Richard Tuttle - Web of Deceit

Rejji thought about what the villagers had decided to purchase and his face broke into a broad grin. He knew that the villagers didn’t really believe in his plan, but had voted for it because Rejji brought it up every time there was a vote. Still, he was very excited. Tomorrow after the merchant had had a good sleep, Rejji would order what he needed to make a small boat, including oarlocks, canvas for sails, nails and lead. When the merchant returned in six months, Rejji would build a boat and cast for larger fish offshore, which he hoped would feed the villagers and escape the tribute they had to pay each year.

If only there were some other young people in the village, Rejji thought as he dove into the surf to cool off before getting dressed and climbing the cliff to go home, he would have help with his project. There were no other young people though, as the village kept shrinking every year. The few young males who had lived in the village had joined up with the bandits, which seemed to be the only way to survive in Fakara. Rejji pondered whom the bandits would steal from when everyone became a bandit. Probably each other, he surmised, as he emerged from the surf and shook the water out of his hair.

Rejji took off his fingerless gloves and squeezed them dry as he strode over to the cliff and retrieved his clothes. Rejji dressed and put his gloves back on and glanced up at the sun again as it grew larger over the top of the cliff. A puzzled frown etched into his face as he saw the clouds of smoke wafting over the top of the cliff. The landscape around the village offered very little that would burn, mostly small brush. The only real source of any amount of wood was the village itself.

Rejji leaped up and grabbed the rocks of the cliff face. His muscular arms and legs thrust furiously as he propelled himself up the face of the cliff. He scrambled onto the top of the cliff and turned towards the distant village. A mighty fire was consuming the village and he saw a column of riders heading away from the village towards the distant hills. Rejji charged forward, his legs pumping as his eyes scanned the village for any sign of struggle. Rejji was at the age of being between boy and man, but his body was firm and muscled and he was determined to defend the villagers with his life if necessary. His mind raced swifter than his legs as he thought about how he could best combat whatever menace was harming the village. He mentally noted the location of items in the village he could use for a weapon. Images flashed through his mind as he raced. He clearly envisioned the metal ladle by the well, the hoe leaning against the last hut before the fields, and the axe behind his grandfather’s hut.

As Rejji reached the village, he saw there would be no struggle, no fight to save the villagers. The flames were already dying out as the meager supply of wood that used to be huts was consumed. Rejji’s eyes opened wide in horror and tears flowed freely as he raced into the village and saw the carnage. Bodies littered the lone street of the village. His head darted left and right as he sought anyone still alive, but eventually he halted outside the charred remains of his grandfather’s hut. He knelt next to the body of his grandfather whose chest was pierced by an arrow. Several feet away lay his grandfather’s severed arm, the hand still clutching the handle of the axe.

Rejji rose and started to methodically account for each villager, hoping against hope that someone had survived. In a few short minutes, he had found all of the bodies, many of which had been decapitated. There were no survivors or villagers unaccounted for. Rejji alone had survived the destruction of the village. In despair, Rejji slumped down on the dirt road with the village well at his back and gazed at his grandfather’s torn body. He remembered seeing the riders leaving and wondered why the bandits had come early and why they had decided to kill everyone this time. The village had always given the bandits their tribute and there had never been any violence before.

His eyes wandered towards the fields and a look of surprise lit Rejji’s face as he saw the scraggly clova still in the fields. The bandits had not even taken their booty. Why then the violence? It made no sense. Rejji rose, grabbing some small pebbles as he did. As Rejji pondered the attack he tossed the pebbles with increasing vigor, as if his body needed some way to react while his mind sought answers. But there were no answers coming to Rejji and his thoughts turned to what he must do for the villagers now that they were dead. It would be a long day of burials he thought as he tossed the remaining pebbles into the well.

Rejji heard several thuds from the pebbles and a grunt and he swiftly wheeled and grabbed the metal ladle.

“Who are you?” demanded Rejji, as he stood menacingly by the lip of the well with ladle ready to swing.

“Who are you?” returned a young female voice.

Rejji’s emotions were torn by fear of one of the bandits left behind and concern that someone was stuck in the well with no way out. The female voice tended to lead him towards the latter, but he knew she was not a villager.

“Can you get out of the well?” queried Rejji.

“I can,” assured the girl’s voice, “but I won’t until I know who you are.”

“I am Rejji,” he stated. “I live in this village and you don’t. Now come out before I fill the well with dirt.”

“You would just get tired,” answered the girl. “You certainly can’t shovel in dirt faster than I can climb on top of it and you would just spoil your well. Move away from the well and I will come up.”

“And run away no doubt,” scowled Rejji. “I don’t think so. You will come up slowly so I can see who you are and what you have in your hands.”

“Look,” pleaded the voice in the well, “I hid in here from the attackers. All I have is your word that you aren’t one of them and I don’t plan to die today. Back away from the well and I promise not to run away unless you try to hurt me. Besides, I need both hands to get out of here so you don’t have to worry about me holding a weapon.”

Rejji stared at the well for a few minutes and then silently backed away to a small pile of rocks. He hefted three rocks that were palm sized and called towards the well that he had moved away. He kept his eyes glued to the rim of the well as the girl shouted that she was coming out. He saw both of her hands grip the rim and he poised himself to throw a rock if she bolted. Quicker than Rejji could have imagined, the girl flipped herself out of the well and crouched behind it with a throwing dagger in her hand. She moved so swiftly that Rejji had not had a chance to react.

“Rocks huh?” she said accusingly. “So much for you not attacking me.”

“Is that a knife in your hand, oh defenseless one?” Rejji retorted. “You don’t look like a murderer to me though,” Rejji continued as he dropped the rocks back onto the pile. “Look I just want to know what happened here. This is my village and I came back from the sea to find out that everyone is dead. I need to know why it happened and who did it. Can we talk?”

The girl looked at the peasant boy appraisingly. He was handsome and muscular and around her age, she figured, but that was also the age when many left villages to join the bandits. His clothes were a clear indication of being a village boy though. His pants had been mended several times and his tunic was quite damp as if put on over a wet body. He wore fingerless gloves that many farm boys wear and there was no horse in sight.

“Okay,” she said cautiously as she slipped her dagger into a sheath at her belt, “but I don’t know very much about what happened. When the red riders started attacking, I headed straight for the well, so I didn’t see much.”