Chapter 13
In the commotion of wrapping up the grievance interview, just as Ruzzell was about to depart, he had caught Dylain’s eye. For a split second, they traded a knowing look between them, and Dylain gave Ruzzell a subtle, sly wink.
Then it hit me like a slap through the kisser. They’re in on this … it … whatever this is … they’re in on it together! Was this a setup on a grander scale than I had at first thought? Was Ruzzell seeking a kingdom on a scale bigger than our little clan? Were they in cahoots? Wait a minute. Was Ruzzell’s agenda aligned with a plot Dylain had set in motion?
Snap out of it! You’re getting paranoid!
“Ristan, can I have a word in private?” Scott’s deep, gentle voice again brought me out of my own head. With Ruzzell already departed, Scott turned to Dylain. “You go ahead … I just need to give this young man some fatherly advice on how to treat women.”
Dylain smiled wryly; his square jaw tight and his wary eyes piercing, probing. “Okay, then. See you at the celebration.”
Once it was clear Dylain was gone, Scott sighed … a sigh so deep, I thought my defunct tear glands might crank into gear.
“I’m so sorry to disappoint you…” The words gushed out pre-empting the telling-off that was surely on its way. Still no tears. “I just—”
“Ristan,” he said my name so intensely, I shut up instantly. “I know you … your father was a dear, dear man…” Tears rolled freely down his weather-beaten cheeks, disappearing into his thick beard. “And I know you didn’t strike Gellica…”
Whuh?
I tried to say something, but nothing came out of my mouth this time.
“We’re in trouble, Ristan,” Scott’s eyes crinkled at the corners. “We asked Dylain to serve as a Mzee against Victor’s better judgment. We thought it was time to bring a younger man into the counsel, and had we overlooked Dylain, we thought we might incite a riot…”
I felt my feet shuffle unsure of where he was going with this.
“…there are so many strong, young leaders emerging; you, Juddro and Gellica in your clan alone … in time, the future is in your hands…”—he kneaded his brow with the back of his hand—“…we were so close to a breakthrough in our ability to defend ourselves … but with Victor’s death and … Dylain, well…”
I felt suddenly dizzy, my entire world rocked from side to side. I couldn’t process all he was saying. None of it made any sense. Of course, the behind-the-scenes politics were unknown to me.
“…Dylain is soliciting the loyalty of the twenty-something leaders and thugs like your Ruzzell and—” In a grimace, he caught his sentence mid-stride. “I’ve told you too much. Forgive me.” Sighing again, almost painfully this time, he shook his head vehemently and scolded himself, muttering one of his proverbs under his breath: “When the beasts fight, the jungle gets trampled.”
In a short space of time, Scott suddenly looked like an old, old man. Uncharacteristically harassed and distressed. The lines on his face became more pronounced. His proud, square shoulders slumped ever-so slightly, but in a tell-tale way. In this unscripted moment of vulnerability, the back-breaking weight he clearly carried seemed to overwhelm him. I couldn’t help myself. I threw my arms around the big man and hugged him hard.
And then he startled me.
He started sobbing—a deep, weary, guttural release. But my surprise gave way to a strange delight. I was glad to be a shoulder to cry on and in a selfish way; the hug was like therapy for me, too.
I miss you, Dad.
“What can I do?” I asked as I stepped back, not knowing what else to say. As soon as I said it, I realised how silly the offer was.
What can I do?
“Oh, Ristan,” he said in a whisper, trying to restrain another stream of emotion from breaking its banks, “your father would be so proud…”
He would?
“…I don’t know,” his left eyebrow crumpled down over his eye, “I just don’t know.”
He wiped his face, and I gave him space. Even though it was odd to see him cry, I didn’t feel awkward. Seeing this venerable man, a veritable rock of composure, so vulnerable didn’t unsettle me like I thought it might. In fact, it enlarged me. Called me to action.
“Ristan,” he paused. “You can’t say anything to anyone.”
“Of course!” I blurted out with too much intensity.
“I’ve told you too much. I’m sorry. It was highly inappropriate of me.”
Without thinking, words spilled out of me. “I want to help.”
“Yes,” he said, taking a weary breath, “but it’s not your fight, not yet anyway. I should not have said anything. I just wanted to reassure you: I know you didn’t do what Ruzzell charged you with.”
“Da … um, Scott,” I corrected myself, feeling my cheeks redden as I nearly called him Dad. “I won’t say a word. If I can do anything…”
“Thanks, son,” he said, looking me earnestly in the eye.
I swallowed with difficulty, my throat throbbing with emotion.
He sighed. “Ristan, I’m really sorry your clan betrayed you—”
“They didn’t,” I shot back in their defence with a little too much bite. “I’m sorry, I—”
“I know; I know,” Scott was quick to assure me that he understood. “Ruzzell’s a bully … it’s to your credit that you can forgive your clan and even now defend them.” He put a consoling hand on my shoulder. “Ristan, thank you.”
“For what, Scott?”
“For giving me hope. To see your resolve, your humility … it gives me hope that we … we have a chance yet. Come now. We must get back to the festivities,” his lips were a taut line. “Remember, when your punishment is made public after lunch: I know you didn’t do it.”
A sick feeling swept over me. I had forgotten about the public judgment and the shame associated with it, but the nausea I stomached was deeper than just the face I’d lose. It was the realisation that this was the last time I’d be alone with Scott. Until maybe next year; on the off-chance that he was drawn to do my interview. Or if Ruzzell brought another charge against me.
Actually, that’s a real possibility.