Chương 28: Ready the Bison
"Stand your ground," Hrok shouted.
The twenty tribesmen chanted loudly, standing crouched and shifting from side to side. It was daybreak and the sun was bleeding through the night in vibrant reds and pinks.
Hok ka ma! The tribesmen chanted. Hok ka ma!
Standing inside a fenced gate at the edge of Ghostbound.
In between them was beast, large and angry; black maned head and short, curled horns. Eyes full of darkened rage. The beasts back was hunched, and it pivoted around on four hooves, with torso hair short and dirt-brown.
"You know the kree" Hrok said, "If you lose your hat you must leave the ring."
Hrok was the largest of the tribesmen, wearing a button shirt, hide pants, and hide moccasins. His sharp-featured face was smeared with coal and spit, dark as lava rock, while his eyes stared red as blood. A tall, rounded brim hat rested on his head.
The Yurks were the only tribe that declined the Pioneers declaration of peace. Pillaging and stealing the garments and horses of farmers who tried to settle inside the Prairie Hum. They were fierce and brought fear to the settlers therefore the forefathers allowed them their lands to keep the peace.
The bison kicked up dirt as it charged. Head swiping from side to side, tearing through the air with its horns.
"Watch out," Warfrok yelled, running and diving, tackling a young Yurk, tall as he was, though much younger. Both their top hats sat in the dirt.
The beast hairy chin tilted downward and horns came towards the sky, missing.
Varko pushed the elder Yurk off of him, "Father, I am a man. You must let me be a man." He snarled, standing to his feet. He left the ring.
Warfrok snatched up their hats and placed one over his silverish-black braided hair. "I'm sorry, my son."
Hrok pivoted as the bison slid in the mud, driving his horns forward, missing the Kallri. The horns found a much larger target, piercing into flesh, throwing the tribesman off his feet.
"Another step and you'd be on your back," E'krek smirked, his face covered with two clay-red hand prints. A Yurk young and fierce.
Hrok smirked, "watch your tongue, young one, watch me closely and you may just get yourself a fresh mount."
"Watch you?" E'krek let out a low rumbling laugh while his eyes watched the beasts attack on two tribesmen. "You've slowed to a turtle."
"Turtles are wise and patient, not reckless like feverish coyotes."
There were wails and yelps as one tribesman after another was thrown from their feet, slamming to the ground, flesh torn open. Attack after attack, the bison raged until the mud swallowed blood, and a dozen men stood tending to their wounds outside the ring.
Hrok and E'krek both leaped back while the beast threw her weight forward, splashing through the earth. Two more tribesmen on the ground.
Hrok laughed and growled, "you nearly lost your head...you're beginning to slow."
"And so is the beast." The young Yurk took a deep breath through his nostrils. "We will who tires last."
After four more assaults, only two were left standing in the mud, facing the beasts vicious charge. Her eyes soulless, plowing through the mud for a final kill.
"Just you and me, young one," Hrok said. "Don't act a fool."
"And you shall be one-" E'kreks eyes grew seeing the beasts sights on him.
Hrok noticed the beast sudden draw. I will let you have this, he thought.
Hrom shifted his right foot, leaning towards the ground. At five paces away the Kallri waved his hand, the bison attention drifted towards him, charging head down, horns up. Hroks feet left the earth as the horns chased after him. The Yurk fell to the mud, rolling, hat on the ground. A miss. The beast continued his charge colliding into the fence.
E'krek stood over his Kallri, lip down, head shaking.
"Looks like she's yours," Hrok smiled, bringing himself to his feet and brushing the mud off his hat.
"You've earned her, my brother-"
"I've earned nothing," E'krek said ferociously, "there is no honor in this victory."
Hrok watched the Yurk walk towards the fence line while his tribesmen settled the wild bison. "Don't turn your back on me, E'krek," though the young Yurk paid him no heed.
Ghostbound was a town that sat a mile off the Wagon's Run. Once a trading town between Lone Creek and Sundown City, it was now abandoned, an outpost for many cautious outlaws to roam and stay for the night: a prestigious hideout before their arranged attack, Hrok knew.
He stood on the porch of the saloon, looking to the dead of the desert that swallowed the lands for as far as the eyes could see. While the sun's heat choked him like an invisible fire demon; the same one that brought the drought, or so he imagined.
"A word," Hrok said, as the young Yurk climbed the stairs to the saloon, smelling of rot liquor.
"I have no time for your words," he growled.
"Though you have time to indulge in my Numbwillow?" Hrok said harshly. "You will listen to what I have to say."
E'krek stopped on the staircase glaring at his Kallri, "you've deprived me of my victory-"
"You've deprived yourself." Hrok slammed his fist on the wooden railing. "Do not blame me, young one."
"How so do you see it? You took the fall-I saw you take the fall."
"And why, do you think?" Hrok's lip trembled. "To allow you a mount."
"A bison won't respect one whose respect was not earned... I did not earn that victory. You gave it to me."
Hrok glared into the young tribesman bark-brown eyes. Only fifteen years old, yet he fought like a seasoned warrior.
"You've taken the fall many times," Hrok said, "are you afraid to mount the bison?" E'krek's face twisted, eyebrows furrowed. "Then it is as I suspected. You don't want to give up your current mount."
E'krek stepped up onto the porch, "she's been with me since I-" He lowered his head, "-a long time now. I can't do as you ask. I won't do as you ask."
"And if not, you'll never be a Yurk-"
"I am no Yurk," E'krek pounded his chest, standing eye level to Hrok. "And neither are you. You've been banished. You've all been banished."
Hrok looked to the west where the Prairie Hum territory resided. "We will return in good time, and I'll become Kallri."
"You think winning the Iron Alchemist Tournament will-"
"It will give me an audience with Bonejaq, yes." Hrok squeezed the railing. "I will have the attention of my people and the right to challenge him for Kallri."
"And what if your people do not accept you-"
"My people," He bashed his chest looming over the young tribesman, "will fight alongside me. I will earn their respect. Not put fear in their minds. Not like Bonejaq."
E'krek placed a hand on his shoulder, "you are my Kallri. You are these peoples Kallri," he pointed to the saloon where the others resided. "We can start our own tribe."
"If it were only that easy," Hrok shoom his head and leaned on the railing, staring out to the south, "most only follow at the promise to return home. If I do not keep my promise they will abandon or slit my throat in my sleep, you know this. You're the only one I can trust."
"Yet I am no Yurk," E'krek said, "just a wayward warrior. No true name, no true home."
"When I'm Kallri you'll be my Kallhand. They will have no choice but to accept you."
E'krek tilted his head surprised by his words. "You do not mean what you say."
"I do, my brother," Hrok smiled at him, "you are the greatest warrior I've seen. None deserves better."
"What about Varko?"
"He is too Ill tempered."
"And Warfrok?"
"Wise, indeed, but old. Much too old to rule my lifespan. He'll make a good advisor."
"And Pruknock and Qurf?"
Hrok gave a deep laugh, "You seem displeased with my decision."
"Surprised, that's all." E'krek put his hand to his chest. "It'd be an honor, my Kallri."
Hrok put a hand around the back of the young tribesman neck and brought their foreheads together. "Then do me the honor and accept the mount." E'krek leaned back and shook his head. "Good. Come inside. We shall celebrate before darkness falls."
They went into the saloon where the other tribesmen sat guzzling down glasses of numbwillow.
Exchanging words and passed a long hollow piece of wood, with a bowl at the end, and red feathers that hung from the center. They puffed and passed, drank and laughed. Each one more high and drunk than the other.
Hrok led E'krek towards the bar that sat void of occupants and void of liquor. Cleaned out long ago when the townsfolk left to the north and the south. There were many tales told as to why Ghostbound had been left abandoned. Left to sit empty for only the ghosts and wanders to reside. Though which was true, nobody knew for certain.
"Have a seat, my brother." Hrok waved a hand and E'krek did as he was told. He then looked out to his men. All sitting together like a bunch of wolves ready for a feast. "We've gathered here for a reason. Our ancestors have brought us a gift-the chance to enter the Iron Alchemist Tournament." The men began to chant. "My brothers, a train will be traveling towards Sundown City. We are to intercept this train and leave no survivors."
"That is suicide," Qurf said He was thicker than the other tribesmen, with wide face and large nose. "The Legionnaires will track us."
"We have made peace with a powerful ally."
"Who?" Pruknock snarled. His teeth gangly and his body lean. The white in eyes were yellow as the achiote warpaint on his face. "Who is this one you speak of?"
Hrok looked at both men, "this is not your concern. We are to do this task and make it look like an attack by the Rokna: the desert tribe."
Warfrok studied the young Kallri. "We are not barbarians. To slain women and children is against my spirit. I cannot be a part of this."
"Your spirit will be forgiven. Our ancestors have spoken."
Varko slammed his hands down on the table, "our ancestors will turn their backs. Yurk people do not do the tasks of white man." He glared at Hrok. "Or have I misread you, My Kallri?"
"Do watch your tongue or I'll remove it."
Varko stood to his feet; the largest tribesman in the room though not a year older than Hrok. "I'd like to see you try."
"I will stand with you," Toiku said, his face scarred by the blades of Bonejaq. Anything to seek revenge. "You two our fools." He pointed to Varko and Warfork. "Have you all forgotten what Hrok did for us? Freed us before Bonejaq could execute us like wounded bison." He threw a glass and it shattered against the wall. "How dare you for turning your backs."
Varko slid back into his seat while Warfrok lowered his eyes.
"I do not want to take part in this act," Hrok said, "but we have no other choice." His eyes passed between warriors. "How much longer can we live like outlaws? Like banished warriors? Fighting for morsels, hardly enough to sustain a child. How much longer? And what about our life's blood, will it die with us? With no woman to bare our children and pass our blood. I do not want this." He shook his head. "We need the aid of the tribe for without them we are wandering spirits. Lost with no direction."
"Our spirits tainted so that we may reside in the Prairie Hum." Varko growled. "Can you all live with that on your conscious?"
Warfrok placed a hand on his shoulder, "we must, my son."
"Father?" Varkos eyes widen. "You cannot condone this savagery."
Warfrok cheek muscles tremble while his lips sunk. "We must. And learn to forgive ourselves thereafter." He swallowed.
Varko repositioned his top hat, "I will not be a false martyr." He rose from his seat and stormed out of the saloon.
E'krek to a step after him and was stopped by Hrok's arm. "Let him go."
"We'll need every tribesman."
"I'll speak to him," Warfrok promised, "give him time."
"If one of us falls we cannot leave him behind. If one of you are captured you must silence yourself." Hrok patted the Tomahawk on his hip. "If we do not our ally will have us hung. Is that understood?"
The tribesmen roared and raised their fists.
Hrok nodded, "let us hunt, my brothers."
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