The Drudge’s skin was dark, almost as dark as Tau’s, and his head was a mass of kinked hair. It was forbidden for them to shave their heads like proper men, and his poor state made it hard for Tau to tell what Lesser caste he’d originally come from.
“Tau,” his father said.
Tau gathered up the sacks, making a show of examining their contents, but when the High Harvester looked away, he placed two potatoes near the Drudge. The man’s eyes widened at the unexpected offering, and, hand shaking, he snatched them up, tucking them under the folds of his rags.
“Coming,” Tau said to his father.
The man looked half-starved. He needed food. Tau did too, though. He trained most afternoons and that was hard to do on an empty stomach.
Jabari would have called him softhearted. He’d have said the man’s lot was his own doing. The only Lessers who became Drudge were the ones who didn’t make it into the real military and still refused to join the Ihagu.
Survival rates for Ihagu, the low-level, unskilled fighters who made up the front lines of every battle, were abysmal. Yet, most would say being a Drudge was a worse fate than an Ihagu’s near certain death. When given the choice, almost everyone chose to fight. After all, a lucky few were assigned defensive duty and stationed near the fiefs or cities.
As Tau walked past with the rations, his father put a hand on his shoulder. “Kindly done,” Aren whispered, little escaping his notice. Then, louder, he said, “Take the food home. I need to see the umbusi. With this news from Palm, we’ll want to add more patrols.”
Tau nodded and went to do as he was bid. He made it three strides when he heard Nkiru, his father’s second-in-command, shouting from down the mountain. The muscular man, along with a full unit of the fief’s Ihagu, was running. He was drenched in sweat, his sword’s scabbard slapping at his thigh. It would have been humorous if not for the look on his face. He was terrified.
“Raid! Raid!” he yelled, struggling to be heard over the ocean’s roar. “The hedeni are raiding!”
DUTY
Tau moved to his father’s side as Nkiru arrived.
“Signal smoke, near Daba,” Nkiru said, blowing hard.
“Daba?” asked the High Harvester. “Daba?”
Nkiru ignored him. “‘Hedeni crossing fields,’ that’s the message. They must have landed a war party and climbed the cliffs. If they’re in the farming fields it won’t be long before they’re in the hamlet.”
Tau thought about the wrecked boat. It had been an enemy ship. He marveled at the stupidity and courage of sailing the Roar. How many had they lost to the waters in order to mount the raid?
“Did the message say anything about numbers?” Tau’s father asked.
“No,” Nkiru said. “But if they’ve come this far—”
“Send men. Send everyone,” Berko pleaded. “You can’t let them reach Daba.”
Aren gave orders to the gathered fighters. “Nkiru, Ekon, take the men you have and head for the mountain barracks. Empty it out.”
“Yes!” said Berko, frantic. “I’ll go too. I have to get back home.”
“I’ll make for the keep,” Aren said. “I’ll gather the men there and ask the umbusi’s Gifted to send an edification. We have to call in the military. This isn’t a normal raid. If they’ve come this far, they’ve come in force. The fighters at the mountain barracks won’t be enough.”
“Aren… it’s just us,” Nkiru said. “Lekan won’t let the keep guard come to Daba’s defense. I just left him and he says it’s too risky to send everyone. He’s worried that the hedeni might also send raiders here, to Kerem.”
Aren closed his eyes, drawing a slow breath. “Lekan is not right in this,” he said. “If the hedeni sailed the Roar to get to us, they’ve come to do damage in force. They won’t split their fighters and pick at us. They’ll attack as one. They’ll destroy Daba.” He looked down the mountain, in the direction of the keep. “I have to speak with Lekan. We need the Gifted to call the military and we need enough men to defend the hamlet until the military arrives. We can’t do that with just the men from the mountain barracks. We need the keep guard.”
“He won’t…,” Nkiru said, trailing off and knuckling his sword’s pommel. “Lekan has already called for the military, but he also ordered me to tell you to lead Daba’s defense. He says he’ll see to the keep’s safety.… Aren, he won’t go to Daba, and he won’t let the guards go either.”
Berko shot looks at the men discussing the fate of his home. “What does this mean? What do we do?” he asked.
Aren looked to the sky. It was a cloudless day, merciless in its heat. “We defend Daba,” he said. “That’s what we do.”
Nkiru’s forehead was crinkled with lines of worry, but he turned to the men and did his best to sound eager. “You heard the inkokeli. Move!”
The fighters, Berko, and the two Drudge went up the mountain, making for the Taala path. It was the quickest way to the barracks and to Daba.
“Go home,” Aren told Tau, placing a hand on his shoulder. “I’ll see you when it’s done.”
He squeezed Tau’s shoulder, patted it, and left. Tau stood there and watched his father follow the rest, the lot of them racing against what little time the people in Daba had, before the hedeni were among them.
He’d not seen his father that concerned in a long time. It meant Aren didn’t think they’d hold Daba. It meant there was a damned good chance they’d all die.
“No…,” Tau said. “Not because of Lekan. Not because of that coward.”
He rushed to the closest bit of brush and hid his practice blade and ration sacks. He belted on his sharpened bronze sword, the one that had belonged to his father’s father, and gripped its hilt. He felt the etchings his grandfather had made, spelling out the family name in a spiral that wound its way from pommel to guard. “Solarin,” it read.
Steadied and feeling ready for the task ahead, Tau ran down the mountain, in the opposite direction his father had gone. He went to find Jabari. Lekan might be craven, but Jabari was as decent as Nobles came. He’d help. He’d tell his mother to order the keep’s men to go to Daba, and that would stop Tau’s father from getting killed.
Before long, the Onai’s keep, the largest building in Kerem, came into view. It was two floors tall, had a central courtyard, and was surrounded by an adobe wall that was nine strides high. The adobe was smooth and that spoke to the Onai’s wealth.
“Eh, what’re you about, Tau?” a reedy voice asked from above.
Tau looked to the top of the fortifying wall. It was Ochieng, one of the Ihagu assigned to be a keep guard. Ochieng had always been a blustering oaf, and, a full cycle older than Tau, he’d already reached manhood. He hadn’t passed the test to be part of the real military and had come back from the southern capital with his head low and prospects grim.
He’d been lucky; Tau’s father spoke on his behalf, and on the strength of Aren’s word, the keep guard took Ochieng as one of their own. Most of Ochieng’s family were either dead or Drudge, and if Aren hadn’t vouched for him, Ochieng would have followed in their footsteps. As it stood, Tau felt owed.