but cackle as the snake wrapped further around his chest, hissing as it released its hold on his cheek. “No.”

  Jocelin sighed. “Your warriors seem to be under the impression that you think his sister is his mother, Zura. Why? Did you mate with her?”

  “No,” Jasari answered
sharply. Sweat poured down his face.

  Jocelin laughed dryly and leant forward. “We both know when a woman says no, that isn’t always the case. A man would not go wanting. Tell me the truth.”

  “I didn’t go near her.”

  She raised her eyebrow and watched him pale. “Then answer me this: how many women over the years did you force yourself on?”

  Jasari’s voice became strained and faint as the snake coiled around his neck. “Too many to count.”

  “Atsu’s sister? She is alive?”

  “Yes.” Jasari blinked and swayed like he was growing dizzy.

  Jocelin stood. “Where is she?”

  Jasari stretched out a hand in a final attempt tried to grab the beast. “The hut, I left her there. She will be dead now.”

  The Chieftess watched him slowly suffocating. She could see every bit of fear in his eyes as the life was choked out of him. “Who killed my father?” she whispered.

  “Dia…” he stammered. “He paid the… steps. They did it. Please… I have answered your questions, get this fucking thing off me!” Jocelin hovered her fingers over the tail of the creature and the Chief murmured, “Fucking Whites couldn’t kill anything if they tried.”

  The Chieftess stopped. His breathing was ragged, body lolling. She picked up the bottle.

  “Get… it… off…”

  She stood and stared into the fire, sipping on the bitter spirits. His breathing slowed, then stopped. His feet went still. She heard the final trembles, imagined him begging for the release of death but she would not go to him. Silence.

  “Warriors,” Jocelin called out. The five White tribesmen who’d accompanied her while she followed the tracks leading to Jasari’s isolated camp, disguised in the garb of their fallen enemies, entered the tent. Once they’d seen how alone he was, it had been her idea to take on the clothes of one of Jasari’s entertainers. “Kill the snake, bring Jasari’s body. I believe he needs to be with his family.”

  “Yes, Chieftess,” they replied and quickly went to work.

  Jocelin stood and poured the rest of the fluid on the ground. “Burn this tent to the ground. Let it be a warning to the survivors.” Gazing at the empty bottles on the floor, she chewed on her lip. “Find where they’re keeping these spirits. Light their stores, give his tribe their own explosion.”

  The Chieftess held her head high as she walked out of the tent, making her way towards the hill with two of her warriors by her side. Her stomach curled at the dread of what she would find there. She could only hope her people were the winners.

  - CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT -

  Inari kept hold of Masika’s hand while they swept through the jungle. The noises from the village were horrifying to hear: the yells and cries of grown men in the throes of battle, the screaming of the wounded and the crackle of flame.

  “Almost there, Masi,” he would whisper to her whenever she stopped to allow a contraction to pass, and feed her sips of water to soothe her throat.

  Both of their voices had become dry and cracked and soot clung to their clothes. Inari looked to the sky when the first tear of a raindrop dripped against his arm from a broad leaf above him. Thanking the Gods silently, he pressed on until Masika dropped to the floor, beside a fallen bough.

  “I need to… I need to push,” she stammered and clung onto her stomach as her face turned sour with agony.

  Inari glanced around. He was certain they were past the warriors. There had been another, smaller explosion in the distance, but otherwise he couldn’t hear any man-made threat. It was the wild life which concerned him; predators would be drawn to the cries of a newborn and the scent of blood on the air. Looking back at Masika, the sweat pouring from her like water, biting on the neck of her dress to suppress her cries of agony, he knew she couldn’t go any further.

  “Alright,” he whispered and knelt down beside her. The rain splashed on the leaves around them, cooling and clean on their skin. Inari grinned weakly at her and wrapped a blanket he’d taken from the garasums’ quarters around her shoulders.

  Masika stifled a moan. Inari knew how close together the waves of pain were, how much the baby wanted to come. He held her hand and she clenched so tight he imagined his bones crushed to splinters. Masika leant her forehead against his and shook her head. “I can’t, Inari. I can’t.”

  He brought his palm to her cheek and smiled at her. “It is coming out now, Masi. It will be over soon.”

  Her lip trembled as the next contraction shot across her stomach, her body shaking as she clung onto Inari. The witch doctor moved lower and pulled up her skirt. “I’m just going to feel where it is, alright Masi?”

  Masika couldn’t do anything but nod. Her face was flushed and her knuckles were white.

  Inari swiftly felt for the progress and looked up to her. “Masi, its head it literally right there. Next pain you get, just push with it, let the screams out if you need to.”

  “You can… you can see it?” she stammered as the contraction faded.

  “I can see a bit, but you need to push. Everything you have, you need to put into it, Masi,” Inari said and piled some of his rags between her legs. He rifled through his pouches for his healer’s supplies and watched as another contraction hit. “Push! Push as hard as you can!”

  Masi clenched her teeth together, hands ripping at the grass as she pushed with all the strength she could. She screamed with the strain and felt an agonising rip between her legs, something gushing over her skin. Masika opened her eyes wide and howled while Inari sat, face taut and focused, waiting for the head.

  “Don’t stop, Masi! Keep going!” he yelled. She could see blood on his arms, and he seemed to be cradling something below her. “The head is out, Masi. The next pain will be the rest of the body and I promise this will all be over.”

  Masika rolled her head side to side with dread. Soon enough, it came back. She clawed at the grass as tight as possible and screamed again as she pushed for a final time.

  Inari caught the infant in the rags, wrapping him quickly and cutting the cord. The pink bundle scrunched up his face and cried as loudly as his small lungs could power. Inari said, “It’s a boy!”

  Masika smiled weakly and threw her head back against the log, sobbing with a mix of tiredness and euphoria. The pain in her legs didn’t matter to her anymore, not when Inari handed her son to her. She gazed at his large, round eyes and dark mane of clumped hair. Tears rolled down her cheeks as her son wailed. She nuzzled against his perfect, tiny button nose and looked to Inari. “Thank you,” she whispered.

  Inari grinned at her, but his eyes were worried and his skin was dark with her blood, and he quickly went back to stitching. “He will be hungry,” he said.

  She watched the infant wriggle in her arms, trying to root at her nose. Masika lifted the blanket around them both and brought him to her breast to feed. She winced with every stitch and glanced to the sky as the cooling raindrops hit her toes. She went to gently close her eyes, feeling a deep slumber take her, when a horn from the village jolted her back up.

  Inari glanced in the direction of the noise but kept working. “Sounds like the fight is over. You two can go back.”

  Masika chewed down on her lip. The thought of going back to the tribe filled her with dread. For months she had thought she hated this baby, for months she had heard nothing but Jasari say that he was his. For all she knew, she would be going back to the same rulers. Even if Atsu had somehow won, where would she and her son fit into his life? Atsu would know he was his; he was too honest to ever deny it. He would lose everything he had fought for and be disrespected by his new tribe.

  Inari suddenly stopped. There were footsteps approaching, crunching through the fallen leaves nearby. The people Jasari had sent west were on the move. Masika looked down on her son as he finished his first comforting feed and shook her head.

  “Inari,” she whispered.

  “Yes?”

  “Please… take him.”

  Inari widened
his eyes as she held the bundle out for him. Blinking, he took the baby into his arms and shook his head. “Masi, it’s over. You can go back now and live your life with your son.”

  Masika shook her head. She forced a grin as a stray tear rolled down her cheek. She knew she couldn’t stand any more trauma. “I feel weak. I can’t fight for us both. I don’t want him to have that life trapped within one hut. I want him to be like my brother and get his escape. Please, Inari… I can feel the wound between my legs. Please, take him somewhere safe and leave me to die out here.”

  The sound of feet in the undergrowth was closer now. Inari looked from Masika to the bundle in his arms. He knelt beside her and brought the infant up to her tired face.

  Masika smiled and stroked his hair, watching his wide eyes as he looked up at his mother. “You live a strong life, alright? You’re going to be a powerful warrior, just like your father. You will get to see the edge of the world. I hope you will forgive me, little one. I don’t want you to have a life within those walls.” She kissed him softly on the head and broke away. “Be strong, my little boy.”

  Inari wrapped his arm around her shoulders and embraced her tightly. “Are you sure, Masi?”

  She nodded, choking back tears.

  He squeezed her for a final time. “He will go somewhere safe, I promise you.”

  With that, the witch doctor stood up, keeping the bundle tightly tucked against his chest as he walked away from Masika.

  She kissed her hand and blew it to her son, her heart in pieces. For the first time since discovering she was pregnant, she missed him being inside and feeling him kick. But the heartbreak just made it easier. Now she knew she was ready.

  Dizzy and fading from blood loss, she closed her eyes and thought about her parents. Her beautiful mother and her loving father were going to be there waiting. She couldn’t wait to cry in their arms and tell them what a perfect grandson they had.