Chapter Three
After the Executioner’s death, disbelief became bad manners. Witnesses told the story until every listener could describe the sound of teeth on bone. The details changed; the terror did not.
The King tried to maintain a sense of calm and normalcy, but no amount of free palm wine could lift the tension in the air. Through the bonfire and the wild beating of drums, the stench of impending death hung in the air.
Who would it be this time?
While the rest of the village was distracted by the pretence of celebration, the King met with his council.
“She cannot be killed by our blades,” said one of the councilmen.
“A net,” one councilman said. “Weighted at every corner.”
“She walked through a wall.” The General did not raise his voice. “What, exactly, will your net hold?”
“We are all doomed! We are all doomed!” One man blurted in panic.
“Silence!” barked the King.
The room fell quiet. All this time the King had been waiting for the High Priest to speak but he had said nothing.
“High Priest, what do you suggest we do? Or are you not the man to speak on matters of the worlds beyond?”
The High Priest cleared his throat and bought himself three breaths. His authority depended on appearing to remember what the gods had neglected to tell him.
“We must…”
“He has nothing to offer! We cannot trust anything he says,” the General cut in.
“Silence! Let him speak,” the King commanded.
The High Priest avoided the new General’s eyes as he spoke. The General was not one to trust anything he could not verify for himself. In his opinion, the words of the High Priest were no more than figments of the man’s own imagination. He watched him begrudgingly.
“I have prepared ten charms,” the High Priest said. “Once she wears flesh, your blades will find it.”
“And how are we supposed to find her in the first place?” a councilman asked.
“I suppose you expect us to march right into the forest,” the General said.
The High Priest said nothing.
The King sat in silence. The Executioner’s death had brought the darkness to his doorstep. If the moon reaper had come for the man who swung the blade, then her killings were not random—and the King had to be somewhere on her list. He would stop her from entering Eyanka, even if it meant sending his warriors into Ingiga Forest.
“General, you will take the charm from the High Priest and you will lead the charge into the forest. We must get to her before she gets to us.”
The General sought the gaze of the Priest but it was not forthcoming.
“With all due respect my King, we don’t even know if these charms will work,” he protested.
“Do you doubt the power of the gods? The gods that have kept you and your forefathers before you,” the High Priest countered.
The General smiled without warmth. “Good. You will stand beside me and watch the charm work.”
All eyes were now on the High Priest. It was time for him to prove himself. A faded picture of the beheading from so many years ago flashed before his mind, and with it; a shudder he could not resist.
“Very well then, have it your way,” the High Priest accepted. He was shaking with fear to the core of his being, but he would be dead before he would let the people that believed in him see his fear.
The King rose from his throne. “Then it is decided. I am counting on you,” he moved his eyes to the General and then the High Priest, “both of you.”
Without another word the King and his personal guards left the council meeting and everyone else followed. Before the General made his way out, he stopped by the High Priest.
“For your sake, I hope the gods are in your favour. Because if you are wrong about this, I will kill you long before she gets the chance to. I promise you this.”
When the celebration was over, silence befell the village. The streets were barren to even the presence of livestock. All the men slept on the doorsteps inside their huts in their bid to protect their family. Most didn’t even sleep at all but stayed up with whatever weapon they could fashion. Of course the stories held that steel was of no consequence to the reaper, but the alternative of waiting empty handed was not an option for most. At the very least, they wanted to die fighting.
The High Priest true to his word did have an assortment of charm bracelets prepared for a ten-man team.
“I guess one of you will have to stay back. There is only enough for ten and the High Priest is coming with us on this one,” the General said, smiling in the priest’s direction. The fear of death was now apparent in his eyes despite his best efforts to hide it.
“Is there a problem, High Priest?” the General inquired.
“You should learn to watch your tongue General.” The Priest cautioned.
“You have nothing to worry about. If this works, I will revere you as long as there is breath in my body, blood in my veins.”
The High Priest handed out the charms before fastening one around his own wrist.
“We have nothing to fear. We must only make sure we strike first,” the High Priest said.
The General grabbed a spare sheathed machete from his waist and handed it to the High Priest.
“Hopefully you won’t need this, but then again, you never know.”
The General turned to his men.
“Let’s go,” he pointed at the soldier without a charm, “actually you will come with us, but stay outside the forest. If things start to go wrong, you will sound the horn as an alarm.”
“How will I know if things are going wrong?” he asked.
“Even a deaf man does not have to be warned of death when war breaks out.”
The forest was strangely cold and misty all year round. The croaks of frogs and hooting of owls broke the silence with the occasional rustle of leaves as bats flew in and out in search of fruits to eat.
“No matter what happens, we do not break formation,” the General said. The group of nine formed a circle with their backs to each other. It was the only way of making sure they had eyes in all directions at all times. The High Priest was allowed to stay in the centre for his own safety. The light from their torches didn’t illuminate much, but it was better than nothing.
“Ahhh, my…” The soldier never got to finish his sentence. Before they could turn around to see what had caused him to scream, he was already gone.
“Where did he go?” one soldier asked, swinging his torch around wildly.
“Focus! No time for that now,” the General barked.
They swung their gaze to every conceivable corner of the forest but found nothing.
“She’s in the…”
She took the second body.
By then panic had set in way too much for them to maintain formation. The soldiers broke rank and began to swing their machete aimlessly, waving their torches around in search of the unseen enemy.
“She’s in the ground!” one soldier yelled as he noticed a certain pattern where his comrades had been standing.
The others began to frantically stab the earth with their machetes but the efforts were at best wasteful. After the initial wave of panic was over, they settled into their fears and readied their mind for the worst.
The earth opened beneath the first soldier. His head rose through the leaves before the rest of him understood he was dead. Another head surfaced behind them. The formation collapsed—not because the soldiers lacked courage, but because courage requires somewhere to stand.
“She knows we have this charm! She won’t even let us hit…”
Then she allowed them to see her: a child-shaped absence, darkness breathing where a face should have been. She reached into the nearest soldier’s chest. His ribs opened around her arm. When she withdrew her hand, his heart came with it.
The General had hoped for a battle of guts and glory. He would have to wait for another day.
“Retreat! Retreat, now!”
Like a shapeshifting mass of darkness, she swept towards the High Priest and sank her teeth into his right arm. The General swung with all his strength, landing his machete against the side of her neck. She turned and released her prey. It gave him just enough time to seize the High Priest and run.
“Retreat, retreat!”
Only outside the forest did they count themselves. The watcher was gone. The charms remained bright around their wrists, beautiful and entirely useless.