Sebastian Darke: Prince of Explorers (6 page)

The women of the tribe seemed to be at work of some kind every hour of the day. They were scraping hides to make clothes, washing them in the stream that meandered a short distance from the village, fetching firewood or searching for edible roots in the jungle. They seemed to accept the work with quiet good humour and Sebastian never saw any looking disgruntled with their role in life.

The children were everywhere, running around in laughing, yelling gangs, playing with their home-made toys or chasing one of the many mutts that seemed to hang around the village. The older boys trailed after the hunting parties to learn the skills that would take them through to adulthood.

Sebastian would sit on a log by the entrance to his hut, sipping a cup of chai, the spicy green tea the villagers loved to make, and he would marvel at the wonderful community spirit that seemed to radiate from these people. They had never seen the wonders of cities like Ramalat and Keladon, but they had riches that money could not buy – an affinity with the land in which they lived. As far as Sebastian could see, they had no kind of currency, but seemed to share whatever they had, as though they had no notion of greed or any wish to acquire material possessions.

Most afternoons, Sebastian sat beside Max and the two of them watched as 'General' Cornelius put his troops through their paces. The Jilith tended to fight as individuals, but he had told them that if they wished to vanquish the Gograth, they would have to learn to work as a team. To help them with this, he had introduced them to a game that was popular in Golmira. A piece of animal hide was stuffed with straw and stitched into a ball. Two teams of warriors kicked the ball backwards and forwards, trying to get it through two upright sticks at each end of a clearing. One warrior was assigned to defend the opening and was allowed to touch the ball with his hands – the others could only use their feet.

'Does this game have a name?' Sebastian asked Cornelius one afternoon.

The little warrior thought for a moment. 'It's called
kick-the-ball
,' he said.

'Wouldn't
football
be a better name?' asked Max. 'It has a certain ring to it, does it not?'

Cornelius bristled. 'It's called kick-the-ball,' he repeated firmly. 'It has been played in Golmira for centuries. There are ancient cave paintings showing warriors kicking a ball, all dressed in brightly coloured clothing, with numbers written on their chests.'

'It looks like fun,' said Sebastian. 'Maybe I'll take a turn at it myself when I'm a bit stronger.'

'It seems completely mindless to me,' observed Max disparagingly. 'Kicking a lump of hide around a field – where's the skill in that?' He nodded his head towards the straggle of running, shouting warriors on the pitch. 'They're half killing each other out there.'

Cornelius smiled. 'Yes, but they're starting to think as teams,' he said. 'Let's hope they do as well when they face up to the Gograth.'

As one day blended into another, Sebastian rapidly grew stronger. Soon he was able to go on short walks around the village without struggling for breath and every day saw a marked improvement. All that was left of his close brush with death was a livid scar, and a dull pain in his chest whenever he brandished a sword. He began to train with the weapon for a short time each day, aware that before very much longer he might be called upon to face up to the Gograth once again.

Then, one morning, Keera arrived with an invitation. She told them that her father, Maccan, the village chief, had decided that it was finally time to meet the Chosen One face to face.

'He bids you come to his hut tomorrow,' she told them. 'There will be a great feast in your honour.'

At this news, Max brightened considerably. 'A feast,' he said. 'Lovely. What's on the menu?'

Cornelius gave him a sly look. 'Let's just hope it's not buffalope steaks,' he said; and walked away laughing.

The drums started at twilight the following day. At first Sebastian was startled, thinking that it was the sound of an advancing army, but it was too close at hand, and a quick glance outside confirmed that it was emanating from the centre of the village. A big fire was burning outside Maccan's hut and the enticing smell of roasting rusa filled the air.

'They're getting ready for our shindig,' announced Cornelius, who in spite of the heat was dressing himself in full armour. 'Looks like it's going to be quite a party.' He glanced disparagingly at Sebastian. 'Don't you think you should make an effort to smarten yourself up a bit?' he said. 'I mean, you're supposed to be the Chosen One, not a down-and-out.'

'What would you suggest?' Sebastian spread his arms in a gesture of helplessness. 'All my spare clothes were packed into the saddlebags of that mule, and I must have lost my tricorn hat back in the jungle. All I've got left is what I'm wearing.'

'Well, you could at least wash your face. It looks like it hasn't seen a bowl of water in an age!'

Sebastian took the hint. He stripped off his tunic, poured fresh water into a bowl and washed himself down. Then he spent some time twisting the ends of his long black hair into braids and tying them with leather thongs, a task made doubly difficult by the absence of any kind of mirror.

'You had a word with Max?' asked Cornelius.

'Yes, he's given me my orders,' said a mournful voice from the doorway; and they turned to see Max's head gazing resentfully in at them. 'I'm to mind my manners and not speak out of turn. And I'm most definitely not to have any alcohol.'

'I don't think they know what alcohol is,' said Sebastian. 'The only drink I've seen around here is chai.'

'Oh, they'll have alcohol,' Cornelius assured him. 'All people do, of one kind or another. They just might not know it by that name. And as for chai, we all know what effect that has on Max!' He scowled. 'You know, perhaps it would be best if he didn't come with us. We don't want him interrupting the chief with great gusts of wind, do we?'

Max looked hurt. 'Don't fret,' he said. 'I'll take special care not to disgrace myself. Besides, they'll want to see me – I'm the magical talking buffalope, am I not? Let's face it, I'm one of the strongest cards you have. When it comes to magical properties, you two aren't much to write home about, are you?'

Cornelius looked doubtful. 'Whatever we are, we can't afford to mess this up. Sebastian, you'll have to convince Maccan that you are the Chosen One. So far, he's accepted you purely on the word of Keera and me. If he's confronted with a bumbling, babbling twit, he might think again.'

'What are you trying to say?' muttered Sebastian.

'Oh, come on, you know you've an uncanny ability to put your foot in it. Just think before you open your mouth, that's all I ask. And remember, both of you, that I am now a
general
. When I outline my plans to defeat the Gograth, I don't want one of you piping up with some stupid remark.'

Sebastian looked at him. 'We'll do our best,' he said quietly. 'I'm sure we don't want to mess things up for you, do we, Max?'

'Oh, don't be like that!' protested Cornelius. 'I was only—'

'Somebody coming!' announced Max; and he drew back from the doorway.

A few moments later, a tall sinewy warrior stepped into the hut and greeted them with a bow. Sebastian knew that he was called Cal and that he was highly regarded in the village. He wore his long black hair tied back. There was an old scar running down his left cheek and he had cunning grey eyes that seemed to look deep inside a man and read any secrets that lay hidden there. Sebastian had only spent a short time in his presence but he always felt somewhat nervous of him. Cal bowed politely enough but there was a sardonic smile on his face as he spoke.

'Maccan has bid me come and summon our . . .
distinguished
guests to the feast,' he announced.

Sebastian was still tying off the last of his braids. 'Please tell Maccan that we are greatly honoured by his kindness and that we will be along presently,' he said.

'As you wish,' purred Cal. 'I shall tell him that the Chosen One is still . . . combing his hair?'

'Braiding it,' Sebastian corrected him. 'I'm braiding it, if you must know. Now, you go back. We won't be a moment.'

'We are preparing a fine fat rusa for you,' said Cal. 'I think you'll find it to your taste. I killed it with my own hands. I put them around its throat and throttled the life out of it.'

'That's, er . . . nice,' said Sebastian awkwardly, and was aware of Cornelius shooting a despairing look at him. 'We are indebted to you,' he added, thinking that this might sound a little more regal.

'Cal is the finest hunter in the village,' explained Cornelius. 'His skill with a throwing spear is exceptional.'

'Is that right?' Sebastian wondered what else he could add to the subject. 'That's terrific. Well done! It's, er . . . good to . . . kill rusas,' he offered. 'Where I come from, we have a saying.
The only good rusa is a dead rusa
.'

Cal looked at him blankly. 'Which means?'

'Well, blessed if I know, really. It's just a saying.'

'In a day or so the hunting party will be setting out to look for fresh game,' said Cal. 'Perhaps you would both like to accompany us?'

'We'd love that,' said Cornelius, without hesitation. 'Wouldn't we, Sebastian?'

'Er . . . yes. Great. Just . . . try and hold me back.'

Cal bowed again and left the hut without another word.

Sebastian waited a few moments until he was out of earshot. 'Is it my imagination, or does that man dislike me?' he muttered.

'Oh, he feels a bit of friendly rivalry, I suppose. After all, until we came along he was the big fish in this pond. And . . .'

'And what?' asked Sebastian suspiciously.

'By all accounts, he's rather sweet on Keera. In fact, as I understand it, he was hoping to marry her.'

'So?' Sebastian looked at Cornelius indignantly. 'I haven't done anything to change that . . . have I?'

Cornelius smirked and lifted his bronze helmet onto his head. 'Oh, not much! Let's face it, Cal's got eyes – he can see that Keera is interested in you, so—'

'Don't be ridiculous! She's not interested in me. Is she?'

'Oh, what have I said?' groaned Cornelius. 'I assumed you
knew
!'

'Well, she
has
been coming around here a lot, but I didn't think . . .'

Cornelius stood up. 'Just forget about it,' he said sternly. 'Right now that's a complication we don't need. Don't do anything to encourage her. Got that?'

'I suppose . . .'

'Good! Now, how do I look?'

'Hmm . . . ?' Sebastian studied the little warrior for a moment. 'Very noble,' he said. 'What about me?'

'Like you've been dragged through a swamp backwards, but there's not much we can do about that. Come on, it doesn't do to keep Maccan waiting.' He handed Sebastian a dagger. 'Here, take this,' he said.

'What's this for?' asked Sebastian.

'It's customary to offer the chief a gift when you meet him. I bought that in Ramalat – I'm sure he'll like it. Unless, of course, you'd like to give him that fancy amulet you wear around your neck?'

'Princess Kerin gave me that back in Keladon,' protested Sebastian.

'Hmm. Yes, I didn't think you'd be ready to hand that over.'

Cornelius looked shrewdly at his friend. 'If I didn't know better, I'd say there's still a part of you that carries a torch for your first love.'

'What nonsense,' said Sebastian, a little too quickly. 'I'm with Jenna now.'