"So, what now?" Tanaka asked. He sat at the edge of a bridge in the village, his feet dangling over dark blue water that reflected both the moon and the two men.
"I don't know," Gazi admitted, staring at the reflections of the stars.
"To be honest, that script is our best chance at hope right now."
"Well, you heard her. She's not giving it to us."
"Yes." Gazi let out a sigh and sat near Tanaka, watching his own reflection in the ripples.
"That treacherous witch," he muttered under his breath, hoping Tanaka wouldn't pick it up.
They sat in their usual silence, looking into the water and enjoying the quiet night. The bridge was almost deserted, save for the occasional hay carriage passing by.
"You know... I kind of understand it, though," Tanaka spoke softly.
"Understand what, your Majesty?" Gazi asked.
"What she was talking about. I mean, just look at this place. Compared to the Yera Shumba village, this place... it's a dump. And we, as their lords, were supposed to prevent it from becoming like this." He paused, a bitter laugh bubbling up as he thought of the irony. "Why should we expect them to guarantee us their loyalty when we never fulfilled the duties that earn it?"
"Their loyalty was guaranteed when their ancestors lost the war against ours," Gazi said firmly. "Her actions, no matter how reasonable they may seem, are still treacherous. Do not let sentiment dilute the truth."
"I guess. I'm just saying, if I were in her position, I would probably have made the same choice." Tanaka paused, turning his head away. "And so would you."
Gazi sighed, taken aback by the boy's words. He laughed softly as he leaned back.
"Since when did you become the wise one?" he jested.
"Your old age must be rubbing off on me."
They laughed together, enjoying the simple peace offered by the calmness of the bridge—something they were learning was no longer a luxury they could afford.
"I have a plan," Tanaka said suddenly, jumping up to stand on the wooden planks.
"I'm all ears," Gazi responded, his eyes shut.
"What if we steal it?"
Gazi's eyes snapped open. He shifted slightly, his forehead creasing as he rubbed his temples. The sound of crickets filled the silence while Tanaka looked back at him expectantly. Gazi placed his hand on his chest, feeling the arrowhead pendant beneath his clothes, trying to soothe the anxiety rising within him.
"No," he finally said after a long silence. "Tanaka, that would be wrong on all counts of diplomacy." He spoke softly, as calm as ever, before laying back onto the hard wood boards.
"Oh." Tanaka's short-lived excitement faded, and he collapsed back onto the bridge.
He is right, though, Gazi thought. If the Chief is not willing to take the honorable course of action, then why should we? But if we do it, it might damage Tanaka's diplomatic integrity forever. Argh, what to do?
"Okay, then what do you think we should do?" Tanaka asked.
"Right now? I'd say lie where we are and count the birds until dreams trap us in their ever-approaching snare."
"Why can't you just say 'go to sleep' like a normal person?"
Gazi chuckled. "Where would be the fun in that?"
"Besides, that's not what I meant," Tanaka sighed
" I know."
They lay on the hard wooden boards of the bridge, looking up at the sky. Tanaka did so out of boredom, while Gazi offered silent prayers to anyone who would listen—gods or ancestors—desperate for any sign of hope.
I will protect him, your Majesty. Gazi promised. His eyes began to feel heavy, his vision blurring as sleep finally took him.
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"They are still in the village, ma'am," reported a man with a grim face and a buff build. He stood before Chief Onye, who sat upon her throne with practiced poise.
"How curious."
"Should I have the men drag them out? Just say the word, and it shall be done."
"Mind your tongue, Guard," a voice screeched from the far end of the room. "War is a ruinous business, and we have no idea how it will end."
The guard turned to see an old man sitting at a table across from the Chief. His dark skin made him barely visible in the shadows; wrinkles covered a body that was gaunt, almost skeletal. With barely three strands of hair left on his head, it was clear his years were far spent—his very presence among the living seemed a feat of sheer will.
"While Chief Onye was right to maintain neutrality for now—though I disagree with the way she did it—we have already cut open a wound with the Yera Shumba," the old man advised. "It is one they will not likely forget, and I would not recommend you add salt to it."
"Trust me, dear Advisor, your fears are ill-placed. If only you had seen them when they were here." The Chief rolled her eyes elegantly, her green eyes glinting in the moonlight.
"Weak. That is the only word that comes to mind... Guard," she said, batting her lashes, "throw them out of my village before they cause unrest among my subjects."
The guard began to bow.
"Guard! Don't you dare move," the old man thundered. His voice echoed across the royal room, making even the Chief's regal facade flinch.
"This is war, CHILD. And as I said before, it is unpredictable. Just as a mountain of a man was once a child, so too the strongest warriors were once weak."
He turned his head to face the Chief. "I thought I taught you this."
He stood from his seat and walked toward the door. As he reached the exit, he slowed. He turned his shoulders back, his feet remaining planted. "Plan accordingly, child." His words lingered like a threat as he stared daggers into the Chief's eyes.
"Yes... Father," she whispered quietly.
The old man stepped out into the night, leaving an agitated Chief behind.
"Ahem," the guard coughed to get her attention. "So... what should I do with them, Chief?"
Chief Onye took a deep breath, adjusting her posture and regaining her composure. She looked at the guard and smiled—a smile that was beautiful like a rose, but possessed sharp, hidden thorns.
"Nothing. Leave them be. If they choose to leave, it would be a welcome gift from the ancestors. For now, just keep an eye on them."
She remained in her seat, glaring into the empty space, her jaw clenched tight.
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The faint sound of cautious footsteps rang in the air. The flutter of nearby wings made the sound difficult to track, but to a trained ear, it was unmistakable.
Gazi rolled backward from the edge of the bridge and instantly grabbed the broken, dagger-like end of the spear from his bag. Like a mercenary trained to kill first and identify the corpse later, he crouched in a combat stance.
Tanaka, who had been in a deep sleep, snapped awake. He rose groggily, rubbing his heavy eyes. "What's..." he started with a yawn. "What's going on?"
He snapped his head to the side, suddenly seeing the figure in a long coat standing right beside him.
"Who... who are you?"