The Day God Fled: A Small Axe Tale
1.
The straw hut was hastily built. A construct far beneath the standard of the Malian king, Ekon, a man known to want all things made by his men to be the best. He saw shoddy work as a reflection of shoddy leadership, and he was not one to tolerate that accusation. Despite this, the rickety hut labored under the rare winds and rain successfully.
The five men sitting around the fire were dry and growing impatient. They had eaten their vittles— fruits and pig meat delivered from the distant palace. They had emptied their gourds of fresh water and sweet wines. Now they waited. The five were known to one another, neighbors, all fighting men of Malia who appeared for this very special detail.
Youngest of the men, Kuyu, was growing restless. He turned to his father, Zane, and said: “Baba, the outsider makes us wait overlong. If we continue to drag our feet…” The father interrupted his son’s concerns. Motioning for the youth to shush. He recognized the young man’s fire and felt it, too, in his own chest. But it is foolish to rush where even the king dared not tread.
The special whistle is heard. Kuyu peeks out of the door. He waves the flag, the special embroidered cloth of the village which had become the unofficial symbol of this clandestine mission. The message relayed. A sixth man is escorted across the plains. A man who fully covered the ground he stepped upon.
The shadow of the man was impressive enough. The rain beat his chest and back. Droplets rolled away as much from fear as they did from the nature of liquid. Kuyu gasped at him, soon uttering to himself: “The outside man truly is a giant!” Space was made for the new arrival, a log or two added to the fire as well.
The king’s vizier was dressed smartly. Beautiful red robe with gold lining in the seams. He even wore red pointy shoes and a nice hat. All of this gave an air of importance and wealth. Yet, he was careful to arrange the meeting at the hours where jackals stalked the plains. He was clearly afraid of something—but what?
Douga, the king’s vizier, began in a pleasant tone: “You have all been gathered for the mission—to liberate Malia. The king has agreed to grant your desires in exchange for the end of sorcerer rule in Malia. Is anyone misunderstanding why they are here?” The room was silent with understanding. “Splendid! I suppose now we can discuss this…”
Douga plied the men with a map of the target. A small and humble village which was built around a massive cathedral centered in the middle. “Not only is it an eyesore but the king finds the priests who inhabit the place to be abhorrent. Their deaths will aid Malia greatly,” said the Vizier. “Weapons, food, all will be delivered tomorrow night,” he continued. “The map will give you an idea of the terrain and a chance to strategize how to take the village. Study it and I will return in two hours.” He handed the map to Zane, then scampered off into the night, leaving the others to their pressing mission.
2.
Zane, a lanky father of six, warrior turned farmer, was the most experienced combat fighter in the group. He had survived many conflicts using his wit and ferocity. He prayed years of herding cattle and inactivity had not rusted his skills too badly. His eldest son sat at his side, watching the elder intently, Zane, could feel his gaze.
It was amazement, a deep satisfying surprise. Kuyu had only known his father as a farmer, what a pleasure it was to see how his military mind worked. Zane knew the target village as well as he knew his own. To infiltrate it, a breeze, according to Zane.
The map in hand, the team began to discuss work distribution and tactics. The men of Malia rotated in the conversation, the outsider kept quiet. Though he did not say much, the man’s silence was an argument in itself. “Do you have anything to add, stranger?” Zane asked politely. The bigger man snorted and shook his knotted head no.
“Wait a minute!” cut in Bobo, a stern warrior who sat quietly also. “Should this man not have to introduce himself? He is unknown to me. I shall not be tasked with putting my life in the hands of a strange man.”
“The king chose him for good reason,” said Zane. “He is a hired man.”
“All the more reason to make sure his size is not for show…” Bobo sharply replied.
“I must admit. I am also interested, Baba…” said Kuyu. “This man is dressed strangely. Barefoot in the plains like this? The man is begging to be bitten by snakes. His clothing is tattered and he wears strange shells around his neck. From his bronzed skin to his unkempt ways, this man is clearly not even Malian!”
The other men murmured in agreement. Zane nodded to his friends, “Then we shall ask the newcomer to tell us about himself and his land. What brings you to Malia, friend?”
Fire roared as the five awaited for the stranger to speak. “I have come…” he began, his voice heavy and strong, “I have come to find a home. I have no home. I have no family. All I have is my strength and my hands. The king will give me a home in Malia for my assistance in this mission.”
Bobo was suspicious. He leered at the large stranger. “A man with no clan of his own? A man is nothing without his blood and kin! His family is all! Zane and Kuyu risk their lives to save their kin. I do so out of respect for my beloved clansman, as do Oringo and Rajabu. The sorcerers can offer you far more than the king, and once you hear their whispers you might just switch sides! How can we trust you?”
The large man turned to Bobo, icicles in his stare, “A man can say much about another and feel safe. But none can question my loyalties once they are given. Our bond may not be in blood or clan, but my word is stronger than your earthly ties.”
Bobo snorted, now, derisively. “Trusting strangers is what got us into this mess! The king’s lack of faith in Malian Gods and Malia Men has done us a disservice once before.”
Zane interrupted, “Yes, on that note, I must ask a question. Stranger, do you know why these people must be killed?”
The stranger had to admit the vizier had not told him much. “I was told the king had heard of my exploits elsewhere, and that for a handsome reward of gold and roof, he wished to bring me on this mission. So no. I do not know what wretches face my spear. Perhaps it is better not to ask.”
“No. No. No…” chided Zane. “No man should ever kill another, or join in the killing of others, for unknown reasons. I shall tell you why this deed must be done. At the end, if you do not feel comfortable, then leave. But if you are a good man, the tale shall stoke the fires of hatred in your blood.”
“I am listening,” said the stranger, who gave Zane his full attention.
“The Seven are our prey,” said Zane. “Like you they were once strangers to Malia. They helped us fend off the vicious Uromo peoples. The story goes as such:
“The Uromo men of the plains would say cattle were above all. They would price cows above a human life, no pondering needed. They saw no qualms with spearing any man to his death, the same can be said for women and children. Any who stood in their way was subject to the spear. Those of us with good sense, and moral character, knew better.
“The cattle raids began sixty years past. The Uromo suffered hard times. Their crops failed throughout the lands. Drought, some said. Life got difficult for them. No crops meant trade between Malia and the Uromo stalled. Horrible tales soon spread. Stories of these once brave and proud peoples eating their own pets to stay alive. Their civilization was in dire straits. How sad it must have been to see our beloved brethren sink to such lows!
“However, the pity in our hearts vanished when they turned their spears on us. Sons of Malia, like my grandfather, were ambushed during hunts. Our farms raided, cattle and crops looted. Huts burned. We produced, the Uromo stole.
“We told ourselves it was only to stave off death, and the terrorism would be over soon. We told ourselves it was rogue elements within the Uromo peoples, not actions sanctioned by their chiefs. We were wrong. The Uromo had made up their minds. If their land had forsaken them, then they intended to take ours.
“The king declared war with the Uromo—a starving society of violent men. The Uromo chiefs wanted our blood to soak the sands, our cries of pain to pollute the air. They blamed us for their suffering and wanted us to make recompense.
“For many years we fought them. Our best farmers fled in the dead of night, for safety. Our best warriors either died, or were crippled in battle. We looked to be on the verge of falling under Uromo sway. Something had to be done.
“Then the Seven appeared. They were priests, or so we were told. Priests worshipping foreign gods. The king was desperate to beat back the Uromo, so he listened to them as they pitched a plan. They whispered in his ear all they could do, how their Gods and power could end the Uromo threat once and for all.
“The Uromo way of life disgusted our king. The scavenging. The lawlessness. Stories of their daily atrocities turned his stomach. He saw the Uromo consuming our society, their foreign ways pressed upon Malian peoples. The clothing, the language, the attitude. Malia ceased to be Malia, it was becoming more foreign by the day.
“Malia was a rich and proud society, strong Gods and morals, but the king was obsessed with destroying the Uromo above all else. He agreed to accept their assistance, to spare more Malian blood loss, and the dark ones began to do their work. Conjuring up the devil-gods they serve, in tongues foreign to us all, they engaged in battle with the Uromo.
“Their sorcery was strong. Their Gods held court and before long scores of Uromo dead began to litter our roads. The Uromo chiefs were captured, dragged to our king kicking and screaming, pleading and petrified. Upon the execution of the Uromo chieftains, the Uromo peoples were expelled from our lands. We had finally won. Or so that is how history records it. In reality, The Seven had won.
“The Seven’s prize for their assistance was to be named chiefs of Naiser, a small village in Malia. There, they began to cultivate power. Over the next several decades Naiser became a zone autonomous from the rest of Malia. A place were the king’s title and name meant nothing, and all of us in the surrounding villages were subject to The Seven’s abuses.
“Our sons and daughters were taken to populate their village. To live among them as servants and slaves. We built their chapels, we tend to their farms, we fetch their water and feed them. Our daughters are sent home pregnant, if they come home at all. Our sons return shellshocked, mentally broken by the experiences in Naiser. The only way to keep your child from being taken is to buy protection. Some wives left their husbands to keep their daughters home. Fathers sacrificed themselves so their sons could be free. And there was nothing the Malian king could do.
“Many warriors took up arms against The Seven, each one massacred and his body strapped to the wall around the village of Naiser, a message for us to keep out. Naiser has become a void in these lands. Anything which comes from it is corrupted, broken. We five will enter Naiser knowing we may not ever leave. It is only fair you understand what you face…”
The stranger looked at the determined faces of the party, each man not so much as blinking at the thought of death in Naiser. And the stranger nodded, “I am now aware that the people to die are sorcerers. I intend to send them to their God in pieces.”
Bobo smirked. Kuyu clapped. The other men nodded in agreement. “And so what shall we call you then, stranger?” He offered his hand in friendship.
“My name is Small Axe,” said the stranger, gripping Zane’s hand tightly. And all the men gasped in horror. The Butcher was among them.
3.
Kuyu, the youth, was the only one who didn’t fidget at the naming of the stranger. Small Axe! Even his father released a deep sigh at the announcement. The small space became chilly, the wind and the rain outside might have been the cause but the others knew it was the presence of Small Axe.
Bobo was the first to clear his throat, breaking the silence which had fallen. “You mean to tell me that you’re Small Axe? The Spear of the Gold Coast?”
The stranger nodded yes.
“HA!” said Bobo. “My sons never told such a tall tale! To think, Small Axe, a man known across nations is here in this hut with us! I don’t believe it.”
“I don’t care,” Small Axe replied sharply, then he laid back and closed his eyes. “I am who I am.”
“Many strangers have used the name Small Axe. Warriors, wrestlers, thieves, each one looking to coast on the reputation of the man. How do we know you are the genuine person? My life is in your hands, I demand honesty!”
Small Axe sat up, grumbling to himself. “When the time comes, my reputation will be proven…”
While Small Axe and Bobo bickered, Kuyu whispered to his father: “Who is Small Axe?”
Zane quietly replied, “Small Axe is more myth than man. We have heard tales, in recently years, of an ox-strong adventurer and master hunter. One who plunders sacred places in search of gold and gems. But he would be a rich man, a king himself, not a homeless welp…”
Small Axe’s eye cut to Zane. “The gold and gems are gone. Of the five missions attributed to me, only one was successful. The loot was split fairly among many. I had barely enough gold remaining to make it to Malia.”
“You’re a graverobber,” said Oringo disdainfully. “You disrespect your ancestors, and in exchange they deny you wealth and warmth.”
“Maybe so,” Small Axe replied. “But I don’t know who my ancestors are.”
Zane chuckled, “A tree with no root, merely a seedling looking to plant and bear fruit? I understand. We shall proceed as if this man is truly Small Axe and badger him no more on his identity.”
Oringo was a waif compared to the other men. Clearly poor—all he wore was a loincloth and sandals. His dark hair was unkempt and knotted. He scowled at the thought of graverobbing, of stealing from the noble dead.
Rajabu, on the other hand, wore long pants, shoes and a long sleeve shirt. He was clearly someone important, despite his quiet demeanor. Small Axe noticed he dressed like a man who had spent time in the towns, not like the others who were clearly tribesmen from the jungles and the plains. Rajabu felt the gaze of the large man and began to toy with his knife. His intent wasn’t to threaten, merely to inform.
Small Axe smirked and laid back.
Douga returned an hour and thirty minutes after he left previously. He came with weapons and charms blessed by the king’s best holy men. “Have you a plan, Rajabu?” he asked.
Rajabu looked to Zane who nodded. “We’ve discussed tactics,” he replied. “Our issue is personnel. This man claims to be Small Axe, adventurer and graverobber. We cannot rightly be asked to risk our lives without confirmation of his identity.”
The vizier brushed rain from his shoulders and hat. “The man is Small Axe, yes. The king is sure of it, anyway. Doesn’t matter really, does it? If you all work together then the plan will succeed, right?”
Zane and Rajabu both nodded.
“Then all is well,” Douga said with a smile. “Everything you will need for the raid of Naiser will be in this hut. Now that you all have met, and are familiar with one another, you can go home. But remember, not a word to anyone and meet here at sundown tomorrow. The rest of the supplies will be here and we can begin our trek to Naiser.”
“I will stay in this hut,” said Small Axe. “I have no home, so this will do.”
“As you wish,” Douga replied dismissively. “The rest of you scamper. Go love your wives and children, for it may be the last time you see them.”
4.
The day went by normally. Kuyu and Zane tended to the farm as they normally would. The cows were milked; the yams were nearly ready to harvest. Oringo fished in the lake, taking his catches home to his wife who butchered the and prepared the meal. Rajabu sat restless, concerned about the task her was asked to perform.
He was afraid, Rajabu was. Zane is his kin, an uncle. His cousin, Tanna, was taken by The Seven. He was duty bound to leave the comfort of his town to return to the villages for this work. He remembered a conversation he and his uncle had when they were approached by Douga.
Zane had come to town panicked and afraid. The Seven had sent emissaries to collect young girls for the harem. He had failed to protect his daughter, quivering under the threat of spears from The Seven’s personal army. He thought of protecting his wife and his other children, so his daughter had to be sacrificed.
The commotion Zane made in town did not go unnoticed. Zane’s brother, Sambar, Rajabu’s father, appealed to the king. A man known to the king had rarely been victimized in this way. The Seven were usually more careful in picking prey.
Cousin Kuyu was a relative unknown to Rajabu. He was a mere babe the last time they shared a meal. It was as if the boy had sprung up overnight.
“How old are you now?” Rajabu asked Kuyu who shoveled millet into his mouth.
“Fourteen,” said Kuyu, munching.
“A man now, are you?”
Kuyu pounded his chest. “Yes! I am a man and I must protect my little sister!”
Rajabu saw Zane smile. A bright, proud smile. He wondered why his father had never shown him that kind of attention. He scooped millet into his own mouth.
Douga appeared, then. He spoke with Zane and his brother, then the two younger men were invited to join them on the street.
“The king has decided to kill The Seven. A small team of assassins will invade and liberate the village,” the vizier informed them. The plan to infiltrate Naiser and to remove The Seven forever was born that moment. Unfortunately, Sambar was deemed too old to fight, and so Rajabu had to take his father’s place in this scheme.
What horrors! Rajabu had barely started his own life. He cursed The Seven. He cursed his father. He cursed his uncle and cousin for dragging him into this. But there was a positive gain to this. If he succeeded, then perhaps the young woman he had been courting would be more amenable to laying with him. The thought of her made him grin mischievously, and then, warmly.
Sundown came. Oringo kissed his wife goodbye, telling her he was going on a late night hunt. Zane and Kuyu slipped away to meet Rajabu on the outskirts of town. The four of them walked eight hundred and four meters to the hut where Douga and Small Axe waited for them. Bobo, who had all but disappeared, was the last man to return.
Their shields were uncompromised, the spears and knives sharpened, and the blessings were applied to necklaces and amulets around their necks. There was food for the journey as well, all prepared.
Douga scanned the party. He helped each man apply a mud mask, smearing it onto their skin and face to appear more intimidating. It was the final touch. There was nothing which could identify the king’s involvement, and yet the warriors were ready to engage.
“If you all hike south, you will make it Naiser in the dead of night. Make it clean and quick, yeah?”
Zane and Bobo stood at attention. Kuyu and Rajabu followed suit. Oringo and Small Axe nodded in the affirmative.
“Good hunting, fellows. I’ll you here when it is all done,” Douga said with a grin.
The team sneaked off into the dark, hunching and creeping through the tall grass along the way.
5.
What place had The Seven emerged from no one knew, and the sorcerers had no intention of sharing that information. In their number were five males and two females, and often they chose to refer to one another as brother and sister. Were they blood kin? Another mystery The Seven left unanswered.
One clue of their kinship was how all The Seven suffered from the same affliction: impossibly white spots upon their mud brown skin. Many who have seen them thought them cursed or divine, depending on one’s perspective. They were the center of two worlds, the Earthen realm of Man and the Unnatural realm. Whether they served Devils or Gods was also a matter of interpretation.
The Seven referred to their deities as Gods, themselves as Angels brought forth to bless Malia and keep it safe. However, the terrors which they perpetuate upon the populace would suggest they are anything but. When, at times past, a king of Malia questioned them he was told sternly: “It is not for you to understand” and that was all.
Naiser was a wholesome village to the naked eye. A massive temple of worship surrounded by seven well-built homes. Extensive well-maintained farmland, a good yield of corn and acres of peanuts and sorghum. Fishermen carry home buckets of the day’s catch. But under closer scrutiny one would see the skeletons, the literal skeletons, of Naiser.
Men were flayed. Their flesh melted and their bones tied to string and placed strategically around village. Skeleton guardians were placed along the road. Were they warnings or protectors?
The inner sanctum of the village was weapons free. It was a village of empty hands; one was not even allowed to keep a small spade in which to do the day’s digging. The Seven had learned from slave revolts not to keep certain tools lying about, so they were often put away.
The Seven had nothing to fear anyhow, each of them possessing power enough to level any man or warrior. It was this power what kept King Ekon and his ancestors away from Naiser. None wanted to clash with the sorcerers. The King lived in constantly the Seven would demand more land be ceded to them if they were disturbed.
Of all their great gifts one was the most useful. Iniko, a female who spent most of her time in trance, saw bits of the future. One such peek into tomorrow showed her the force which descended upon them in the dead of night. Her sister round up the slaves. Four of her brothers prepared the warriors, and the fifth went to the kennel where his starving hyenas await.
“Dearest friends,” said Fulo, Master of Animals, with a whisper. “They have come to take our lives. But they will end your hunger and quench your thirst for blood! Go! Go my friends! Find the ones who wish us harm and devour them!” Dozens of ensorcelled beasts bolt across the plains, ravenous and violent.
Torches burned in the night. Iniko was visibly nervous, Brother Sufi saw beads of sweat upon her forehead. Quickly, she disregards his concern. “I am tired is all,” she lied. “Sufi, it is best if you and the others stay prepared.”
Sufi scoffed. “There is nothing for us to fear, is it? It is more fools sent to die, to be sacrificed to the Beyond. Fulo can handle it. I will retire for the night.” He turned to leave but Iniko grasped her Sufi’s arm, a sign of desperation. Her eyes concerned him. “Is there something we should know?”
Iniko stuttered. Sufi kneeled to face his sitting sister. He caressed her face gently, “What is it, Iniko? What did you see?” She could not explain it. Knowing the power of words, almost as well as her sister does, Iniko bit her tongue.
“Sleep tight, brother…” she said, then she let his arm go.
Sufi turned on the balls of his feet and exited the temple, leaving Iniko alone with her thoughts. She looked to her manservant, a brawny man who seemed to be made of twisted stone. Iniko reached for him, and in an instant he was there to help her stand.
“Have you drawn my bath?” she asked. The man nodded in the affirmative. “Good. Stay with me but prepare the rest of the men, we are being invaded.” The slave nearly staggered in surprise. Iniko continued: “Sufi may be confident enough to sleep but we must remain vigilant. Make sure Odion is awake to led the men into battle.”
A ghastly thing floated through Naiser, harassing the young women who had all been huddled together in Sarama’s dwelling. The diminutive sorcerer shooed away the ghost with a command: “Taj, leave!” The ghost vanished in a puff of smoke.
In his home Taj opened his eyes, a mischievous grin on his face. Haunting slaves and nearby villagers was always a hoot. He cackled. Then, he heard the sounds of the rushing hyenas and he peeked outside. He sent his ghost form out into the village once more, this time to gather information.
He saw the warrior slaves being rounded up under his brother Odion’s watchful eye.
“What is afoot?” he asked Odion.
“The king has sent killers again, Iniko thinks these men deadlier than we’re used to. We should be cautious.”
“Oh, how I wish they were dangerous…” replied Taj. “We could use a little danger. Sitting around here being pampered can get a bit boring. I guess Ekon forgot how powerful we are…”
Odion laughed.
“With you on the case, brother, I am sure the Gods will be pleased with the king’s sacrifices. Be kind and send a slave girl to my quarters. Have fun hunting!”
A hole had been dug on the outskirts of the village. The hole was about three feet deep, pieces of stone lined the floor and walls and filled with fresh water. Iniko slipped off her dark red robe, slipping into the water with her muscular spear-wielder by her side. Laying in the water hole, Iniko began to admire the moon.
“Master, it’s time isn’t it?” said the man, his voice soothing and dutiful.
“I’m afraid so,” Iniko replied. “Soon we will be parted. You will die tonight.”
The man took the news without flinching. “I have never questioned you before but you are wrong,” he replied. “Not even death can part us. I defected from my clan to come here—to be with you. No spear, no knife, no magic can stop me. Blood wasn’t enough to keep me away, nothing will.”
Iniko grinned. She saw the moonlight shine off of her warrior’s skin, and she reached for him taking his hand in hers. The man’s body froze in shock. Their eyes met, and he wondered if it was were real. “Join me,” she said sweetly. The man planted his spear in the earth, and slid into Iniko’s arms.
6.
Trudging through the high grass, the assassins crept closer to Naiser. Occasionally they step over the remains of a lost battle. Broken spears and bows, loose arrowheads and knives littered the fields. Of course, there were also plenty of bones. Human bones. Some small enough to be identified as child bones. It was barely visible in the darkest night but enough to spook Kuyu.
The youth stuck close with his family. The five kinsmen trekked on Small Axe’s heels. Somehow he had become the unofficial leader of the strike. Not that he minded. He had the sharper eye, which he used to see in the moonlight. The keener sense of smell, which allowed him to notice the powerful odor of hyena secretions. The better trained sense of battle, which made him more alert. And the fearlessness, which made him most fit to lead much to Bobo’s dismay.
The other men were far from home, chattering under their breaths about the journey. Small Axe was focused. Then, from the distance came a sound. Small Axe knew the sound instantly. Some forty hyenas bolted through the grass. “The hell?” cried Oringo, as the creatures leapt through the air.
A hand axe made of stick and stone swatted the creature mid-flight. “On your toes, man!” commanded Small Axe, after saving Oringo.
The dogs were on them biting and scratching in the night. The hyena were too mobile, too vicious for Kuyu to use his bow, so he opted for swinging his spear like a club keeping the animals at bay. His father, Zane, was more patient. He retreated to back himself against a tree, waiting for hyenas to pounce before skewering them.
Rajabu and Oringo stood back to back, circling, keeping the hyenas from attacking from behind. And Small Axe charged, violent and thoughtless as the beasts he battled. His spear took six or seven as he ran to Kuyu’s side. The boy dared not run but he had no experience fighting brutal animals such as these.
Kuyu lost his father in the grass. The darkness covered his vision, his heartbeat thundered in his young chest. “Baba!” he cried out, as he backed away in the grass. “Baba, I do not see you!” He also missed a hyena lurking, the creature pounced catching the youth by arm. He howled in pain. The boy was in the hyena’s grasp, but only temporarily, as Small Axe was there to pierce the beast and free Kuyu.
The boy’s bicep bled, his arm felt useless. “Stay with me, child!” ordered Small Axe. Kuyu lifted his spear with his good arm and did as he was told.
Bobo joined Zane near the tree, informing him Kuyu had been bitten. Zane was shaken. “As his father you had best be sure your son is ready,” Bobo said. “Tragedy would be to watch him die. Horror is for all of us to die with him!” Though annoyed, Zane understood the sentiment. He hoped his son would be okay.
Soon, the beasts had all fallen. Kuyu was the only member of the team with a serious wound. The others suffered minor scars and were more scared than anything.
Zane ran to his son’s aid. Kuyu kneeled in the grass and Rajabu placed some blessed herbs upon the bite, then tightened a strip of cloth to prevent further bleeding.
“Our supply of blessed herbs are limited,” said Rajabu. “Using some so early into the battle is a bad omen.”
“It was necessary,” Bobo replied. “Kuyu is just a boy…”
“NO!” Kuyu protested through the pain. “I’m not a child…” His young eyes found Small Axe. “I’m a man! Like all of you. A real man. I ju-just got a little scared.”
Zane approved. He pat his son’s head in comfort.
Small Axe offered no debate. He merely allowed five to ten minutes to rest, to get their adrenaline down and to allow the herbs to do their work. Once the short reprieve was done, the team was back on the hunt.
Deeper into The Seven’s territory they traveled. The open air graves were more numerous. Soon, they came across a thick pole, planted in the middle of the open fields. Affixed to the pole was a skeleton, who seemed to be bound in place by rope. Oringo’s teeth grated in his mouth. He tired of seeing death already. And yet there was still more to go!
Twelve warriors waiting just outside the gates of Naiser. Painted faces, each one marked with the seal of The Seven upon his chest. Red clothes worn by each, same as their master’s. Leading them was a man with brass skin, wearing a red robe with shimmering white trim. His face discolored, splotches of whiteness near his eyes and lips.
“I hear them coming,” he said with a sure grin. “Seems this group is the real deal. Fulo’s hyena gambit failed. No matter. Sufi’s magicks and my power will be more than enough.”
Torches were lit by the robed man’s fingers. He was able to see the killers approaching. He smelled the blood in the air, their fear tingled on the back of his hands. What joy.
“Come forth trespassers!” he called out. “Odion commands to see your faces!”
In the shadows, hiding behind a tree, Small Axe waited. He took a moment to count the foes, then he turned to Kuyu and Zane. “The bow and arrow. See if you can’t strike some of them down from here.”
Oringo opted to take Kuyu’s job as bowman. He positioned himself, loaded the sharpened stone arrow and stretched back the string.
“Aim for the man in the robe,” said Small Axe. “Cut off the head of the snake.”
Oringo nodded in acknowledgement. The torchlight made the shot nearly impossible for one to miss. So he released the arrow. Great speed through flight the arrow had, yet it missed the mark. The robed man was unharmed. Oringo grumbled to himself, “How could I have missed?”
He reached for a second arrow, taking his eye from the robed man for merely a moment.
Fwoosh.
A wave of fire engulfed Oringo. He rolled around in the grass, wailing in pain. His teammates jumped to his aid. Small Axe never moved. He saw what happened. The robed man had thrown fire.
Like a bull, Small Axe snorted in derision. “Dammit all,” he said before ramming his massive fist into the tree trunk.
Zane and Rajabu poured water on Oringo, emptying their spare water gourds to save his life. Despite no longer being ablaze, Oringo was in crippling pain, clearly unable to continue. The sight of Oringo in such a state dried Kuyu’s mouth, now he was freighted.
“Come out and fight us like men, or I cook you all!” hollered Odion.
Small Axe reached out, grabbing Oringo by his unburned arm and yanked the man behind the tree. “Kuyu, tend to Oringo. Zane, Bobo and Rajabu, come with me. We must battle these men.”
Small Axe led his team and soon stood in the light of the torch facing the insidious Odion. The robed man pulled back his hood to stare into the painted face of his opposition. He leered. Something about the man exuded force, like staring at an old tree.
“King Ekon has sent us more fools to sacrifice,” said Odion. “Six for the pyre this time. Apep be praised.”
Zane tightened his grip on his spear, pointing it at the heretic witchman. “No Gods by that name in this land!” he replied.
“Your king knows better,” Odion said with a grin. “No king rules without divine force. Ekon gets his authority from us, who gain our power from Apep. You were sent to die. You must have been quite bothersome to your sire.”
Small Axe twitched in annoyance. Zane feared the words of the sorcerer true. Bobo and Rajabu studied the faces of his motionless warriors, each one just waiting to be sicced upon the group.
“Warriors of Naiser!” called Odion. The men raised their spears. “Kill the invaders now!”
Rushing forward they came, battle cries hollered among the chirping crickets. Long knives, sharp and cold, dangled from their hips. Spears in one hand, shield in the other. The two groups crashed in one bloody fight.
Small Axe quickly proved to the superior of most men. His spear pierced shields with ease. His fist crushed jaws and his snatched blades from hands. The other men worked as a team. Zane, Rajabu and Bobo protected one another jealously and violently.
Odion was surprised to see Small Axe fell men so fast, and soon was charging recklessly in his direction. Odion’s palm torch seared the ground. Small Axe leapt out of the way of the fireball. He ducked and rolled to the side. Odion merely launched fire in his direction. Small Axe nimbly slipped the blaze once more.
While Small Axe battled Odion, the rest of the team fought the warriors of Naiser. The men were well-built, non-verbal, and uncaring. Losing comrades did not bother them, they were not much different from the hyenas—operating off of pure instinct.
Outnumbered, the men still fought valiantly. Using teamwork and brotherhood they managed to beat back the larger force. The Naiser men left their wounded to die. On the contrary, Rajabu was worried when Zane dropped his spear and was hastily there to aid him. If the larger team had worked as a team, they may have won…but alas, they all fell.
Odion was now the sole standing member of his army. Small Axe had caused a diversion, successfully. Now four spears were aimed at him. The sorcerer did not falter, however, he merely brightened the torch.
The bright red robe of Odion has lit ablaze. Soon, Odion was engulfed in fire. “Apep! Your servant begs for aid. Grant me the power to crush these infidels!” Odion’s kin caught fire and there he stood a human inferno.
A wave of the hand scorched the earth. The invaders fell back. “Now you flee?” laughed Odion, Flames leapt from the sorcerer’s throat.
Rajabu was caught in the fire. He stumbled and fell, favoring his right leg—which had been burned. Zane hurriedly launched his spear through the air at Odion, who destroyed it with fire. While the sorcerer was distracted Bobo turned back for Rajabu, grasping him and dragging him to safety.
Odion was once more preoccupied with Small Axe. There was something about the man which exuded danger, he needed to die first.
Never had anyone seen such a large man with such agility. The seemingly giant Small Axe rolled and tumbled in the grass to avoid the fire, leading Odion away from the other men.
Then, an arrow whizzed through the night finding a home in Odion’s back. The sorcerer growled in pain, and spun around to find the young Kuyu with his bow and his eyes swelled with tears. “Oringo is dead,” the boy cried, then he loaded a second arrow.
“NO” cried Zane to his son. “HIDE! HIDE I SAID!”
Kuyu wasn’t listening. The last thing he’d heard was Oringo shudder his last breaths, prayers to God and family.
The sorcerer prepared to torch the child, taking his eye from Small Axe—who made him pay for the mistake. One of the blades wielded by Naiser men was lodged into Odion’s skull. The sorcerer dropped into the grass, dead.
Small Axe took a sharp breath. Zane ran to his son’s side, chiding him for getting involved.
Bobo helped Rajabu by using some of the blessed herbs, smearing it on his wounds. “Were those men slaves or willing fighters?” Bobo wondered aloud, staring at the corpses of the Naiser men. He hoped for the latter.
Killing slaves brought no honor, regardless of circumstance. He was a true warrior. No fisherman. No family man. He had lived his life alone, dedicated to his people and his chief. He born and bred for this, and the lack of care for comrades concerned him greatly. The Naiser men seemed less than human.
Small Axe took Zane by the arm, moving him to the side gently. “You truly are a man,” he said to Kuyu. “Thank you.” He offered Kuyu his hand, and the youth took it. “Fine son you have,” he said to Zane. “A fine son, indeed.”
7.
Taj often enjoyed physical pleasure while at the same time in ghost form tending to other tasks. Usually, the things he sees are benign, and he has to travel far to find interesting sights. On this night, however, there was a bloody battle right outside the gates of his village. Fine entertainment indeed. Unfortunately, the ghost form was close enough to watch Odion die. The vigorous love-making ended abruptly, with Taj leaping to his feet in shock.
“What the hell has happened?” he cried. Splitting from his ghost form once more, he went to find the other sorcerers.
He came across Fulo first. The fat man was on the farm feeding the hogs. Taj was breathless, quickly explaining what he had witnessed.
Fulo listened to the story, then looked to the sky. Yes, he saw the vultures above and through them the story was confirmed. The vultures looked to finally feast on the corpse of a sorcerer, a rare treat. Fulo was appalled, then forbade them from feasting on any of the fallen men.
The two ran to Hatari’s hut, where the man was conjuring and experimenting with new brews. Taj’s ghost form woke Sufi from his arrogant slumber, “Odion has been killed!” he cried. Sufi thought it was a nightmare but no, it was very real. He immediately sought our Sarama next.
Five of the Seven met in the temple while Taj’s ghost form went to search for Iniko. “How could this be?” questioned Sarama. No one offered an answer. Taj had seen the whole battle, watching it gleefully until he saw Odion fall. The sight was burned into his memory, a tragic end for a brother.
Clear thinking was needed, now. This was Hatari’s strong suit. He created a plan. “Odion enjoyed battle a bit too much,” he said. “No need to panic. Caution is needed. We shall crush them completely, heart and soul, and then we shall enslave their flesh.”
“Of course,” said Taj with a smile.
The invaders left Oringo behind, there was no time to mourn. They entered the village in search of the slave stocks. There, they hoped to find Tanna. “Killing The Seven may be too difficult a task,” said Bobo. “Let’s just find the girl and steal her away. We’ll steal as many of their slaves as we can find!”
The warriors looked around. The streets of Naiser were clean and well-maintained, more like the city of the King than a small village in the eyes of Rajabu who limped along waiting for the pain to cease.
The temple caught their eye. An exquisite large stone structure, handcrafted with architecture which would make King Ekon proud.
“The slaves are probably kept in the temple,” said Small Axe. “We have to go inside.”
At the door of the temple, Rajabu began to get nervous. All of the men felt the deep evil inside, yet when they stepped inside it was nearly a palace.
Taj found Iniko in the arms of her slave-warrior-lover in the bath just outside the village.
“Girl, we are having an emergency!” he said hurriedly. “Come quick!”
“Odion is dead already, hm?” Iniko replied softly.
“You knew he would die?” questioned Taj.
Iniko nodded yes.
“And you let him?!” barked Taj. “You let him die!”
“Fate cannot be changed,” Iniko said bluntly. “There is nothing to be done but to accept it.”
“And what of me? What of Sufi? Or Sarama? Or Hatari? Or Fulo? Do you not care about us at all?”
“I love you dearly, brother,” Iniko replied. “But love you is all that I can do. Your time has come, Taj.”
“I’LL KILL YOU WENCH!” Taj screamed. The ghost vanished before fulfilling his promise, however.
Iniko looked into the eye of her lover, “You’d best get to the temple. They will need you.”
He shook his head no. “If I am to die, then I’ll die right here. I will not waste one more second of my life in service to anyone else but you. If you command it, however, I will go.”
Iniko placed her head back on his chest. “No. I think I will not.”
The invaders crept cautiously into the temple, clinging close to the walls. Torches lit their way, though they used shadows to stay unseen. Zane guided his son and nephew down the stairs, taking his time as to not lose sight of wither of them. Bobo and Small Axe prepared for whatever ugliness they might see, their hands tight around spears and knives respectively.
Down the damp stairwell was several cages. Unoccupied cages. From the sight of open cages and the odor of waste, Small Axe knew the cages were recently used. The slaves had been moved!
“Dammit all,” grumbled Bobo. In the torchlight at the end of the hall he saw a shadowy figure—a man in a red robe. Slender, elderly in the face with a hooked nose and discoloration on his forehead and eyes.
“Don’t move!” hollered Bobo, his weapon primed to launch at the suspicious character.
“Not mere assassins, then?” said the man with a broken smile. “We have got ourselves some saviors!” He cackled, then coughed like a man who consumed too much tobacco. “The only true savior is Apep. Put down your weapons, serve him and live well.”
Bobo clutched his spear aiming at the man, a clear shot. Zane prepared an arrow, lining up for the perfect strike…but neither attacked. The robed man raised his arms, showing his palms and empty hands. “You wouldn’t attack an unarmed old man, would you?” he asked.
Bobo’s tensions eased. Zane’s didn’t. There was questions which needed answering. “Tell us where the slaves have gone,” Zane commanded.
“Outside of the village, down near the river. Once they have been baptized, we have no use for them. King Ekon will just provide us with more,” said the man with a slur.
What a disgusting creature, thought Small Axe.
Zane’s daughter was among the slaves. Calm fled him. He grabbed Kuyu and the two spun back towards the staircase.
“Oh no, if you wish to save the slaves its quicker to come this way…” the man said.
“Excuse me if I don’t trust you,” replied Zane sharply.
“I’m telling you. If you go that way you’ll only find corpses. Pass me and perhaps you can save some of them.”
Bobo approached the unarmed man, though he maintained a healthy distance. In the torchlight he saw something. Yes. It was another staircase. “More stairs this way!” he shouted down the hall to his party. Bobo reached out with his spear, cornering the red robed gentleman against the wall.
“If I were not an honest man and a true warrior…” said Bobo. “I’d kill you right here!”
Zane and Kuyu slipped behind Bobo and up the stairs. Rajabu came by next, followed by Small Axe. Thick green liquids spilled from the man’s lips. Drooling like an infant! Thought Bobo with his face distorted and disturbed. How disgusting! The tip of Bobo’s spear threatened the old man’s throat. Bobo kept the man in his sights while backing away.
There was something odd about the old timer, Bobo looked closely: discoloration around the man’s ears and his hands were pure white—a sorcerer! Too close did Bobo leer, as the man spewed viscous green liquid into Bobo’s face. The man hardly had a chance to cackle before Small Axe returned to smash him in the face with a stone club. A second strike crunched the robed man’s face beyond repair. He gasped and gagged for air.
Bobo on the other hand, screamed. He fell upon the temple floor clutching his face. The sensation was like being chewed by a million hungry ants. He needed help desperately. Rajabu kneeled to aid him, until Zane aggressively pulled him back. Too dangerous. No time to waste. Tanna needed to be saved. Zane took Kuyu and Rajabu and hurried up the stairwell.
Bobo’s face blistered, boils formed and popped leaving bloody lesions upon his face. When the crying and screaming stopped, Bobo no longer had a face at all. He was dead. Small Axe looked down upon Bobo in sadness before he too ran up the stairs.
Ghost Taj was hot on the heels of the invaders. He flew through the dungeon, seeing two corpses without faces. He only recognized one: “Brother Hatari of Poison Mist,” he said. “Not you, too…” Fury was replaced with pain. Two of their number had fallen.
The sound of chains on the street clanked as the slaves were forced to march. The slaves walked in a perfectly straight line. No talking. No fear. No debate. In front of them was a small woman, barefoot and stern in tone. “Keep walking,” she commanded and the slaves moved in lockstep.
Zane, Kuyu and Rajabu raced towards the sound of chains fast as they could. There was no thought of ambush or traps. All Zane thought of was Tanna, his stolen daughter. He longed to hold her once more, to hear her voice and to feel her skin. He began to shake all pretense of farmer—the girl needed a warrior-father.
He held his spear while he ran. He saw a man in a robe and Zane launched the spear without a thought. A dog leapt in front of the man, intercepting the spear attack. Zane wanted to curse his Gods for the interference but he still needed their strength to complete his mission.
The robed man was rotund, his nose and eyes horribly discolored. His fingers danced in the moonlight, and suddenly a kettle of vultures began to dive on the trio. How out of the ordinary! Vultures hunting live prey? And active prey at that? Kuyu was surprised to see it, but quickly responded with hearty swings of his spear with cousin Rajabu at his back
Zane was left alone with the rotund oddball. He pulled a knife thinking it necessary in a fight. He lunged and missed, the fat man was nimble in a way. Zane was focused, leering. The sorcerer backed away, space was needed to combat this warrior!
Slave chains clanged in the background, taunting Zane. He wondered if his daughter was among them. A moment was all the portly sorcerer needed. Speaking the language of animals they did his bidding. His winged minions upon Zane. Owls and other jungle creatures began to converge on the scene.
Soon, the trio was swarmed with flying enemies which they could not keep at bay. For every bird Rajabu and Kuyu slayed, two took its place. The pair started to stumble and fall back, seeking shelter in a nearby hut. It proved strategically fruitful, as the enclosed space made killing birds much easier. Once the birds stopped coming, the two thought their fight was done.
Then Rajabu was bitten by a snake. A green mamba had slithered from a blind spot and latched itself to Rajabu. Kuyu hurriedly stabbed the thing, killing it. Rajabu knew the snake to be venomous. He hurried to use some of the blessed herb, the last of the team’s supply. He smeared the herb on his bitten wrist, and waited with Kuyu at his side.
Zane was overwhelmed. Alone there were simply too many bodies to keep track of. Now he no longer heard the clanging chains. He knew they were getting further and further away. Hope was beginning to slip away as his body struggled to stay erect.
The Animal Master was proud of himself, proud of his friends who had aided him in subduing these three enemies. Now it was time to claim the ultimate victory…
Then, Small Axe ran upon the scene. His big chest heaving from the sprint, his hands clutching the stone club in one hand and a knife in the other. The Animal Master called upon his snakes, his birds and dogs to combat Small Axe.
“Bite! Claw! Strangle! Kill him friends!” he cried. “Apep commands it!”
Zane picked himself up from the ground, covered in claw marks and bleeding from his face and chest and legs. Kuyu watched his father struggle to his feet. From the corner of his eye, Zane saw Small Axe actively struggling against beasts of all kinds. Torn between assisting a comrade and the off chance of saving his daughter, Zane the logical choice:
“Come family,” Zane ordered. “Leave Small Axe to this.”
Small Axe did not seek to combat all of nature. He focused on the fat sorcerer in the red robe. He showed off his own animal instincts to finish the work. Leering at Fulo like a lion, pouncing explosively like a cheetah and landing a knife strike as swift as a snake bite. His blade found Fulo’s throat. He carved the fat man, listening to him cry in pain before letting him die.
It had all gotten so out of hand. In the air, Sufi sensed the loss. Three of his brothers passed on. Could so many years of pampering and lavish living made them so soft? Is Apep calling in their debts? Is a rival God staking a claim? He did not know. All he did know was he could not trust Naiser in the hands of Taj, Sarama and Iniko. No. He would have to end the threat himself.
But first, he had to prepare.
8.
One by one the chained bodies were ordered to step into the warm river waters where they lined up like a field of corn. Sarama, the diminutive sorcerer, with her discolored mouth and nose, stood on land and commanded, “On your knees!” And a chain of forty plus souls kneeled, their heads submerged under water. Then Sarama began the ritual, the sacrifice to Apep.
Zane sprinted as fast as his old legs to carry him. The two younger men had long left him behind as he paused in attempt to catch his breath. Years of inactivity had done its damage. He swore to maintain his health better in future days, but now he needed to push forward through fatigue and stress, through soreness and fear.
Rajabu was the first to encounter Sarama. He was compelled to admire the sorcerer’s beauty, her shockingly shapely frame. Though seemingly disfigured on the skin she was still a bewitching woman, with such passionate hazel eyes.
Kuyu noticed the bubbles under the water. He stood on the edge of the river and saw the people kneeling underneath.
“Tanna!” he cried. “Tanna!”
“Jump in,” ordered Sarama.
Immediately a chill coursed through Kuyu’s blood, and his legs moved on their own. He leaped from the coast into the rushing lake. And soon woke, not knowing how he got there.
“Kneel,” said Sarama.
Kuyu tried to fight the urge to kneel, but he couldn’t. Soon, he was underneath the current, eye to eye with an unknown man whose face was turning blue from lack of oxygen.
Rajabu picked up on the pattern. He readied the spear, aiming it at Sarama. “Tell all of them to stand up again!” he commanded. “That’s your magick, isn’t it? You enchant with your voice!”
Sarama smirked girlishly, and reached her hand out. “Give me that spear.”
Rajabu’s legs followed the command. Zane made it to the lake just in time to see Rajabu surrender his spear to Sarama. “Boy! What are you doing?!” He questioned.
“Uncle! Her magick controls your body! She’s drowning Kuyu and Tann–”
Sarama jabbed the spear into the young man’s chest. “Be silent,” she said gravely. Rajabu fell back, in shock. Sarama was distracted by the dying man, so she did not see Zane hop into the river.
Zane immediately lifted Kuyu’s head from underneath the waves. The boy breathed deep.
“Stop!” Sarama shouted. “Cease interfering in the sacrifice!”
Zane found himself stuck in place. Kuyu paddled in the river in search of his sister. Sarama stepped close to the edge of the water to look for him. She saw him, jostling the chains of a young girl who was already unconscious. “Sto–” she began but her phrase was interrupted by Zane yanking her foot. His legs were frozen but his arms had just enough autonomy to disrupt the spell. Kuyu put his sister on his shoulder, then turned to paddle her and her linked mates back to land.
It was a hard job, one of those linked with Tanna was a fully grown man. He was difficult to move. Kuyu yanked the chain with all he could just to get their heads above water. The slaves were able to breathe, then began to swim on their own towards land.
Though his sister was safe, Kuyu thought of all the others. So many were on the verge of death. Sarama commanded Zane to release her, and without a thought, he obeyed. Kuyu jumped back into the water, focusing his energies on saving the smaller slaves. “Stay there!” Sarama commanded him, and now Kuyu was also stuck under the water.
Sarama looked for Rajabu, finding only droplets of blood leading back towards the village. She followed the trail, blood on the grass and found Rajabu splayed out, dead. The sight brought a smile to her face.
Suddenly, she felt a heavy whack across her head. She stumbled forward, bleeding and confused. Hiding in the grass was a man, prowling. He had smashed her in the head a stone club. Sarama tried to shake off the effects of the blow, but the world was tilted and strange. Before long Sarama fell back onto the grass, staring up at the moonless sky.
The large man stood over her, his mighty fist clutching a stone club. There was nothing short of murder un his dark brown eyes. For the first time in decades, one of The Seven felt fear. “Don’t do it,” she whispered hastily. “Lea—Leave me alone. Ple…Please.” A grimace came over the man’s face, one of pain and angst. Then he turned away.
Sarama lay in the field, bleeding. Her eyes struggled to stay open, soon she dozed off…never to wake again.
Small Axe hurried into the lake pulling out as many of the people as he could. For a great number of them, he was too late. For some, it was a close call.
Zane was overwhelmed with joy. His daughter was alive and mostly healthy. He clutched her tightly in his thin arms, whispering love in her ears. Tanna clutched her father’s neck, fearing it was all a dream. Then, Zane to Small Axe: “I cannot thank you enough for your help. You are my family now.”
“The credit goes to all the men who died today,” said Small Axe. “They are the ones who made sacrifice. Now we have your child and some living captives, we must flee before the rest of the sorcerers are upon us. I count three more remaining.”
The slaves remained chained, some chained to dead bodies. They were in no shape to travel, and there was no time to console them. The dead had to be left behind, and the chains had to be broken. It could be an all-night affair to break chains. Small Axe made a quick decision.
“Chop off the dead’s feet,” he said.
Taj’s ghost form was sullen at the sight of Sarama. The beauty was graceful, even in her sleep. The blood oozing from her ears made him fume. “It is the apocalypse,” he said, choking up. “No. We shall survive. We always survive!” The sound of exertion caught his ear, the jangling chains approached. He saw the slaves, coming forward, dragging the chains behind them.
In the front of this caravan was a large man wielding a stone club. Taj began to plot his assault, and the large man was a gift from God. A perfect weapon. Taj dived into the man’s body.
What a fight! It was like catching a mouse barehanded taking this body. The man fought. He was strong and his mind was as strong as his back.
Taj tried to subdue the consciousness of Small Axe, to possess him. But the invader would not go silently. The struggle was viewed by the entire group. Small Axe’s body jerked and writhed. “Keep goin’” Small Axe grunted between gritted teeth. “Go!”
Zane and Kuyu did as they were told, gathering up the slaves they ran across the plains.
Taj overwhelmed Small Axe, holding him at bay just long enough to rampage. Using the considerable size and strength of the body. What power! Taj chased down the slaves and their protectors, amazed at how fast a man this size could move. As he ran, slower slaves were whacked with his club. “All praise to Apep,” he cried. Three were slaughtered in as many minutes.
“Small Axe!” cried Kuyu, his chest heaving and his legs weary. “You must stop this!”
Zane protected his children, taking them both under his wing. He whispered to Kuyu, “I’m going to try to stop him, take your sister and run. Run fast!” Kuyu took Tanna by the hand, and the two fled.
“Coward, fight me! There are no chains on me!” said Zane. Small Axe’s eyes lacked their usual controlled intensity. It was replaced with pure malice. Zane knew this man was not his friend, no longer the man he knew. “Whatever enchantment you suffer from, Small Axe—you’d best get a handle on it…” he continued, threating with the spear.
“I enjoy killing the brave ones the most,” Taj said, using Small Axe’s mouth.
Zane kept his eye on the children, praying for them to run faster. Small Axe charged, then swung mightily, nearly taking Zane’s head. The old man dropped to the ground, then crawled on his belly to escape the strike.
Back on foot, Zane fled. The bloodthirsty sorcerer gave chase. He complained, Taj did, because he knew he could not hold this man forever. He would soon break free. “No time for distractions,” grumbled Taj, abandoning the challenge of Zane. He trekked in the opposite direction, chasing the fleeing slaves.
A stampede of feet pummeled the grassy plain as the slaves made their way to freedom. Kuyu peeked over his shoulder, and like a rampaging bull, Small Axe was on his heels snorting and stomping. He feared for his father, then slid in the grass. “Run, Tanna, never stop running, okay?” he said to his little sister.
Tanna was afraid but the scary giant coming in their direction was even more frightening. She said nothing and continued her run, tears streaming from her face.
“Blood for God!” cried Taj.
Kuyu dropped his weapon, dug his feet into the soft dirt then tried to tackle the much larger Small Axe. He was easily brushed aside but Kuyu did not surrender. He wrapped himself around Small Axe’s right leg, taking a powerful blow to his back from the stone club. The pain forced him to let go as he writhed.
Suddenly, the body convulsed violently and Taj’s ghost was ejected from it. It was an exhausting experience for the sorcerer, he had never faced such resistance. The ghost form began to fade from fatigue, having traveled so far for so long. Soon, he was returned to his own body.
When Small Axe regained consciousness it was pure relief, at least initially. Kuyu and Zane each had weapons aimed at him. Small Axe dropped his club, “I am myself again,” he announced. “One of those sorcerers is a bodysnatcher.” The doubt he saw in their faces was heartbreaking, he turned away from them. “He cannot be allowed to roam free,” said Small Axe. “They must die. But your mission is over.” He pointed to Zane. “I will finish The Seven alone.” He retrieved his club and wandered off, seething at the atrocities he was forced to commit.
Zane and Kuyu watched Small Axe stomp towards the temple, knowing the end of their mission had come and now the fate of Naiser was in the hands of the stranger.
9.
Sufi emerged from his dwelling covered in white mud from neck to navel. He left behind his robe, choosing to wear only a loincloth. He came into the temple where Taj kneeled in exhaustion.
“Strong, hm?” he asked.
Taj nodded. “I swear the man is an elephant, I could not control him long.”
“And Iniko?”
“In the bath, refusing to help.”
“When your strength returns we shall deal with her, but for now we have to find this man-elephant and sacrifice his bones to Apep. Are you well enough for the job, brother?” Sufi offered Taj his hand.
“Always,” replied Taj and the two shook hands.
Sufi and Taj sat on the ground in trance. Sufi spoke a language unheard for eons, not that Small Axe cared. He had come to kill them both and they had decided to share in the misery. He lumbered over, stone mace at the ready but cautious of their magic trickery.
Small Axe smelled death in the air. Rotting flesh. Flies were too numerous to count. Shuffling sounds. Soulless stumbling. The sorcerers were up to something. He spun around to find dead men standing, reaching for him.
Small Axe recoiled in disgust and disbelief. “What horrors are these!” he cried.
Dozens of dead had come, answering the call of Sufi. “The Rotten stand with us! The Rotten stand with Apep! We shall crush you!”
The monsters sprang into action, each one grabbing a different limb and biting Small Axe upon the skin. The man flailed, howling from the bites. He kicked and slammed the creatures, then retreated away from the sorcerers.
Down the staircase Small Axe fled. “They must die!” he said to himself. His stone club was not going to be enough, not for this. As the creatures came for him again, Small Axe searched for a spear and found one on the ground.
Now he was ready to fight. The creatures were skewered in the chest but continued to attack even then. “Killing the dead is so troublesome,” he uttered in complaint. Never did he stop stabbing and clubbing, dropping the dead again and again.
Each time he wacked them, destroying a piece of their face or skull, they just stood again. And so, Small Axe considered a new tactic. He speared the knees. The mobility of the creatures were halved, making them easier to avoid. A finishing blow to the head put them down for good.
Sufi continued to call for aid from the empty human shells surrounding Naiser. Calling from far and wide.
Small Axe ran through the temple angrily, building up momentum. Sufi opened his eyes to see the large man coming. “NOW, TAJ!” hollered Sufi. “TAKE HIS BODY, NOW!”
Taj’s ghost rushed towards Small Axe, anxious and greedy to feel such strength again. But, Small Axe launched his spear, just as the ghost attempted to overcome him. Taj couldn’t stop it and was frozen in place. The spear lodged into his chest. Sufi stumbled in surprise. The ghost relinquished Small Axe in attempt to save its own body, but as Taj took his final breaths the ghost form began to evaporate.
Sufi grit his teeth. “RISE, TAJ! THE WORK OF APEP IS NOT YET FINISHED!” Taj’s body began to stir. “RISE, BROTHER! AID ME!”
Taj’s corpse soon began to stand but it was too late.
Small Axe’s large hands had found Sufi’s throat. He choked the sorcerer who scratched his face in attempt to gain freedom. Small Axe had the strength of a gorilla, and the tenacity and dedication to the kill as a wolf. No matter how he flailed, the only thing which would stop the assault was the cracking of Sufi’s bones. Taj’s body slumped back to lifelessness. Once completely dead, Small Axe tossed Sufi’s body to the grounds as well.
Small Axe took time to breathe. He was not a particularly learned man, but counting was a skill possessed. The Seven was down to one but that one was still in hiding. He began to search the temple. “Where are you sorcerer?” he hollered. The temple had no one alive inside.
Small Axe stepped outside. He looked in all directions, remnants of Sufi’s spell left corpses all around Naiser. Then, he heard something. Faint. Panicked. He walked towards the sound, it got louder as he approached.
On the eastern outskirts of Naiser, in the forest were none could see, Small Axe found a woman floating nude in water. A hole in the ground, a red robe in the grass. She sang a song, softly, enjoying the night.
Small Axe approached. He saw the discoloration on her breasts and hands, her neck and chin. When their eyes met there was no shame or fear but there was also no surprise.
“I knew if I sang you’d find me,” she said. “I’m Iniko, the last of The Seven.”
Small Axe said nothing. He simply aimed his spear at her. The woman stood in the water, letting it drip the length of her body. “Nothing is forever,” Iniko said, a light tear in her eyes. “Not even The Seven.”
The spear was well on its way until a large man tackled Small Axe from behind. The man worked fast. Stabbing Small Axe with a knife and slicing his arms. The pain was nearly too much to bear. Iniko said: “Hurry, beloved! The man is strong and pain is no deterrent. We can defy Fate!”
The man was surprisingly powerful. Still, Small Axe was able to catch the man’s arm on the next knife strike, then he grabbed him by the neck. One hand at the man’s throat, another keeping the knife at bay. The man’s other hand punched Small Axe in the face. The two men were like lions clawing one another to death.
Then, a cheap shot. The man kicked Small Axe between the legs. No matter how large, the pain was debilitating. Small Axe tumbled over. Iniko’s joyous excitement, her bright smile urged her slave-lover on. “I knew I could do it,” she said under her breath. “I knew I could defy Fate. Through Apep, all is possible.”
Pain surged through Small Axe. Weariness its chief companion. The man was huge and wide, built like a boulder placed atop a sand dune. Hurriedly, he moved in for the kill. Small Axe managed to reach out and sweep his ankle. The man stumbled and fell. The knife lost in the grass. He kicked Small Axe viciously in the stomach, then searched for the knife.
Iniko cried out: “NO! DON’T TURN YOUR BACK!”
But he had. Now Small Axe’s arm was underneath the man’s chin, a stranglehold applied. Iniko climbed from the bath, naked, running to aid her lover. She picked up Small Axe’s spear and scampered over, the wood weapon clutched in both of her hands she tried to stab Small Axe to death. Small Axe avoided the strike, and Iniko accidentally speared her man.
The man saw the spear protruding through his chest and struggled to breathe. Iniko howled, cursed, and tried to console her beloved. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…” she cried. His eyes took on a faraway stare, soon he was lifeless. Iniko sobbed. The bloody mass of her lover in her arms, she howled.
“We are undone!” she cried.
Small Axe ignored his knife wounds. He snorted angrily. And Iniko saw his eyes filled with rage. She cowered, crawling away from the scene. Small Axe grasped her by the ankle.
“A curse upon you!” said Iniko venomously. “You shall never know peace if you do this to me! I am the Oracle. I see all. I know all. You don’t want to do this!”
Small Axe dragged her back to bath.
“No. I ca-can be a good wife…” said Iniko. “I can have children! We can have children! We can defy Fate, you and me!”
Small Axe covered the sorcerer’s mouth then dunked her head beneath the water. Iniko kicked and squirmed as any creature would, but no oxygen entered her lungs. Soon, her body was limp, dead. Iniko’s body was left floating in the bath. “Evil witch,” said Small Axe tiredly. “He counted once more. All seven were now dead.”
By sunrise, Zane, Kuyu and Tanna were returning home. Over half of the slaves had survived the trip. Exhausted or not, they were thrilled to be free. Kuyu and Zane waited for Small Axe at the spot where the village met the open plains…
Waiting for him to come home.
IN HELL
Curse Small Axe! A thousand curses upon his knotted head! One day, I shall crawl from this grave and wring his neck myself!
Curse the day he came to Malia, the day blood dripped from our temple walls. The day the murderer came to our town, wielding the devil’s ornaments. We saw him through the scrying of blood, the eye of the Oracle, as he butchered our guardians—good men all—who stood no chance against a death lord such as Small Axe. To kill this way, the man must worship war and mutilation. To behead us, to skewer us, to deprive us of life – this man is truly vile.
But the blame is squarely upon the Malians, the betrayal of those who owe us their lives and livelihoods. We prayed for them. We put Malia in the good graces of the gods. We deserved their daughters. We deserved servants, slaves, whores, and gold. We deserved more than we ever took from them! How could blessed Malia turn against us? After all the children we baptized, the men we initiated, the charms we constructed to ward off evil spirits, and the Malians invite horror to our land?
Malia welcomed the savage. The homeless traveling dog who dared to storm our temple to take the lives of the Chosen Seven. It was inevitable, to be honest – they are heathens.
Malia has turned against the gods. To betray us is to ravage one’s own soul. And they have done so, then dared to celebrate! Malia, and all her children, will burn for eternity without our sacrifices. Malia will suffer drought and famine. Death will circle them as a vulture would a corpse. Yes. Malia will be naught more than a sinkhole of dust and rotten flesh without us.
We brought the gods to them, and without us, the gods will abandon Malia. Hopelessness will ripple throughout the empire!
We braved death honorably. We took our beheadings, our skewerings and being hatcheted to death in stride. Our graves are temporary. A short stop before our inevitable resurrection. Blood will flow through our veins anew one day, and on that day we shall hunt Small Axe as a lion stalks an antelope. We have taken the oath, made the deal with the blacksoul gods to curse the spirit of the savage.
Small Axe will die.
He shall die so horribly that every mammal, egg-layer, and blade of grass upon the Gold Coast will shudder. No machete. No cattle-hide shield. No coin of silver or gold. No amount of oxen-like strength will protect him. To the Almighty, he does not rank. No matter how powerful the Malians think he may be. He may be able to slay a score of our warrior-guardians, he may slay the seven of us priests, but we were merely mortal. Divine, but mortal all the same. His accountability shall come from Above.
The Malians believe themselves free of us. Free of what? Free of grace, free of mercy, free of peace? They shall not be free of these gifts any longer.
Our souls are eternal, our blessings ephemeral and ethereal. Even dead we scheme — the blacksoul gods perched on our shoulders, offering us a boon of magicks and powers no living being ever accessed. Death has only made us stronger, more focused, full of purpose!
We now know life was never about the gems, the women, the wine, or status, it was about the collection of souls – offering sacrifice and living in service to the gods. Yes. Small Axe offered us a painful reminder, and now we shall return the favor. Only the blessed can achieve what Malia will never have – a second chance. Once scorn, twice cursed, Malia will burn for their insolence!
The Good, The Bad, & The Outrageous 