“I don’t think they’re very good at making compromises. There have been countless wars for power within the region. In fact, our council has records of a high number of men declaring themselves kings, presidents, emperors, and rulers of the northlands, and often several men at the same time. Most of them didn’t keep their title for long, but the current ruler Khan Aurelius and his father before him have stayed in power for more than thirty years combined.”
“So, there’s no wars now?”
“Not at the moment, and the Northlands are prospering from the peace – which we’re pleased about.”
“Why aren’t there any newer pictures?” Marie asked.
“Because of the law that prohibits anyone from taking pictures of them,” I explained.
Martha lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “I have some.”
All heads turned to her and then back to me, waiting for my reaction.
“I’m sorry dear, what did you say? You have some what?” I asked to clarify.
“I have pictures of the Nmen,” she said, holding her chin high.
I fiddled with my wristband, unsure how to handle the situation. “That’s brave of you to admit, but surely you understand that you just confessed to a crime,” I finally said.
Martha shrugged. “I’m one hundred and five years old; what are they going to do about it?”
“Show it to us,” Marie encouraged with eagerness, and my curiosity overpowered my duty to prohibit the sharing of unauthorized pictures.
“Only if you all agree to keep it secret,” Martha said.
Promises were given and she came closer, walking stiffly on her old legs and taking her time to work her wristband.
“Oh, this cursed thing – my grandchildren got me a new band five years ago, but I’m still struggling to get it to work.” She was making commands but nothing happened.
“Maybe you didn’t charge it,” a man named Carl suggested.
“It’s charged from movement,” Martha muttered.
“Exactly,” he said with a smug smile.
Martha gave him a dirty look before she started banging on the wristband. “Show me pictures.”
A picture of a small child came up and it made her light up. “Oh dear, that’s Joy when she was a child.” Martha paused to admire the little girl until the man pushed at her hip.
“You said you had a picture of the Nmen.”
“Yes, yes, let’s see.” She focused. “Show pictures from the summer of ’32,” she said and an album came up. “Find pictures from the border.”
I took a step closer when a picture came up.
A man dressed in black leather and fur with a serious scowl on his face was in conversation with an old woman. Five more pictures followed of him and two other men.
“Fascinating,” Marie whispered. “Look at how barbaric they are. Not only do they kill living beings but they wear their skin like a trophy – or is it a warning to others?”
“What do you mean?” I asked greedily staring at the pictures myself.
“Maybe it’s a way to signal that they aren’t afraid to kill, you know, to scare potential attackers off.” Marie elaborated.
“Could be,” I agreed slowly.
There was silence as the pictures flickered from one to another. We were all in this together and collectively knew we were breaking the law by seeing this, but Marie had been right: it was truly fascinating to see something so odd, like discovering a prehistoric primitive tribe.
“I heard they’re cannibals,” someone whispered.
