PULL ME UNDER - Warriors - Sixteen
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Sixteen
Ddun didn’t like the look of the beggar, and he didn’t like how Lauren sat so close to give an ear to his stories, even if she was smiling and bright. But Ddun was getting excessively agitated by everything. Too much talk—logistics, the moot, the candidates for Grandfather—and being designated to oversee contracts and negotiations between clans. For some reason everyone brought them to him—maybe because he was the only one with the gall to carry himself as if he were a true Chief. Rudda had a look on his face like he was ready to split someone’s skull, and Tanner was withdrawn. It was time to go visit Antoll’s ashes at the temple, clear their minds and calm their spirits.
“Lauren,” Ddun said.
She tossed a look across the hearth, wordlessly answering.
“Will you come with me?”
“Where?”
“The castle.”
She stared. A long stillness, but for crackling fire.
“Just to the temple.”
“Antoll?”
He nodded.
“Alright.”
That was a relief—he worried Lauren might be too frightened to return. If there was anyone he wanted with him, it was her. Rudda and Tanner came along, stopping only to buy incense. The gatemen bowed, allowing them passage without question. Lauren’s fingers on Ddun’s arm tightened.
He had known many friends to die, but Antoll was like a brother. His muscles moved on their own, possessed by grief, no thought to motion at all, floating across the castle courtyard.
The temple was lit by countless hanging lamps, the air rich with spice, flowers, must and beeswax. They were alone in the ancient space, admiring the gilded imagery of all their sacred spirits and sacred animals, the Sky Father and the Earth Mother, tangled in knots and swirls, all glowing orange. It took his breath away whenever he saw it. Lauren’s eyes glistened at the paintings and the niches in the walls filled with ornate urns.
He led them down the carpeted aisle to the shrine at the far end of the temple, where they would light the incense and pray before a wood-carved idol, the Sky Father himself, bearded and wise. They knelt, head bowed, Lauren and Tanner both following the cues in silence, and Ddun let the spirits of the smoke wash over him. He prayed his friend's spirit be rested and happy, if it watched over them. He prayed for his father and mother, and finally, he prayed no one killed anyone at the moot.
***
It was a terrible omen, to return to the camp and discover the old man had taken Tanner’s gun to his mouth. His head was sprayed all over the inside of the warrior’s tent, over Tanner’s bedding where the rifle had been stowed. Whatever cleansing Ddun had felt from their visit to the temple was swiftly erased. It sent Lauren into hysterics, I want to go home I want to go home—Tanner tried to calm her, only to be met with a thrashing, and he was forced to hold Lauren’s arms at her sides in restraint. Ddun helped as best he could to keep her from hurting herself as she struggled, demanding they let her go, her ear-piercing cries making the entire city pause. Something about that beggar meant more to her than Ddun could guess, and Tanner’s cheeks bled as evidence.
Once her screams turned to exhausted sobbing, they carried her to Ddun’s private tent for rest. He vowed if anyone disturbed her he’d flay them, and Tanner stayed close by to watch over her as Ddun had to return to other matters, his mask hiding his own turmoil.
She didn’t leave the tent until the moot, three days later.
A sea of faces looked up to the platform in the field, grit under their braided mats and masks at belts. A low murmur like the buzz of insects as they waited for the proceedings to begin in a racing field for the occasion—too many bodies to fit in the castle courtyard, like Rudda had suspected.
Ddun’s nerves laid heavy rocks in his guts and his lungs breathed shallow. He was the elected representative of his clan, and would be standing before these people soon. Every muscle was knotted, Lauren’s fingers tickling up and down his neck wasn’t enough to ease him. His regalia was heavier than it ought to be, fighting to keep his shoulders square. He couldn’t shake the sight of the beggar’s skull in fractured brain-coated bits from his mind.
The sun beating down was the last dying breath of fall. Antoll wasn’t there to help him speak.
Elders from different clans vying for position took the stand and made their case. He listened to them, weighed their words, weighed their achievements, and soon the shouting and arguing began, old tribal rivalries coming to a head, the elders on the stand trying their best to respond calmly and measuredly to the verbal assault from the crowd, and the weight inside Ddun turned hot as if he might light aflame. It was Tanner who ignited first, standing and sticking his fingers in his mouth in a tremendously loud whistle, leaving every ear near him bleeding and faces cringing, but the field was silent.
Ddun could tell Tanner wasn’t prepared for what to say next by his posture, standing there dumbfounded at his own actions, surely feeling the cut of every pair of eyes on him, and twitching his fingers. And then he began his speech.
“What is it you’re all worried about most? You’re all arguing over things that don’t matter. You’ve all got this… myopic view of what this world needs now. Goats? Is that what matters? Your great-grandfather felt slighted ages ago and you’re still out for compensation? The Stenya are encroaching in the west. My clan has fought them in the field, we have seen our own camps burned and loved ones die, as have many others. And no matter how many of their villages burn, it only tightens their resolve; they’ll be sending their kings and armies in soon. In the east they’re skirmishing with Peiransi. In the south, there’s already a proper army being raised by the old Grandfather and his allies. No matter who we elect standing up there, the army in Kisku is going to ride north and trample each and every one of us. Our families will become slaves or die. Ddun,” he swung his arm down to point and Ddun’s heart stopped, “has united nine clans in three months.” I’ll kill you. “Sacred numbers.” I’ll wrap my hands around your throat. “All nine clans under one banner, the head of the great beast the sorceress summoned to kill him stitched plain. We have stalled the attacks by the Stenya and they cower in fear as they feel the earth quake when we approach. Power in numbers, my friends. Ddun knows this.” I know I want to crush your windpipe until your tongue bloats.
“He took me in—a stranger to these lands, lost and ignorant. I was taught to ride, how to fight like a Dvarri, how to earn my spirit mask. I was taught if I could ride and fight alongside, I was Dvarri. Ddun understands this land—he looks upon the castle’s crumbling facade not in greed or lust for it, but with pity, with remorse as if in mourning. What heroes are painted there? What stories should be sung for them? Who remembers? Every one of you, you’re too busy killing one another to see a greater cause.” Stop talking.
He didn’t stop. “Who are those men up there on the stand? Good men, wise men. I respect them, truly I do. But they are at the mercy of their age. They make great advisers, and let them give their wisdom, but they are too old to meet the enemy on the field, and they will need to be able to. Sure, Grandfather can call up an army, tell you it’s time to kiss your wives goodbye and ride off, but he wouldn’t die for you sitting in that crumbling castle. He wouldn’t bleed for you. Ddun of the Black Eagle Banner would bleed for any one of you, and that’s the truth. He has my vote to lead, and I don’t care who I offend with my words, I’ve said my piece.”
The field was silent and Ddun was sweating. Slowly, the mumbling and whispering through the crowd again reminding him of flies buzzing became louder and deafened him. Yet the elders on the platform bowed their heads to mumble to each other as well, none of the elders were cross in that moment. Lauren placed a hand on his arm, a gentle pressure, but he still didn’t move.
An unfamiliar face rebutted. “He is no better than the other Grandfather you chose to exile, with his pet witch beside him.”
Ddun went to stand then, forgetting his prayer that no one died at the moot, but Lauren held him still. Then Tanner spoke again. “Where I come from there’s a little thing called ‘Mutually Assured Destruction.’ They have a sorceress, and we have our own. That makes the playing field more fair, doesn’t it?”
They had nothing to say back. Mumbling turned to shouting and soon it was difficult to hear the elders on the stand call for the vote to be held at sunrise.
***
Flattened on his stomach, limbs limp, Lauren massaged Ddun’s back and shoulders and he tried not to envy the man with the hole out the back of his skull. “I’m sorry my brother is an idiot. As if I weren’t scared enough.”
His words slurred from the crooked pressure of his lips in the pillow. “No one is going to hurt you because they know I’ll kill them. No one is going to try to kill me because you’ll kill them or curse them. Mutually assured destruction, isn’t that what he said?” He pushed his face further into the pillow, trying half-heartedly to suffocate himself.
“That’s not why I’m scared.”
“Then I don’t know how to help you.”
“I know. Me neither. It’s alright.”
“It’s not alright.” She brushed his braid aside and kissed the nape of his neck, giving him goosebumps. “Stop, Lauren, let me lie here and die in peace.” Look at him, a gods-damned proud mongrel thinking he can command attention. Antoll might as well have bled himself over fortune stones.
Lauren backed away from him, the chill hitting where she had been. She stoked the fire and he heard the rustling of cloth and blankets, and the hush of steel-on-steel. “Ddun, remember? How do I look?” He rolled his head to the other side and forced his eyes open. She knelt with a sultry smirk, his regalia on her as it had been when she had taken to the sky. He never did tell her how much he loved the sight. His veins returned to life and he went up onto his elbow. “Well?”
“Hideous. A perversion of nature.”
“And here I thought you were in a bad mood.” The scales chimed together as she crawled back to him, slapping his hand away as it tried reaching up under the vest.
“And you’re so good at lifting my spirits.”
“Just your spirits?”
Her eyes flashed brilliant blue at him and he couldn’t restrain himself.
The night began peaceful, turned to drunken noise through the camps, the human wildlife of the tent-filled city making animal calls at each other. Ddun couldn't sleep, but didn’t move. He heard Tanner and Rudda amongst them, and Borga too. Borga, he was proving to be a staunch supporter of the cause, agreeing unwaveringly at Tanner’s words once the men returned to the camp. But that bit of noise sounded like arguing. I don’t care. Let them all kill each other.
“Do you want to know why I’m scared?” Lauren had asked before falling asleep, her voice silken.
“Why?” he had asked in return.
“Because you might ride off one day and not come back. I won’t always be able to go with you.”
“Why not?”
“Because… Because. I’m sorry, don’t worry about it. You’ve got enough stress. Try to sleep. Okay?”
Now it was time to nudge her awake, the activity outside the tent increased as the sun shone. She moaned and pulled the blanket over her head, still in his regalia. He’d go without it, donning instead his quilted coat, ribbon Lauren had woven and stitched at the cuffs where fur peaked out. “You’re just going to leave me?” she asked from under the blanket.
“Unfortunately, yes. There’ll be someone outside if you need anything.”
“Have fun.”
Fun. It didn’t take long before he found fun. Tanner sat on a mat over the frosted red earth, legs askew, holding snow to his eye socket and dried blood thick out his swollen nose. He leaned into the chair Borga sat in, who also sported nice bruises on his cheekbones and knuckles, head tilted back and very unconscious. “You should see the other guy,” Tanner said with a bloody grin, and Ddun burst out laughing at the sight.
“What sort of mess did you start now?”
“He had it coming.”
“Who?”
“That ugly fuck.”
“Which ugly fuck?”
Tanner started giggling. “I don’t remember. I think I have a serious concussion.”
“Can you stand?” He held his hand out for Tanner to take. With a slap Tanner gripped his arm and Ddun lifted him to his feet, wavering, but he stood. He stunk of alcohol. “Lets go vote.”
“What about Borga?”
“When he wakes up, he can vote.”
“I think he might be dead.” They watched for puffs of steam from his mouth, they came steady. Tanner pointed a sharp finger into the sleeping man’s chest, and then a swift flick of the nose. No reaction. “Remind me, not to ever cheat that guy. Ruthless. He can be on my team every time.” They donned their masks and went on.
The sun cast the sky in glorious colours as they walked to the racing field, the crowd slowly congregating, painted rocks on hand to place down at their choice. Tanner and Ddun took their own from a pile and followed the flow of the crowd to the centre, where the elders had stood on the platform, flags with symbols on them indicating their clan, and at the end of the row someone had stuck Ddun’s banner, tallest of them all, tilting in the wind, the shaft broken and retied. The stone in Ddun’s hand felt useless. Four, ten, two, six, twenty, thirty, and a stack at his banner not worth counting. Tanner threw his stone on the pile, and Ddun tossed his over his shoulder and turned around, hauling Tanner with him, his stomach in knots and threatening to spill.