The Lost Nation: Nkechi the Renegade (Book 2)

11

Nkechi grinned into the forest as the Svolik's wails of fear filled the air. She saw it in this beasts' eyes. She could tell by the way the dark veins around his eyes creased and his brows bowed together. The panic was clear to see across this persons face and it brought Nkechi nothing but joy. For years they had terrorised this world, but now they would learn that they were not the only beasts that roamed this world. The shadows from the trees manifested like a phantom of death. Their mask clad faces flitting through the camp and cutting the Svolik down in seconds.

Nkechi fought beside them, the Dahara in her rattled to be let loose but she controlled her power as best as she could. Tapping only into the speed and strength that being a Dahara gave. She fought a gritty battle, her mind raging at all the injustices this cowardly nation had wreaked across the world.  Blood streaked across her skin, until every Svolik including the leader was dead. Her heart pulse raced erratically as the adrenaline of her bloodlust began to fade.

All around her lay the bodies of her nation's tormentor. Her stomach churned at the realisation of what she had done. She had killed more people than she had killed animals throughout her whole life. She stared down at her shaking hands as her knife clattered to the floor. The camp hushed to an unnatural silence as everyone absorbed what they had just witnessed.

Nkechi felt the tears brimming her eyes, but she hastily wiped them away, only allowing her soul to cry beneath the surface of her shattering heart. This was why her nation, the Daharen believed that no being could be both a Funai and a Dahara. The warrior nature that now inherited her body raged at her weakness and demanded that she had done nothing but protect those around her. The Funai in her cried at all the life that had been lost. Whether they had been good or not, she had taken their chance of redemption.

To truly be Dahara she had to forsake the Funai teachings that often brought her comfort. She was at an impasse within herself, unsettled and truly shocked by the number of lives she had so callously taken. Even more so, she was perturbed by the bloodlust that she had felt once she had cut down the first Svolik warrior.

Large sandal clad feet stepped into her view and jarred her from her distorted thoughts. The person they belonged to bent down and gathered up her bloody knife. Large, calloused hands outstretched the weapon to her. Blood dripped from the knife and coated his rich brown skin in a murky tone.  Her head lifted at the gesture and then her heart stuttered. Her mind spinning as she absorbed what little of his features, she could make through the half mask.

The top half of his face and nose was covered by the wooden mask, along with one of his eyes making it hard for her to completely read him. She schooled her face to remain stoic even as her mind rattled off on a tangent.

Through the small revealing parts of his mask, Nkechi's reality started to sink in. All her distorted dreams over the past month manifested into the clearest vision she had ever seen and when her sight returned, she could not stop her heated gaze from lingering on the gold necklace that hung around his neck. Her skin pricked at its nearness; her mind was foggy at the blending of existences. A moment of cognizance ran through her brain. It was as if the past and the future were converging into one place. The fibres that made up her body shifting and stretching so tightly within her that her skin itched. The feeling grew as her breathing became laboured until a chillness climbed over. She sucked in a deep breath of air before finally facing the man before her.

"Thank you," Nkechi murmured. Her tone depicted a calmness that her body did not feel. Her mind was scattered but her gaze remained steady.

He titled his head in interest. "It's an interesting knife you have," his hand twisted the blade in interest.