There wasn't blood, only piercing.
A man fell, limp.
The spear was lodged in his head. There were no cries, no resistance, only death.
It was right next to Malik. He stared at it, but then averted his gaze, as there was nothing he could do. But something was wrong.
Was that my spear?
None of the men in the circle changed their expressions; they acted as if they had already died from it.
All the other spears landed at the same time, yet one spear grazed Malik's arm, making a small scratch.
Meanwhile, the crowd kept watching; their cheers were louder than the silence of the circle.
Behind them, a seagull listened closely, perched on top of the tribe's barricade wall.
Guan Sui whispered in the Chief's ear as the roaring of joyful ants ensued.
"I didn't expect this to be the way you wanted to deal with them, Chief Asem," he said, his tongue poking out like a snake.
The Chief grumbled, "I suspected them to be spies. Whether they died or not, it would be resolved."
"But you'd never know if they're a scapegoat for something far greater," Guan Sui argued.
Chief Asem sighed. "That's why we put the fear of death into them, so that they know what they walked into. Remember, Guan Sui, you, my right-hand man, should know that no visitor can be trusted."
"I knew it the second the girl they came with wore their uniform," Guan Sui uttered.
"Speaking of the girl, why didn't you bring her?" the Chief asked.
Guan Sui stumbled over his words. "I didn't figure her as a threat. She seemed mentally weak, despite being quite beautiful. If I'm being honest, Chief, I assumed she was related to you, since you two seemed to be from the same homeland."
Chief Asem cackled. "Aha! I know who you are, Guan Sui. You didn't just find her attractive, you wanted her for yourself, is that not right?"
The subordinate mumbled, "You know very well that a woman of Ishkana is like a magnet where both poles connect. They simply cannot be resisted."
"But remember this, Guan Sui. Your blood of Zi Jin Cheng does not allow you to possess the harmony. It is purely due to you growing up alongside my people that you developed it."
The Chief gave a stern look. "Don't waste that opportunity."
. . .
Suddenly, everyone pulled their spears out of the ground. They were to be reused.
When Zayne picked up the last spear that had stabbed the dirt, Malik realized it.
He had to grab the only spear he could—out of the man's head.
Without a second's hesitation—
Glisschtt!
He held the blood-pointed javelin up high; drops of dark blood seeped into the grass, staining it.
Malik's grey gaze waited for the Chief's next motion.
I can't allow myself another death because of my delayed reaction. I cannot use the excuse of 'I'm just a little boy' anymore.
The breeze halted, and the cries of circling seagulls had become more like whispers.
Each of the men in the circle took a breath and—
"Third Round!! Throw!!" Chief Asem yelled.
Simultaneously, they all threw them in that moment. In sync, they lined up in the air, nearly stabbing a seagull from above.
The manner in which the spears turned upside down, as if a shadow from above had tilted them, bewildered them.
To the circle from below, they were spinning dots in the sky, but to the crowd, they were pillars of inevitability.
They remained elevated, as if someone held them.
Closer, the dots seemed to get larger.
Then they weren't dots anymore.
. . .
Schunk!
One man fell immediately.
Blood poured from the gaping wound in his cranium.
The other tried grabbing the spear, but it was lodged in his throat. Thus, he could not scream, though he looked like he wanted to.
He limped, falling to his knees, and held his arms out for help, but each man in the circle stood there, watching.
Then he fell to the ground, breathing lightly.
Until—
SHPLOCHT!!
The rest pierced the dirt, but two others landed in the man's back.
His light breathing had stopped.
The crowd gave a moment of silence, until they began to cheer once more.
Malik looked at their enthusiasm; he saw the children laughing, and even the elderly entertained.
What kind of heartless monsters would find this entertaining . . . but can I say the same for myself? After all, I'm the one who could've tried to help them, so why am I just standing here?
Turning to his left, Zayne stood there, also staring at the corpse.
Seeing his mouth, Malik could sense he was trying not to vomit. He kept his eyes closed, and his arms slightly shook at the sight.
But when Malik looked down, he saw that a spear had landed right between them, and it had made a terrible gash on Zayne's arm. His arm bled profusely, as he kept calm.
Swallowing hard, "How can we allow these innocent people to die, Malik!"
Zayne avoided shedding tears as he pumped his chest upward.
Quietly, they both looked down.
Nonetheless, all of the men still grabbed the spears. They didn't know why they grabbed them; they just did. It was as if their eyes were cameras attached to a puppet on a string.
Holding them upright, it felt more like an execution rather than a ritual.
Why else would all the people cheer at this catastrophe? Do they think of us as people deserving of this outcome?
Malik planted his feet into the ground, anticipating.
Silent, everyone listened. So did the forest, the sky, and the seagulls.
. . .
"Final Round!!! Throw!!!" the Chief roared.
They tensed, patient, but—
Malik threw his spear a hair early, and the others followed shortly after.
His body remained like a statue as he waited for the answer.
This time, the spears would waste no time. They had decided their targets, or rather, maybe the shadow had chosen them for them.
No gusts of wind would attempt to bother them.
Each falling dot moved with a mind of its own.
How much longer can I allow more deaths to take place? I cant . . . I cant!
. . .
Malik hadn't looked upward, but he felt it.
He felt a presence from above, a presence that shocked him to his very core.
The rattle that used to endure in his pocket could no longer handle it.
It begged to be released. Malik's hand shook, reaching for it.
But he looked up. He saw it.
The bloody-tipped spear.
It was aiming right between his eyes.
Before his hands could reach—
Squawk!
. . .
"WHAATTTT!!!!????"
The crowd all had the same reaction; even Malik couldn't believe it himself.
A seagull had swooped in and knocked the spear off its trajectory. It gave a mechanical cry as it soared away.
Despite his once-composed demeanor, he laughed to himself.
Hugging his body, he had never felt so alive.
Jaw-dropped, the crowd couldn't have predicted such a turn of events.
Then, the circle slowly departed. The game was over.
Malik stood in the middle; every eye was stapled onto him.
Silent, he scanned them.
Then—
"BAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!" He cackled.
The mob cheered for him; their arms swayed aimlessly, dancing at the finale of the ritual.
He laughed not only at the crowd, but at the spears and the sky itself. The rattle in his pocket laughed with him as well.
Because when the world laughs at him, he is one to laugh louder than it.
In the midst of the chaos, Guan Sui's eyes remained wide.
"How could that have happened, Chief? That seemed like impossible luck!" he shouted.
The Chief smiled. "I would expect nothing less. One would be naive to believe that a spear could pierce the Eye of the Storm."
Thus, Malik stood there, appreciating his never-ending ovation.
. . .