Shuja - The Path to Nowhere

I will atone.

Shuja sat still in meditation. His eyes closed and ears open; he felt the energy of the forest cascade around him in freedom. The leaves rustled with the wind in the sway of the canopies above.

A brief moment of inner peace.

But even in his time of peace he couldn’t help but to remind himself, they want me dead. He tightened his fists in frustration. Shuja left his tribe under the title of traitor. A decision that was not made lightly and not without bloodshed. The memory of his slain wife and daughter sprawled across the ground remained branded into his mind. An agonizing heartbreak that shattered his momentary bliss. He fell to all fours in his strife, a cold sweat glazing his skin. Tears forming in his eyes.

But now was not the time idle in his agony. There was a journey to nowhere ahead of him and he needed to be ready to move at any moment. He brought himself to his feet and began again down the path of the dense jungle, clothes wrapped in a thick cloth and slung over his shoulder, his flyssa held in a separate cloth tied around his waist, the rest of his chest bare, ebony armguards, an African forlorn spirit mask covering his face.

His mission for today was to find a spring for fresh water. Hunt for food. Avoid trouble.

But that didn’t prevent trouble from finding him.

“Akinbode!” A voice hollered from the distance. Shuja stopped in his tracks. It had been the first time he’d been called by his birth name since his exile. He turned to face the man he recognized as Simba, one of his former tribesman. Muscular, tall, dark brown skin. Three black stripes painted across his triceps denoting his warrior status, two knives tucked in a cloth tied around his waist.

The mask played its role. Shuja’s face showed concern, but that was the idea of the mask. Simba was an amazing fighter as, trained by Shuja himself, they both knew that a quick way to gain a quick mental edge over an opponent is through their facial expression. But with the mask as a barrier Shuja retained a neutral position in the situation.

Simba stood in an open stance, feet apart and hands to his sides, fingers shifting positions. He was ready to strike. Shuja held still; sentinel in his form.

“You don’t answer to your name now, Akinbode?” Simba asked, “Or do you still try to pathetically claim Anga Shuja?” A name honored to Akinbode for his combat prowess by their chieftan, Holokai, but now it was his only name he claimed. “Only a coward leaves his tribe, Akinbode. Your wife and daughter too? Shame that their fate befell them and not you. You should come back. Stand trial. Chief Holokai will allow you to die an honorable death.”

Shuja continued his silence.

Listening. The situation was more than what it seemed.

Brushes rustled in the surrounding area. The feint snapping of twigs and crunching of leaves underfoot. Deliberate, human movements. Simba brought friends.

It was time for Shuja to defend himself. He unsheathed his sword from its cloth with a tight grip. Simba acknowledged Shuja’s gesture and unsheathed his two knives from their cloth. As expected, many other warriors revealed themselves from the brushes. Brandishing weapons of various forms. Clearly out for Shuja’s blood.

“This time, I’m allowed to kill you myself, Akinbode.” Simba announced as he and his allies surrounded their prey. Shuja nodded. “Pity that you chose this fate. Believe me, it hurts me more a lot than it will you.” Simba quipped with a smirk.

The first move was made by a warrior brandishing a spear, he made a lunge toward Shuja. He swiftly dodged to the side and into the path of a fierce overhead blade swing from another warrior to which he blocked with his own blade. Thinking quickly he forced the other bladesman off quickly to block a slice at his neck with his ebony armguard. Shuja gave him a punch to the throat, forcing him back in time to dodge a swing to his back from a dual sickle wielder. Before he could swing his other sickle, Shuja gave his kneecap a fierce thrust kick and snapped the leg backward. As the man let out a cry in agony his throat was slashed open with a swift slice by Shuja.

The grisly display gave attackers pause as the blood sprayed and he collapsed to the ground unceremoniously.

Simba was unfazed. He seemed elated that Shuja was capable of such combat prowess and eager to finally test it as a true opponent. “You know I love a good hunt. But, Akinbode, the lion always wins!!!” More soldiers revealed themselves from the brushes on que with his war cry.

Instinctively Shuja took stock of the fighters, about twenty. Actually more. Sneaking around out of sight trying to get a good shot in the dense jungle; archers. This was no longer a desirable fight. Escape was the best option. And so he bolted down the forest path. Any warrior in his way was violently tossed aside.

The chase was on.

Shuja took a hard right, swinging around a small tree to channel his momentum. He found one of the archers who fired at him in a panic. Shuja caught the arrow mid-flight and blitzed him with a kick to the side and then smashing him in the back of the head with the hilt of his blade. He found the next archer trying to flee from his partner. Shuja quickly swung himself up the branches of a nearby tree and launched himself atop the rogue archer, taking his bow and firing three arrows in rapid succession at his pursuers. Hitting one in the shoulder and dissuading chase for a brief moment. He stomped on the head of the archer below to subdue him and took off running again.

Leave me be. My fate is not yours to decide.

A swamp not too far ahead. A steep cliff preceding it. Shuja knew it was his only chance. With all his might he bolted even further ahead of the mob chasing him and reached the cliff. And without a second thought, launched himself off down to the dark waters below.

Concealed by the dark waters, Shuja was safe from his attackers. By the time the mob reached the cliff he was nowhere in sight.

“I’m disappointed. The great Anga Shuja Akinbode has chosen to flee much like a fragile rabbit.” He chose his words deliberately, he knew Shuja could hear him wherever he was.

“Akinbode, your steps are limited. I know the land just as well as you do. Tis only a matter of time before the lion claims his prey!!” Simba let out a warrior’s howl followed by his fellow tribesman and then took his warriors back down the path they came. And concealed below them, Shuja listened; relieved that for now his peril was over.

The Path to nowhere continues.