"That must be difficult," Khariton said.
Moisey's head turned like a gun turret, and he shot to his feet. "Man, fuck you know about difficult," he snapped, color rising to his face. "You think because somebody put some crescents on your sleeve, you get to talk like you know me?" He kicked the chair, sending it tumbling, and reached the door with two paces. Khariton's hands trembled from the guard's outburst. After a few deep breaths, he swallowed and stood, following his subject outside. He found Moisey standing ramrod straight before Raisa, staring over her head.
"So what do I have here?" she said, her quiet voice disgusted and bitter. "A guard who thinks he's too good to answer a few questions?"
"No, sir," Moisey said, his tone crisp.
Her frigid stare didn't waver. "Really. Because I could have sworn I told you to get interviewed, and you just walked out of there. Am I wrong, Volunteer?"
"No, sir."
"So following orders is optional to you, is that it? You'll do what you're told, as long as you like it?"
"No, sir."
Raisa nodded. "Oh, you're damn right. So now you get to drag your ass to the rec room and do forty k's. You pull shit like this again, I'll confine you for your leisure hours. Do you understand?"
"Yes, sir."
"Go."
Moisey saluted and fled. Khariton looked back at Raisa and bristled at her piercing stare. The guard's inability to deal with his failure wasn't Khariton's fault.
"I'll send you another," she said, and turned away.
The guard that next entered the office had a polite smile on his pleasant round face and a ring beard that defied regulations. His name was Gerasim, and Khariton had read his file with particular interest.
"You wanted to talk to me, sir?" he said, a positive lilt to his voice.
"That's right. Please come in and have a seat." Khariton waited for the other man to sit down. "I'm going to ask you some questions about your experience serving as a guard. Things that happened and how you reacted to them."
Gerasim gave a firm nod. "Fire away."
"How did you end up as a guard?" he blurted out.
The other man narrowed his eyes. "You know I'm a tuber, right?"
"Yes," Khariton said, cursing his nerves for making him too eager. "I am, too."
"Yeah, I got that already," he said with a laugh.
"You can tell?"
"Not always, but you're pretty obvious." He leaned on the desk with his elbows. "I came out of the Heritage facility. It was just after Illarion, so they had to fill in the ranks. I was supposed to be a factory worker, but lucky me, they made me a guard instead." He hesitated. "How about you?"
"Intelligence analysis," Khariton said. "I've been solving puzzles since before I could talk."
Gerasim's brow rose and he gave an appreciative nod."Sounds interesting."
Khariton nodded. "It is, most of the time. You just don't get to talk much with anyone."
"Pretty lonely, huh?" Gerasim said. Khariton looked away, and the guard added, "Hey, I know. I used to feel that way."
He looked at the guard and abandoned all pretense of control. "So what happened?"
"I became a guard," Gerasim said with a shrug. "I guess once you've almost gotten killed with somebody, it's hard to remember that they were grown in a tube and you weren't." He shook his head. "It changes things. What you think you know. These people... They're not all nice. Actually, a lot of them are real assholes. But every one of them has saved my ass at some point. Not because they think I'm such a great guy, but because it's what you do. If I'm out there, I'm watching their backs, and I know they're watching mine." He leaned forward, struggling for words. "I never know what tomorrow's going to be like. I could be dead before breakfast. Nobody talks about it, but it's not easy. Your crew gives you something to trust in. Something steady. No matter how deep you're in, your people are with you, and they're going to do what they do. Even the ones that hate your guts. You just do your part, and you don't worry about the rest." He chuckled. "Except officers. They have to actually think. Nothing I'd ever want to do."
Khariton stared, mesmerized, waiting for the guard to continue. Everything he'd said was everything Khariton had ever wanted. The shame he felt from the compassion in the other man's eyes meant nothing.
Gerasim sat back, looking away. "You want some advice, sir? Don't do these interviews now. These people don't know you. They're not going to tell you what you want to know. Just spend some time with us, see what life is like. I'll bet you won't have much left to ask after that."
"I understand," Khariton said. "Thank you."
He stayed behind for a long time after the guard left, wondering if he'd made his first friend.
*****
"They seem quiet," Chief Tihamtu said as he tracked a gibbon through the trees.
The journey from the Sacred Circle back to the village had seen growing humidity and heat, and the entire party glistened with sweat as they traveled down the jungle trail. Azial smelled a storm in the oppressive air. "Maybe the heat makes them tired," he said, his tone distracted. He'd had a bad feeling ever since leaving the Circle, and he didn't think the gibbons had anything to do with it.
Perhaps his meeting with Seruya had shaken him more than he thought. Seeing her alive and healthy had quelled a fear that had weighed on him since the last time he'd seen her, but relief had since faded into old resentment. He still remembered with perfect clarity the moment when she was hauled in front of the entire tribe to admit her crime. Tihamtu had banished her in answer, and Azial had realized the weight of their destiny now rested on him alone. Once the loud men had appeared and they'd both realized the threat prophesied in their vision was here, it had fallen to Azial to wake the Kith to the danger. Saving them was supposed to have been a shared destiny, and Azial didn't know if he could fulfill it alone, and be a father at the same time.
Ahead, the village wall came into view. Cries went up from behind it. As the party got closer, the gate slowly tilted open. Azial followed behind Tihamtu, ready to announce their success. Instead, his confident smile fell away. The open gate revealed Musuri, with Pirisati standing behind him, the other villagers keeping well back. No welcome calls, no cheers.
Tihamtu's face was grim. "Go to your family, Azial."
"Yes, Tihamtu." He ran ahead of the group, passing through the gate under the silent gazes of the entire tribe to stop before his son and wife. Their eyes were red, their faces haunted by knowledge. Worry churning his gut, he said, "What happened?"
Musuri lifted his chin and spoke in a thick voice, "Father. Tamzi is dead."
"Tamzi―" The words died in his throat. His son's short statement set off an avalanche in his mind. With perfect and detailed clarity, he saw the full extent of the disaster unfold. "How?"
Musuri swallowed hard. "While you were away, I traveled to the Yahua village. I scaled the wall and entered unseen. I went to Tamzi's house―"
"You tried to steal Tamzi?" Azial whispered. "To make her your wife?"
His son bit his lip and nodded. "She agreed. She was excited. She followed me back. She was right behind me when―" He wiped away a tear. "She felt sick. We had to stop. I tried to carry her, but then... It appeared. The Vile."
Azial shook his head. He wished Musuri would stop talking.
"I wanted to protect her. But when I looked back at her, she had the patches on her arms and face, and she wasn't moving. " He squeezed his eyes shut and balled his fists. "I ran away. It didn't follow. It wanted her."
"Because she caught the seed. She sprung a trap." Azial shook with sorrow and frustration, the pain he felt for Tamzi's loss made hollow by disappointment that Musuri had tried something so glorious, and failed so miserably. "You left Balbasu's last surviving child with a Vile growing inside her." He raised his fists, opened them, closed them again. "Why didn't you kill her?"
Musuri shook his head.
"Do you know what will happen now?" He looked at his wife, ignoring the bitter anger
she threw at him, then back to his son. "Balbasu will go mad with grief. He will demand your death. He can't have it, so he will demand a trial. He'll set the greatest of his Sharyukin against me, and I'll have to kill whomever he chooses. And after that, he will not be satisfied. He will hate you, and me, and he will hate the Udaki tribe because it claims us. I don't know what he'll do. But he won't abide by the agreement. He won't stand with us again." He watched his weeping son try to keep a stolid face. "Go to the hut. We'll talk... Once I know what to say."
Musuri nodded stiffly and walked away.
"When did he get out?" Azial said to Pirisati, failing to keep the cold out of his voice.
She looked him up and down. "You think to blame me for letting him go? He's fifteen, Azial. He goes where he wants. He went to do the one thing that could earn his father's respect." She stepped closer, cheek twitching. "And you say it's his fault!"
Her anger struck deep inside him, but his own burned away the meaning of her words. He said nothing, and after another withering glance, she stalked away after her son.
Tihamtu appeared beside him and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Let's go. We need guidance, you and I."
Azial followed the chief through the village. The oil makers sat in a circle around the press, cutting palm fruits from bunches with obsidian axes and peeling the spikes off the fruit by hand. They looked up and muttered greetings to Tihamtu. Only a few offered guarded nods to Azial. He bit down on the humiliation, reminded of all the times he'd gleefully shared gossip. The village seemed much smaller than before.
They approached the lone tent that belonged to Merodakh. A deep, murmuring chant came from within the hide cover, and steam rose from the top. "He awaits us," Tihamtu muttered. "Our ancestors are close." The chief hesitated, then pulled open the flap and stood aside.
Azial entered the darkness.
Daylight left him blind even before Tihamtu followed him in and closed the flap, so he made his way inside by touch until he sat down on the dirt floor. Tihamtu sat beside him. Something bubbled, and a thick, spicy smell made the hot air unbearable. Azial wrapped his arms around his knees, trying to ignore that the chanting seemed to come from several voices.
"Azial. Your fate has begun."
The chant continued behind Merodakh's gravelly voice, but there could be no one else inside the tent. Azial clenched his jaw against the rising fear.
Tihamtu spoke, hesitant for the first time Azial had ever known: "Merodakh, I honor our ancestors. I seek their guidance in this difficult time. How can I repair what has been damaged?"
A soft laugh. "There is no way. Azial, you're the one who chose this way. You've shattered all paths but one, and now your heart is all the Kith have left. The trial you looked for all your life is here, and it's not what you think. The tribes can be whole, but you will walk a long and hard path to make it so, and you are not the only one to walk it."
"Seruya," Azial whispered. The thick air clouded his mind until all he saw was what the medicine man told him.
"Balbasu has already lost the battle for his mind. He will do the mad things his broken heart tells him. You cannot avoid what comes, and this is not the end of your suffering. You must keep your strength, and act with honor until the end." A scuff in the dirt. He felt the medicine man's whisper in his ear, "You will have a choice: to do wrong, or to stand alone. You must act with honor, as long as you can. You are not the one who will finish it."
The warm breath disappeared. Merodakh spoke again from the other side of the hut: "Tihamtu. You ask for guidance. This is it. You must act for the Kith in all things. Not for the Udaki. Not for Tihamtu. Live in the spirit of the Kith, even when it seems impossible. If you don't, you will be the last chief of the Udaki tribe." The chanting faded, leaving only the bubbling noise and the sound of Merodakh's slow, heavy breathing. The medicine man's faint silhouette sagged, shrinking with each exhalation. "Leave me," he murmured.
Drenched in sweat, Azial and Tihamtu emerged from the tent. They looked at each other, eyes slitted against the sudden brightness.
"When you and your sister had your visions, I believed you," the chief said. "I felt honored to live in such an important time. But now, I'm afraid."
Tihamtu's admission struck Azial like a blow. Only a simpleton would have failed to sense the power in Merodakh's words, but he'd hoped for Tihamtu's confidence to steady him. "I thought it would be enough to be strong," he said, his voice dull. "I don't know what I did wrong, so how can I avoid doing it again?"
"Go to your son, Azial. Listen to what he says, and what he doesn't say. He bears a terrible shame. No doubt he needs help."
Azial nodded. "Thank you, Tihamtu."
Musuri sat cross-legged inside the hut, head hanging, while Pirisati made him tea. Only she looked over when Azial entered.
Azial sat down in front of his son. "Musuri, look at me." The young man's eyes were flat and empty, sunken from fatigue. "Why did you try to steal Tamzi?"
Musuri's spoke in a loose, bitter tone: "I know the stories. I thought I would win glory."
"If you know the stories, then you know wife stealing is performed only when the parents object to the union. Your mother and I supported it, and so did Balbasu. Even then, Sharyukin are the only ones who ever do it. So why?"
"I―" His jaw snapped shut and he looked away.
"You what?"
Musuri refused to look at him. Azial ground his teeth and refrained from slamming the boy into the ground to get his attention. "This is no time for stubbornness. You made a terrible mistake, and I want to know why. If you think, after what you did, you have the right to sit there with your arrogance, you disappoint me even more than you already have."
Pirisati shook her head and muttered an appeal to her ancestors. Musuri scoffed and gave him an insolent look. "I did it because I wanted to be great! I wanted people to remember me by my name instead of my father's. I wanted to do something I shouldn't be able to do."
Azial forced himself to ignore Musuri's expression. "I understand your desire for greatness, but why risk Tamzi? Why drag her out into the jungle?"
He shrugged. "I didn't think I'd fail." Dark eyes full of hate bored into his own. "You never do."
Azial's gaze wandered as, for the first time, he tried to grasp the enormity of the gap between himself and his son. He struggled to find words for things he'd never had to talk about. "Musuri. I have failed. Not often, but I have. You shape the kind of man you are by how you handle your failure. And great rewards may come from taking great risk, but only when the risk is sensible. You must always ask yourself: what would be the consequences if I fail? Would I be able to live with those consequences? Would I still think the risk was worth it if I don't get the reward?"
Musuri chewed on his cheek and looked to the side, not quite rolling his eyes. Azial slapped him. He saw the sting in his son's face, saw him rise at the pain and humiliation―and then swallow it all into his stubborn, sullen rage, and remain passive. Azial stood. "I don't think I taught you disrespect. I know your mother didn't. The way you look at me and talk to me, I would never have done that to my father. I know you loved Tamzi, so I won't punish you. I will let her death teach you instead: the things that follow from what you do, are on your shoulders. And sometimes, those things can't be fixed. By anyone." He walked out.
Pirisati followed him. "What was that?" she said in a low voice as she walked beside him.
"You saw him. He won't listen. He thinks he has the answers, even after what he did. I don't know what it will take to make him understand, but I don't have it."
She grabbed his arm and forced him to stop. Her jaw quivered. "So that's it? He's your son! Try again!"
He looked around at the villagers watching them from the corners of their eyes as they worked outside their homes, then back at her. "Here? In front of the whole tribe?"
She released his arm and said with venom, "You think there's anything they don't already know?"
Filled with nauseating anger
, he watched her return to the house. He should have gone to find Tihamtu, to plan for the meeting Balbasu was sure to demand. Instead, he took off at a run, towards the palisade. He reached the top with a single jump, then dove into the jungle. A good time to collect more trophies.
*****
Seruya crouched on the black branch, scanning the grasslands stretched out before her. Plenty of single trees dotted the rolling landscape, but the real jungle ended here, with the last blackwood tree. Grey, jagged mountains rose up beyond the horizon, ruled by the stern peak of the Mountain That Sees. She hadn't traveled this way in many years.
She slipped down from the branch and headed out into the open. A game trail made progress easy, but the open sky overhead and the smell of the dry grass reminded her of her vulnerability with every step.
The deep jungle already lay far behind when she stopped in her tracks. A small deer blocked her way, entirely white save for a few grey spots. Its fur lacked any trace of dirt or stain, and the animal seemed to glow in the sunlight. The old legends were rife with animals like it, sent as messengers by distant gods to guide the Kith in times of crisis.
This was no legend.
The animal awaited her approach without threatening to flee. She took the amulet around her neck in her left hand and inscribed a warding gesture in the air with her right. Staring down the intrepid animal, she muttered an ancient mantra.
The deer flinched and fled into the brush.
"I'm not so easily led," she muttered, and resumed walking.
She still lived because she had learned long ago to tell when she was being watched. That sense never let up after she'd banished the deer, spoiling her mood with every step. No animal tracked her steps, and the brush hawks wheeling overhead showed her no interest. Yet she'd become the object of something's attention.
In Nadir's Shadow Page 10