The Blood-stained Belt (2 page)

It was too
risky to light a fire so we dined on cheese and bread before we dug
indentations in the sand, spread our blankets, and fell asleep less
than an hour after sunset.

Early next
morning, I awoke with a hand over my mouth. It was Sharma, hissing
into my ear: ‘Quiet!’

‘Huh? What’s
up?’

‘There’s
someone down below!’

We peered over
the top of the boulder, pressing as close to the rock-face as
possible. In the half-light, we saw two men dragging away the
branches. Further up the ravine, a third man was preparing to drive
the sheep out.

Sharma pulled
me backwards so that we slid down the rock until we were seated on
the ground and hissed, ‘Dornites!’

I nodded and
reached for my spears but Sharma restrained me, growling, ‘Are you
crazy? They’re too strong for us. They’ll kill us if we take them
on right now.’

He was right.
Each man carried a sword as well as three medium-length spears
secured across his back in the quiver-like holders that the
Dornites favoured. Besides, we were boys and they were full-grown
men.

I subsided
glumly. It was against my instincts just to sit tight and wait.
Sharma knew that, which was why he maintained such a tight grip on
my arm while he whispered, ‘How many of them are there?’

‘I can see
three.’

‘Yes. But maybe
that’s not all.’

‘So --?’

‘So before we
do anything we need to find out what the situation is.’

‘And meanwhile
they get away with the sheep?’

‘If they kill
us, they’ll get away with the sheep anyway. Not so?’

The logic was
irrefutable. We huddled there for a few minutes, pressed against
the rock, tense with fear and apprehension before Sharma whispered,
‘They don’t know that we’re here. Let’s keep it like that. It gives
us time to make a plan.’

I said grimly,
‘You bet!’ I was shivering with both fear and anger. Through
gritted teeth, I muttered, 'What if they come looking for us up
here?’

Sharma grunted
phlegmatically, ‘Then you’ll get a chance to use your spear and
I’ll find out how good my aim is with the sling.’

My pulse raced
faster as I realised just how close we were to capture or death.
Death? Probably not. The Dornites preferred to take people alive,
to be sold as slaves. Perhaps they would have had us castrated to
serve as eunuchs in wealthy households on the islands that spread
across the Endless Ocean. Perhaps they would have sold us to be
raised as mercenaries to serve one of the Dornite city-states. Who
knew? All that we knew was that we didn't want to find out.

Sharma watched
from over the top of the rock while I wormed my way amongst the
bushes to get a clear view of the mouth of the ravine. We watched
as the men drove the sheep over the nearest ridge and out of sight
before Sharma joined me and said, ‘Three of them! I guess that’s
the lot.’

I asked, ‘What
now?’

It was a
difficult question for two boys far from home on the edge of
Dornite territory, having to deal with at least three fully-grown,
well-armed enemies. Sharma said thoughtfully, ‘Three against two
isn’t good odds.’

‘Congratulations! I was wondering when you’d notice.’

Sharma grimaced
and rubbed his chin while he said thoughtfully, ‘We have to narrow
the odds.’

‘How do we do
that?’

‘Our big
advantage is surprise.’

‘So --?’

‘We’ll take
them by surprise, one by one. That way we’ll always be stronger
than they are.’

I muttered,
'Right! Let's go.' My hands were trembling and my knees felt like
they needed to be clamped in a vice to keep them steady. However,
above fear and above apprehension I was seething with the anger of
a people who have been beaten, exploited, and oppressed but can
still remember how things once were different. As we scrambled down
the slope, I muttered to Sharma, ‘We’ll teach them to leave our
things alone.’

‘Keep calm,
man!’

‘Who do they
think they are? Just who?’

‘Calm,
man!’

‘The Dornites
think that everything in Keirine belongs to them. We’ll show
them!’

Sharma took
hold of my wrist and murmured, ‘Do you believe that Zabrazal cares
for us?’ I nodded and Sharma said, ‘Then pray that he is with us
now.’

I replied,
‘Zabrazal is the defender of Keirine. He is with us.’ I shot a
quick, enquiring look at Sharma. Not for the first time, I
suspected that he didn’t believe whole-heartedly in the grace of
Zabrazal. I shrugged and grunted non-commitedly. I had to admit
that in spite of all that we had been told about the tender mercies
of Zabrazal, right now he did seem to be a long way from us – a
long way from two boys in an isolated ravine faced with three
well-armed Dornite raiders. Guiltily, I tried to do penance for the
errant thoughts. Oh, Zabrazal, forgive me! Those little, stray
thoughts just slipped in when I relaxed my guard. Oh, Zabrazal, I
know that you care for us and that you’re always with us. I didn't
mean to slight you. Oh, Zabrazal, defender of Keirine, be with us
now and I will burn five scented candles in the temple when I
return safely to Osicedi.

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 and 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.