Chapter 48: Feast

"Imagination does not breed insanity. Exactly what does breed insanity is the reason. Poets do not go mad, but chess-players do. Mathematicians go mad, and cashiers do, but creative artists very seldom do. I am not, as will be seen, in any sense attacking logic: I only say that this danger does lie in logic, not in imagination." —G.K. Chesterton, Orthodoxy

"I decided that it was not wisdom that enabled [poets] to write their poetry, but a kind of instinct or inspiration, such as you find in seers and prophets who deliver all their sublime messages without knowing in the least what they mean." —Socrates

"...if you do not even understand what words say,

how can you expect to pass judgment

on what words conceal?" —H.D. (Hilda Doolittle), Trilogy: The Walls Do Not Fall / Tribute to the Angels / The Flowering of the Rod

***

Another day came, another reason to survive. Xenia gladly got up from the dry stone ground inside the cave. His fire pit had been extinguished about a few hours ago.

The entrance of the cave seeped in the warm and gentle light of the morning sun, bringing safety to Xenia's trembling body. Although he had slept like a log last night, he still feels exhausted. He really pushed himself to his limits quite a few times, surpassing his limitations.

"My stomach seemed upset. Is it from eating human flesh? Also, it does not bother me that I've consumed human flesh. Am I turning into a psychopath?"

After a few seconds, his questions and everything that was turning out did not bother him anymore. He just went on his usual routine. But since he was slightly sick, Xenia refrained from doing extreme exercises, for it will consume his energy, which he will need when an encounter with the tribe occurs.

"Food is scarce. There is no way to find me some breakfast. I'll have to go to the mountain if I want to eat something that isn't human flesh. I can't live on cannibalizing others. I might form all sorts of illnesses and personality disorders."

It was a long walk to the mountain but Xenia does not care. First, he washed his face in the river and gargled, then spit everything behind him. Not back to the river. The calm and serene river before, filled with fish swimming around now remains only the river where water streams.

"Looking back, it's never this messy on this island. Trees have fallen everywhere, and the paths are all muddy. It's not just the same before or after the earthquake and the storm. One wrong step and one can fall from the cracks."

Shaking his head, Xenia moved to another spot while searching for food, which he previously knew is impossible to stumble upon, knowing that only the tribe have food for themselves.

It has been an hour and Xenia was almost near the foot of the mountain. Corpses of Balmackians, the townspeople lay everywhere, mangled and dismembered.

"Rigor mortis. After a few days, those bodies will start to rot and it will be the most gut-turning smell. The smell of flesh rotting will upset anyone's stomach."

People he knew, families that despised his family, lay dead around the foot of the mountain. And at the entrance, the sign that was used to prevent the townspeople from entering the tribe's land was taken down. It was destroyed and left on the side.

"It reeks of blood... Trails of murder remain visible. This place has truly become a graveyard for the Balmackians. I wonder if I am the only one that remains that isn't from the tribe."

Alone, armed only with his obsidian knife, Xenia got only himself. Heading inside the mountain, climbing the steep path, Xenia sensed the danger that looms forward. Unbothered by the scary feeling, Xenia gaily entered the tribe without its inhabitants knowing. They should be guarding their land but no one was in their posts, which was strange.

"Unlike the other parts of the island, their land didn't even sustain any ecological and topographical damage. Is it them that manipulates the phenomenon or everything was just foretold?"

If Xenia keeps thinking and wondering, he would never come up with an answer nor finish questioning himself, for one question gives birth to another question.

A small community was built in the mountain, crops to sustain themselves, different animals being raised for food, and cultivating land for more food.

During his 10 minutes of walking farther inside, Xenia discovered three tribesmen, talking in a language he does not have any idea of. They all turned their heads in his direction. Luckily, he was quick to hide behind a tree as he watched over them.

"They are sharp! I wasn't making any noises, yet they looked in my direction. And they are heading towards my location?!"

He was almost at the top. The ground was almost flat, houses for each family erected, and it was so peaceful in their land. However, their tribe now reeks of iron— blood they shed from Balmackians they slew to receive what they deemed to be their gifts from their god.

"Tch! I have nowhere to go! At this rate, they will find me!"

Just when the three tribesmen were going to look behind the tree, someone called them out from behind. They all looked back and saw that it was a lady wearing a covering on her face.

"That's not the Lakambini. So, I'm guessing all the women in this tribe cover their faces?"

Only the Lakambini covers her face. Why? It is their custom, you ask them yourselves.

"Come quick! Lakambini has gathered everyone! They discovered Grenoble's body and wished to give him a proper burial!"

Thankfully, the three tribesmen didn't check the tree he was in. Xenia was safe but he chose to follow the four tribesmen going further into the village-like community.

"Endangering yourself at least once brings chills to you. The excitement it gives is incomparable."

The land may be slightly flat but trees still exist, standing taller than the houses and thicker than each other. So, basically, it still gives them the shade the forest does and prevents danger that could occur to their tiny village.

As stealthily as possible, Xenia goes from one hiding spot to another not to get caught in broad daylight.

Being so high up in the sky, the wind blew stronger than those below, and oftentimes it happens. It was chilling and relaxing. Also, it masks Xenia's faint noises, which was convenient on his side.

"It's still shocking that our leader, Grenoble, had been killed. The person that killed him must be really skilled and acquired a powerful gift!"

"Apparently, sir Grenoble's body was stabbed multiple times. There was no sign of a gift being used on him. He was mutilated. And a puzzle-like piece of his flesh was missing, so Lakambini concluded that the person that killed him didn't have a gift."

"An ungifted killed sir Grenoble?! That's absurd, considering he is one of the most skilled fighters among us!"

"Do you know what this means?"

"What?"

"It means that the killer must be among us. Or it could be that "family", however, they found the father dead. It seemed that sir Grenoble fought him and was killed."

Either way, trust was wavering among them. Until the matter was solved and all of Xenia's family members were found, the suspicion among the tribe would remain. Anyone could become a suspect. Traitors would be scrutinized and publicly executed to make an example.

Xenia expected a much gloomier atmosphere because members of their tribe were killed. They should be mourning their deaths, crying their eyes out, and wailing on their loss. However, everybody was happily smiling at the sound of the harp and drums being played, dancing gracefully as they held each other's hands.

It really was the opposite of what Xenia expected. He was used to seeing the burial ceremony as something sad and grim. People were crying and mourning the death of their loved ones. But this tribe was different.

People had this bowl made from coconut and gourd being held by both hands.

"That's a nice smell. They are sharing soup? Ugh, it's making me hungrier!"

Fighting the urge to come out and help him with some soup, Xenia lost his appetite as soon as a few tribesmen sat near his hiding place. It was a pile of grass that was around five feet tall. It was itchy but he had to bear with it, otherwise he would get caught.

"To think that the day would come when I would be sharing sir Grenoble's flesh! It's a luxury!"

"You're lucky, bastard! I didn't get to have some of Sir Grenoble's meat!"

It turns out that the burial was not exactly a burial but a feast, containing the dead tribesmen they cooked to share with everyone that survived and fed their families. They have an abundant supply of food they could have consumed instead of human flesh and yet they chose to eat their kin.

"Do they think that by eating their dead friend's flesh, they will acquire their strength, thus becoming stronger?! These guys are nuts. I must annihilate them!"

Another goal, another reason to live and survive.

~