The Invasion of Andora

Eil and his sister Nala lay flat on the ground in tall bushes. They held machetes tightly and stared at the neighboring village of Andora through thick bushes. Their uncle and caretaker Kilo stood next to a tree where he blended effortlessly. Kilo was the only weaponless man among dozens of spear-wielding Kasaians. The villagers of Andora did not suspect for a moment that the neighboring village of Kasai stood at their border ready for slaughter.

Tacus the Chief of Kasai aimed a spear and then launched it at the nearest Andoran villager. It landed two feet to the Andoran’s left, lodging itself into the ground. The Kasaians briefly reconsidered their admiration for the chief while Kilo kissed his teeth and charged ahead.

Eil and Nala trailed Kilo as best they could which was a great deal faster than anything the rest of the Kasaians could manage. The Andoran villager readied himself for the weaponless man at the head of their assailants. He felt confident enough that he could take on the singular villain while the rest of the Andorans gathered arms. Every Andoran was alert after the mediocre ululating from the rushing Kasaians.

Kilo reached for the ground without ever halting his momentum and pulled out a fully formed spear made of earth hardened to the density of steel. The Andorans were only briefly mesmerized by the inexplicable sight before the survivor of Tacus’s initiating strike found he would not be lucky twice. Kilo’s spear impaled him to the ground through his heart. He died after a handful of breaths. Kilo retrieved his spear without the effort and complications that would slow down the ordinary man. Those who were briefly mesmerized by his perceived sorcery either ran or resisted.

Those who resisted were cut down without a chance to live up to their last decision. Those who ran met varying fates all concluding in death. The sole variety in their tragic fates were in the means and degrees of suffering. Some were fortunate and died as painless as one can die in such a situation and others not so. Kilo had seen most ways the ordinary person could defend themselves and he had an efficient answer for every one of these defenses. On the other hand, he had long abandoned the possibility of seeing all the ways a man could turn to cowardice. With cowardice there was always a new innovation. He gave it his best attempt to slay the escaping victims in his path but allowed himself no more than a singular strike for each.

If they survived, they would regret it.

Eil and Nala, machetes held with such fierceness their knuckles paled, dove onto every victim left behind by Kilo with the faintest hint of life and ensured the task was complete. Eil and Nala were not the surgeons their uncle was, and their efforts had left more than one of their fellow Kasaians soiling themselves in horror. More than any other Kasaian, Eil and Nala were drenched in blood and bodily matters they didn’t have the words to describe. More than any other Kasaians, Eil and Nala had grown numb to the taking of a life.

Kilo stopped in front of a large tent and prodded the door flaps open with the spear. He waited a moment for Eil and Nala to catch up. He shook his head once they finally arrived.

“You take too much time. Nala, stop relying on Eil, and Eil, she's capable of handling herself,” he said. "Two to a person?" He kissed his teeth.

Eil would have replied, but he had learned long ago when he had only begun taking a whetstone to his tongue that Kilo did not demand answers to his statements, only that you listen. Eil had a few distinctive reminders of that. He narrowed his eyes but that was the extent of his insubordination. Kilo’s skills extended to noticing the slightest bit of rebellion. Nala had the sense to always look angry and so Kilo gave her the benefit of the doubt, likely because to take her permanent expression as genuine anger and to react as he would react with any other one of his niece or nephews would not bode well for anyone.

Kilo wandered through the crates of fruits and vegetables, and nuts and herbs, before stopping in front of one filled to the brim with mangos. In a fluid but unexpected motion, he spun around and launched his spear into a crate across the tent. A screech followed and two boys jumped out of the crate, hurrying to escape through the exit on the opposite side of the tent. Eil and Nala instinctively made to follow, to take two more lives, but Kilo held a hand up. He approached the mango filled crate, grabbed one and took a bite. With his free hand, he pushed through the layer of mangos. He pulled out a shiny pebble and watched it dissolve into his palm, not a remnant of it left.

For a man like Kilo, the pebble meant little. He pulled out two handfuls and gave them to both Eil and Nala. The pebbles were peculiar-looking rocks, only distinct from any other because they had been thought to recognize the signs. Both, if they felt the freedom to speak their minds, would have offered greater interest in the mango he’d devoured.

“Hurry,” he said.

With strained faces, and grunts, the pebbles slowly dissolved into their hands, not a dust of it left. The last pebbles dissolved just as the flaps to the tents opened again, and Tacus stepped in.

Tacus and his most loyal gazed at the blood-splattered children with an uneven mixture of fear, pity, and disgust.

“Do we have what we were looking for, master?” Tacus asked Kilo.

“Of course, as I told you, and continue to tell you every time.”

“Good, good.” He sighed. “Will you ever stop bringing your children with you?”

“Of course not, as I told you, and continue to tell you every time. However, the day you decide you’re not the coward you’ve accepted you are, I will move on and find another chief that will abide by my demands.”

“Don’t be so hasty, master, it would be irresponsible of me not to tell a villager of my village if they may be mistaken in the manners they raise their children, for all of Kasais’ children are my children too.”

Eil would have said something, but even to Tacus he knew better than to retort with Kilo there. Still, Nala’s glare through her bloody veneer did the trick in unsettling the village chief.

“Eil, grab the basket and put the mangos there. The children deserve a treat.” Kilo’s eyes did not budge from Tacus’s when he spoke.

Eil wouldn’t be asked twice, for many reasons. He hurried over to a basket in the corner of the tent and emptied the crate of the surface mangos.

“Let’s not remain here any longer. The prefect will not appreciate any delay,” Tacus said, standing aside as the two children hauled the basket of mangos outside the tent, Kilo ahead of them.