“So you can tell us that the outsiders wish to help? That we should lie down and let the white man walk over our lands?”
Damon clenched his teeth. “There is little option left to us. Already we vie for land even as we are driven farther and farther over the borders. Our rival tribes do the same. How long until we run out of space for all? How long before we not only fight the white man but other tribes as well?”
“You have made us weak.” Tinjtol’s voice rose with unconcealed ire. “We were the strongest tribe while my father sat as bajluk . You will not raise your hand to kill, and that is your weakness, not the weakness of our people.”
“You will not see this any other way?” Damon met his steady stare.
Tinjtol shook his head before dropping down to a knee. His eyes flashed with anger. “I give honor for your time as bajluk , brother.”
Damon touched his shoulder. There would be no turning back now. His brother had given him the respect due, and when he rose, they would be equal. “Make certain of your decision, Tinjtol.” He turned away, giving Tinjtol the same respect of equality before their people. “Before you rise.”
He did not have to look to know Tinjtol stood. The slight shift in the people around him told him his brother would not concede. When he turned, Tinjtol stood at the other edge of the circle and nodded. The fury deep in his black eyes shocked Damon. When had his brother come to such depths of hate? “I do not wish to kill you, brother.” He said the words quietly, for his brother alone.
Tinjtol ignored his words, and the drums began.
Damon stepped back to walk the perimeter of the circle. He picked up a torch, and Tinjtol did the same at the other side. They walked in opposite directions, lighting the standing torches placed around the circle. Flames surrounded them, the heavy scent of new smoke thick on the air.
The last torch sparked, and Damon passed his to the man closest to him before facing his brother.
He centered his mind. Everything around them disappeared until nothing remained but his opponent. He moved carefully, walking the circle while he looked for the moment to attack, waiting for the indication that Tinjtol would make his first move.
Refusing to acknowledge the fear that accompanied battle, he called on his instincts to guide him. As bajluk , he had fought numerous battles to prove his skill. Battle for training and fighting for life were different. Ending the life of a brother would be painful.
Tinjtol lunged forward with a ragged yell. Damon shifted to the side, the knife arcing past his head. Patience. He would have to be patient. It would be his greatest weapon.
He would wait and defend himself against his brother’s next attack. It came sooner than he anticipated, and he ducked. Tinjtol flew past him, nicking the upper portion of his arm. Blood trickled from the cut, and Tinjtol’s eyes widened. His nostrils flared. Like a wild animal hunting its prey.
“I have first blood, brother.”
His laugh rasped harsh when he lunged again, but Damon was more prepared this time. He swung the knife forward and up as Tinjtol dodged to the side. The tip of the knife caught his brother’s cheek.
Tinjtol stumbled, his hand flying up to press against the cut. He stared at his fingers, crimson in the firelight. His eyes darkened, and he tossed his knife from one hand to the other. “We stand even again, Maglayo. Come, show me you deserve the right to be called bajluk .”
Damon remained where he stood. Tinjtol would bait and prod. Then he would attack. As expected, his brother was impatient and lunged again. Prepared as Damon was, Tinjtol’s agility surprised him. A sharp pain sliced across Damon’s leg, and when he looked down, blood trickled from a cut at the thick muscle over his knee.
“Why do you play games, Tinjtol?” He fought the urge to drop to his knee. If he ended this now, took the banishment from his tribe, he would be spared the agony of
Damon clenched his teeth. “There is little option left to us. Already we vie for land even as we are driven farther and farther over the borders. Our rival tribes do the same. How long until we run out of space for all? How long before we not only fight the white man but other tribes as well?”
“You have made us weak.” Tinjtol’s voice rose with unconcealed ire. “We were the strongest tribe while my father sat as bajluk . You will not raise your hand to kill, and that is your weakness, not the weakness of our people.”
“You will not see this any other way?” Damon met his steady stare.
Tinjtol shook his head before dropping down to a knee. His eyes flashed with anger. “I give honor for your time as bajluk , brother.”
Damon touched his shoulder. There would be no turning back now. His brother had given him the respect due, and when he rose, they would be equal. “Make certain of your decision, Tinjtol.” He turned away, giving Tinjtol the same respect of equality before their people. “Before you rise.”
He did not have to look to know Tinjtol stood. The slight shift in the people around him told him his brother would not concede. When he turned, Tinjtol stood at the other edge of the circle and nodded. The fury deep in his black eyes shocked Damon. When had his brother come to such depths of hate? “I do not wish to kill you, brother.” He said the words quietly, for his brother alone.
Tinjtol ignored his words, and the drums began.
Damon stepped back to walk the perimeter of the circle. He picked up a torch, and Tinjtol did the same at the other side. They walked in opposite directions, lighting the standing torches placed around the circle. Flames surrounded them, the heavy scent of new smoke thick on the air.
The last torch sparked, and Damon passed his to the man closest to him before facing his brother.
He centered his mind. Everything around them disappeared until nothing remained but his opponent. He moved carefully, walking the circle while he looked for the moment to attack, waiting for the indication that Tinjtol would make his first move.
Refusing to acknowledge the fear that accompanied battle, he called on his instincts to guide him. As bajluk , he had fought numerous battles to prove his skill. Battle for training and fighting for life were different. Ending the life of a brother would be painful.
Tinjtol lunged forward with a ragged yell. Damon shifted to the side, the knife arcing past his head. Patience. He would have to be patient. It would be his greatest weapon.
He would wait and defend himself against his brother’s next attack. It came sooner than he anticipated, and he ducked. Tinjtol flew past him, nicking the upper portion of his arm. Blood trickled from the cut, and Tinjtol’s eyes widened. His nostrils flared. Like a wild animal hunting its prey.
“I have first blood, brother.”
His laugh rasped harsh when he lunged again, but Damon was more prepared this time. He swung the knife forward and up as Tinjtol dodged to the side. The tip of the knife caught his brother’s cheek.
Tinjtol stumbled, his hand flying up to press against the cut. He stared at his fingers, crimson in the firelight. His eyes darkened, and he tossed his knife from one hand to the other. “We stand even again, Maglayo. Come, show me you deserve the right to be called bajluk .”
Damon remained where he stood. Tinjtol would bait and prod. Then he would attack. As expected, his brother was impatient and lunged again. Prepared as Damon was, Tinjtol’s agility surprised him. A sharp pain sliced across Damon’s leg, and when he looked down, blood trickled from a cut at the thick muscle over his knee.
“Why do you play games, Tinjtol?” He fought the urge to drop to his knee. If he ended this now, took the banishment from his tribe, he would be spared the agony of
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