A Dying Eye

“Remember what we fought for, my children,” whispered Akida Asikari. The bronze-skinned warrior had aged since the start of the war, and now, wounded by the Naisian guns, his candle was quickly nearing the end of its wick. His short-cropped hair had grown to a silvery white and his face bore the wrinkles of age, worry, and the wear of the constant fighting.

“Our people will always remember, O Great One. Even the jackals and the vultures will remember our cause,” Jetek Kongoro said. His voice spoke for every Kiani in the room. It pained them to see their leader like this, and though their proud faces would never show it, their hearts mourned for Asikari.

It had only been three days since the battle at Akaina Rim, and the Kiani chieftain had already withered away so much. Many lives had been lost in the valley basin. The desert warriors had been outgunned and outnumbered, and the Naisian soldiers had beaten them for it.

It seemed that the grey-backs, soldiers of the Red Eagle of the East, had at last bested the Kianis. Their war had lasted almost six years, and now the bitter struggle was at last nearing its end with each failing heartbeat of Akida Asikari.

“Garrin L’Brech has failed us.” Tirjasiri’s hate-filled words echoed in the earthen room. “We should never have let Asikari’s Jackal leave.”

There was a low murmur of agreement from the other warriors. Garrin l’Brech had been their last hope in defeating the Alliance. He had left garbed in their clothes, his stomach filled with their food, and his head filled with their knowledge. He had carried all of their hopes, fears, and burdens on his shoulders when he set out across the desert accompanied by two of their own. A week later, with the two sides descending into the Akaina basin, l’Brech had failed to fulfill his promise and the Kiani tribes had suffered greatly for his betrayal.

The soldier had been captured six moons before when Asikari had mercifully spared him his life. He had opened l’Brech’s eyes to the ways of the Mtu, the People, and had showed him how two cultures could live in peace together. Many Kiani had disagreed with Asikari’s ways, but the Great One had a way of calming their nerves and seeing the best way. At the time, he led himself and all of his people to believe that l’Brech was the way. And now his people were dead and he himself was dying because of his idea.

But Asikari’s dying light had served another purpose; the purpose of bringing all of the remaining tribes of the Mtu, or Kiani, together at the God House. Two of the tribes had been destroyed, and many more had been reduced to only a family or two, including Tirjasiri’s own. His was the Farsir tribe, the People of the Night Hawk. He, his sister and her child were the last of their line. Tirjasiri’s hate for Naise and her soldiers had risen to dangerous levels since the battle at the Rim and he was not afraid to voice his opinions.

“Brothers, we must continue to fight,” Tirjasiri proclaimed. “Is that not what Akida Asikari wanted? We have fought for our lands, for our people, for our survival! We must not let our enemy take us as the locusts take the grass. We have to fight them. That is the only way!”

“You were there at the Rim, Tirjasiri. You saw how they fight, how they kill. We can not withstand another attack from them.” Hassa’s opinion brought a chorus of others against Tirjasiri. It was foolish to try another attack. The Kiani tribes were a primitive society compared to the whites; their weapons were no match against the Naisian artillery.

“Tirjasiri is right.” The gathering hushed as Jetek Kongoro, Asikari’s second, entered. “We must not be eaten up by the foreigners. But we can not afford to fight them again.”

“Then what do you suggest?” Hassa asked. Tirjasiri was silent, his arms crossed, and his black eyes locked on Jetek.

“Our fate lies with Chief Asikari on his death bed. We cannot afford to continue to fight the Alliance as it is. Without Asikari, we will be lost and scattered. There is only one way to survive the war…” Jetek sighed and a troubled look passed over his face. “We must surrender.”

“No!” Tirjasiri stepped forward, a wild light dancing in his eyes.

“We must, Tirjasiri. We cannot take another beating like that and hope to survive. Bweheupe has failed us and we cannot hope for another chance like that. There is no other option. I have talked to the Elders of each tribe and they have all agreed. We will go when the Supreme One has left us and our time of mourning over.”

“But you have not talked to me! Have you forgotten that I am now the leader, the Elder of my tribe? Or have you and the others forgotten us?” Tirjasiri spat out his words vehemently.

“The decision is made, Tirjasiri. Nothing you can do will change our decision. We have Akida Asikari’s blessing.” Jetek paused to give the young warrior a stern look. “Please do not try to prevent this from happening, Tirjasiri, Elder of the Farsir. On behalf of every Mtu here, I beg that you hold your tongue and your blade lest you harm those that you want to help.”

Jetek Kongoro turned to go. “This is the best way.”

As the blue moon Æinn began to fall towards the horizon, Akida Asikari’s heartbeat slowed and his spirit was given up with a shuddering breath. The desert was cast a vibrant shade of red then, the sands glistening like blood. The time of the Mtu had come to the end, and, as the sun rose, the time of Naise and the Red Eagle began.