He deleted the message in his phone and took out the battery. Then he lit a match and burnt the flimsy, flushing the charred paper down the toilet. Laying down on the bed and staring at the ceiling, Brogan thought of his wife and daughter, and the pain came rushing back into his head like it had never been away.
He spent the next few minutes thinking hard. Tonight he would talk to the Hallecks. He just hoped it wouldn’t take long to help them get set up in the city. Then he would be on his way. The urge to find the killers of his family had only gotten stronger.
Chapter 17
Cloud Valley, The North Mountains, Outzone
On the morning of the tribal sitting, Bose and a group of braves walked up to the lower slopes of the forest where they cut down wood. After they had collected enough, they brought it back to the camp and built a funeral pyre down by the river. When it was ready, Bose and three other braves went to their dead chief’s tent. Bundling his stiff body in a bison hide, the four carried him out on their shoulders, took him down to the river, and placed him atop the eight-foot high platform they had built.
At sunset, the tribe gathered around the pyre. Standing a few yards away, Bose stole a sideways glance at Daniella. He hadn’t spoken to her since the day of Sureshot’s passing, when he had spent just a couple of minutes to tell her he intended to honor his chief’s wishes. She had kept her head down as he talked, mumbling something back he could barely make out. Though when they parted, she had looked up at him and given him a shy smile.
His talk with Roja later that evening had not been so straightforward. When he explained the situation, her face took on a look of complete shock. She’d had absolutely no idea the news was coming, making it even harder for him. He kept it short, his voice flat and emotionless, telling her of his promise to Sureshot and explaining that if he was going to be elected as the new chief, this was what had to be done.
It was difficult getting the words out. He didn’t fully believe everything he said, and felt a tinge of resentment toward his dead chief for forcing this on him. But he had sworn to it, and Bose wasn’t one to renege on such a thing.
It was as he told Roja how much he had enjoyed their time together, how much he respected her, that she made a lunge for him, plucking her knife out of the sheath by her waist and hurling herself toward him. Bose had been ready for it, fortunately, and had stepped back fast, chopping down hard on her forearm and grabbing her hand.
“Easy girl,” he said softly. He spun her around, holding her knife-hand by the wrist, the other across her chest and drawing her in close to him. “I’m sorry. There’s no other way.”
He waited until Roja had calmed down a little before releasing her and handed her back her knife.
She looked at him, her dark eyes burning with anger. “I’ll never forgive you for this,” she spat at him. “You’re my enemy now. For as long as I live.”
Then she turned on her heels and stormed out of the tent. Bose watched sadly as she disappeared from sight. There was nothing good to feel about what he had done.
“I know you feel bad about it, but politics is politics, part of what being a chief is all about,” Clement said to him when Bose told him how it had gone with Roja. “The braves, both men and women, are happy you’ve chosen Daniella. No one wants a crazy firebrand as a chief’s wife. It’s unsettling. You did the right thing.”
The tribe stood in silence as the last streaks of daylight disappeared behind the peaks of the Three Sirens. Jamila stepped forward. She lit a torch and threw it onto a pile of wood at the base of the pyre that had been doused in kerosene. As the fire took hold, the tribe stood around the burning structure, heads bowed. Jamila turned around, her face streaked with tears, and took her place in the line beside Daniella.
The flames of the pyre grew higher, starting to lick at the body of the chief. Soon the whole platform was ablaze, the silhouette of Sureshot’s body barely visible through the fierce orange glow.
After a while, a couple of the braves dragged several burning logs out and threw them into a large fire pit that had been built close by. They rested grills across the large stones surrounding the pit, and the forty-plus members of the Black Eagles tribe sat around the fire to eat fish and deer meat they cooked on long skewers. There was still nearly a crate of whiskey left at the camp and as they ate, the warriors passed the bottles around the circle.
The flames from the pyre had finally died down, though Bose could still feel its heat on his back. In front of him, the faces of the warriors became blurred and indistinct with only the glow from the burning logs in the fire pit to illuminate them.
When they had finished eating, Clement brought up the matter of the succession. He took a slug from a passing bottle, then handed it to Bose sitting next to him before speaking, his voice ringing out clearly in the crisp night air.
“Fellow braves, tonight we mourn the loss of Sureshot, third chief of the Black Eagles tribe. A man who was not only a great warrior, but also a wise leader. Never forget, it was Sureshot who negotiated the territories we now roam when he brought our tribe into the confederation of warrior chapters. It is this alliance that allows us to wander many parts of the Outzone we simply dared not enter before, such as the route south to our new winter camp that spares us the hard winters of the North Mountains. Listen to me carefully. It is for these things precious to us that we must be wise tonight, and vote for a chief who will vow to keep us in the confederation.”
A smile came over Clement’s face as he drew breath before continuing his oration. “And of course, it’s not that our lives lack excitement, now is it? We still have our enemies. The Rogues, for example, a tribe of witless fools we’ve had to run out of this very valley on more than one occasion. But life would be boring if we didn’t have someone to fight every now and then, wouldn’t it?”
There were some sniggers and laughter around the fireside. More than any of the other motorcycle tribes of the Outzone, it was the Prairie Rogues, members of the seven-chapter strong Devil’s Affiliates, who were the Black Eagles’ most despised enemy, and the two had regularly clashed over the years.
“Unlike the Rogues, we are a tribe of honor who live by a code. A just code where men and women of all colors sit among us tonight in equal status. These are the qualities that Sureshot instilled in us, and it was for these qualities that the Black Eagles were chosen as the fifth and final tribe to join the confederation of warrior chapters.”
Clement paused a moment for effect. He looked around at the group sitting or squatting around the fire in concentric circles, some still chewing on the remains of their food.
“Now Sureshot is gone. He has returned to join the great spirit which someday we must all return to, whether we—”
“Clement, do you intend to babble on forever, or is there a point you wish to make?” said a voice from a few feet away, its tone cold as steel. “Because if there is, maybe you can get to it soon before we all fall asleep.”
An awkward silence fell. The men gazed keenly into the embers of the fire, their heads rigid and straight, while some of the women warriors exchanged nervous glances.
“Ironclaw, we’re here not only to mourn Sureshot, but also to celebrate his life,” Clement replied coolly to the man sitting directly opposite him,who stared at him with open contempt. Bose was sure he had chosen his position at the circle carefully. With Ironclaw, there was one thing you could always rely on: that he would act as aggressively as he possibly could.
“Maybe you don’t feel like giving that respect to our dead chief,” Clement continued, “but I believe the rest of the tribe would like to.”
“So long as it doesn’t take forever,” Ironclaw growled. “Sureshot was a good leader, we all respect that, but the truth is he grew weak these past few years. He should have stepped down as chief. Let someone stronger lead the tribe.”
Bose felt his anger rising. He couldn’t allow Ironclaw talk like that.
“That’s not true,” he said, a hard edge to
his voice. “Sureshot’s mind was strong until his last breath. Leading the tribe is not all about physical strength.”
“Exactly,” Clement said, speaking quickly before Ironclaw could respond. “Where sheer brawn is required, we can count on many warriors here. Take you for instance, Ironclaw. Who around the circle can match you for strength? Perhaps only one. Why look at you, you’re as strong as an ox.”
Ironclaw’s chest puffed out at Clement’s words, and he shook his mane of black hair to one side. Bose was reminded of Sureshot’s comment the other night about vain warriors.
“But would you choose an ox as your chief, just because he is strong?” Clement went on. “Or would you put him to work in the field…make him plow it?”
Ironclaw’s eyes narrowed to small slits. Sometimes Clement went too far.
“…whip the stupid beast each time it behaved badly?”
There was a silence around the circle. Only the crackle of wood in the fire could be heard. For a moment, Bose thought Ironclaw might make a go for Clement. On Bose’s other side, his stone-faced lieutenant Chico fiddled with the knife by his waist.
“I’ll teach you to speak to me like that, sooner than you think,” Ironclaw said finally, his voice thick with anger. “You call yourself a warrior? Every fool here knows you’re just a devious runt looking to become councilor to the new chief.”
It was the tribe’s tradition that the person who advocated for the winning chief during succession went on to become the chief’s advisor.
“Amigo, there are no fools here tonight. Only warriors, men and women both, looking to honor their chief,” Clement said calmly. “If you had given me another moment, I would have gotten to the part that might interest you, because now, as the body of our great chief turns to ashes on the pyre, maybe it’s time the tribe hears the nominations for the succession. Is that more to your liking?”
“Of course,” Ironclaw replied in a sullen tone. “That’s what we’re here for.”
Clement smiled. “Let’s get to it then, without any more babble. Tonight, I put forward to the tribe the name of Bose as next chief of the Black Eagles warrior chapter. As his advocate, I believe he will make both a strong and wise leader. He is a man proven in bravery, but not so thirsty for war he would put the tribe in unnecessary danger, and as such, vows to keep the tribe in the confederation, which I believe is what most of you here want. Let me speak to you more now of his qualities…”
While the braves around the circle listened attentively, Clement spent the next few minutes recounting to the tribe the list of Bose’s achievements in battle over the last seven years, and emphasizing several times how it was Sureshot’s intended wish that he succeed him, on one occasion looking around the circle to ask if anyone challenged that assertion. None did.
Finally he wrapped things up. Gazing around the group, he said, “Now it is up to you, the warriors, to decide who shall be our next chief. All I ask is that each and every one of you look deep within your hearts and make the decision that is right for this tribe.”
After a moment’s pause, Clement turned his gaze toward Ironclaw. “How about you, Ironclaw? Will you contest tonight? Do you have an advocate who will put your name forward for the vote, someone to sing your praises?”
Ironclaw shook his head. “I will not contest the vote for the leadership.”
A look of surprise came over Clement’s face. He gazed at the warriors around the fire pit. “Very well…is there anyone from the council with an advocate to put forward their name?”
There came no reply.
“Well then, there is no need for me to hark on any more about the wonderful qualities of my friend. We can go straight to the vote so that we have the count on record. All in favor of Bose to become the next chief of the Black Eagles warrior chapter, raise their hands.”
Around the circle, the men and women warriors of the tribe began putting up their hands. Clement stood up. He walked around counting the votes.
“Thirty-one votes out of forty-three,” he said when he returned to his place. “If anyone doubts that number, now is the time to double-check it.”
Bose felt a deep sense of satisfaction stir within him. Things had gone more smoothly than expected. Since Ironclaw had not put his name forward for the succession, it meant he couldn’t make a request for the blood challenge either. Bose guessed he must have taken a sounding and realized that there were only a handful of warriors who would vote for him. Ironclaw was a proud man. That would have been humiliating for him.
Ruefully, he wondered whether he had ever really needed to leave Roja, or whether that had been a scheme concocted by Sureshot and perhaps Clement. He knew Clement was right, though. Roja was just too unsettling to be a chief’s wife.
“Bose,” Clement said, “the tribe has voted its chief-elect. Tomorrow morning, when the light of a new dawn breaks, you will be sworn in. You have always been known to the tribe as Bose. However, as chief of the Black Eagles, tradition dictates that you should have a new name. A chief’s name. Have you chosen it yet?"
Bose was prepared for this. That same night when Sureshot lay dying, Bose had a strange dream. He’d been walking through the woods, the pine needles on the forest floor crunching beneath his feet, when a large shadow had overtaken him. In front of him, he could make out the silhouette of a huge bear, its paws raised high in the air above him. When he turned around, though, no animal was there.
Walking on, the bear’s shadow continued to stalk him, yet each time he spun around, there had been nothing behind him but forest. Turning around one last time, he erupted into a deep, satisfying laugh that had woken him out of his sleep. Opening his eyes, he realized that the shadow had been his. He was the huge bear.
He was about to reply to Clement when Ironclaw stood up.
“Clement, I believe you’re moving too fast,” Ironclaw said, his voice cutting through the cold air like a knife. “The tribe has only a chief-elect, not its chief. And tonight’s selection process isn’t over yet.”
Clement looked up at Ironclaw in astonishment. “What the hell are you talking about? You were given your chance to put your name forward—you refused.”
Ironclaw walked over to the fire pit and rested a boot on top of a charred boulder. He stared down at Clement. “Your problem, amigo, is that you’re not as smart as you think you are. I chose not to enter the leadership vote, because I wish to challenge the chief-elect by the rule of the blood challenge, which as a council member is my right under tribal law.”
Clement snorted. “Are you crazy? You need forty percent of the vote to do that,” he said. “Seeing as how you didn’t put your name forward, how can—”
“Clement, you’re wrong.”
Another voice from within the circle had spoken. A few feet away, a tall, wiry brave with a long ponytail stood up. It was Nelsen, a warrior in his thirties and one of Ironclaw's closest cohorts. He walked over to the fireside and stood next to his companion.
“There’s no rule to say when Ironclaw should request the challenge. He can ask for the tribe’s vote now. I will be his advocate.”
“That not how it’s done,” Clement said angrily. “You two are trying to make a mockery of our traditions.”
Nelsen shook his head. “The tribe has no law that says the blood challenge requires a brave to first put himself forward for the leadership vote. Since you doubt me, we will ask someone who knows our laws better than anyone.”
Nelsen walked a few feet down the circle and stared down at a man with silver gray hair and a large hooked nose. Crowface was the holder of the traditions and laws of the tribe. In any dispute, his say was final in the matter.
“Crowface, I call on you to stand before the tribe and tell our friend how wrong he is.”
Crowface rose to his feet and walked up to the middle of the circle, a doleful expression on his weather-beaten face. He gazed first at Ironclaw, then Bose.
“The blood challenge has taken place on only one occasion. That
was ten years ago, and was something I’d hoped we would never see again,” he said, speaking slowly. “It is not good that the tribe’s two finest braves should fight one another. On that occasion, both Reddock and his challenger, Broken Arrow, died from their wounds by the end of the contest.”
“Yes, Crowface, everyone here knows that. Get to the point,” Ironclaw said impatiently.
Bose could tell from his tone that he already knew the answer. He and Nelsen must have consulted him earlier, or Ironclaw would never have undertaken this strategy. This was all part of the drama Ironclaw wished to create.
“The previous challenge was made by the runner-up in the leadership vote. In that sense, we can say it has become part of our tradition, but our laws state only that to make the challenge, a warrior must gain forty percent of the tribal vote on the night of the succession contest, that is all.”
“In other words, Ironclaw is free to seek that vote now?” Nelson said.
Crowface nodded. “That is the law of the tribe.”
“No one will vote for this madness,” Clement said, shaking his head angrily. “Everyone remembers what happened the last time. Only a warrior as bloodthirsty as Ironclaw would choose to do this and risk weakening the tribe. It appears nothing seems to interest Ironclaw in life more than death itself.”
“Or maybe you fear for your own life.” Ironclaw retorted, staring at Clement darkly. He turned and gazed around the circle. “And for the record, so that no one here is in any doubt, I am one hundred percent in favor of the Black Eagles remaining in the confederation. The tribe has my word I will not change my view on that.”
Clement snorted. “That’s very convenient. When exactly did you change your mind about that? The day of Sureshot’s death?”
“When doesn’t matter. I swear it now. Everybody here knows me to be a man of my word.” Ironclaw turned to Bose. “You have been very quiet in all this. Does our great chief-elect choose to hide behind the words of his skinny little friend all night? Is this how a chief of a warrior chapter behaves? Should we even call you a warrior at all?”
Winter's Edge: A Post Apocalyptic/Dystopian Adventure (Outzone Drifter Series Book 1) Page 12