Pain and anger. Two feelings I can name. My eyes are closed; I feel that my hands and feet are tied. The rubbing of the ropes leaves a low sting on my skin, the hardness of the cords coiled at my wrists presses lightly against the bones. My mind is clear but the body is heavy; with every breath my head throbs, the crusted blood on my scalp has stiffened and clings to my hair roots. Inside me there are only two things: a dull ache and a stale anger. I can endure pain; at the end of this anger someone will die, someone will answer for this.
I decide to wait without opening my eyes. I am not faking a faint; I listen to what is happening with my ears. Footsteps echo off stone walls, deep breaths, someone else speaking with Chief Pre, the words moving back and forth between regret and necessity. Pre's voice is like iron, every sentence repeats that I have overstepped and that I must stand where I belong. The knives at my wrists have been taken; once my confidence rested on that cold steel, now they have seized it. I have understood that the ropes cannot be cut; I have been tied to the legs of a chair, joined with a log, a trap made ready for me to sit in. They do not seem to understand what I can do. The thought makes me smile, and with the smile my anger swells into a hard pride.
I open my eyes. Chief Pre and his loyal slave stand in front of me; their faces are hard as rock. I understand who ordered this; in the dim light of the cave I recognize Pre's profile. The dried blood inside my hair has stuck to the strands; when I turn my head my skin pulls tight and every movement hurts. My anger boils inside me like a cauldron. I speak to test the weight of my voice. What do you think this will lead to, I ask, do you still think you will be alive?
Pre looks at me in silence. The cold in his eyes is the reflection of many old decisions carrying the weight of years. You asked questions, he says, as if throwing a stone with each word. I ran from you because I did not want to tell it. Now your hands are tied. You will beg me. Begging. The smile spreads without my permission. A spark lights inside me. If you do not kill me now, I say, I will stand up and take both your heads and feed them to the animals. I let my voice rise; the threat is not only to be heard but to open a hard vein inside me.
While I speak my hands move toward the ropes that hold them; my fingers grip and loosen the cord, my mind studies the chair legs with care. Plans pass in front of my eyes. Break it all at once, smash the chair, take the pieces into my hands and drive them into their throats. The image alone warms my blood. Just then a murmur rises from outside; shouts thrown by the people of the village far off. A spark of hope that speeds my heartbeat.
After a while a crowd appears at the mouth of the cave; people with knives, spears, clubs, even old animal bones in their hands. On their faces there is both fear and anger. He is our war chief, they shout. We are alive thanks to him, let him go, Pre. Hearing it wakes something else in my chest, a sense of belonging, like a new root taking hold. Under the pressure of the crowd two warriors rush toward me; they untie my hands, and the moment the cords are cut I spring up like a gladiator from the dust.
When I stand, my head feels as if it has been hammered; my skull is swollen, my hair stained with blood; there are deep cuts on my arms, sliced while I was unconscious. Even so I walk; I am carried toward the village square, the people support me, their hands take my weight. Annabel is beside me; her eyes are wet, her hand unsure, yet she leans into me. When I look at the face of her friend I still do not know her name; but by now they are part of this night.
I stop in the square; everyone is silent, holding their breath. Blood has splashed across my face, warm drops run down my body. I lift my head. Pre stands opposite me, a spear in each hand, his eyes full of rage. Chief Pre, I begin. My voice does not tremble. You protect that hunter whose name you will not even say. Tell me and let justice be done. If you will not, I challenge you to a duel here before everyone. This will end in blood.
All eyes settle on me; their love and respect stand with me, not with Pre. He wants to resist; hesitation shows itself in his face. If you do not accept, I say, I will kill you before the whole tribe. At least accept and die with your honor. The world around us quiets; the wind stirs in the trees. Pre's hand shakes; at last he yields. He takes two spears. There are no shields, only our chests and the shafts of ash wood. The ring opens. Only the two of us remain inside it.
We face each other; I with bare hands, he with a spear. The fight begins. Pre swings his spears in long, sharp strokes, trying to put me down with a single thrust. Adrenaline runs like a river in my veins; anger and pain drive me forward like a mad dog. I turn, slip to the right, and in one move when I break his balance I knock one spear from his hand; I kick it forward with my foot out of reach. Now he holds only one and he is tiring. I am animal and angry and strong.
A few cuts land; a thorny burn spreads across my arm. I do not yield. With one move I leap onto him, knock him off balance and throw him to the ground. I climb onto his chest and punch; his efforts are useless. He pushes at me with his hands; I take his head between both of mine. My thumbs press into his eye sockets while he screams; his fists bounce off the ridge of my forearms and slide away. After a while I draw all my strength into a final surge and squeeze. The skull cracks. It is like a cork releasing inside the bone, and then hot blood jets everywhere.
Silence wraps the circle. Then it tears open into a single cry; some recoil in fear, others roar with a wild joy that feels older than speech. Blood covers Pre's body; the cold fact of his death spreads across every face like a slap. At my order the warriors next to me cut the throat of Pre's slave; I cannot trust him to live. Tonight the tribe is with me; with all of it I hold the control.
[+220 XP]
Strength +1
Endurance +1
Leadership Lv.2
Combat Lv.3
I stand up. My chest is bloody, my hands swollen, yet a weight seems to lift off my shoulders. My most loyal warrior, Cycnopy, runs to me. He reaches out his hands and calls out. From now on you are the Chief of our clan. You have earned this honor. The people shout together. Greatest of the great, our Chief Ragno. Their words make me happy. I have come only recently and I have become their chief. They are my clan now. You, warrior Cycnopy. You are now the new War Chief of this tribe. You will always stand by me and you will walk with me on every path. I say it and I see pride in his eyes. He thanks me and gives me his oath with a nod.
I am here, I say, and the voice falls over the crowd. While I am here you need not be afraid. I will always decide what is best for you. Then I add without heat. Now throw these two carcasses to the animals. My command is carried out quickly; the square fills with cuts and blood and a coolness like a butcher's calm. People set to work; the night turns into an abattoir while I pull myself back toward my tent under the shadow of weariness.
With tiredness, anger and my new authority I do not slip into long thoughts; sleep presses me a moment later. I lie down with a bloody body and a new weight across my back. I close my eyes without knowing what the morning will bring. What waits for me tomorrow?