Sand and Blood

Chapter 20: Shimusogo Karawàbi

In the end, the cruel get their comeuppance, but rarely do victims cheer.

—Mistan Palarin, The Iron King's Betrayal (Act 3, Scene 2)

By midday, Rutejìmo was exhausted. He strained to pull Pidòhu. His back screamed out in agony, and his legs were on fire. But he couldn't stop pulling.

"Damn it, Jìmo, let me carry Pidòhu."

"No!" he gasped, and forced his feet forward.

"You've been dragging him all morning. You need to let me—" Chimípu reached out for the handles.

Rutejìmo lurched to the side to avoid her and almost fell over. Sweat ran down his face, and he regained his footing. Glaring at her, he forced himself to drag the frame farther along. They were almost up to the point where Tsubàyo, Karawàbi, and he stopped the first night. He knew there was shelter, and this time, when he arrived, it would be with pride instead of shame.

"Damn the sands, Jìmo. Let me!"

"No!" he said.

"Why not!?" Her voice was shrill and tense.

"Because you need your strength."

"For what?"

"Mikáryo."

Chimípu stopped and stared. "Is this what this is about? Look, Jìmo, everyone gets scared, and it isn't your fault that you—"

Rutejìmo closed his eyes tightly. "Please don't finish that sentence."

Chimípu sighed and paced him. "What is it then?"

"You...." He gasped and trudged forward. His foot slipped, and he dropped to one knee. With a sigh, he slumped. "I... can't do that." He looked up, his heart tearing as he spoke. "I can't fight for us. I can't do the same things as you. But I can do this. And if I'm going to be helpful, then let me do what I need to do."

She crouched down next to him. "Jìmo, you don't—"

"No. I do," he pleaded, "Please. Let me do this. You can't do everything."

Chimípu's gaze softened, then the corner of her lips quirked up. "Pidòhu's been gossiping, hasn't he?"

Pidòhu craned his neck to look at them. "Just making observations."

Chimípu leaned over and smacked him playfully on the shoulder.

With a chuckle, Pidòhu batted her back, but it was a weak, helpless strike.

"So," Chimípu asked both of them, "if I'm going to be the great defender of this pathetic group of clan members, what should I do?"

Rutejìmo shrugged and caught his breath. "I don't know. I'm still working on holding up my share."

She smiled at him and gave his shoulder a smack. "Not doing that bad at all, Jìmo."

Rutejìmo's heart skipped a beat with joy. He smiled and rubbed his shoulder where it stung.

"Well, if you are done beating on each other," Pidòhu said as he pointed past them, "maybe Great Shimusogo Chimípu could find out why there are vultures circling over the rocks we're heading for."

Rutejìmo and Chimípu looked in the direction he pointed. Six vultures sailed in a lazy spiral and a dozen more hopped on the rocks. They were staring down at the camp. Occasionally one would flap its wings and cry out.

Chimípu stood up. "You said the camp was there, right?" She asked as if she hoped Rutejìmo would say no. "Maybe it's just food rotting."

"M-Maybe." But Rutejìmo had a bad feeling in his gut.