The Blood-stained Belt Read online

  From the ridge we could see that one man was at the head of the flock, one was to the side where the hillside fell away sharply, and one was bringing up the rear. Sharma pointed at him and whispered, ‘If we follow that one, we’ll get our chance. He can’t be in contact with the others all the time.’

  My heart was racing, my skin was prickly and my mouth was dry. Was Sharma as scared and as tense as I was? Outwardly he looked calm and unflustered. Only the pitch of his voice, the gleaming flecks in his eyes and a twitching eyelid betrayed his feelings. However, I could sense his tension and his coiled readiness. As so often happened in moments of stress or excitement, Sharma reminded me of a cat stalking its prey. Although he gave little away outwardly, his whole body and all his senses seemed to be balanced, poised and focused as he pursued his goal. Also like a cat, he could be patient beyond normal endurance as if he knew that the time would always come when his prey would betray itself by a false move or by relaxing its guard.

  In the broken country we were able to get close to the man in the rear without being seen. We tracked him down a ravine until it narrowed and then, when he stopped to relieve himself, Sharma dropped him with a stone from his sling. When I reached him he had regained consciousness and was on his hands and knees, swinging his head groggily and groaning. I hesitated for a moment but Sharma hissed, ‘Kill him, man!’ Forcing myself to a pitch of determination, I closed my eyes and drove my spear at him. It hit the Dornite in the side and he rolled onto his back groaning even more deeply. By Zabrazal, by now I’ve thrust my weapon into living flesh more times than I can remember – it’s what soldiers have to do, the essence of their trade -- but I’ll always recollect the sounds made by that man as he lay writhing on the ground. As I stood there wavering, Sharma cried, ‘He’s not dead! Finish him off!’ I clenched my fists, summoned my will-power again, took aim at the man’s stomach, closed my eyes, and, with two-handed force drove the spear downwards. It went in easily, like a knife into soft earth and not at all like a spear thudding into a target. The man died with a soft gurgle and a little moan. I felt faint, leaned on the spear with my eyes closed, and tried to stop myself from gagging.

  Sharma said hoarsely, 'Pull your spear out, man! He's dead.'

  I straightened and withdrew the spear which came out reluctantly as if the flesh had already claimed it. Without looking at it, I rubbed the point in the sand to clean it. Then I examined the dead man. Lying there on his back in the dust, he didn’t look like one of the larger-than-life Dornite super-warrior-bogeymen with which the mothers of Keirine frightened their children. In fact, he looked crumpled and pathetic. What was more, in his patched tunic and darned hose he looked to be no wealthier than the impoverished inhabitants of the tumble-down shanties on the outskirts of Osicedi.

  The man wore a silver disc on a chain around his neck. One side bore an image of Zreforid, a major god in the Dornite’s pantheon. On the other side was a scratchy inscription that read, ‘Janali makes this loving gift to Selek.’ Who was Janali? Was she his mother, his girl friend, or perhaps his wife? As I held the disc in my hand, for a wrenching moment I wished that our paths had never crossed. Oh, Zabrazal, if you really watch over us, couldn’t you have arranged things otherwise? Then as I remembered who the man was and what he had done my resolve hardened. What did one dead Dornite matter? Why should we care? After all, they cared nothing for us. I put the disc into my pouch thinking that it would be a souvenir of our achievement. In fact, with luck I might even be able to sell it.

  Suddenly my knees went weak and I wanted to vomit. As I stood there gagging, Sharma shook my shoulder and said, ‘No time for that, man! Help me get him out of the way.’

  Gagging and in a daze, I helped drag the body to a pile of rocks at a bend in the ravine. Sharma said, ‘Help me to prop him up.’

  ‘Prop him up? Why?'

  Sharma clicked his tongue impatiently while we hauled the body behind the rocks. He said, ‘Someone will come back to look for him.’

  ‘For sure they will! That's why we ought to hide him.’

  Sharma growled, ‘Anyone coming to look for him will have to pass us. He’ll be a good target.’ Sharma's face was shining and the flecks in his eyes glinted. He looked as if he was enjoying himself. If so, then he was the only one who was having fun because I was shaken and scared. I wanted to get out of there as fast as I could.

  Sharma’s plan worked perfectly. After about twenty minutes, one of the rustlers appeared around the corner of the ravine coming towards us at a trot and looking worried. We watched as he spotted the body, stopped, and called out. When there was no answer, he moved forward cautiously, sword unsheathed, and called out again. Right then, Sharma let fly with a stone from his sling and struck the man on the side of his throat. He spun around, gasping. Sharma’s next shot hit him on the forehead and he dropped immediately as if an invisible hoof had kicked him. His body twitched three or four times and then he was still. Thank Zabrazal, I didn’t have to finish him off with my spear.

  Two down and one to go! Now I liked being the hunter and no longer the prey.

  About an hour later, we caught up with the third rustler where the ravine widened into an open stretch of hillside. It was clear that he sensed that something was wrong. Looking worried, he kept on glancing around, frowning and shading his eyes against the low sun.

  I whispered, ‘Maybe we can make him move closer.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘We could create a diversion – make a noise, or something.’

  Sharma shook his head. ‘No, that’s too risky. It’ll give us away.’

  ‘What do you suggest?’

  Sharma took his time before he replied, ‘We just have to be patient. He'll come back to look for the others. That's when we'll hit him.’

  ‘I hate just waiting!’

  Sharma pressed my arm firmly, muttering, ‘Patience, patience!’

  Sure enough, it wasn't long before the rustler began to walk towards the ravine calling out as he did so and looking both annoyed and worried. When Sharma’s first shot hit him in the eye, he collapsed onto his knees screaming in pain. The second shot hit him on the side of the head and he toppled over, twitching. He was in acute pain but not dead so I finished him off with my spear. It wasn’t any easier than it had been the first time but at least I knew what to expect. I steeled myself not to gag as I pulled the spear out of his stomach while Sharma thumped my shoulders, shouting, ‘We did it, Jina, we did it!’ He was grinning from ear to ear, his eyes were gleaming and he was pumping the air with a fist. I forced a grin and tried to share his celebratory mood. This time I didn’t feel like vomiting. I just felt weak and worn out.

  When Sharma calmed down, he said, ‘We’d better hide the body, eh?’

  I shrugged and nudged the corpse with my foot. By now, I had got over my sympathy with the dead and my stomach had settled down. Suddenly a wave of rage spewed over me and I felt like wading into the dead man, fists and feet flailing. I wanted to kick the head until it was nothing but a piece of pulp. Who did they think they were, taking our animals and our possessions and stealing our livelihood as if they were lords of the land and we were their serfs? Lords of the land, with their threadbare clothing and mean, pock-marked faces? Did they think that the people of Keirine would be pushed around forever, just submitting to their fate like the sheep that they had tried to steal? I said, ‘Hide it? No ways! We’ll leave it here as an example to other thieving Dornites.’

  Sharma said firmly, ‘No we won’t!’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘We need time to get the sheep back home. Also, we need to cover our tracks. We don’t want them to follow us back to Osicedi.’

  I replied heatedly, ‘Let them come! We’ll be ready for them.’

  Sharma put a hand on my arm and repeated a well-known proverb, ‘When the eagle is in flight the sparrow should keep to the trees.’

  We dragged the body up the side of the ravine, scratched out a shallow trench behind a boulder a
nd covered it with earth and rocks. Hopefully it wouldn’t be visible from the floor of the ravine even if wolves or wild dogs dug it up. Then, as we drove the sheep up the ravine, we paused to bury the other two bodies in the same manner. That night, we stopped at the same dead-end ravine as the previous night. We hardly slept at all and at the first sign of light we began to drive the sheep towards Osicedi. We didn't say much to each other but it was clear that we both had the same thought -- we wanted to get home and we wanted to do it fast.

  When Osicedi came into sight, we finally stopped to rest. It had been a breathless rush, driving the sheep at a fast pace over broken country. Now, for the first time in two days, we felt that it was safe to slow down and take a break.

  Sharma said triumphantly, 'We did it, Jina, we did it!' Grinning, he thumped me on my back.

  I replied, 'Maybe.'

  'What do you mean -- maybe? All's well that ends well, man.'

  'Maybe it hasn't ended yet.'

  Sharma frowned before he grinned and punched me lightly on the arm, saying, 'Hey, Jina, you worry a lot, don’t you?'

  'What if they come after us?'

  Sharma snorted and exclaimed dismissively, 'They can't! They're dead!'

  'Sure, they're dead. But what about their comrades? They aren’t dead.'

  Sharma wrinkled his nose, snorting, 'Huh! Those men were just rustlers. They were lone operators.'

  'You're probably right.' I tried to sound positive but I wasn’t convinced.

  As we walked down the hill towards Osicedi, Sharma muttered, ‘Let’s keep this quiet, hey? You know what adults are like. They’ll just make a fuss if they hear what happened.’

  I said, ‘I think that we should tell them.’

  ‘Do you have to tell your parents everything?’

  ‘No, man, it’s not that!’

  ‘What, then?’

  ‘It’s like I said – what if they come after us? Our people need to be prepared.’

  ‘I told you, man, they were just rustlers who were working on their own. Anyway, the bodies are out of the way. Nobody will find them.’

  ‘But what if ..?’

  ‘In any case, how will anyone connect them with us? Did anyone see us? Did we leave anything at the scene? Did anyone follow us?’

  ‘They could follow our tracks.’

  Sharma snorted dismissively, saying, ‘Man, there are tracks all over the hills. How could anyone follow our tracks in particular?’

  Even although I didn’t raise any more objections, I still felt uneasy. On the one hand, I wasn’t convinced that the matter was as open and shut as Sharma said it was. On the other hand, part of me agreed with Sharma but for a different reason. It was because Aggam unwittingly taught me the idiosyncratic ways of the god Zabrazal in dealing with the nation of Keirine. When Aggam embarked on his favourite subject, which was the History and Glorious Destiny of the People of Keirine, he loved to recount the sensational aspects of the national saga. For instance, eyes shining, he would tell us about the sandstorm that Zabrazal raised in the desert to annihilate the pursuing Usserdite army when the People of Keirine escaped from slavery. Or, with the same bright-eyed enthusiasm, he would tell us about the various kings and their armies that our ancestors annihilated when they took possession of the hill country that became the heartland of Keirine. Also, to illustrate the rigorous standards that Zabrazal set for his people, Aggam would relate how, during the Great Retreat, the whole nation was infected with warts because one of the generals misread the omens before a battle.

  To Aggam, stories like these were evidence of the divine favour of Zabrazal. To me, however, they provided different lessons. The first lesson was that Zabrazal favoured soldiers with strong arms. For sure, I never heard of Zabrazal bestowing his favours on simple people like weavers, shepherds, housewives, or carpenters. The second lesson was that in dealing with an exacting god like Zabrazal, it was best to keep my nose clean, cover my tracks, and keep a low profile. Hopefully, by so doing I would escape Zabrazal’s attention. Then some day, as a man amongst men, when I wielded a sword in the service of Keirine I would step forward and catch Zabrazal’s eye. Until then, caution would be my watchword. Mainly for that reason, I agreed with Sharma that we wouldn't tell anyone about our clash with the Dornite rustlers.

  On the outskirts of Osicedi, we met my brother, Abozi, who was pulling a handcart to the rubbish dump. When he saw us, he let out a holler and ran up the hillside to greet us. Breathlessly, he asked, 'Where have you been?'

  I was about to reply when Sharma put a hand on my arm and said smoothly, 'One of the sheep got lost. It took us so long to find it that we had to stay out an extra night.'

  Abozi looked disappointed when he asked, 'Is that all?' Then he brightened and told me with lugubrious satisfaction, 'You're in trouble.'

  'Trouble? Why?'

  'Because mother says she's sick with worry and father says he'll take the strap to you for making mother sick with worry.'

  Sharma asked calmly, 'And what about you, Abozi? How do you feel?''

  'Me? Oh, I have no problems! What's the use of worrying? Either the two of you are all right, or you're not all right. If you're all right, that's good. If you're not all right -- well, what can worrying do about it?'

  As so often, I couldn't help laughing out loud at Abozi's phlegmatic temperament. I asked, 'So it doesn't matter whether we're all right or not all right? It's all the same, is it?'

  Abozi looked at me as if he wondered about my sanity and replied heatedly, 'Of course it matters! You're my brother. Why should I want you to … you know …?' His voice trailed off. I punched his arm lightly and gave him a hug.

  As we walked down the hillside, Abozi whispered, ‘Is it true what Sharma said?'

  I never could lie to Abozi. His nature was so plain and so direct that I always felt guilty if I tried to deceive him. What was more, if he found out that I had deceived him I knew that he would shake his head in sorrowful disbelief as if he had been struck by a source from which he expected no harm. When he did that, it put a burning rod through my soul. So, of course, I told him about our escapade. He nodded as if my story confirmed his suspicions and said calmly, 'More than ever, it’s good that you are safe.' I grinned, hearing my father's tone and manner of expression in Abozi's words. Then, after a few seconds, Abozi turned to me and said heatedly, 'That's the way to treat the Dornites!’

  ‘You reckon?’

  ‘They should leave our things alone! They have their own territory and they ought to stay there.' Now Abozi sounded so much like my father that I burst out laughing. When I stopped laughing, I said, 'Don't tell anyone. Keep it a secret. All right?'

  Abozi nodded in reply.

  Within a few seconds, Sharma pulled me aside and hissed, 'You told your brother what happened, didn't you?' My face gave me away; Sharma cursed and said, 'Man, we agreed to keep this thing to ourselves and now, the first person you meet --' He broke off and cursed again.

  I said heatedly, 'He's my brother. He won't tell anybody.'

  'Oh, is that so? We’ll have to see, won’t we?'

  I faced Sharma squarely and said, 'I’m telling you, we can trust Abozi.'

  Sharma glared at me and said between gritted teeth, 'I hope so!'

  I said, 'He's my brother! I trust him and you can damn well trust him, too.'

  Sure enough, Abozi kept my confidence as I knew he would. He didn't even say anything when our escapade had unfortunate consequences not long after that.

  Abozi scurried off to let our parents know that we were safe while Sharma and I drove the flocks down to the pens. I was leaning over the rail watching the sheep file into the corral when someone said, 'Hello, Jina. Where have you been?'

  It was Roda. She was standing right by my elbow, so close that I could smell the mingled aroma of freshly baked bread and rose-petal scent that lingered about her. I gestured eastwards and said, 'We've just brought the sheep back from the hills.' I tried to sound casual even while I was aware tha
t my pulse had picked up its pace so much that my whole body was stirring and tingling.

  Roda wrinkled her nose and whispered with what sounded like a mixture between a warning and satisfaction, 'Everyone is looking for you, you know!'

  I replied, 'I know. I heard.'

  Roda’s violet eyes widened as she moved a little closer. She was always doing that, standing so close that, with one small dip of my head, I could have laid my cheek against the top of her head. Sometimes the instinct to do so was so overpowering that I had to move away feeling foolish and wondering why, in the light of reason, I wanted to do that. This time, when I shifted away, Roda's eyes glinted as if she had gained a small victory. Now she put a hand on my wrist, on the bare skin just where the sleeve of my coat ended, and asked in a concerned voice, 'Did you have any trouble?'

  For a moment I was tempted to tell the whole story to Roda. Her liquid eyes and close presence had that effect on me. In those days I always wanted to impress her, if only to hear her suck in her breath and say huskily, 'Oh, Jina, fancy you doing that!' I was still wondering how much to tell her, if anything at all, when Sharma called, 'Roda! Hey, Roda, come over here!' She turned away from me, giving me a knowing look as if saying, You understand why I'm going, don't you, but we will meet again, won’t we? She squeezed my hand, pressing her fingers into the flesh, and then moved away, calling, 'Oh, Sharma, I've been so worried. You shouldn't stay away so long.'

  Sharma grinned and called out, 'I can take care of myself, Roda. You don't have to worry.'

  They walked away together, heads inclined towards each other, conversing in low voices. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched them resentfully, wondering what Sharma had that I didn't have. I continued watching them while, at the corner of the corral, they talked together in low voices, Sharma standing with his hands on Roda's shoulders. Then Roda stretched up, kissed Sharma lightly, and ran off laughing. Sharma shouted something after her and she looked around as she ran, laughed again – it was so merry that it cut into my soul because it wasn’t for me -- and waved lightly.