The King's Tribe Page 3

  “Figure out what to do with him already! Art, you need to either kick him out or let him go, I will not have my home torn upside down for a day longer.”

  “What would you have me to Dana? The boy hasn’t said a word! He could be from the colony for all we know. Or what if he’s a spy? Maybe one of the other villages have broken the treaty? Tarrin’s got a new leader, or I hear there’s unrest in Willsden, what if he’s with either of them!”

  This last worry was not much of a threat. There is one main rule within Avlym and the surrounding village communities: they can do whatever they want so long as no village damages another. The colony is the enemy and it would make them all too happy for us to butcher each other. I wouldn’t put it past them to spectate our theoretical battles and revel in the bloodshed for their own entertainment. After all, it is considerably easier to maintain your control if your potential usurpers are fighting amongst themselves. They would step in before it went too far though. All the villages paid quota to the colony, and it wouldn’t do to let a war get in the way of their incoming supplies. The villages therefore live side by side, with little contact apart from trading. If a spy belonging to one was found in another, all other communities would likely cut ties with them, and without their trade and the colony continuing to knock on their door, it’s unlikely that they would be able to stay afloat.

  “Oh, come of it they would’ve sent a man, not a bloodied boy! That’s another thing – why would they hurt their own spy! Look, so what if he doesn’t want to talk, he hasn’t tried anything!”

  “Yet.”

  “Just make your mind up and get everyone out of my house.”

  Arthur had known better than to push my mother, and sure enough, before night falls, he relieves a bored and tired Randall of his post. He had, as always, been more than willing to protect us from any threat but he is a man meant to be stalking prey and roaming the trees, not hunched up inside our little hut all day watching a silent feeble boy. Any longer and I have no doubt that the cabin fever would have eventually gotten to him and his sullen mood would have started innumerable wars.

  That morning our inn days are put behind us. Arthur, having been persuaded by my mum that he was no threat, decreed that the boy would be put to work if he wanted to stay. It seems already presumed that Guy would continue to live on our floor.

  Recognising that the boy is of similar age to myself, the responsibility of setting him about daily tasks, much to my shock and Robyn’s delight, is passed onto me. It is a result of this that I find myself heading towards the edge of the forest ten minutes later with the newest addition to Avlym.

  I hold the rough handle of the axe down at my side as we stroll over to the edge of the forest, always with an eye on Guy and definitely reconsidering my choice of job given the company. I’m still not ready to trust him just yet. Thankfully there was only one spare axe, so he will just have to help carry the wood back into the village. Still, to call my position uncomfortable would be an understatement. Robyn on the other hand is perfectly at ease. With her characteristic spring in her step, she’s practically skipping towards our chores after having volunteered to help the pair of us.

  “Dale?” Robyn’s call piercing my thoughts and bringing me back to reality. Upon seeing my blank expression, she sighs, “I asked if you think Ida will outlive us all.”

  “Well it certainly looks like she’s going that way,” I replied, earning a polite chuckle. “Whatcha think Guy? Any thoughts?” I tease, looking up at the irritatingly chiselled face beside me. Unsurprisingly, I get no response.

  “Leave him alone,” Robyn interrupts laughing. “Poor Guy’s still getting over being dressed for a change.”

  It had been the morning’s entertainment watching my mother attempt to force a shirt over the boy’s head. Eventually his respect for her had won out, and whilst he continuously scratched and was clearly irritated by the fabric, he nevertheless trudges along beside us with only the usual amount of bare skin showing. He is still barefoot however, having fought against my mother trying to squeeze his feet into one of my father’s old pairs of boots. He had looked immensely relieved when she had been forced to admit that they were too small. No doubt Arthur would be able to get his hands on some more suitable footwear if necessary, but Guy’s reluctance had resulted in resigned acceptance that this was a battle my mother would just have to lose. She may have wanted him out of the house and with me for a change, but I suppose some motherly habits die hard. It would be cruel fate for him to recover as much as he has only to go running around barefoot and land on a snake.

  “At least he had shorts on I suppose,” I replied.

  “Hmm... I don’t know,” she grins mischievously.

  “Oh really,” I chortle, “You into tree boys now?”

  “I’m just saying, it’s dull watching you work, and I could’ve used the distraction.”

  “You’re terrible,” I sigh giving up.

  “You’re just jealous, blotchy,” She retorts with a smirk. I try to hide the brief flash of pain, but her eyes miss nothing. “Aww come on...you know I’m joking. I like it, makes you unique,” she replies taking me by surprise.

  I turn to find her smiling again but this time conveying nothing but genuine affection. Marching victoriously back into the village hours later, our arms piled high with firewood and Guy easily carrying the largest portion, I am still struggling to keep the grin off my face.

  “More?!”, I reluctantly pass another chicken bone over to Guy’s greasy fingers as we perch on the logs surrounding the fire pit. Already he’s started tearing away at the flesh, the feast we had managed to secure ourselves is already nearly an empty carcass. The valuable chicken had been courtesy of Arthur, a reward for keeping an eye on the ravenous blonde boy between Robyn and Alice whilst also providing a healthy resupply of firewood.

  Alice has been left with me also, my mum at yet another meeting with Arthur and some of the others to talk about Guy. The talks have been almost non-stop, with Guy occasionally being brought in for questioning the first few times. Not that that had been any help. At some point Guy and Alice seemed to have formed some unusual bond between the two of them, since arriving he had strived to make her laugh, no mere feat when he can’t speak any jokes.

  We had needed to fight for our share before Guy could claim it for himself and Alice. The boy eats like a beast, his hunger apparently insatiable, only pausing occasionally to pass another scrap to my gleeful sister. Each time she receives one of these small extra portions I catch her still slightly chubby face gloating back in my direction. I had thought this tendency to consume all our food had merely been a way for the forest boy to gain his strength back, it would seem however that it was a more permanent state of affairs.

  My stomach complains noisily earning a sympathetic look from Robyn and a claim to the last of the meat.

  “But I get it next time,” she grins.

  “If Guy doesn’t first,”, I splutter through cheeks of slightly charred chicken. “Maybe we can get something extra off Mark?”

  Distorted by the flames from fire pit, a gentle glow still emanates from the baker’s window. Whilst very little ever went to waste in the village, it was always worth checking for burnt bits of bread to steal before they get tossed to the animals.

  “Nah, he headed into the tavern while you were talking to Arthur, that’ll just be Cecilia.”

  “Ugh, she might still find something if you go though,” I reason. We both know that if I’m the one to ask then there’s no chance she’d ever help feed a spirit demon such as myself. I can imagine little worse than having to go into her home asking for food with the prospect of both herself and Rhys waiting for me.

  Before Robyn can reply, my breath catches as the tavern door flies open and splinters against the wall on the other side. Bennie stumbles towards us. He continues to crash into the nearest log and for a dangerous second, he trips, heading straight towards the embers in front of us. Guy is on his feet in an instant s
teadying the drunk, the chicken leg’s spotless bone blackening in the live coal.

  “Heloww friends,” drawls Bennie, “those arses in uuuurp there don’t want me no more,” he belches, Guy still hesitant at his side. The forest boy’s brow is wrinkled and he looks at Bennie warily, clearly unsure of what to make of this new arrival.

  “And to think of all the business you’ve given them!” Robyn exclaims in a subtly mocking tone; she always enjoys messing with the man when he’s lost touch with sobriety. Then again, that’s most of the time. Between the evenings of drinking followed by the days of recovery, Bennie and rational thought have long since become strangers.

  “Bennie you’ve got a little something on your shirt,” I gesture to the suspect splashes and dribbles staining the fabric. It would seem that surveying his appearance whilst maintaining balance is too big an ask however and Guy shoots me a cautionary, and slightly questioning, glare as he prevents the man from toppling forwards.

  “M’fine, geroff me,” he slaps away Guy’s aid. “Yur pretty,” he comments to Guy, apparently noticing him for the first time. “She’s uuurp alright too,” he admits.

  “Aww thanks,” Robyn grins, glancing sideways to give me a wink. Meanwhile, Bennie has turned Guy so that the two of them face the fire with their backs towards us. Bennie’s arm is slung over Guy’s broad shoulders whilst his other gestures, even from the silhouette of his back I can see that Guy isn’t comfortable with the arrangement.

  “You don’t talk good, but thaz alright, ya should sweep er off er feet you sood... should,” Bennie unsuccessfully attempts to whisper, “Yur pretty now, but we get ugly real quick, and den she’s gonna want a real fella. Dunt worry I’ll stay away, but I’m just sayin, you ever need advice you come to good Bennie.”

  The pair turn back around, Guy looking profoundly awkward and Bennie apparently oblivious that we could hear every word.

  “Anyways, imma take a leak,” the drunk starts off towards the forest.

  “No Bennie come on, I’ll take you home,” I call after him.

  “Buh is a nice night!” he complains.

  “I know it is, but come on, you know you don’t want to head off in there in the dark. Let me take you back.”

  “Urghhh,” Bennie complains, regardless he starts making his way back towards us, “I’m not gonna be like yur dad though, no tree spears gonna be gettin’ me. Too quick li’l buddy, waaay too quick for tree monsters.” That stung a little, but I know he doesn’t mean anything by it.

  “Bennie don’t-” Robyn starts.

  “It’s ok don’t worry about it,” I cut her off. “I’ll go help him back, it’s getting late anyway. Guy you coming?” I get a shrug in response, but he moves to prop up Bennie under one shoulder. Alice rises whilst still gnawing on her last piece of chicken.

  We, or should I say I, give Robyn our goodbyes and we head off towards Bennie’s hut, unfortunately for us it’s on the outer edge of the village. Guy seems completely comfortable taking most of the weight at least whilst I offer stability and directions.

  “M’fine y’know,” Bennie repeats.

  CHAPTER THREE

  CRASH! I sit bolt upright.

  Guy is already alert and on his feet, having claimed the floor at the foot of my bed for the night. There was a commotion outside of the hut, cries pierce the night.

  My heart leaps into my throat as my mum comes barrelling into the room, she pulls Alice along by her side. Clearly relieved to see that we are all fine and awake, she rushes outside without another word. I find Guy’s eyes in the dark and then we’re both slipping on the floor and hurrying out the door in pursuit. He exits the door before me as I stuff my feet into my boots.

  Fire.

  One of the farmhouses in the distance is ablaze, luckily too far away from the village for it to spread and I silently thank the gods that the harvest has not yet been collected. We hurry forwards to aid in the attempt to put out the hungry creature. That is until a steel arm swings out from my mother bringing me and Guy to an abrupt halt.

  Something is off, I sense it now too. The battle against the flames is unfought, instead a small crowd has formed someway in front of the building. Their silhouettes constantly distorting but just visible. Some of their chests are radiating a fierce ever-changing orange.

  The air solidifies in my lungs and my heart begins assaulting my ribcage. Their chests are not emitting the brightness, but rather they are breastplates mirroring the light from the inferno.

  Colony men.

  The colony have essentially been our captors for as long as any in the village could remember, even Ida. A considerably more developed community far away, the colony demand regular payment as tribute for them not invading and leaving us be. It is their annual quota that we always struggle to meet, having to put their needs in front of our own. They always know the perfect amount to collect, in excess of the minimum quota of course. They take as much as they can get away with, while leaving us with just enough to survive and continue providing.

  They are operating a flawless system. Years ago, they had used their armour and their weapons and numbers to wreak havoc on each of the villages, they had done just enough to make themselves known and instil fear in the survivors. Approximately half of all the populations had been slaughtered. From then on, they had ruled with an iron fist, demanding as much from us as possible, leaving us starved but just about alive. Occasionally a village might still riot, a band of outlaws may attempt to disrupt their operations, or the colony may just feel that it’s time for a reminder, either way they always retaliate with an extreme show of force. A power too great for us to even think about contesting.

  The colony is led by King Breyden the Second. Tales of his ferocity and evidence of his cruelty are common in Avlym, but none have ever met the king in person. He is described by Becker and his men as the hero and rightful owner of all land, the single power responsible for the peace. None argue with the collector; any traitorous remarks would end in many lashes in front of the community, and that was if Becker was feeling merciful. Even drunk fools in the tavern had the sense to avoid such comments, one can never know if a trader might overhear and inform Becker in return for a small handful of coppers.

  The king demands a constant record of everything, that responsibility had been passed to Arthur and his book. Every kind of supply and store is counted, the population monitored, everything, and they are furious if they ever discover anything hidden. It is a system that ensured that no other village is able to thrive enough to reach their level of development, without the quota they may be challenged, with it they can continue their rule.

  Of course, we all dream of revolt, of getting free from the colony once and for all. But history has taught us that our hopes are just that, hopes and dreams, never to be acted upon unless ready to lose everything.

  “-looking for someone. We were on our way to see Arthur when the next thing we know your damned wife is taking a broom to one of my men!” An armed Becker shouts at a man being restrained by a pair of the colony men.

  Becker is the colony’s correspondent to Avlym, keeping them updated on our village and development and ensuring we meet the quota. It is he who calculates just the right amount to take from us. Heartily disliked, he is a vicious and cruel man who enjoys it thoroughly when we fall short of the colony’s expectations. It means he would have someone to punish.

  He also abuses the task of keeping the books for what the king demands, meaning he can greedily take his own profit on the side for himself and his men without any higher power being any wiser. If there is one thing that unified Avlym like nothing else, it was the seething hatred we all feel for him upon sight. He is responsible for all our hunger, all those long dark nights, the occasional infants who fail in their struggle to make it to childhood. As none in the village have ever personally met the king or any other colony leader, he is the embodiment of the ruling civilisation, and if the colony ever does fall, I have no doubt that any of us who are
lucky enough to have the opportunity would tear him apart.

  The two men are having a hard time restraining Bruce, years of working the fields has given him the strong arms that are requiring a fully-grown man to tend to each of them whilst Becker continues. He occasionally deals a blow to silence the man at his feet, ensuring that he’s heard.

  “You know we can’t let that stand Bruce. Sure, today it may just be a broom, but before we know it we could have a full-blown riot on our hands, and then where would we all be? We’d have to put an end to all of you, and this place is much too valuable for that!”

  “Please!” Bruce begs, tears streaming down his face. A parting in the crowd reveals his wife lying unconscious in the dirt. Krista’s forehead is slick with dark blood, her eyes closed but flickering feebly. “She didn’t know it was you, would never have attacked if she had known it was you! Probably just thought you’d come to raid the stores, please let her go!” He pleads, his whole body straining to break free to his wife’s side.

  “Oh, how I wish I could, but I’m afraid we just can’t let something like this slide. Look at Lee here,” Becker gestures to the man on his right, “he never was the smartest, now he’ll have to return home to his children and I’ll have to explain why their poor old daddy is blunt as a rock.”

  “What is going on here?!”

  “Ah fantastic, Arthur! Don’t worry we’re all sorted here, take me to your home we need to have a word,” and with that he promptly kneels down, a brief flash of silver dances through the darkness, and then he’s heading off towards Avlym. A wreck burns behind him and Krista stares at the stars with lifeless eyes.

  Arthur, lost in his own torment and disbelief until snatched back to reality by the pained wails of Bruce, who has collapsed to his knees beside his still partner, surveys the nightmare once more before tightening his jaw and swiftly following Becker and his men.