Zuma / Giliad

Zuma stood in the window overseeing the other side of the river. He saw the dwindling smoke and gathered masses, shifting from one side to another. People were confused, afraid, but mostly they were meddlesome. He saw Cape Town’s doctor cut through the people in great haste, heard shouts from the downstairs where the mayor was interrogating the bandit. But amongst all of this one thing stood out. The silence. He couldn’t hear Izin-Pil. He would never do, again. Last night he’d wanted to leave Cape Town forever. And yet, watching that young girl murdered on his eyes, knowing she would never surprise him and laugh at his expense, eroded his will to live.

This silence pained him. It called him to drink from the glass in his hand, to end suffering. Her mother, her wide eyes, and frozen scream that met the murdered gleeful expression. This image would always haunt Zuma. He looked through the window again and wished that there was farther down. Something was broken inside him now. His body didn’t follow his commands and they were simple – swallow this drink and join Izin-Pil. She should not go on alone. Zuma was no believer. But he prayed for a soul, prayed for a better world, prayed because if there was nothing then what was the point of all this?

Screams of the people on the bridge were slow to gather his attention, so close to ending his life he stood. I am sorry.

The crowd parted in haste and a bandaged man stepped inside. He’d walked out of the doctor’s house. It didn’t matter. He was just another bandit. And at this point, Zuma didn’t know who he meant. Doctor Charcot, Tenoch-Ling, or the man down there. They were all the same only under different names. Zuma knew what the mayor and the doctor have been doing. They were killing and poisoning his Red Cities. And he stood aside, watching them like he watched this fucking Siddy suddenly go fully sober and stab Izin-Pil’s neck. No word or warning. Nothing at all. He only laughed afterward.

They did – the rest of the bandits – something to the mayor but he was numb to that. His world was torn apart by the moment Izin-Pil left it.

The bandit in the bandages swung at the nearest people. Everyone was screaming now, and Zuma wanted them to shut up. He didn’t care when the first guard appeared and immediately fell do the ground, presumably dead. He watched this with expressionless eyes as the man went on the killing spree with two swords in his hands and bleeding body.

Even when Sul-Tizoca and Yamil shot out of the inn, toward the bandit, nothing could stir emotions in Zuma. The hunter was the fastest man Zuma has ever seen and he reached the bandit way sooner than the head guard. With a spear in his hands and hate in his throat, he jumped onto the man. How Sul-Tizoca survived the clash was a mystery to Zuma. The bandit wasn’t a Royalblood because they would all be dead by now, but he was inhumanely fast. In seconds, Sul-Tizoca stood with a chopped spear in his hands and a dozen cuts. It was the head guard who made a difference. Yamil fell on the bandit with everything he had. They weren’t evenly matched. A day before the bandit was almost killed by the panthers or jaguars. Now, he stood his ground against the head guard. Possibly, the second strongest man in Cape Town.

Zuma’s heart thumped faster when Giliad stepped out of the doctor’s house. Though Zuma’s world was destroyed, everything stopped for a second in his mind. From this far, he could see that the young Royalblood was devastated. It didn’t take a genius to piece it all together. Was Charcot dead? He must be. If Giliad makes a move, it’ll be game over for all of us. The news would spread no matter how hard they will try to contain it. These things always leak. The empire would know that Cape Town harbors a bastard Royalblood.

Sul-Tizoca and Yamil saw it too. The end of Cape Town. They ceased their movements and watched Giliad slowly walk up to them. It grabbed the bandit’s attention. He squinted behind and something has changed in him. His body jolted with shock, then with pain as Sul-Tizoca exploited the moment and pierced the man’s heart. It was over. And amongst the gathered who spectacled the incident, only the three of them understood how close to the edge they walked. There’s always more room to fall. I can still look down and see no bottom but death and pain. Oh, Izin-Pil, I am sorry, I had no strength to stop him and now, I don’t have the strength to follow you. He dropped the glass with a liquid. It was a fast-acting and painless poison. He crafted it himself. I am such a coward!

Giliad passed the fallen bandit without changing his pace, he ignored calls from Yamil. He drew nearer to the inn. One of the bandits stayed behind, one of them was still in their grip. Zuma felt a sudden urge to kill him. But he couldn’t move. Grief took away his will to live and to revenge.

*

Giliad had seen death and terror that once froze his blood. Now, only emptiness filled him. Doctor Charcot was a mentor to him, a man to push him through the mental hardship. Giliad found himself alone again and nothing but darkness unfolded ahead. Behind, the doctor’s body burned. He granted the dead man’s request. He took him to the garden and set him on fire. It caught immediately. Giliad left before the flames fully enveloped the doctor’s body. There was a job to do. The bandit needed to pay for this. Giliad didn’t need his full strength to beat a lowly murderer. A single punch would suffice. But when he walked out of the doctor’s house and saw several bodies lying about and in the distance, Sul and Yamil fought the bleeding man, he understood that his plan had been flawed. Someone like this bandit wouldn’t go down without an obvious showing of strength. People would whisper, someone would eventually figure it out. And Cape Town would be destroyed, people tortured and killed. This would dwarf the events from Kauri City. He knew it all, he understood the consequences and yet his feet stepped forward. Maybe it happens because I’m too numb to care and I want to end this, one way or another. Sul and Yamil saw him coming and terror in their eyes was burning him from inside out like acid. Do they fear me or what I drag behind? He could not say. Am I a monster? He asked himself. Even the bandit glanced at him and this time the understanding in that man’s eyes was plain. He knew who Giliad really was.

By sheer luck or guided by a fate’s hand, Sul seized the moment and killed the bandit, saving Giliad’s conscience and the entire village. They didn’t know what a terrible disaster was averted by this single deed. Giliad knew he wouldn’t be able to stop himself. Hating his guts, he passed the head guard, the hunter, and the body between them. The crowded cape towners could very much not exist at that moment. They were nothing but a tapestry, loud and ignorant.

“Giliad, where are you going?” It was Yamil’s voice and it felt weak in Giliad’s ears. The last bandit was in the inn, being interrogated by the mayor. The entire village was babbling about it. The fire in the mayor’s mansion and kidnapping of Tzin were already forgotten. The guards at the inn’s door stepped in, blocking Giliad’s way. Yamil came running.

“Giliad, what are you doing? What happened?”

Giliad barely heard him, though he gave the head guard a hard stare. No words came out of his mouth. They were not needed. Yamil understood the risk. The head guard cleared the way for Giliad.

Inside, the old woman talked in a hushed manner with the man who had bought Giliad food this morning, he was bound to the chair. His name has already lay forgotten in the depths of Giliad memory. Yamil was loud enough to make the mayor turn and fall silent. The man on the chair looked up at the Royalblood and his eyes went wide as the understanding poured in. He, too, figured out who he was.

“What is he doing here?” the mayor snapped, in her ugly manner. Her face twisted in rage. “What’s happening?”

Yamil told her.

“You killed Red Bill?” the bandit on the chair asked.

“I needed him alive,” the old woman snarled. “We still don’t know how the inner circle of Butcher’s gang works.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Giliad said, casting silence over the inn’s main room. “I’m going to kill him.”

The bandit’s mustache twitched, and his reddish face froze. What thoughts passed behind his brown eyes, Giliad didn’t try to guess. Yamil’s tattoed hand grabbed Giliad’s arm and told him that it was impossible. After all this time here, Yamil’s skin was still paler than Giliad’s caramel complexion.

“You won’t go anywhere!” The mayor jabbed her finger at Giliad’s steel-hard chest. “Didn’t Charcot tell you to stay?” A mention of the doctor jolted Giliad, which looked as if the finger did it. His mind was far away from the inn, from this place, from the words that needed to be said. They meant different things to different people.

“Doctor is dead.”

The gaunt woman made a step back, the color was drained out of her dark face, leaving it ashen. Yamil let go of Giliad and without a word left the inn. Even the bandit seemed shocked by the revelation.

“It … can’t be,” the mayor’s voice lost its strength completely. She sounded more broken than him. Giliad turned around, he came here to kill the bandit, but something did change his heart.

“I will bring Tzin back, even though you don’t seem to care about her.” Giliad made to the door before the bandit’s voice stopped him.

“Butcher is a Royalblood surrounded by more than thirty grunts. You will die for nothing.”

“Why do you care?” Giliad asked, squinting at him.

“Because I want that man dead as well.”

“Charcot…” The old woman dropped on her ass, repeating the doctor’s name. The main door opened and Ile charged in. She paid Giliad no mind as she approached her sister. They looked like two bulls with perpetually angry faces.

“I hear that Tzin-ake was kidnapped and not a single soldier or hunter left Cape Town to get her back. For the love of forest gods, what are you doing, Ling?”

Ling’s eyes glazed as she watched her hands. She was shaking her head. For a sliver of a moment, she had Giliad’s sympathy. But her sister didn’t care a whit about the old doctor. She grabbed her sister and lifted her up.

“Get a grip, you stupid hag! Why didn’t you send someone after the kidnappers?” Ling stood there, withered and old and her face looked haggard and tired. Was doctor Charcot so close to her? Were they lovers? Yamil who burst inside the inn brought the dire confirmation. The doctor’s body was but a pile of ash.

Ling started sobbing but then she said something that set her sister on fire. Something that destroyed the last ember of warmth Giliad had for her. She wasn’t mourning the doctor but the wealth they’ve built and now it all was about to fall apart. A loud slap and louder thud followed Ling’s slurred speech. Ile didn’t play around. Her massive arms were thicker than those of Yamil. The head guard twitched, but Giliad’s hand dropped on his shoulder staying him.

“You worthless bitch!” Ile screamed. “You care more about the money than your own daughter!” As the first fists hammered the mayor, the gathered in the room shuddered horrified by the wrath of the good-hearted cook. Only Giliad stood still, unmoved and unagitated but this act of violence, but he was the one who caught Ile’s wrists. The woman’s strength was immense amongst fellow humans. But to Giliad it was no different from children’s struggle. Ile screamed at Ling, then at him, then cried out so loud that two guards peeked inside but were kicked by Yamil the next second.

“What are you?” Ile asked.

“I will get Tzin back, no matter who this butcher is,” Giliad said, then his eyes locked on the bandit. “And you’ll show the way.”