Valor and Violence

Levi stared at the warm beer sloshing around in the glass’s bottom. It tasted like shit when he started the pint, and now that the dregs were covered in a film of floaties, he found it even less appealing. He shouldn’t have nursed it so long, it was probably close to the same temperature as its surrounds.

Which was to say, it was bloody hot. Marduk was balls deep in ‘the build up’, that period of the year immediately before the wet, when the heat grew unbearable and the air so humid you could practically swim in it. Even a local such as himself struggled on days like these. Sweat smudged the yellow ochre on his face and poured down the crevasse of his spine, trickling into his arse crack. He could feel the swamp butt starting, that dreaded cheek chafe, and he had barely moved. He groaned and wriggled his behind on the stool, trying to get some airflow down there.

They had chosen this pub to drown their sorrows since it had a high ceiling, required to make room for the empty VIP mezzanine above the bar counter. But as his cheeks rubbed together, he had to admit it didn’t make a difference.

He eyed the beer again. If he kept going like this, there would be the Pit to pay tomorrow when the hangover caught up to him. Still, the barkeep had discounted it for them, so it’d be a shame to waste it. He knocked it back, trying to ignore the chunks sliding down his throat, and stood, bumping his stool and almost knocking it onto the packed earth floor.

“You’s want another?” he asked the rest of his party, all just as drunk and miserable as he. They were the Aluwai tribesmen who had followed him from the village, selected for their competence as hunters. Not that it had done them any good. They had survived the trek to the coast, only to fail at their destination. He looked around the table, taking them in.

Immediately to his left was Derek, the giant. Where the average interior tribesman stood at around five foot six and ninety kilos, Derek towered over them at somewhere in vicinity of six foot five and the approximate weight of a small swamp drake. His inclusion had been a no brainer. Beside him sat Panusi, average height, but pound for pound the strongest man in the village, if a far cry from being the smartest. Next was Bopau, leaning in close to Isakoa, conversing in hushed tones. Bopau was unusual for an interior man, his skin a slightly lighter shade of brown and his body slender. He probably had some coast dweller blood in him somewhere down the line, but no one held it against him since his smaller stature made him the tribe’s foremost tree runner. Isakoa was the oldest among them, his fuzzy black hair peppered with grey and most of the teeth rotted from his head from a life chewing rednut. He wasn’t as strong or fast as he used to be, but something could be said for the experience of a greyhair in a place most where most died young. Last were the brothers, Maba and Manuwai, the tribes’ most skilled fighters.

No one reacted to his mumbled question.

“Oi! You’s want another?” Levi slurred again, louder. This got their attention, the six sets of glassy eyes gazing back at him, their owners nodding at different times as the question finally sunk in. When he was confident he had the order memorised, he staggered over to the bar and raised a finger to get the barkeep’s attention.

“Seven pints, please.”

The barkeep grimaced but complied, smacking the tap on the keg behind him and filling the glasses. Levi smiled appreciatively at the back of his head. Most bar staff would have booted them by now, before the drink could make them rowdy, but when he heard their story, not only had Barro agreed to let them stay as long as they wished, but he gave them their beers for a fraction of the price too. Given the man had just thrown a sobbing, newly divorced wreck out the door when his wallet ran dry, Levi suspected the generosity had more to do with a shared heritage than a naturally compassionate disposition.

Barro sported the facial markings of a city tribe, the Nungi, two vertical yellow stripes on his forehead and a solid dot on each cheek, but from his build and skin tone, it was clear he originally hailed from the interior. Out in the jungle, he and Levi would have avoided each other at best, come to blows over territory at worst, but here in the port? Well, it was just nice to see another similar face. As long as he wasn’t a Gundie.

Damn Gundagaal. They were the reason Levi and his men were here in the first place. The cowardly bastards had stolen into the Aluwai village three weeks ago. Their target? The storehouse. Of course, they had been discovered during the heist, but when cornered by Levi and the other warriors, they had set a fire to cover their escape. When the chaos had settled, the Aluwai had found half the stores missing, their newly rebuilt dwellings burnt to the ground, and three of their number dead in the blaze. Levi had demanded to lead their warriors, to raze the Gundagaal village to the ground and put their hunters to the spear. The way they had dealt with the Skjar the year before. But the chieftain had rejected him.

“We’re wounded, Levi. The mighty drake might lash out when challenged by a rival. It might rend the flesh and break the body of its foe. But when the sun rises on a new day, two bodies will nourish the jungle. We may end the legacy of the Gundagaal, but we will also end ours.”

Levi disagreed. The Aluwai were battle hardened. Fierce. The Gundagaal were Bark Eaters, cowards who ran at the first sign of a fight. But the chieftain’s word was law, so here they were. They had brought their sub-standard wares to port to beg and scrape for food, but it had been for nothing. The Aluwai were never renowned as crafters, focussing instead on hunting and cultivation to better survive the jungle interior, and it was reflected in the quality of their woodwork. In the end, they had barely earned enough coin to cover their lodgings, let alone buy enough rice to last the wet season. Which brought them to now. Drowning the shame of their failure in cheap booze.

Levi looked down at the dirty bar, his fists drifting in and out of focus as he swayed. His hands clenched, the nails digging into his palms bringing pain, and with it, a modicum of clarity. The chief had picked him to lead the party. The great ‘hero’ of the tribe, who had led the charge that broke the Skjar. The diplomat who had enlisted the aid of the foreigners. Surely, a man as blessed in war and diplomacy as Levi would have no trouble safeguarding the future of the tribe? It was just like his father had always said, Levi was destined to be a great hero of the Aluwai.

That had been the logic.

What a load of shit. He had failed, and because of his failure, the Aluwai would die. The women and children would go to whichever tribes would accept them. The men would drift to the city. Become Tribeless. An ignoble end for a noble people.

The clattering of the drink tray on the bench in front of him drew his attention. He looked up into Barro’s face. There was empathy in his sad smile. Understanding. Levi supposed Barro’s story might be quite similar to his own. After all, why else would a tribesman from the interior be working a dive bar in Port Pirie?

“No charge,” Barro said. “Drink as much as you need. Then come see me. This all feels hopeless, but life does go on after.”

“Is it a good life?”

The barman hesitated. “It’s a living,” he said, his tone flat.

Levi sighed and reached for a pint, when he heard the patter of running feet. A scarce second later, someone slammed into him from behind. He fell forward, the precious grog flying off the bench as he smashed into the tray. Groaning, he pushed himself up, wiping the suds from his face as he turned, and found himself staring at a group of about a dozen city dwellers arrayed in a semi-circle, their eyes trained at the floor by his feet. Levi looked down and found a boy, probably only thirteen or fourteen, blood oozing from a split lip as he glared defiantly back at his attackers. His face was unadorned, no ochre to denote his people. The boy was Tribeless. Which probably explained why the mob was after him. Tribeless had no allies, so they were easy, if not exactly profitable, targets. Levi’s eyes narrowed at the men.

Cowards.

Barro’s voice broke the silence that had descended on the room. “You lot aren’t welcome here. Walk away. Leave the boy.”

Levi glanced over his shoulder to find the barman hefting a solid Ironbark club. He struck an imposing figure, but with a twelve to one number advantage, not counting the kid, the mob looked unimpressed. One of them scoffed and thumbed his nose. Levi noticed he had a split lip. It seemed the kid had gotten at least one in before running.

“Stay out of this, barkeep. You aren’t Tribeless anymore. This isn’t your concern.”

“I’m making it my concern.”

“You want to be pissing blood for the next week on account of this runt?” Split asked.

Levi laughed. He had just noticed one of the pints had survived the impact. He retrieved it and faced the mob, locking eyes with the spokesman.

“Got something to say, Swamp Dweller?”

As soon as the insult left his lips, the rest of the Aluwai silently rose from their seats.

“Take a right when you leave, then the second left, through the next two intersections, and it’ll be right there.”

“What will be?”

Levi drained the pint, keeping eye contact as his throat bobbed up and down. When it was empty, he lowered the glass and smacked his lips. “The closest doctor, of course.”

“You after a beating as well then, Swamper?”

Levi fixed a smile on his face and spun the empty glass in his palm. “What say we all find out, eh?” He paused, took a deep breath, and bellowed. “Aluwai!”

His men crashed into the mob, swinging stools and drink trays and, in Derek’s case, a whole table. They were outnumbered by the taller Coastals, but the stocky interior tribesmen wouldn’t let that dissuade them from a good bar brawl.

Levi hurled his empty glass at Split, missing by an embarrassing margin thanks to the drink, but it distracted the man long enough for Levi to charge. Levi wrapped his arms around the spokesman’s waist and hoisted him in the air, copping a few elbows to the back, before slamming him onto a table. The rickety furnishing splintered and they tumbled to the floor. The Coastal cried out in pain and Levi clambered onto his chest, dropping his meaty fists into the bastard’s face with an evil grin until a pool cue shattering over the back of his head ruined his fun.

Stars exploded behind his eyes as the blow floored him. He was dimly aware of a sharp pain in his lip when he face planted. A tooth had cut clean through it. He growled and flailed like a flipped turtle, fighting to regain control of his body. He finally succeeded in rolling onto his back, only to find the Coastal with the pool cue driving the jagged remnants at his now exposed belly.

That’s a bit much, mate.

Levi graced him with a bloody smile and kicked out his knee, right as Barro smacked him in the side of the head, folding the Coastal painfully in half as he crumpled.

“That was close,” Levi said with a laugh. Barro returned his bloodthirsty grin and hauled him to his feet, holding Levi steady as the room swam in and out of focus, though from the pool cue or grog, he wasn’t entirely sure. Catching his breath, he took in the state of the room.

Derek was closest to them, the giant Aluwai crushing two Coastals against the wall with the table while a third, pinned under his foot, ineffectually punched him in the shins. Just beyond them, Bopau was curled up on the floor, shouting obscenities at the two Coastals putting the boot in until Isakoa barrelled into them, hefting one assailant through a window and leaping onto the other with a savage, gummy snarl. Panusi had one man in a headlock near the doorway, while a second clung to his back, trying unsuccessfully to choke him out in turn. Panusi probably didn’t even realise the second man was there. Finally, a shriek of pain behind him drew Levi’s attention to the mezzanine above the bar. He looked up and saw the brothers fighting back to back, duelling with two more Coastals in a bizarre caricature of fencing, broken stools and table legs replacing blades. The final mob thug was the source of the scream, dangling from the mezzanine railing by one hand, his other dangling uselessly by his side.

Levi laughed, a baritone sound from deep in his belly. There was nothing like a good bar brawl for a man to vent and clear his head. He roared a challenge, Barro at his side, and prepared to charge, but a sharp whistle froze everyone in place. The fighters turned as one to the point of origin, eliciting a strangled cry from the poor bastard in Panusi’s grip as he lost his balance and sagged, bending his neck at an awkward angle. Everyone else went still.

Standing in the doorway was a Coastal with the same facial markings as Barro, shaking his head at the scene in front of him. Unlike the shirtless men crowding the room, he was dressed in a flowing green cloak, with a tailored shirt of flawless white linen underneath, and a thick golden torc around his neck. From the relative opulence of his outfit, Levi surmised he was the Nungi chieftain.

“Barro, care to explain what is happening here?”

Barro straightened up and hid the club behind his back, as though that might make a difference. “Hello there, chief. Just a little altercation with some unwanted guests.”

“You call this… little?” the chieftain asked, pointing to the wrecked tables and shattered window.

The thug dangling from the mezzanine screamed as he lost his grip, falling onto the bar counter with a cringe inducing crunch.

“Alright, so it was a fairly large altercation.”

The chieftain shook his head. “Can you at least tell me what started it?”

Barro stood mute, his eyes fixed on the floor and jaw clenched. In the end, the Tribeless boy clambered to his feet by the bar, his presence answering the question. The chieftain looked from the boy to the barman, his expression neutral.

“Barro, we’ve talked about this. Your obligation is to the Nungi now. Not some Tribeless wretch. You risk dragging us all into conflict when you extend your hand to them.”

The barman looked up to meet his chieftain’s eyes, his expression set. “I understand, chief. But that would be me, if you hadn’t extended your hand to me first.”

The chieftain’s expression softened, the dour look replaced with one of mirth. “Alright, Barro. Fair point. But you still need to stop this. The Nungi have avoided conflict with the other port tribes for years. I would rather we didn’t start now.”

When the barman nodded, the chief gestured to the Tribeless boy. “Get him cleaned up. He will stay with us for the night.”

Relief flooded Barro’s face as he thanked the chieftain and dragged the boy towards the back of bar to wash up.

“Hold it right there!”

Barro and the boy froze as Split groggily picked himself up off the floor, his lip and an eye already swelling to impressive proportions.

“The Nungi started this. I demand recompense for the Bundi.”

“Bundi?” Levi mouthed at Barro.

“Local tribe,” he mouthed back. Meanwhile, Split was still talking.

“I demand Blood Reparations!”

Levi scowled as pensive glances and indignant grunts circulated the room. Invoking the right of Blood Reparations was not taken lightly. In theory, it was a tradition that allowed for the de-escalation of conflicts between tribes, where the tribesman who gave insult was made to fight the injured parties. In this situation, it would see Barro square off against all twelve of the Bundi men. The claim wouldn’t have held weight if the boy had been Nungi himself, but as a Tribeless, he didn’t have the same rights and protections. By intervening on his behalf, Barro had technically instigated the conflict. But that was bullshit semantics as far as Levi was concerned. He glanced around at his own fighters. They all nodded.

It’s decided then.

If the chieftain accepted, Levi and the Aluwai would intervene. Such an act would be a grave affront, effectively a declaration of war, but the Aluwai were far removed from these people, and it was unlikely the Bundi would travel all the way to the interior for vengeance.

Levi and the others would need to skip town immediately, but their mission was already a failure and he couldn’t let Barro fall under the ‘mercy’ of these Coastals. He looked around for something he could use as a weapon.

The Nungi chieftain, meanwhile, looked the Bundi speaker up and down, then strolled into the bar. He passed freely through the crowd, head held high, until he reached the counter. He pulled the groaning Bundi off the bar, dumping him unceremoniously to the floor, and poured himself a pint. When he had drunk half of it, he set it down and turned back to the speaker.

“Blood Reparations are your right. Do you seek payment now?”

“Yes!” the Bundi speaker spat, spraying blood from a broken tooth across the room, unaware of the Aluwai tensing around him. Levi balled his hands into fists and shifted his weight, ready to move.

“Very well,” the chieftain said, pulling his arms under his cloak. “I accept. As the chieftain of the Nungi, I accept responsibility for Barro’s actions. You may face me, instead.”

As he finished talking, his hands reappeared, a gleaming Emrinthian style talwar in either hand.

Levi gawked. Who the Pit was this guy and how was his tribe so wealthy that he could afford solid gold jewellery and steel weapons? With the Marduk climate, no matter how diligent the maintenance, metal corroded away to nothing within a few years, if not months. It made holding an armoury of metal weapons prohibitively expensive, so no one bothered. But here was this chief, holding not one, but two flawless swords?

On seeing the formidable weapons, the demeanour of the Bundi changed. Suddenly, they didn’t seem so keen on invoking their sacred rights.

“That’s what I thought,” the chieftain said, eyeballing each of the Bundi in turn until they looked away. Split was the last, and held out the longest, but even he eventually looked aside.

“Get the fuck out of my bar, and don’t let me catch you around here again,” the chieftain said, voice dripping with disdain. He turned back to the bar and finished his pint as the Bundis collected their casualties and filed out.

Once outside, they deliberated for a moment, with lots of wild gesticulations, before they headed down the road to the right. Levi sucked his teeth. He probably should have told them he made up the stuff about the doctor. When they were gone, the chieftain turned back to Barro, who stood, transfixed, through the entire exchange.

“Go on, Barro. Get the kid cleaned up, then bring him to the compound. Find out if he has any useful skills.”

“Chief?”

The chieftain sighed. “If we let him go, they’ll find him and kill him. It’s the closest they can get to revenge now they’ve revoked their claim to reparations. If we don’t take him in, we may as well slit his throat ourselves. In fact, it would be a mercy.”

The boy whimpered at the last bit, and the older man glanced down at him sharply. “Pull that bottom lip back in, boy. I didn’t say we would do it, but there’s no free board in the Nungi. Just ask Barro there.”

With that said, he swept out of the room, Barro bowing his head in a very un-Mardukian display of deference. When the chieftain was gone, Levi turned to the barman.

“Your chief will adopt a Tribeless? Just like that?”

Such actions were unheard of. Tribeless usually got that way from being cast out by their own tribe, not a measure ever taken lightly. The others came from tribes that had dissolved, the strength of their people insufficient to survive the rigours of the jungle. Either way, Tribeless were usually viewed as dead weight at best, actively harmful to those around them at worst. Barro shrugged and shook his head.

“He’s a bit soft, if I’m being honest. The tribe is doing very well, I think the comfort is getting to him. Not that I’ll complain, he gave me a chance when no one else would. And boy,” the kid looked up at Barro as the barman’s grip around his arm tightened, “you had best pull your weight. Our fates are tied together now. You will not drag me down through laziness or dishonesty, is that understood?”

The boy nodded, seemingly in a bit of a daze about everything.

“Good,” Barro said, relaxing his grip and looking back at Levi, “and thank you, Aluwai. It was not your responsibility to get involved.”

It was Levi’s turn to shrug. “Who among us could pass up a brawl like that? It was no skin off our nose.”

Behind him, Bopau puked all over the floor, the kicks to the gut mixed with the alcohol catching up with him. As the others laughed, Isakoa smacked him over the back of the head, retrieved a rag from behind the bar, and threw it at the slender man. Levi’s eye twitched, ever so slightly.

“So I can see,” Barro said, his eyes crinkling up with a smile, “but still. If there’s anything I can do to repay the favour.”

Levi shook his head. “We won’t impose. Although, out of curiosity; you mentioned your tribe is doing well, and I noticed the chief’s jewellery. What is it that the Nungi do, exactly?”

Barro raised his eyebrows a fraction. “You don’t know? Our primary trade is in escorts.”

“Escorts?” Levi asked, taking a subconscious step back before chiding himself for his prudishness. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. I just didn’t realise there was that much money to be made.”

Barro threw his head back, raucous laughter bouncing off the roof. “No, Aluwai. Escorts, not escorts.”

“That doesn’t help.”

Barro shoo’d the boy into the back of bar before addressing Levi again. “A few years back, some rich foreign prick turned up in port. Said he wanted to explore the mysteries of the deep jungle. Turns out there’s a degree of romanticism surrounding Marduk, particularly in places like Ader and Tok Risim. Anywhere nobles with more money than sense are left to sit around with their thumbs up their arses, really. Anyway, one of the boys on the dock said they could arrange a guided tour, but it would cost him since it was so dangerous and all. The dickhead paid two hundred silver a head for each member of the escort party, plus five gold for the tribal coffers. They took him a couple of ks inland, got him nice and turned around for a day or two, then brought him back. And just like that, an industry was born.”

“You’re kidding,” Levi said bluntly. Any travel in the jungle could be dangerous, of course, but Aluwai parties would routinely travel much further afield than that in search of meat or medicinal herbs, and the fees Barro outlined were… exorbitant. Levi cracked a sly grin as an idea took shape in his head.

“So, where might one find this sort of work?” he asked.