“Canoes proved a futile way of transport, as much as other means. We lost half of our people in the attempts. It felt like the jungle itself rejected us. Guizam swore he had seen some tribesmen swimming in water infested with crocodiles, snakes, and other curious, yet deadly creatures. Unfortunately, he cannot repeat his words to anyone besides me. He had died in the same waters the next day.”
Beyond Yr”
Chapter 3, Page 56
Kuravel
Day 3
Giliad
Giliad started thinking that a residue of moonflower must have remained in his system. He sighted tribesmen all around him. Each time he came crashing, his hand cut the empty air. How have they managed to vanish so suddenly? Giliad was aware of Royalbloods, as mentioned by Yamil, who were stronger and faster than his imagination allowed him to conjure. These individuals were also rare. So rare actually that most information about them didn’t possess much credence. The Aael Empire liked to intimidate their enemies and citizens alike with exaggerated propaganda.
In truth, chasing the phantom tribesmen in the rain felt like something was amiss with him. Even if they were faster than him, these tribesmen would leave a trail behind. Here only the rain disturbed the serenity of this primeval-looking place.
Giliad stopped, his feet in the shallow water. Almost everything in the sight was covered by dark green moss. It looked like Drowner Mansoon has never left this place. Fallen trees were completely obscured by green carpets of different patterns. Trees that stood still had long strands of something vaguely resembling plants hanging all the way to the submerged ground. It looked like a bog. There were a few near Cape Town although none looked remotely untouched like this one.
What were they intending to do? Surely they planned a trap somewhere ahead, the question was how they hoped to go about catching a Royalblood? At this point, they knew who Giliad was. His speed alone was inhuman.
Sheets of the rain gained weight, turning the surroundings into a collage of green and gray. So, that’s how you hope to beat me. Somehow you’re manipulating the rain. A tribe wielding alchemy. It was no surprise this piece of the jungle was untraversed. This gave him a pause. Somewhere out there was Tzin, kidnapped by bandits, and here Giliad was chasing some bizarre tribe.
Was this one of those moments when he needed to choose? Tzin or Zuma. Two lives against one. Giliad has never considered human life this way. It didn’t matter if you were a commoner or a Royalblood. You lived, felt, loved.
He looked back, but in this heavy rain, judging directions was impossible. You must go forward, it was a kind of crap Tayyi had used to tell him. But the jungle wasn’t some endless desert. He could step off the trail here… No.
With some effort, Giliad pushed through hesitation—it left a sour taste in his mouth. He didn’t expect this. He shook off the warm rain, took a lungful of fresh but heavy air, and started walking. Running was pointless. Whatever alchemy the tribe employed, Giliad’s speed couldn’t make a difference. It’s almost as if they wanted me to chase their ghosts. Holding this thought he waded through the submerged terrain. Determination slowly built up and so when a dozen tribesmen appeared around him, he didn’t bat an eye.
“Where are my companions?”
In response, the largest of them moved toward Giliad. He looked solidly built, with at least six feet and wide shoulders. A spear with a crude spearhead pointed at Giliad’s stomach. The man attacked and with hidden shock, Giliad realized how close the attacker was. The rain once more messed with his perception. He slapped the spear, disturbing his opponent’s balance. It seemed weird to feel the physical object in the treacherous rain. Giliad played with an idea of counterattack but he didn’t want to kill the man. He wasn’t a Royalblood, his movements, coordination, and reflexes were too slow.
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Another stab came at Giliad’s neck. He evaded it with ease. It looked like the strange alchemy had its limits. Anything within two feet from Giliad became visible. This gave him more time for reaction than he needed. Unless…
He felt a pinch at the back of his neck. An arrow. Giliad whirled in time to dodge two more arrows. Were they honestly thinking of shedding his blood? Here, with all this water around? Royalbloods’ blood had uncommon properties. Dropped, it initiated an alchemical reaction with anything it touched. Sometimes there was nothing to worry about, sometimes … you ended up with Eram Sands. A place of living horrors.
Are these idiots know what they are doing?
Another arrow grazed Giliad, this time his left shoulder. They were too slow to penetrate his skin. The rain was too heavy. If they did what Giliad was thinking about, it meant … an opening.
Suddenly, the area stilled, the rain shifting into a drizzle, and the drizzle was not enough to keep the strange ghosts up. In order to increase their offensive capabilities, they had to lower their defenses. Giliad spun, then zigzagged toward a tribesman with a ceremonial mask and two guards at his sides. They were watching the encounter from afar. Seeing his charge, they scrambled their spears. A pitiful attempt. Giliad didn’t do as much as dabbed them. They were sent flying. Then he caught the masked man. Splashes behind Giliad warned him of an impending attack.
“Where are my companions?”
A gleaming knife flashed in the hand of a masked tribesman. But once more, Giliad proved them how futile was to fight a Royalblood. Maybe they didn’t know the difference. He danced between the stabbing spears, maintaining the hold on the masked man’s throat. He made sure to be gentle. One misstep and he’d squeeze the life out of the miserable fella. Eventually, the tribesmen realized the nonsense of this spectacle and as Giliad had rightly predicted, the rain returned. It washed the world around with absurd intensity.
“Take me to my companions!” Giliad shouted to be heard over the thunderous roar of the downpour.
The masked man slacked, then he pointed to his left. Giliad eyes followed—
THUD!
Something heavy hit his head.
THUD!
Another hit.
They were not learning. They—
THUD!
Zuma
Zuma woke up from one nightmare into another one. That idiot Giliad had thrown them off the freaking cliff then he woke up to this...
Being tied up to a post, with a scent of smoke in the air and a cauldron suspiciously sized enough to fit a person. All of sudden, the nightmare was material.
A bunch of tribesmen, half-naked, covered with nonsensical white tattoos and wearing angry albeit peeping expressions, concentrated in the middle of a habitat. Zuma had had a chance to visit a few tribes with Sul-Tizoca, catching a glimpse of their crude architecture, learning from them. But this? Large spherical nests hanging from a massive heartfell tree. Zuma had never seen anything this bizarre. It resembled a home of insects rather than humans. What is this ... Red Sands preserve, this is the Rain Tribe!
“What’s wrong with him?”
Zuma’s head snapped to his left. Harvey, a detestable human whose friend killed my precious Izin-Pil. Zuma spat, vivid emotions piling up in his soul. He’d need years to forget her. I got caught up in this, didn’t I? Stupid old man. I should’ve listened to my father and get a wife in my twenties. Zuma pushed his grim thoughts away. Surely, they had other pressing matters.
“Wrong with who?”
“Your Royalblood friend.”
“My Royalblood friend?” Giliad. Where is he? Zuma looked to his right. His eyes almost popped out of their sockets. Giliad was tied up to the post as well. His hands above his head. He was unconscious. But how? “How’s this possible?”
“How can I know?” Harvey replied harshly. “Do you think I’m some kind of a Royalblood specialist? Hmm, actually, I once ran such a con. It didn’t end well. So, my answer is, I don’t know what to make of this.”
Great.
The tribesmen turned their attention toward them.
“Giliad,” Zuma said. “It’d be a good time to wake up.”
Harvey noticed the tribesmen.
“The wildlings ... they look our way.” Panic in Harvey’s voice became evident. “What’s wrong with them? And this cauldron, what’s the matter with it?”
“That’s the Rain Tribe!” Zuma’s own dismay started to manifest as well. The understanding of their current situation finally sank in. The Rain Tribe belonged to a man-eating group of tribes.
“The Rain Tribe? What’s so special about it? I can see the huge puddles of water ... why are you so terrified all of sudden, innkeeper?”
“They eat people.”
“Ah, so that’s what the cauldron is for ... WHAT?!” Harvey and Zuma shared unique for the Red Cities skin complexion. At that moment, it vanished, leaving Harvey’s face flour-white. “Giliad! Giliad, wake up, you Royalblooded bastard!”
Thinking of Izin-Pil stole a little of Zuma’s dread, and when he opened his mouth, almost a stoic voice came out.
“It’s something you deserve, bandit, for murdering people.”
Harvey shook his head, pulling at the ties. He was becoming hysterical and strangely, it didn’t please Zuma to witness this. Some part of the innkeeper longed for revenge. But Zuma had overheard the bandit’s conversation with Tenoch-Ling, and frankly, he believed him.
“I’ve never murdered anyone and I’m not a bandit, you idiot.”
The tribesmen dispersed, seemingly going their separate ways. Then they returned with linen bags and poured their content into the cauldron. Soon the strong seasoning scent filled the air. The time for dinner arrived.