Path of the Tiger

valued above all else was wisdom, enlightenment, compassion, empathy, understandin’, the pursuit of knowledge, gentleness, beauty … all that good stuff. We satyaduta, yeah, we were always hunted, always targets a’ the Huntsmen an’ others like ‘em, but for thousands of years we had the freedom to be other things too. Instead of fighters, we could be poets, sages, dancers, storytellers, scientists, mathematicians, biologists, musicians, composers, writers, artists, inventors, scholars, spiritual guides, yogis, chefs, sculptors, healers, medicine men an’ women, counsellors, philosophers … God, we had so much potential, so much. An’ now it’s almost all gone. All that’s left is survival an’ fightin’. We’ve come full circle, from the tooth an’ claw darkness of the primeval past through to a golden age of peace an’ enlightenment … an’ now back to a simple, brutal struggle to survive, to kill or be killed. That’s why I said, kid,’ she continued, looking at Chloe, ‘you may not believe it, but I’m like you. You an’ me, girl, we’ve got far more in common than you think. I hate violence, I hate guns … believe me, I hate what I have to do, what I’ve had to become. So does he, and he, and he. So do all of us. But when you can get into your heads the position we’re in, an’ what’s at stake here, then you can understand why we have to use these.’ Njinga held the .45 up in front of her face, her features stone-hewn and her countenance cold. ‘I hate this thing,’ she continued, ‘an’ what it’s designed for, what it does … an’ everythin’ it represents. But I value my life an’ the lives of those I love, an’ the lives of all wild, free, beautiful things more than I hate this thing … so I’m gonna use it to protect myself, an’ to fight for them … because who else is gonna do that? We last stragglers are the final pocket of resistance, the last stand against the vast, insatiable machine that eats everything up an’ shits out only cold concrete-an’-steel-an’-plastic-eternal-death. An’ we sure as shit ain’t about to go down without a fight.’

‘What were you, before … before you had to become a fighter?’ Paola asked.

Njinga smiled sadly, and a ghost of a chuckle trickled from her lips.

‘I was a storyteller, a dancer, an’ a healer. All a’ those things. It was a position a’ great honour in my tribe, a position I held with pride an’ with love, a position that gave my life meaning an’ joy. An’ even after the slavers took me an’ turned my life upside down, I held onto those things … because they were who I was, who I am. I’m still a dancer, a storyteller, a healer; I ain’t never stopped being one. This whole fighter thing … it’s just a skin I have to wear for a while, yeah, but the real me, she’s still in here. She always will be.’

‘I’m a fighter,’ Daekwon said. ‘A b-, boxer. I ain’t never really been g-, g-, good at nothing but sports, especially b-, boxin’. But I always, I knew that there was s-, somethin’ mo’ important that I was s-, supposed to do wid’ my life. I n-, never knew what it was … not until now. I … I wanna f-, fight alongside y’all. Hell, I don’t think there’s anythin’ else I can d-, d-, do anyway. After what’s happened, any c-, cop who sees me is gon’ sh-, sh-, shoot me on sight. I’m, I’m dead anyway. I figure I m-, might as well do what I’m g-, good at – fightin’ – an’ use it fo’ something m-, meaningful.’

‘Don’t you have a family who are gonna miss you? Ain’t you worried about that?’ Njinga asked.

‘I was r-, raised by my grandma, but she b-, been in a nursin’ home the last year wid’ dementia. I been l-, livin’ on my own since then, in her a-, apartment. Don’t get me wrong, I l-, love her, she’s my only f-, family, but she ain’t g-, got much longer left. Well, there’s my lil’ b-, b-, brother too, but he’s been livin’ with our cousins in Los Angeles fo’ the last f-, five or six years, an’ I only s-, see ‘em once a year. An’ my grandma, she barely r-, recognises me these days anyway. Her mind seems to, to d-, die a lil’ more every time I see her. I just been th-, thinkin’ that one a’ these days I’m g-, gon’ walk into that nursin’ home an’ sh-, she ain’t gon know who I is.’

‘I want to fight too,’ Chloe said, balling her hands into tight fists, her jaw set and her eyes shining with a fresh and almost feverish determination. ‘After everything you’ve said, Njinga, I’ve realised that I want to, no, no, that I need to fight alongside you.’

Njinga studied the girl’s face for a few moments and found the kind of brightly savage intensity and zealousness of commitment to a cause that only the fires of youth can truly fuel. She nodded coolly, her eyes locked in an intense stare with the teen’s.

‘We need allies,’ she said slowly, ‘an’ like it or not, you kids have been thrown into this war. I’m glad that y’all are willing to stand alongside us an’ fight.’

Paola, however, broke into tears at this point, her body racked with great, heaving sobs that rocked the whole body of the truck with their violence, while her plaintive wails and moans rattled the steel sides of the compartment.

‘I don’t wanna fight,’ she whimpered between sobs. ‘I don’t wanna do this, I just wanna go home to my family, I just, I just want everything to be how it used to be! What are my mama and papa gon’ say, what are they gon’ do?! They think, they think I’m a terrorist! It’s not true, it’s all lies, it’s not true! I, I don’t wanna fight, I