The last song of the ancestors

Azekel led Akachi and Fadala to a dormitory. He gave his grandson a new change of clothes, which included a long-sleeved buddha with a dark color and red prints, and dark green denim shorts. They came with a new pair of sneakers. The boy looked in a cracked mirror next to the window, feeling protected and free to move. The tunic was open at the sides and went down to his knees.

The undertaker refused the clothes provided by the ancient sage. He thought the coppery agbadá pattern with geometric prints was too flashy. He claimed that his clothes had a technological fabric and would need to be dry-cleaned.

The old man shrugged, said goodbye and suggested that they walk around the camp and get to know the people. After showering, he put on his new clothes and looked for Fadala, but his companion was no longer in the other room. Fenyang suggested floating up behind the teenager and said:

"Bro, if I were a woman, I'd marry you."

"Come on, Fenyang, are you weirding me out?"

"Look, he's in over his head, people!"

Akachi buttoned the three buttons of the opening that went down to before his navel. He looked sideways at the Ori Guardian and said:

"Oh, stop, go! I'm just happy to have found my grandfather again. Let's see if we can find our friends too."

"That's okay, I'll scan the area and be right back."

Fenyang disappeared from the medium's sight. Akachi walked through the camp. Some people recognized his appearance as Adsa. Others already knew that he was Azekel's grandson and stopped to welcome him. The boy felt welcomed by everyone. Walking through the streets, he noticed that everyone was busy with something.

Men and women, even children, were helping out. The community was growing with refugees and fugitives from Ilu Nla. Most of them were sympathizers of the mediums, or simple citizens affected by the authoritarianism of the Republic. The new government had been installed with great promise, but had only led to disappointment among the weakest.

Fenyang came up behind him. He said that Mashal and Feruzi were not there. In the company of his Guardian Ori, Akachi walked through the dusty streets of the camp. The headquarters of the Ilu Nla Liberation Movement was bustling with life. Street vendors circulated around the site with their guides, humming their prices. Food stalls stretched along a short avenue.

"It's like a street in Chrome Hill, only without the asphalt…"

"And without military drones policing the population. No shootings taking innocent lives. No drug dealers shooting at people just for fun, different but the same, bro. At least they managed to resist, but… until when?"

"At least they have hope, Fenyang."

"If the rebels don't take power back, they'll have to resist all their lives. Resisting is surviving, not the same as living. To live, you don't have to leave the house with a shield or armor, just go for a walk."

Akachi continued walking until he came to a canteen. The tables were made from wooden spools for steel cables, and the seats were made from recycled tires. Lunch would be served; it was close to midday. Adsa's son's stomach rumbled when he smelled the food.

He felt a certain embarrassment. He hadn't helped at all so far, and he was going to have lunch. He shook his head. Suddenly, he felt two familiar Axé vibrations. He turned to look. He got up from his seat. His heart hammered in his chest. On the other side was Feruzi in his typical cape, and next to him was her, wet with sweat from head to toe.

"Akachi!"

She rushed forward. She stopped wide-eyed. It wouldn't do.

Damn it! What am I thinking, running into his arms?

"Spin Bomb?"

Akachi was incredulous. It was her, but she looked so different from last time. Maybe it was the boxer braids, the brown leather gloves, the bogolan-print tank top or the more menacing posture she emanated.

"Of course, right, asshole?"

She put her hands on her waist and looked steadily at her friend. Akachi took a step back. After that, they both started laughing nervously. They didn't know how to react.

Feruzi snorted. He feigned a backache and sat down at the table. Spin Bomb and Akachi did the same. The sage looked at Azekel's grandson and said:

"To come all this way, I suppose the infiltration wasn't a success."

"We weren't successful, and… we had to fight General Luena and the members of the Circle of Sages. They were also infiltrating the tournament. Nyatui stayed behind to make sure that Fadala and I escaped with the Spirit Key."

Akachi lowered his eyes, avoiding Feruzi's gaze. Spin Bomb stood up and slammed his closed fists on the table.

"What do you mean he's dead? Why didn't you help him?"

"Sit down, Spin Bomb. Don't judge too hastily."

"But Nyatui didn't have to die."

"I am your master, now obey me! Nyatui was a warrior, and everyone who goes to war knows his probable fate. The battlefield smells of death, it's the only smell you can smell there. Don't judge those who survived."

"Your death will not be in vain, Nyatui, I promise!"

Feruzi cast an icy glance at the girl. His Axé thrust caused Spin Bomb to fall back into her seat. Silence fell over the trio. The sage, with his pale hands, smoothed the ribs of the wood. He drew the word wisdom with the tip of his index finger. The firework sword maker turned her face away, disappointed in herself.

The master of suspicion asked Akachi to recount the details of his old friend's death. He had given up his life to save that boy. The former sage considered it unworthy to fight against his former comrades. The sages should be allies against Ojwang. Now he was certain that he couldn't fight them. He felt a mixture of emotions he had never felt before.

The conversation continued until more people arrived. Akachi asked Feruzi where Mashal was.

"After he got here, he took over command of the rebels. That's all he thinks about now. He's a typical idealist."

"And you Spin Bomb, what have you been doing? Mr. Feruzi said he was your master or something."

"Oh, let's just say I've got a few surprises tucked away in the palm of my hand."

Spin Bomb removed his leather gloves. He showed Akachi the back of his hand and opened his fingers like a fan. Her hands looked like they had been burned, but not by explosions or chemicals. They had patterns on them. They were scarifications with religious symbols.