Still, wrapped in torn and tattered clothing, Makami could find little to mark him as worthy prey. Unless these thieves were so desperate, they now took to robbing paupers and beggars, these men hunted something more. But what? Had some merchant gotten wise to food he daily snatched at market? Unlikely. He could manage such simple sleight-of-hand in his sleep. Besides, the scraps were barely noticeable—certainly not enough to keep his belly from crying to him each night. No, these jackals were after more. He only wished he knew what.
The pain was sudden. One moment he was running, the next he was on his back. Bits of light danced before his eyes and he scrambled to get his bearings. Lifting a hand to his brow he felt something warm, trickling from where he knew a wide gash had opened upon his dark skin. Blood. Something had struck him as he rounded a corner, right across the face, with enough force to send him crashing down.
Dazed, a dark form took shape in front of him. It was a man—a very big man. His rounded head was cleanly bald, making it look as if his entire body were covered in one sheet of ebony. He gazed down with a scowl, pulling his spread out features closer. Bulbous and stocky, he had shoulders like an ox and meaty arms that Makami guessed were just as strong. In one hand he held a misshapen staff of wood crowned with a thick knot. Long dark cloth encircled his waist, covering his legs and coming to his ankles. His torso was left bare—save for two hide straps that crossed his chest. Up to three knives were tucked inside, their blades gleaming like sharp teeth. Little doubt about it, Makami thought grimly, this was definitely a jackal.
“Stay down,” he growled, lifting his cudgel threateningly. His breath was labored and his massive chest heaved with considerable effort. “Should hit you again for putting us on such a chase.” He looked up at the sound of approaching footsteps. “Over here! I have him!”
Still too dazed to turn around, Makami waited until the new arrivals came into his field of vision. Two more men. The jackal pack was complete. One was muscular, dressed much like his larger companion. He paced the small space, dull yellowish eyes threatening danger. The third man bent to his haunches, his dingy tunic parting just below the knees as he balanced his slight weight. He ran a hand across the triangular patch of hair atop his scalp, smooth brown forehead furrowing in thought. His bright inquisitive eyes remained fixed on Makami—as if trying to discern something. After a moment he broke into a grin, displaying perfect white teeth unnaturally large for his wiry frame.
“Now that wasn’t so hard,” he said. “Good thinking Ojo, leaving you out here ahead.” He continued to grin at Makami, which seemed even brighter than the gold-hooped earrings he wore in each ear. “Didn’t know there were three of us eh?”
Makami didn’t answer. This was gloating, not a question. These men were decidedly not thieves. They all spoke trader’s tongue, each tinged with differing accents. So they weren’t locals either.
“Still say we should have waited,” the big man grumbled. Makami noted something in his voice. Was it...worry? “We were warned—”
“Oh, stop your old woman talk Ojo,” the smaller man said impatiently, coming to his feet. “Doesn’t look like much to me and we took him easy enough. We’ll keep him locked tight for the next few days.” A new light came into those bright eyes, reminding Makami of a ferret. “Or, maybe we might get more for him ourselves . . .”
Makami frowned. Get more for him? Were these men slavers?
“I don’t know Matata,” the big man said. Yes, there was definite worry there. “What do you think Jela?”
Their silent companion only shrugged; those yellow eyes trained on Makami. “Matters not to me.” His accent was so thick it was obvious these lands were foreign to him. And for the first time Makami glimpsed his teeth—each of them filed to sharp points, giving his mouth the appearance of a shark. “Whichever one brings us the greater payment.” He pulled one of the knives strapped to his chest, aiming a deeply curved blade directly at Makami. “You. Show it to me.”
Makami stared up at the man perplexed. Show him? He shook his head, not understanding.
“I will not ask you again,” the man warned, his voice betraying an edge as sharp as his cruel-looking blade. “Show me what lies beneath, what is on your chest—I want to see it myself.”
The blood drained away from Makami’s face at the man’s words. How could these men know about what he had taken such great effort to conceal? And if they did, to ask such a thing, were they mad? Beads of sweat broke out across his skin as for the first time, he truly became frightened.
The man scowled deeply, displaying his sharpened teeth. With his free hand he delivered a blow, snapping Makami’s head back and filling his mouth with fresh blood. Suddenly numerous hands were upon him. A blade flashed and there was the sound of cutting cloth. Summoning what strength was left in him Makami attempted to twist away from his attackers. But the big man was true to his earlier threat, rapping the back of his skull once with the cudgel. The blow crumpled him, leaving his head dizzy with new pain. Listless, he felt as the shirt that covered him was pulled and ripped until it lay at his waist in tatters. He was left on his knees; chest now bare as his captors stepped back to admire their handiwork.
“Oja!” the big man exclaimed in his native tongue. “Curse my eyes! Are they moving?”
Makami closed his eyes, not needing to look down at his chest to know what the man was talking about. They were markings, crimson lines and arcs etched into a circle upon his dark skin.
