Eden, Dawn

by Archer Swift

Chapter 2

  “Morning, Jordi!” I greeted the arrival of fifteen-year-old Jordin York as enthusiastically as I could. His father Victor, who had been our clan leader, died a mere six moons ago. Another victim of them.

  I hate them.

  “Hi, Ristan,” Jordin’s response was short and wary, still badly shaken by the death of his father. His mother had died during our first year on Eden. Raptors caught her and a friend while foraging for food. They didn’t stand a chance—a terrible way to die.

  Was there a normal death for any of us on this planet?

  Jordin folded his pale, gangly legs and rubbed his carrot-red mop of hair, managing to look weak and fragile. Honestly, he was both.

  “You sleep okay?” I asked, knowing he probably wouldn’t tell me the truth.

  “Fine,” he said with a shrug of his shoulders.

  Definitely a lie.

  Forced to toughen up, the rest of us lost our parents five or more years ago. Jordi’s old man had been a good man, a great leader, but maybe over-protective in his way. I guess that’s the role of any father, but out here, it was a dangerous trait. It made Jordi vulnerable and left him ill-equipped to stand on his own feet. Of course, being abandoned wasn’t fair play, but on this planet, fairness was a pipedream. I wanted to protect him though. It was my silent vow to his father, who had saved my life three times.

  Before long, the other guys had wandered down from their trees and washed up, before we made way for the girls. Forming a semi-circle around seventeen-year-old Gellica and sixteen-year-old Nadalie, we stood some twenty strides away, facing outwards. The river itself closed the loop from danger. Ruzzell, Judd, Dixan, Satoru, Cartyr, Shawz, Brucie, Jordi and me. None of us dared turn around. Their privacy was as important as their protection. Victor taught us this. Treat the women as the treasure they are. A clichéd phrase perhaps, but a gallant virtue. He’d drummed it firmly into our heads. “Chivalry is the cachet of good grooming,” he always said.

  Great man, top-drawer leader. All the Mzees were.

  Borrowed from the ancient Swahili language, Mzee stood for “elder” or “respected person.” It was chosen in our attempt to avoid the hierarchical baggage toxically attached to so much leadership terminology—words that were beaten and battered out of shape during Earth’s last days when corruption was ubiquitous and exploitation endemic.

  Victor would have been a father to us all if he hadn’t doted on his own son so much. But we all understood. For two years after my father died, I would have swapped his jacket for one reassuring hug from Jordi’s dad. Of course, I would have frozen to death when the first winter winds blew in.

  I glanced over at Jordi to my right as he dug his toes into the rich, purple-coloured soil, a dazed look plastered on his face. I wanted to hug the guy, to comfort him somehow, but I couldn’t summon the emotion to do it.

  Hey, if only I could squeeze out a few tears at some point. Some evidence that I do still have lachrymal ducts.

  I had not shed a tear since my father’s death.

  “Right, let’s assemble!” Ruzzell called us together around Base Stump after wash-up was finished. The stump of a massive tree we had cut down in the centre of our camp, Base Stump served as a communal table where we sometimes ate together, and daily gathered for discussion and planning. All the clans did the same. “Shared rituals encourage collective spirit.” I still hear Victor’s sage voice in my head.

  “We’ve got a full day ahead,” began Ruzzell in his gravelly tone. “Hunting time. Split into our pairs as usual. Except…”—his eyes seemed to glint eagerly—“…except this time, Gels, you come with me. Jordi, you stay here at camp with Nads.”

  At twenty-three, Ruzzell Hunt assumed leadership of the clan after Victor’s death. I guess every clan does need a leader. Being the oldest by four years, he simply appointed himself. No one challenged it. I felt guilty that I hadn’t said anything. He’s neither a good man, nor a great leader.

  Ruzzell’s old man was killed during our first few weeks on Eden. Them. His older brother was killed by a Serpent by moon six, and his mother went batty soon afterwards. The stress, the strain, all too much for her. She took her own life. Downed a bunch of Hazardberries in front of him. Of all the deaths, this one disturbed me the most. Maybe because, as strange as it seemed, so few people took their own lives on this merciless planet. While my father, in a sense, took his own life; in shuddering contrast, he gave it to save others.

  I know his mother’s death tormented Ruzzell—he spoke of her seldom, but when he did, there was bitterness in his voice. I felt so sorry for him. Even so, I could not recall one minute where I actually liked the guy. He was a man with a dark heart.

  Bent on unsettling our clan dynamics, Ruzzell had immediately scrapped our morning prayer time, something instituted by Victor. His unilateral decision had the disturbing effect of creating a distinct disquiet in our midst. Whether it was because we were not praying together, or because he dumped a communal ritual we all clung to, I wasn’t sure. Probably, a bit of both. None of us were religious per se. While we simply repeated an old Hebrew prayer Victor taught us, the shared rite connected us to something serene; something hallowed … a reprieve from our unholy existence—even if the celestial respite was so very brief.

  When Jordi did question it, Ruzzell had punched him in the gob and called him weak. “You’re just pining for your old man,” he berated the poor guy. I remember seeing red, but before it was allowed to evolve into stupidity, Judd intervened. He did not need to say anything to me directly; the gentle stand-down appeal in his kind face was enough.

  I was particularly fond of Juddro Williams. Congenial and compassionate, he always put the clan’s needs ahead of his own. He was two years older than me, second oldest in the clan. I’d cast my ballot for him as clan leader if we had voted, and I was looking for the right occasion to suggest it. I would need to pick my moment carefully though. Ever since I tried to defend Jordi that morning, Ruzzell’s attitude towards me changed. We’re talking mild disinterest to open hostility. Or at least, I think my defiance on that day slapped a target on me.

  I was bothered by Ruzzell’s suggestion now, or was it an order?

  Why split up the usual pairs? What is he up to?

  The girls would normally stay in the safety of the camp and tend to what I guess we viewed as domestic duties, while the guys went foraging and hunting for food. Again, it was something initiated by Victor after Ling’s death reduced the number of women in our clan to two. Girls were to be protected. For every one girl among the clans, there were eight guys. Two girls in a clan of eleven; we were still above average. We intended to keep it that way.

  Why did he want Gellica with him? Was he again trying to stamp his authority on our clan? To unsettle us further?

  “Ruzzell,” Gellica found her voice. “Please, I’d like to stay here with Nads.”

  “No, you’re coming with me, Gels,” insisted Ruzzell, a flash of anger across his dark, sunken eyes. “Dorky can play house. Hey, Dorks?” he scoffed. Ruzzell made a habit of turning our names into disparaging labels; in this case, butchering Jordin’s surname.

  “Fine. Okay,” said Jordin, the high pitch of his tone betraying his eagerness. After his father died, he had been paired up with Ruzzell. I suppose he was now relieved; delivered from spending another morning in the bully’s company.

  The grimace on Gellica Browne’s countenance was clear; at least, it was plain to me. Her attractive face pulled tight; the usual shine in her eyes dulled. I would have paired up with Ruzzell to relieve both her and Jordi from having to spend the morning with him. That would never happen though. He and I were the best archers in the clan, and each hunter benefited from a watcher to cover his back while hunting. Without that backup, the hunter could quickly become the hunted. And we couldn’t afford for Ruzzell or me to waste crucial skills.

  “Why the change?” I was brave even to ask. Or dumb.

  “Keep out of it, Risteen,” he snapped. H
e had started torturing my name since the day I stood up for Jordi.

  “Leave it, Rist,” said Judd as he ran his hand through his sandy-brown hair. Always the peace-maker, he gave me that appealing look again, urging me to back down.

  “I’ve made my decision.” Ruzzell’s lips curled into a snarl. “Gellica, you’re with me. Let’s go!”

  Emboldened perhaps by my questioning, or maybe motivated by uncertainty, Gellica stood her ground. “No, Ruzzell. I’m staying here with Nads.”

  Without warning, Ruzzell slapped her across the face. Hard.

  She cried out in pain; an instant welt on her right cheek. We all gasped. I think my brain jammed.

  Gellica’s hand shot to her mouth to stop herself from retaliating. Blinking away the tears that instantly welled up in her eyes, she bravely stared Ruzzell down.

  It took us all by surprise. Shock … no, utter shock, probably better described it. Yes, we had endured many rumbles between us guys, but striking one of the girls was unimaginable. Under Victor’s watch, it would never have crossed our minds. In his counsel, we were purged from the free-for-all brutality of Earth’s last days. Violence that did not discriminate. Male, female. Young, old. Rich, poor.

  “Come on everyone, just calm down,” said Judd hoping to diffuse the air bursting pregnant with tension.

  I was stunned by Judd’s appeasing plea. What? Are you … are you wimping out of this? And I snapped without thinking, “That’s it! Who do you think you are Ruzzell Hunt, self-appointed lord of the jungle?” I don’t know how I got there, but I found myself standing between Gellica and Ruzzell, half-a-stride from the brute. I felt the adrenalin course through my veins, and my own heart pounding in my chest.

  I looked up, and for the first time realised just how tall … and big Ruzzell was. Very tall and scary big. Monstrous. His face was all beard, a thatch of black bristles mounted by a hooked, bulbous nose that made him look even meaner, daunting. Well over six-and-a-half feet tall, if I can remember the measurements we used on Earth. Me? More than a head shorter. Starting to fill out, I was still on the dweeb side of things to be honest. Ruzzell was framed like an ox despite our unsteady food supply. Big-boned and burly.

  We had a silly joke about Ruzzell. If we each had our own room, Ruzzell would have a grizzly-bear rug on his floor. The bear wouldn’t be dead, just afraid to move. There was nothing to laugh about now, however. My knees began to shake and my hands started to tremble.

  As I stared into his large face, the flare of his nostrils and the flicker of delight in his eyes disarmed me further. Ruzzell’s next move caught us all by surprise. It was disturbing, unhinging.