The sun rose, bathing the skies in blood. As above so was below with silence. Toppled over, smoldering from the night, the remains of the camp lay strewn in the Savannah. The grass whipped in the cool morning breeze. But all wasn't golden, tipped in red.
Ash had laid to waste the grass that had grown on the site, where it had not been trampled down before or during. The ground was rolled up by the work of furious hooves and fighting fight. Everything twisted and bent over its own head as the bodies laid out for the rising sun to find. The carrion birds were already assembling, and with them the work of the survivors to dispose of the bodies.
Shaken but alive, the Seusebi stepped outside her tent. Held between her fingers she leaned on her wooden staff, shaking. Her heart felt empty, and her body violated. But with her guard she had fought. And it was fighting her son found her doing.
At her side Moisi stepped around, head hung to stare at the bloodied ground at her hooves and a hand raised to shield out that. A tender arm wrapped weakly around the waist of her tutor. Her body rocked with nervous shakes as she whimpered weakly. The very sound of the squelching, bloodied clay underhoof sent her body into violent shakes. Her healthy darkened complexion had turned pale, drained of blood as she became sick from the scene, and it lingered in her eyes after the fact.
For Ashra, it was an offense. Not only had those invited to be guests attacked their host, but had committed a grand desecration and gone beyond simply rowdiness. They had brought knives into her tent looking to cut and bleed her. And the tent itself was hardly better off from the rest. Long jagged gashes carved the heavy fabric and hide in a thousand long doors. It sat opened like a carved animal, freshly slain by hunters. The glistening glass and small metal pieces carried with the Seusebi on travel littered the dirt and the grass, causing the ground to sparkle and shine. A thousand tiny stars fallen from the sky; itself a bad omen.
Behind her she heard the sound of hooves in the mess. She knew who it was, she didn't need to turn around and greet the man walking up behind her. With gentle fingers she combed her fingers through the tightly woven locks of Moisi's hair.
“It's sunrise, and it's clear they all left.” Niyo said in a low voice. It was rough. Well worn in fighting. Turning to meet her son she smiled weakly, it didn't feel like a honest smile. But he understood the gesture, what it was supposed to mean. The honesty of it didn't matter, and he humored his mother. All the same, he looked as exhausted as he sounded.
“They committed a crime.” Ashra said distantly, “Not only that, a sin against us. I have seen, not only as a juror but as the victim. They'll be torn to pieces forever in the after world. They'll not be in the light of the Moa when they pass.”
“And now?” Niyo asked.
“Now...” she said, “Right now we need to learn what happened.” she nodded. But it wasn't confident. Her eyes were stressed and drawn wide. Her breaths short and jittery. She wasn't a warrior, not like her son. But she had her taste of fighting then.
Niyo had always known his mother to be strong. Running to her tent and joining the many who fought off the traitors he had found her standing in the middle. Her staff dove about her as any warrior might use his own spear. Clubbing the heads and the ribs of anyone who rose a knife too close, or threatened Moisi. It was very clear, she was the daughter Ashra never had.
“The knives...” Ashra said, “I knew when they broke into my tent they were simply not taken by the white moss. Taking a flight. But they had a purpose beyond being lost. They knew where they were, and who they were after. As I heard the clashing of metal outside and saw their predatory faces I knew they meant to kill me.”
“Are you saying it was Madai who gave the order?” Niyo asked.
Ashra pressed her lips thin. Biting nervously on her lips she said quietly, “I don't know.” her head shook with her tail. “It could have been his brother. I know his father's passed and perhaps this was his way of rescuing him.”
“It seems too upfront.” said Niyo.
“I don't know,” she said, “I don't know him. It could be, or it could not. But I want answers. And I certainly do not want them answered here.
“Your brother was right, we should not have agreed to come this far out. So far from a city or even a village. Just to feign some respect. The men of Af do not deserve so much.”
“But that's not here or now.” Niyo spoke, adapting – if briefly – a sagely voice, “But I agree, home would be for the best. We'll muster the rest of the men and set out before noon.”
“Great, thank you.” Ashra said, maintaining a low shaken voice. Ringing her knuckles tighter around her wooden staff she leaned against it. Niyo bowed before turning to leave, but before he could his mother spoke up: “Where is Rwan?” she asked.
“I left him in the care of Mami.” Niyo said, “I couldn't take him up to your tent for fear of his safety.”
“How so?” Ashra said, her voice sung with deep motherly concern. It echoed as clear as bird song. She turned to face her oldest. Concern evident in the wide, wild expression.
“When we were coming into camp,” Niyo began, desperately thinking how to keep and cut it brief, “we were ambushed. We were both knocked to the ground, I pushed him aside as I took on our assailant from the mud. In our duel, he grew tired of me, and turned on Rwan.
“He lashed out to kill him. I grabbed him and pulled him down. But not before he could make his swing. Instead of taking his throat, he took his eyes.”
The blood from Ashra's face washed out in one large swing. Uttering a distressed cry, she fell further into her staff, resting the knotted tip to her forehead. Her hand shot from her ward's head to the scars of her stomach. “O-o, Rwan...” she said pained, “Heavens save you, please. Save me.”
Niyo stepped forward, gently resting his hands on her shoulders. Moisi dared to look out from her blinders up to the towering man. But she quivered and moaned at the blood spattered on his metal scales. “Mother...” he said concerned. The corners of his mouth twisted down as he struggled to find what to say, “It's going to be OK. Are you feeling good?”
“I- I am.” she said, faltering as she faked a smile looking back at her son. “We mothers, I don't expect you to understand. But we feel so deep for our children. I must be the same for fathers, and I pray for the day you get to feel as we do. But...” she trailed off.
“But Rwan.” she said, picking up sighing, “They had to cut me so deep to get him out. I knew something was terribly wrong. We fought to keep him alive when he first entered. I was barely stitched and bandaged when I prayed. It hurt terribly, even on poppy.
“Thinking about him – any of you – being hurt makes me belly ache. But for Rwan, hearing he was cut, it makes my own hurt deep again. As I imagine the others would for Totse or Bujan.”
“I'm sure he's OK.” her oldest consoled, rubbing her shoulders, “I sent to retrieve him.”
She smiled wryly. “Thank you.” she said softly.
Turning her head down she looked at the muddied ground. “I was only barely passed by fourteenth when I had you.” she said distantly, as if in a dream, “I cried for a day. You were my first. First child, first birth without a knife. You hurt so much, but I was so happy when I was out of labor. I knew you'd be a good son, for myself and your father. It is no wonder your father named you the next Kabaka.”
“Seusebi, Niyo.” a voice said from behind. Niyo turned with his mother, looking up to find Idii Shemi. Another of the Seusebi's guard from important birth. He was a tall satyr, skin paler than most and with the long sharp face. He looked troubled, and he held back a distressed frown.
“Bui Niyo.” Idii said, “I can't find Mami. Nor any of the Bugan he brought with him.”
his words hit him across the face. Striking his sense like a hard swung branch. Speechless he stood back. Too stricken for words.
“I combed the camp, sent several out to look for him in the camp. But he's not here. Nor Rwan. Nor the Bugan. Their tents and their bags remain, but they took cargo. Their spears, shields, and their own food supplies are missing.”
“Shit...” Niyo said, “N-n-what? Have you looked deeper? Could they have left the camp?”
“Bui, if they did we would have found them on the hunt for the retreating human curs. No sign.”
Niyo looked back to Ashra. Whatever color she would have lost was long gone from her face. She resigned herself instead to simple neutrality on it. There wasn't anywhere else to go in her eyes, after this day. “This day keeps getting bitter.” she said, finding something.
Looking to her son, she knew what had to be done. “You saved him once.” she said, “Don't let the Moa down by resigning him away this second time.
“Kin is kin. Inaction kills.” she added.
Niyo looked at her, then to Idii. “If we're hunting Bugan, I'll need help.”
“Take who you need.” Ashra said, stressed.
“Idii.” Niyo invited, “Go and find four good bucks. Bring them to me at the Bugan camp. Tell them to pack cargo. We're going to need to run.”
“As you wish.” the warrior bowed, “I'll meet you there.”
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