Giliad

The food was good, but Giliad couldn’t stop thinking about Yucca and the merchant who tried to trade information for the food. Ile hoovered nearby, sending the serving girls to take the empty bowls. It was getting hot and it usually meant a heavy rain the next day. No hunting for me then. Sul and his people would refuse to take Giliad anyway.

As the last empty bowl clanked, Giliad stood up. He was full. But question fermented in his head. What should he do about Yucca? I will do nothing, he said to himself. His memories from Kauri City flashed warningly. The moment he tried to make the right thing, everything went to shit. Tayyi’s teaching warned him to never settle down, to always go with the flow, never against.

He should have left me in the Old Har. That old fool should have moved on. The Old Har was the first fatal lesson Giliad failed to learn. Fourteen-years-old Giliad beat up a bunch of bandits who assaulted them on their way in. The chain of events it caused couldn’t fit that young man’s head. Assassins and wanted posters. He didn’t do anything bad to warrant such measures against him. He hadn’t had a clue then, he understood now. They wanted him for who he was and if not for Tayyi’s desperate stand during the interrogation, they would have him. More memories poured bringing forth images he wished to unsee. The mayor and doctor are right. I should leave Cape Town. Ten years in one place is more than I deserve. I can’t help Yucca.

“You can start tomorrow,” the old hag said. She appeared out of nowhere and he almost started at seeing her toothless smile. “I need a butcher.”

“Forget it,” Giliad replied offhandedly. He was going to take the offer from the mayor. He would take the coins and leave. Maybe I would go beyond Yr? It is said that the Imperial presence there is non-existent. He’d need provisions. Zuma could provide them, the mayor would pay for that.

Ile grumbled obscenities but Giliad didn’t listen to her. His mind was elsewhere. As he emerged from the marketplace he saw the merchant returning from the mayor’s estate. Two guards shadowed him. Giliad’s instincts were right about the mustached man. He didn’t look like a trustworthy fellow. Giliad turned toward the bridge. More guards than ever watched his approach. Something was afoot.

“You can’t pass.”

Giliad didn’t stop. It was one of the traits he couldn’t do anything about but suffer. It triggered him when someone tried to stop him. He couldn’t imagine what kind of consequence it would have.

Two guards moved to intercept him. They were a foot shorter and looked like children next to him. He gently pushed them away.

“Don’t make us use our weapons!”

“Mayor will have you whipped for this!”

Giliad stopped before stepping on the bridge. A dozen guards watched him, ready to attack. He could beat them without breaking a sweat. Common folks stood no chance before a Royalblood.

“What’s the meaning of this?” a familiar voice asked.

“Sul-Tizoca! Giliad doesn’t respond to our warnings,” one of the guards replied swiftly. A sign of relief visible on his face. “Mayor ordered to close the access to the other side.”

Cape Town had another bridge but the mayor and doctor’s estates were fenced and the only way in was through this bridge. With each year, she added complexity to Cape Town making it a needlessly confusing place.

“He’s with me, guard,” Sul snapped. “Now get out of my way.”

The guards didn’t like this but Sul was the leader of hunters and the member of the old woman’s council. No guards could stop him. Giliad showed no surprise, though he didn’t expect this from his best friend. Or rather the ex-best friend. Their friendship was doomed because of who Giliad was. It looked like the hunter couldn’t get over Giliad’s bloodline.

“Thanks,” Giliad said when they left the bridge behind.

“Don’t get it wrong,” Sul said in a hushed manner. “I didn’t do it for you. But the moment the truth gets out, it’s a matter of time before we’re dead.”

Giliad didn’t reply, knowing well that no amount of words would help. Sul was a difficult man to convinced once he’d made up his mind. Hunters were usually stuck in the past, following traditions with fanatical precision. Doctor Charcot did explain it to Giliad. Being creative in the jungle was the shortest way to get killed. A number of deadly animals and plants was staggering and so hunters made sure to learn on the mistakes of their ancestors.

They reached the mayor’s mansion. The guards here weren’t so amicable as the ones from the bridge. Sul sniffed when the guard refused to let the hunter inside. Sul spotted three yellow dots on the guards’ shoulders.

“You’re Yamil’s loyalists,” Sul said flatly. “I will give you a choice now. You let us in or we’ll have a problem.”

“Hel—!” It came from the inside. The guards whirled and ran in. Sul and Giliad followed them. Tan slept on the chair but the shout came from upstairs. The guards split, one went ahead, the other one shot straight up. Sul and Giliad went with the second. No one said a word. Only their breaths were heard. Upon reaching the mayor’s office, they found the first body. A guard’s throat was cleanly cut. Sul and the other guard reached for weapons and Giliad wished for the strength to leave them. He wished for it so could save them. Being close to the violence pulled at his instincts and reflexes. He’d react before he could stop himself.

“Mayor!” the guard shouted as he charged inside. Sul slipped after him. Giliad stood above the dead man, knowing the thin ice the walked on. One wrong step and the entire village would end like him.

“It’s clear!” Sul shouted from the inside.

The mayor’s office looked like hell. Sculptures were smashed, furniture upturned. Ling lay beneath the desk, while Yamil at the other end of the office. Giliad held his emotions reined. He didn’t like these people, but the attack on them felt to close to him.

“Get a doctor!” Sul shouted.

At the same time, four guards rushed inside. They looked terrified and lost.

“What’s the matter?” Sul asked them as Giliad left the office. He didn’t need the answer. That was for the best. He passed more guards. The geezer was up and cursing everyone. Giliad ignored him and pressed ahead to the door, then he sensed a smoke. The alarm bells started ringing. The guards inside froze. Some sniffed the air and called out the forest gods. Outside people stormed the bridge. Smoke was everywhere. Giliad couldn’t see what was burning. Now, what’s that? He increased the pace, fearing that doctor’s house could be on fire. It wasn’t.

“What’s the matter?” the old man asked as Giliad appeared before him.

“Some attacked the mayor and Yamil.”

His gray ponytail swung and before Giliad knew, doctor Charcot was back with a bag. He looked thoroughly horrified and Giliad assumed it was because whoever attacked the mayor and Yamil might still be somewhere out there. Questions poured from the doctor. Did he assume that Giliad knew all these answers? He wasn’t even sure if the mayor and Yamil were still alive. As they approached the massive mansion, doctor Charcot started to bark orders. A crowd was already gathering, though many helped with buckets of water. It seemed that a part of the mansion was actually on fire. The doctor must have understood it for he moved with surprising alacrity.

“Speak to me, Sul-Tizoca,” doctor Charcot said sharply. He only employed such a tone when he was in his element. As it was now.

“Both have shallow cuts which smell of acidic. They’re breathing.”

Doctor Charcot was by the mayor in an instant. He sniffed the cut her shoulder and recoiled, gagging. “Chlorium,” the doctor announced and picked tubes with brown liquid from his bag. “Who attacked them?”

“The two refugees who arrived the last night,” the guard dutifully answered. “We have a party already sent after them.”

“I will mobilize the hunters,” Sul said coldly. “They will pay for this.”

Giliad and the doctor picked the tone and looked the hunter’s way. He saw their gazes and added, “They kidnapped Tzin-ake.”

“What about Pipil-Tak?”

“Safe.”

They kidnapped Ling’s daughter. Why? Little Tzin was nothing like her nasty brother. She was compassionate and good-hearted. Things Giliad couldn’t say about the rest of her family. It was unfair. Giliad’s emotions began slowly spiraling down. For a moment, he felt detached, as if falling upward, away from his body. And inside him, anger stirred to life.

The old man knew that face and snapped, “calm down, boy. It’s Tenoch-Ling that matters!” He poured the brown liquid on a cotton sponge and began wiping the cut. Giliad didn’t reply. He didn’t know what to say. The doctor’s words held no meaning to him. How could the doctor say something like this? How could he think that Ling was more important than Tzin?

“You, guard, out,” the doctor pointed at the door. The guard gave the old man a shocked look but left. As the door closed behind him, doctor Charcot spoke up, “Tenoch-Ling is critical for your future.”

“What does that mean? Why does it matter to me? I can’t help her. I am no doctor.”

“You must stay around her, Giliad. There are things that await you. Important things. The world-changing things.”

“You talk nonsense, old man. First, you spoke of memory of blood as if it had anything to do with being a Royalblood, now this?” Giliad’s voice turned to ice so he could suppress his emotions. It was the only thing that stopped him from going after Tzin. “Ling is right, I should not be here. It was a mistake to stay in the first place. I will get Tzin back and you won’t see me ever again.” He turned to go, and then they heard steps on the corridor. The guard overheard their conversation.

“Blind Sands! Get that idiot back here!”