Black Halo

them, help them with this, no matter how drunk, skittish, silent or paranoid.

It won’t be easy. For any of us, least of all me. I hear the voice. Not always, not often, but I know it’s there. I’m likely the one man who shouldn’t be looking into someone else’s life.

But I can do this.

I can do this for all of us.

Tonight is Togu’s celebration, a ‘kampo’, he calls it. It’s something of a joint feast to herald the end of summer and remember the day humans came to their island with salvation from starvation. To hear the other Owauku speak of it, it’s an excuse to drink fermented bug guts and rut.

Sounds like fun.

As good a time as any to gather everyone together, to tell them all that I’ve been thinking, to tell them what we can do, that we can live without war. From there? I suppose I’ll find out.

Hope is not going to come easy.

But I can do this.

Twenty-Seven

AN INVITATION WITH FISTS

‘KAMPO!’

The collective roar of jubilation rose from the village’s valley into the night sky like an eruption from a volcano too long dormant.

The Owauku had come exploding out of their huts and lean-tos in waist-high green tides, setting bonfires alight to challenge the black sky overhead. Their drums had followed shortly after, pounding relentlessly without concern for rhythm. And, as though it were some honoured guest arriving to mark the official beginning of the festivities, the mangwo had been rolled out in tremendous hollowed-out gourds, dispensed into smaller cups for the patient. Those lizardmen not possessing such restraint simply buried their heads in the drink and came out barely alive but wholly satisfied.

Once Lenk had seen enough to know that he was quite annoyed by the whole affair, his attentions turned to the Gonwa. To a lizardman, they abstained from the merriment, keeping out of the paths of the exuberant Owauku, lingering near fires only long enough to cook gohmn. Against the throngs of their squat, joyous hosts, they stood in groups of three or five, with only three or five groups amongst them.

Only now, as he walked along the edge of the upper lip of the valley, did Lenk truly notice how few and how silent they were.

‘They aren’t going to join?’ he asked the brightly coloured creature to his side, gesturing to a nearby throng of Gonwa.

‘The Gonwa come from Komga,’ Togu explained. ‘They have always had enough, so they don’t think it cause to celebrate when you no longer have nothing.’ He sniffed. ‘Also, they’re just weird.’

‘Right, but weren’t they invited? You said this was for us, didn’t you?’

‘That might have been a lie.’

‘Might have been?’

‘They get hard to keep track of when you have a position of authority,’ Togu replied. ‘You know … well, of course you know. You lead, don’t you?’

‘Yes, but I don’t really lie.’ Lenk’s eyebrows rose appreciatively. ‘Is that what I’ve been doing wrong?’

‘Probably,’ Togu said. ‘At any rate, it’s not a complete lie. This time twenty years ago, humans came to our starving island and brought with them all we needed to become what we are today: coin to collect, grains to make the gohmns grow strong …’

‘And all the brandy needed to forget when we didn’t be havin’ ’em!’ a passing Owauku cried out, to the roaring amusement of his companions.

‘I’ve been curious,’ Lenk said, glancing to the distant forest. ‘If your forests are barren, how have you survived this long?’

‘Barely,’ Togu replied. ‘Our numbers reached a point where we could subsist off of the occasional fish caught. But they swam so far from our shores that we could only bring back so many. We survived by starving.’

‘Until the humans came.’

‘Yes,’ Togu continued, ‘and the Kampo is here to remind us of what the humans have done for us, and to celebrate what we came from. In a way, it is a celebration of you.’ He flashed a broad grin at the young man. ‘Of course, there was some hope that you’d be smitten by our native charm and be convinced to stay and convince more humans to come.’

Lenk blinked, pondering if the intent fixation of both of the Owauku’s eyes was supposed to be expectant, speculative or possibly slightly nauseous. Hedging his bets, he simply shrugged.

‘Sorry,’ he replied. ‘We’re hoping to leave tomorrow.’ He glanced over the ledge, deeper in the valley, where he spied Denaos adding another half-gourd cup to a growing pile. ‘Most of us, anyway. In fact, I was hoping to see the boat.’

‘The boat?’

‘The one you’re lend … giving us,’ Lenk replied. ‘If I can figure out how it works now, it’ll save the time of learning it tomorrow.’

‘Of course … tomorrow …’ Togu waddled to the edge and stared down at the jubilant masses. ‘My people have forgotten the word, it sometimes seems. A few down there likely remember the barren forests we came from, but they have plenty now, so why should they remember?’ He sighed deeply, and then looked to Lenk. ‘Have you ever had this problem in your position? Sparing your friends the harshness so that they might continue to laugh and smile?’

‘As far as most of them are concerned, the laughing and smiling tends to come from killing, which in turn seems to come from being honest,’ Lenk replied, shrugging. ‘But that’s killing. It’s done when it needs to be done.’

‘And you leave Teji? Will you not return to more killing?’

‘I don’t plan on it. I’ve seen plenty of it.’

‘I see …’ Togu said, looking back down at his people. ‘You would say it is fair, then, to avoid spilling blood when need be?’

‘I would say,’ Lenk replied slowly, ‘that bloodshed is something that gets very tiring, quickly. If it’s at all possible to live without it, I don’t think it’s a ridiculous idea.’ He offered a weak smile. ‘So can’t some things just come without it?’

He laughed a vacant laugh. Somehow, he didn’t feel quite convinced by his own words.

‘I am glad you see things that way,’ Togu said, bobbing his head as he turned about and began heading back up the valley’s edge toward his stone hut. ‘Apologies, cousin. The Kampo is tiring to people in my position. I will see you at the end of it all.’

Lenk nodded stiffly. Somehow, Togu didn’t sound convinced, either.

It was quickly forgotten, however, as he watched Togu fight against the tide of Owauku pouring into the deeper levels of the valley. The king’s words lingered in his ears, the uncertainty in them infecting his thoughts.

He wasn’t much of a liar, he admitted to himself. Honesty had been bred into him. But when it came to his companions, it was really more a matter of practicality; lying to them simply wasn’t feasible.

Asper had taken enough confessionals to know them before they even began. Dreadaeleon asked too many questions for any to hold up against him. Gariath claimed to be able to smell lies and proved to be able to beat the truth out of people he suspected it of. Denaos would hear them, nod slowly, and then grin knowingly. And Kataria …

She believes you, he told himself. She follows you, anyway, doesn’t she? The others threaten to leave if they don’t get their way and you tell them you don’t care if they do and that’s the truth. But she’s never tried to leave …