“We have been killing each other since long before we met any of you. Of course our nations are divided, and you should pray it stays that way.”
Ki’pokkot’peketek’molke, The Unifier
—
The hallway Ki’pokiki led me down stank. A lot of the fortress stank from too many bodies in too little space, but this was different. This was tobacco. My nose wrinkled and I suppressed a cough. Plenty of mercenaries I knew had been chain-smokers, always puffing on a pipe. Sometimes I wondered if humans had a sense of smell at all. Apparently the same went for some beastfolk.
“You are about to meet Mal’oko’kal’loki, our priest. Unfortunately, only the greytails, er, the elders can officially induct anybody into the tribe. Just let me do the talking. And definitely don’t call him “greytail” to his face.” Ki’pokiki warned me. I mutely nodded. I was just happy to have permission to stay quiet.
We entered a room that was a touch brighter than the others in the fortress. A hole in the ceiling let out the smoke and let in the light, creating a patch of brightness right in the middle. The room was just as cramped as every other, but not with barrels and beds. The walls to our sides and in front of us had shelves nailed to them, each stacked high with books and odd objects.
Strange skulls, bits of twisted wood in odd colors, things that may not have even been of this world. At the back of the room there was a sturdy, low table littered with oddly-shaped glasses, rubber tubes and little bins of various substances. An alchemy lab? I hadn’t seen one in person, but I couldn’t think of what else it could be. And at the other end, there was the room’s occupant.
He sat crosslegged just out of range of the light, a twisted wooden staff across his lap. Through its ragged end was inserted an axe head, ornately decorated with symbols I could not read. He was far older than anybody else I had seen here, face the color and texture of birch bark. A long beard came from his chin, carefully trimmed into the shape of an upside down raindrop.
Even his tail was fully grey, but still as bushy as everybody else’s. It flicked when he looked up to observe me. I shuddered when I saw the rope around his neck. A noose, cut off just below the knot. This was the master of sacrifice.
He looked at me with eyes black and sharp as obsidian, trying to cut through my layers of falsity to the real me within. His pipe was unlit, but he chewed on it contemplatively.
“Picked up a stray this time, have you.” Mal’oko’kal’loki spoke slowly and quietly, his voice a low rasp.
“I found him with the last remainders of the silver caravan we demolished. He could be useful. Doesn’t seem like much of a fighter, but he speaks Gurngamosi. I think he can read and write, too.” Ki’pokiki introduced me best she could and I nodded along.
“With Gurngamosi? And you took him here? What were you doing with them?” Mal’oko remained quiet, but I could feel even Ki’pokiki tensing up.
“Well, he was-” Ki’pokiki began, but a simple glare cut her off.
“I was asking him.” Mal’oko’s eyes were locked firmly on me.
“Uh.” I froze up. I couldn’t stand those eyes on me.
“If we’re already questioning him, can we at least gather the council?” Ki’pokiki growled through her teeth.
“I called them when I heard you had arrived with a new member to induct.” Mal’oko gestured with his staff to the opposite doorway. More elderly squirrelfolk shuffled in, all with their own pipes and many with canes, both for walking and decorated with symbols of station and deeds long past.
Their decorations weren’t what drew my attention. There was a low murmur, chatter between elders and annoyed grumbles to themselves. My ears twitched, picking up a dozen voices and realizing something odd. I heard at least three distinct dialects. This explained the very different decorations I had seen in each room.
More than one tribe had come together here. Ki’pokiki wasn’t just gathering random squirrelfolk, but entire peoples. However, I had my doubts it was an equal partnership, from the way everybody looked at Mal’oko. He was the one to appeal to.
“Who is this? What tribe is he from?” Wheezed a truly ancient man seemingly only held up by his cane.
“All in good order. Newcomer, light my pipe and tell me your name.” Mal’oko extended his clay pipe and Ki’pokiki dropped a match into my palm before I applied it to the pipe. I winced at the burst of smoke, but made sure to hide it.
“Malki’bene’ungo.” I said, striking the match on my sleeve before applying it to his pipe.
“I have never heard of the Ungo. Do they make a habit of allying themselves with Gurngamosi?” Mal’oko asked.
“No. I was hired. Translator.” I could be smart here or I could ask what I wanted to know. “Two Gurngamosi I was with. What happened?”
“Survived, unfortunately. The soldiers I was with were simply creating a diversion so I could grab you. They would have retreated the moment I was out of sight.” Ki’pokiki said.
I tried to hide my relief. I hoped they were doing fine without me and not fighting. You just couldn’t leave humans to their own devices sometimes.
“Were you hoping for that? That they had lived? Or did you want to hear they were dead?” Mal’oko asked, turning his axe over and over in his hands.
“I did not wish them dead. They wanted to talk to you. Could be useful.” I chose the path of least resistance. Lying was dangerous, lying got you caught. Better to present the truth in the most favorable light.
“We have enough of them around here.” Mal’oko dismissively grunted. There were nods of approval from the others. I looked to Ki’Pokiki for signs of support, but she remained cold.
“Even so, Esen and Maarken could be useful. Esen is-” I started, but was interrupted by a glare from an elderly squirrelfolk to my side. The entire room felt colder, suddenly.
“You speak of them so casually. Like friends.” Mal’oko spoke softly. “Were they your friends, Malki?”
“They protected me. They spoke kindly to me.” My heart was speeding up, my bristly hairs getting ever more bristly. Yes. No. Yes? I thought so but now lies and truth were hard to tell apart. On that last day with them, what had I felt? What should I say?
“That wasn’t the question!” A greytail behind me called out.
“Answer him directly, Malki.” Ki’pokiki said.
“As kind as they could be, I also feared them. I never forgot the gap between us. I never forgot that they could so easily kill me. That I wasn’t like them.” And I will not forget that here, either.
“Answer the questions directly. I will not repeat myself.” Mal’oko sighed and rolled his axe in his hands.
“Yes. They are my friends. I hoped that we could make a bridge of friendship with you, and I don’t see why we still couldn’t. There is still a chest of silver with them. Each wagon holds five, two wagons. One tenth of the spoils.” I said.
“We can discuss that later. Do you have any combat experience?” Mal’oko asked.
“Boy can’t even lift a sword, I say! He’s shorter than a woman!” An elder behind me scoffed.
“Well, no, but I can read four languages.” I turned to try to find out who said that, but Mal’oko clicked at me to turn back.
“I can read six. And nobody proves themself to the tribe by reading.” Mal’oko looked distinctly unimpressed. “Well that’s fine. I think I have reached a decision on your initiation. I’m sure your own tribe has similar initiation rituals for a new warrior. A compromise of the coalition is that we can pick which tribe you are initiated into. I suggest the Joni. No great show of strength, no hunting. All you must do is collect something of value.”
“The last chest of silver?” I asked hopefully.
“That is up to Jo’kali’ono’joni. Speak, elder.” Mal’oko nodded respectfully to somebody behind me. I turned to see the ancient greytail who had been only held up by his cane before. He barely looked alive now, blinking out from under his broad hat.
“Ki’margarhara.” He squeaked out. “His golden sword.”
I didn’t quite grasp the dialect. Chief of the Mountain? Great Stone Chief? It wasn’t a proper squirrelfolk name. Was it a location name? I looked to Ki’pokiki for hints and saw her face hardened into a stoic mask. My ears flopped nearly to my shoulders.
“It’s decided then. We’ll let you rest tonight, and in the morning you can go out to seek the golden sword. Should you survive, you will be part of the tribe.” Mal’oko chuckled.
“Malki. Come with me.” Ki’pokiki gestured abruptly, a simple hook of her finger. Ears still low, I followed her out of the room.
“I am going to die, aren’t I?” I asked quietly.
“That is his intent. Mal’oko believes you to be too sympathetic to the Gurngamosi. And I agree with him.” Ki’pokiki turned to glare at me. “Had you called them friends when I rescued you, I would have had you sacrificed the moment we arrived.”
“But you are allies with Gurngamosi! Why am I being punished for the same thing!?” I wailed, not caring who heard.
“You are a fool to think allies and friends are the same thing, and a bigger fool to believe that anybody they don’t consider human can be anything but an enemy or a tool to them.” Ki’pokiki hissed, a noise growing into a roar.
She grabbed her tail and thrust it in front of her, showing me the place where it kinked. I finally realized that it must not only have been severely broken, but not treated properly afterwards.
“This is what they do to us. They did worse when I let myself trust them. Tell me, friend of the Gurngamosi. Would they have ever let you leave willingly? When your term was up, could you go?” She snarled, releasing her tail and grabbing my shoulders.
“No. No, I could never have left.” I admitted.
“Then you were not their friend. You were their slave.” Ki’pokiki released me and sighed. “And as much a fool as you are, I am sorry that I am going to kill you.”
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