Chapter 6: Unable to Calm

He ran as fast as he could. Sweat strolled down Ginika’s brow as he trotted towards the direction of their house, brushing pass the populace and calling out the names of his mother and little brother.

The smoky air was harsh on his nostril, and he could taste it somewhere at the back of his throat. As he tried to swallow, he realized just then that there was no fluid in his mouth.

His eyes walked pass the palm tree to the shadow beyond the other side of the grass, but he could barely make out the face of anyone from the paleness of the moon.

Tugging his wet hair behind his ears, he stopped when he realized that it was a dead end. The disorder in the village square made it impossible for him to trace the familiar route of their house.

‘Where could they have gone.’ He hissed, full of worry as he turned in a three-sixty degrees. If only he knew where to look.

Someone hurried towards him, with shoulders seating unequally on the body. Every part of Ginika jumped with excitement as he waved his hands to get her attention.

“My mother—”

“Have you checked the house?” The woman frowned in the dark, not even giving him the chance to finish, but he shook his head before trying to speak.

“No, I haven’t seen them!” She shouted, cutting him off to whatever he wanted to say.

Her head was looking the other direction by the time she asked, “Have you seen Hassan?” She didn’t wait for a reply as her hasty feet carried her in the opposite direction. 

The village square had become a disarray of confusion and panic.

It was as if order never walked in the midst of the people who looked eager to get to their family before the killing starts.

Ginika ran to the west side of the circle, hoping to increase his pace, but the older people kept obstructing his path.

Their house was not far from the village square, and he knew he could make it in time, but he wasn’t so sure if his family would be at home.

They had all come to watch the dance with the rest of the village, and his mother would probably be looking for a place to hide his little brother from the taskmasters.

Someone bumped him, and he lost his balance. He tried to struggle to his feet, but another person slammed him on the cheek.

A metallic taste filled his mouth, followed by a throbbing teeth, and he found his face buried on the dust.

Ginika cursed when pain shreds his skin from the weight of the people that trampled on him.

His hands and feet were burning from the different weights. He could hardly breathe as the air that was in his lungs was knocked out by a force he didn’t know.

He heaved, eager to suck enough air into his hungry lungs, but dust flowed into his nostrils instead, making him cough.

His stomach was hurting, and he knew he was going to die. He knew he wouldn’t see the face of his mother or father. Lying there, the life he had lived flashed before his eyes.

He would never see his little brother Chika.

This was the end, at least, he would die and meet Zahra on the other side of the world. Maybe this time, she would love him, and they would be together.

Something grabbed him and lifted him away from the dusty ground.

Ginika coughed, but was grateful for the fresh air that swerved into his nostril.

He opened his eyes to register his environment. That was when he noticed that Someone had carried him on their shoulders.

“Put me down,” He kicked and tried to free himself. But the grip that held his waist was firm, “I need to find my brother!”

The person who carried him seemed unmoved by his protest. Its paced increased instead and seemed to be taking him away from the village square.

“In the name of the three kings, put me down now or I would report you to the chief,” Like before, the hooded figure said nothing.

The noise from the village was faint now, or was it drowned by the sudden sizzle of burning grass?

Ginika lifted his head to catch a glimpse of the village. It was all smoky now.

“The village is on fire, put me down. I need to save my brother!” The hooded figure obeyed him.

It dropped Ginika slowly, but its lofty figure shaded his path, as if warning him not to run back to the village.

Ginika narrowed his eyes, hoping to catch a glimpse of the face behind the hood, but it was all masked with darkness.

“Out of my way,” He tightened his knuckle, ready to throw a punch if it refused to let him pass.

“Elder Bola, is that really you?” He asked when he heard the familiar voice and relaxed his knuckles when the hood that hid the face underneath gave way.

“Hello, Ginika.” The older man smiled weakly, but his eyes had returned to the village.

“Stay calm,” Elder Bola said, “And whatever you see, try not to scream.”

Ginika frowned as confusion cloaked his face. What was this old man mumbling about? The answer struck him when his gaze fell upon the burning buildings.

The people were no longer running, or they had been arranged in a single file and were walking towards the taskmaster.

“We would start from the nursing mothers.” She said and pointed her sword towards a woman who had a baby.

The woman’s scream covered the air as two soldiers dragged her to the front and made her kneel before the taskmaster.

The child was crying, but its cry ceased when the taskmaster plunged her sword into its forehead.

The mother’s anguish was soul-piercing.