Winter's Edge: A Post Apocalyptic/Dystopian Adventure (Outzone Drifter Series Book 1) (16 page)

He was about to reply to Clement when Ironclaw stood up.

“Clement, I believe you’re moving too fast,” Ironclaw said, his voice cutting through the cold air like a knife. “The tribe has only a
chief-elect
, not its chief. And tonight’s selection process isn’t over yet.”

Clement looked up at Ironclaw in astonishment. “What the hell are you talking about? You were given your chance to put your name forward—you refused.”

Ironclaw walked over to the fire pit and rested a boot on top of a charred boulder. He stared down at Clement. “Your problem,
amigo
, is that you’re not as smart as you think you are. I chose not to enter the leadership vote, because I wish to challenge the chief-elect by the rule of the blood challenge, which as a council member is my right under tribal law.”

Clement snorted. “Are you crazy? You need forty percent of the vote to do that,” he said. “Seeing as how you didn’t put your name forward, how can—”

“Clement, you’re wrong.”

Another voice from within the circle had spoken. A few feet away, a tall, wiry brave with a long ponytail stood up. It was Nelsen, a warrior in his thirties and one of Ironclaw's closest cohorts. He walked over to the fireside and stood next to his companion.

“There’s no rule to say when Ironclaw should request the challenge. He can ask for the tribe’s vote now. I will be his advocate.”

“That not how it’s done,” Clement said angrily. “You two are trying to make a mockery of our traditions.”

Nelsen shook his head. “The tribe has no law that says the blood challenge requires a brave to first put himself forward for the leadership vote. Since you doubt me, we will ask someone who knows our laws better than anyone.”

Nelsen walked a few feet down the circle and stared down at a man with silver gray hair and a large hooked nose. Crowface was the holder of the traditions and laws of the tribe. In any dispute, his say was final in the matter.

“Crowface, I call on you to stand before the tribe and tell our friend how wrong he is.”

Crowface rose to his feet and walked up to the middle of the circle, a doleful expression on his weather-beaten face. He gazed first at Ironclaw, then Bose.

“The blood challenge has taken place on only one occasion. That was ten years ago, and was something I’d hoped we would never see again,” he said, speaking slowly. “It is not good that the tribe’s two finest braves should fight one another. On that occasion, both Reddock and his challenger, Broken Arrow, died from their wounds by the end of the contest.”

“Yes, Crowface, everyone here knows that. Get to the point,” Ironclaw said impatiently.

Bose could tell from his tone that he already knew the answer. He and Nelsen must have consulted him earlier, or Ironclaw would never have undertaken this strategy. This was all part of the drama Ironclaw wished to create.

“The previous challenge was made by the runner-up in the leadership vote. In that sense, we can say it has become part of our
tradition,
but our
laws
state only that to make the challenge, a warrior must gain forty percent of the tribal vote
on the night of the succession contest
, that is all.”

“In other words, Ironclaw is free to seek that vote now?” Nelson said.

Crowface nodded. “That is the law of the tribe.”

“No one will vote for this madness,” Clement said, shaking his head angrily. “Everyone remembers what happened the last time. Only a warrior as bloodthirsty as Ironclaw would choose to do this and risk weakening the tribe. It appears nothing seems to interest Ironclaw in life more than death itself.”

“Or maybe you fear for your own life.” Ironclaw retorted, staring at Clement darkly. He turned and gazed around the circle. “And for the record, so that no one here is in any doubt, I am one hundred percent in favor of the Black Eagles remaining in the confederation. The tribe has my word I will not change my view on that.”

Clement snorted. “That’s very convenient. When exactly did you change your mind about that? The day of Sureshot’s death?”

“When doesn’t matter. I swear it now. Everybody here knows me to be a man of my word.” Ironclaw turned to Bose. “You have been very quiet in all this. Does our great
chief-elect
choose to hide behind the words of his skinny little friend all night? Is this how a chief of a warrior chapter behaves? Should we even call you a warrior at all?”

Bose rose to his feet, feeling all eyes on him. Now he fully understood Ironclaw’s game. Sensing he wouldn’t win enough votes during the leadership contest, he was looking to goad Bose to agree to the blood challenge or risk looking weak.

“Crowface,” Bose said, “the tribe thanks you for your guidance. You speak wisely of the blood challenge and why it has not been invoked these past ten years. The challenge leads to the certain death of at least one of the tribe’s strongest warriors, perhaps two, and that is not a good thing
.
”

Bose gazed around the circle of warriors, every face tilted up and staring at him. “Do you all remember the oath we swore when we joined this tribe?
To live our lives bravely, to die even braver
. We are a warrior chapter. The tribe must have a chief whose bravery is beyond dispute. There must not be a single shred of doubt he fears death in any way. So I call on everyone here now to pass the vote for the blood challenge, a challenge which I proudly accept.”

He faced Ironclaw, who stared at him with grim satisfaction. “If one of us is to survive tonight, the Black Eagles will have its first blood chief.”

The night had grown colder. A stiff breeze drove through Cloud Valley where the Black Eagles sat hunched around the dying embers of the fire pit. Behind them, a few feet away, Sureshot’s funeral pyre was no more than a heap of charred wood and ashes. All focus now was on who would succeed as next chief of the tribe.

The vote had been taken, forty-one warriors voting in favor of Ironclaw’s blood challenge. Bose had made sure of it, walking around the circle and forcing every brave to raise their arm. A certain amount of warriors, those allied with Ironclaw, required no prompting.

Surprisingly, Roja had kept her hand down and he had to raise it for her, though she had turned her face away as he had done so. Only Daniella had resolutely refused to allow him to lift up her arm, her honey-colored eyes watering as she stared up at him anxiously.

When he returned to his place, Clement gazed across at him. “I’m sorry,” he said in a low voice as Bose sat down. “I wish I could have done something. I didn’t see that coming.”

Bose shook his head. “I wouldn’t have let you,” he said. “This is a warrior chapter. This is what we do.”

In front of him, a young brave was stacking more wood in the fire pit. He splashed kerosene over it, lit a match, and it ignited in a whoosh of flames. Three women had gone up to the camp. They returned with lanterns, carrying them down to the riverbank, one in each hand. Lighting them, they placed them in a large circle beside the fire pit.

Despite his feelings about it, as a neutral and respected tribe member Crowface was appointed to officiate the duel. He gestured for Bose and Ironclaw to approach him in the center. The two combatants stood up and faced each other in the makeshift arena, the glow from the lanterns illuminating their faces as they stared at each other, while the rest of the tribe stood in a circle behind the lanterns.

Crowface turned first to Bose with his hand outstretched. “Your knife.”

Bose took his knife out of its sheath and handed it to Crowface, who quickly inspected it. After making sure he had no other weapon on him, he handed it back to him, then turned to Ironclaw and went through the same routine.

Bose took off his leather jacket and wrapped it carefully around his left forearm, clenching one end in his hand to stop it unraveling. Across from him, Ironclaw was doing likewise. It was the only protection either would have to defend themselves against the sharp steel of each other’s blades.

“Are you both ready?” Crowface asked.

“Ready,” Ironclaw said, holding his knife up high above his head in an icepick grip. His face had contorted into a ferocious scowl, and Bose could sense the violent intent pent up inside him.

Keeping his hips square, Bose put his right foot forward and raised his protected arm up to chest height, holding his knife in his right hand down low by his waist. “Ready,” he said, without taking his eyes off his opponent.

“There is no greater honor than to live our lives bravely, to die even braver,” Crowface proclaimed to the watching crowd of warriors, echoing the motto of the tribe. Standing between the two, with an arm outstretched at each man’s chest, Crowface brought his hands together with a loud clap. “Let the blood challenge begin!” he yelled, and stepped back.

The two men circled each other warily. While Bose had the advantage of height and reach, Ironclaw’s muscular and stocky body had a lower center of gravity which, when combined with his speed and agility, made him a fearsome warrior.

It was Ironclaw who made the first move. After a couple of initial feints, he stepped in on his right foot, making a downward slashing motion with his knife. Pulling his left arm away, Bose took a step back, easily avoiding the blade as it slashed by him in a vicious arc. Moving quickly, he stepped forward and jabbed his knife toward Ironclaw’s torso, missing it by a couple of inches. He stepped back into his defensive posture, crouching slightly, yet still towering over his opponent.

The two men continued to probe each other’s defenses, each stepping sideways both left and right, trying to find an opening. Still gripping his knife icepick style, Ironclaw stepped in again and tried to catch Bose in the ribs with a sideways stroke. As Bose jumped back, Ironclaw closed in with a couple of quick steps, thrusting his knife toward Bose's chest. With no time to move out of the way, Bose parried with his left arm. The tip of the knife pierced through his jacket and he felt a stab of pain above his elbow.

Ironclaw had drawn first blood. He gazed at Bose, a grim smile on his face, the flickering light from the kerosene lanterns catching the intensity in his eyes.

The two circled each other once more, Ironclaw aggressively trying to control the center ground between the two men. Bose stepped sideways or backward each time to open up the space again. When Ironclaw moved in once more, extending farther than the previous times as he tried to get within striking distance, instead of moving away Bose stepped in fast, smashing the edge of his palm down hard on Ironclaw’s knife hand, just above his wrist. He immediately took another half step forward and swung his knife fast in an upward motion, twisting his body for maximum reach, and drove his knife under Ironclaw’s left armpit, the blade penetrating deep into the flesh.

The expression on Ironclaw's face fiercened, but showed no sign he was in pain. A dark patch began to spread rapidly on the left side of Ironclaw’s shirt, and Bose realized he had opened up his opponent’s axillary artery. Soon the whole side of his shirt was drenched in blood. All Bose had to do was to keep his distance for the next few minutes, and the loss of blood would soon take its effect.

Ironclaw knew it too. Scowling, the warrior unwrapped his jacket from around his forearm and gripped it by the collar. Sweeping the jacket across Bose’s face, he made a couple of attempts to get in closer. Each time Bose parried or stepped back, managing to keep inches away from the arc of his blade.

Bose could see Ironclaw was tiring, the loss of blood starting to take its toll. He changed his knife position to a classic grip, then stepped in once more, made a feint with the knife. Turning his hips, he flung his jacket at Bose’s face. The move caught Bose by surprise. Though only blocking his view for a moment, Ironclaw rushed him and, with a sideways stabbing motion, swung the knife low, plunging it into Bose’s side.

At the same moment the cold steel of the blade penetrated his abdomen, Bose instinctively swung his knife up from his waist, driving it deep under Ironclaw’s exposed ribcage, the blade reaching all the way up to the hilt. Ironclaw’s body sagged as the two warriors stumbled into each other’s arms, each with a knife in the other’s body.

Bose twisted his knife upward, and saw the ferocious glare recede from Ironclaw’s eyes. His blade had penetrated his opponent’s heart. With his own knife still pressed deep into Bose’s side, Ironclaw slid slowly onto his knees.

Bose grabbed Ironclaw’s knife hand by the wrist, carefully inched the long metal blade from his side, and felt a warm river of blood gush down his leg. He pried the handle out of Ironclaw’s stubborn grip, then gave him a push. As if in slow motion, the warrior fell backwards, knees twisting to one side and arms spread open when he hit the ground. It was over. Like most knife fights, the contest hadn’t taken more than a few minutes.

Bose staggered to his knees, wincing at the tremendous pain in his side. Lying on the ground, the dying warrior motioned to him weakly, managing to raise an arm off the ground. Bose leaned in closer.

“Finish it…” Ironclaw whispered hoarsely, his voice completely empty of any tone.

Kneeling to one side of the warrior, gripping his knife in both hands, Bose raised it high in the air. Ironclaw watched it all the way as the knife swept down and plunged into his chest. He let out one final gasp, and the light faded from his eyes. Then his head rolled over to one side and, with dead vacant eyes, fixed his stare at the group of open-mouthed warriors.

Swaying badly, Bose rose to his feet. Chico rushed in, and Clement anxiously called out to the tribe’s doctor, a woman brave, who came running over with her medicine bag. She examined Bose’s injury while Chico held his torch pointed at the wound.

“It’s deep,” she said to Clement after examining it. “But no organ’s been damaged. I’ll have to clean it, then stitch it up.”

A look of relief flooded over Clement’s face and he broke out into a big smile. He put his hand on Bose’s shoulder, and turned to the watching crowd.

“Fellow braves, you are looking at the first ever Blood Chief of our tribe. No one before has survived the blood challenge.” Then he turned dramatically to Bose. “Now I ask you again, as chief of the Black Eagles, by what name will you call yourself?”