Chapter 25: Play The Mourning Tune

Chapter 25: Chapter 25: Play The Mourning Tune

The puzzle that was Kiki, stormed his mind. Also, it seemed like he had caught her attention.

Victor’s mind went back to information he had about Kiki. Daughter of a coward shaman.

Was that how she knew of the beast bead? After all, only a shaman of an uneducated tribe would know such power buffing up secrets.

He looked at the open field leading to the forest.

His right ankle shifted, towards the exit. Even though he had given out the challenge, he could still leave. Until the actual battle itself, the game would not count it as a trial.

His freedom was just in front of him. But had he really exhausted all the options available to him?

Just then a brave thought came to his mind.

Earlier on today, Popo had the upper hand, but had clearly given up on fighting today.

There was no doubt, that the love he had for his younger brother ran deep. Maybe, just maybe Victor could take advantage of this.

Certain thoughts clashed in his mind.

Yes. He could do this.

Immediately, he turned in direction for Popo’s abode.

Kiki, hidden behind a wall, could not help but shake her head. "Such a fool." She whispered, watching him go.

Since the fight that afternoon, the village had already begun shifting around Popo. Word of him felling Jaja was the major topic, and with it came a kind of reverence Victor hadn’t seen directed at his brother before.

Barbarians offered him the choicest cuts of what little meat remained. They went as far as to clear debris from his path before he even asked, a few of the younger warriors already imitating the way he held his battle axe.

Strength ruled here. And Popo had just proven, decisively, that he had it.

By evening, a small group had gone as far as renovating the old chief’s hut. They patched the roof, provided fresh reed matting, and a proper hearth.

Popo wouldn’t be sleeping in the open with the others tonight.

Victor made his way toward it, rehearsing what he’d say. Popo listens to me. He always has. If I can just get him alone...

He was still a dozen steps away when the sound reached him.

Low. Rhythmic. Unmistakably not the sound of a man alone.

He slowed, brow furrowing.

A pair of barbarians came around the corner ahead of him. They caught his eye for half a second, then suddenly found somewhere urgent to be, hurrying off without a word.

What’s going on?

He reached the hut’s entrance and, without thinking, and pushed the hide flap aside.

What a mistake.

The smell hit him first. It was mix of Beer, sweat, something thick and intimate.

A dim torch sat at one corner to brighten the room just enough to see.

Babarians naturally had good eyesight. This much was good.

Then his eyes adjusted enough to understand exactly what he’d walked in on, and every word he’d rehearsed died in his throat at once.

Foto was naked, bent over the mat, waist pushed high towards Popo’s groin. An unbelievable arch to maximize satisfaction.

And Popo, he taking everything she offered, slamming hard into her.

"OH MY GOD... I’M SO SORRY..."

Victor spun on his heel so fast he nearly tripped over his own feet, already halfway back through the entrance.

Popo, entirely unbothered, didn’t so much as break stride. "Wait outside. I’m busy!"

He took another swing of beer with his available hand, as the other pulled Foto’s ass even closer.

Victor did not need to be told twice. He was already gone.

He stood several feet from the hut with his back turned, staring very hard at a random patch of dirt, doing his absolute best to unhear everything he’d just heard.

Oh god, they were doing it. They were actually doing it!

Victor had seen this dance a couple of times, but only through searching the darker sides of the internet.

This was the first time seeing it live, and it made his blood rush.

It took several long, deeply uncomfortable minutes of waiting, and one last deep groan from Popo for them to be done.

Then the hide flap rustled again, and Foto stepped out. She had a blanket clutched around her, barely covering her nakedness, skin still glistening faintly in the torchlight spilling out behind her.

Her eyes found Victor.

Her expression soured instantly. She had that same flat, disgusted look she always seemed to reserve just for him. Then she turned and hurried off into the dark without a word.

Victor was still turned half away, wondering why Foto had looked at him like that. It was like he’d personally offended her just by existing.

Just then, a voice came from behind him.

"What. Are you angry that I’ve also taken one of your women?"

Popo stood in the hut’s entrance, beer in one hand, taking a long pull from it like nothing unusual had just happened.

It took Victor a second to catch the implication. Then it landed.

Right. The body I took over is supposed to be a womanizer and a good for nothing useless son who only enjoyed himself and never trained.

Was Foto one of the women his old self used to have, before Victor took over this body?

Did that mean that he had to suffer sins he knew absolutely nothing about?

For some weird reason, Victor was suddenly happy that most of the tribe was dead.

He shook it off. "No. It doesn’t matter. She’s a Gatherer. It’s her job."

Popo nodded slowly, taking another drink. "Yes. It is." A pause. "At least she’s more useful than most."

Victor opened his mouth. He wanted to say why he was here. He wanted to convince Popo to forget about the fight.

But Popo cut him off before a word came out.

"Stop. Before you say anything." His eyes were glassy, unfocused in the torchlight. "Do you see what I am doing?"

Victor blinked. He didn’t. Not really.

Popo staggered, just slightly, catching himself against the doorframe.

"Brother," Victor said carefully, "do you need to sit down?"

"No, no. That’s not it." Popo waved the beer loosely, some of it sloshing over his hand. "Right now, I’m... mourning."

"Mourning?" The word confused him. Victor’s mind went back to the massacre that happened in the arena. It had only been two days. It made sense that he was still mourning them.

In fact, barbarians mourned for months.

"Are you okay?" Victor asked.

Popo laughed. It wasn’t a happy sound.

"How can I be all right?" His gaze lifted, found Victor’s, and held there.

It was flat, but yet filled with unbelievable pain. "My brother is still alive. But I am already... mourning him."

The words hit Victor like a physical thing.

The drinking, and having Foto. All of it.

This wasn’t a celebration of his Victory over Jaja or a mourning of those that had died.

This was Popo trying to empty himself of everything he felt for Victor, one cup and one distraction at a time, so that in fourteen days, when the battle came, and the ancestors demanded it, he could actually go through with killing him.