by Marc Secchia
“Clumsy oaf!”
“Calm yourself, Mikael,” said the Prince. “It’s a little honey.”
“I’d ask the insolent slave-girl to clean my sandals for the morning,” the man said, tight-lipped. “The honey will attract ants, otherwise.”
The Prince’s eyes made a silent apology to Shioni. “Very well. Girl, take care of it.”
“Yes, my Lord of Gondar.”
And Shioni continued to serve them, forced to listen to soliloquys on the splendours of Gondar, pointed thoughts on the proper place and behaviour of slaves, and a large number of bad jokes about the General. He passed by, hopping on his crutch, and greeted them pleasantly. But Shioni thought she noticed a dangerous light behind his eyes. How much had the General overheard? As the saying went, his ears were as long as a donkey’s and sharper.
Before she left, the thin man told her his sandals would be placed outside his tent for cleaning.
Shioni dutifully picked up the sandals and cleaned them before she turned in for the night–it was hardly any trouble, and she decided she would like to save Annakiya or the Prince any potential aggravation.
She slept poorly, and woke early. She prepared breakfast for the Princess and heated water over a small, smokeless fire for shai. While she waited for the water to boil, she watched the sun leap cheerfully above the horizon. The camp began to stir. Funny how Shifta had been restless last night, she thought. She popped a pinch of tosign herb into the brew and laid out a few more wooden cups–simple fare for the lightly-equipped rush back to West Sheban territory. Here came Getu, and Captain Yirgu, for their morning chat with the Princess. A few rustlings within the tent told Shioni the Princess was pulling on her ‘unladylike’ leggings and long cotton shirt. That man Mikael didn’t have a good word to say for anyone.
Her eyes shifted over the Prince’s tent-circle. A tent flap twitched. Here came Mikael now.
He slipped and fell on his backside.
Shioni stifled a laugh. Served him right.
“Elephant dung!” shrieked the man. “Who put–my sandals! Someone’s covered my sandals in elephant dung!”
Her head swung around, searching. Shifta, the rascal! Or one of the warriors, although she thought that unlikely. Shifta had expressed his disapproval of Mikael in the most pungent way possible.
“It was that slave-girl!” Mikael shouted. Clods of fresh dung fell from the seat of his trousers as he marched toward her. “Own up, you wretched, insolent girl!”
Mikael simply would not give up. He kept shouting and demanding satisfaction for the slight. Captain Yirgu first tried to calm him down, and then General Getu, even Prince Dawit, but he refused to listen. “Are all Shebans gutless sons of goats?” he cried. “The girl’s a liar!” Princess Annakiya hissed back that Shioni was no liar, but he simply drowned her out. He railed at Shioni until even the Prince became hot under the collar, and the gathered warriors began to mutter and put hands to their weapons.
His two friends came to his aid, and matters began to take an ugly cast as Mikael descended into frothing obscenities.
Finally, Getu called out, “A battle of swords, my Lord? Will that satisfy you?”
“Perhaps,” sniffed Mikael.
“And how many of you will take on this slave-girl?”
“What are you trying to say, man? Just me, of course.”
“Very well. Yirgu. The training swords, if you please. We would not want–” Getu turned to Mikael, smiling his thin, wolfish smile as he paused just long enough to let everyone know exactly who he meant, “–anyone, to get injured in this little duel.”
Mikael accepted a blunted training sword with a fierce, self-satisfied smirk. “Heavy enough to break a few bones, I see. I’m going to teach you a lesson you’ll never forget, slave-girl.”
Getu turned to Shioni with a wink. “No magic. And try not to hurt him too much.”
Mikael swished the blade around his head and rolled his shoulders and neck. “Fighting a girl is beneath my dignity. But I will not suffer you to insult me and my people by shovelling elephant dung over–”
“You’re calling me a liar with no proof,” Shioni interrupted. “It was the elephant, but I suppose that doesn’t matter, does it?”
“Blame a dumb animal? Is that another spineless Sheban trait?”
Suddenly, a warrior yelled, “Come on, Shioni!”
“Beat the stinking hyena!”
“Show him how we Shebans fight!”
“Make him cry!”
Mikael roared into the attack as though he thought one unending flurry of blows would surely crush a weak female into the dust. He had a fair idea of what he was doing with a blade, but had completely lost his cool. Shioni retreated, dodging many of his powerful strikes or deflecting them with her blunted training sword, refusing to meet the full brunt of his attack with force. Rather, she began to imagine she was standing in the rain, dancing between the raindrops, a quicksilver droplet of her own, liquid and tranquil and quicker than a striking cobra.
Mikael growled furiously as he rent the air, blow after blow, but she was no longer there to hit. He flailed about and grew rather red in the face.
Eventually, Mikael contrived to drive her back toward a large boulder. Shioni defended herself one-handed as she made a show of scratching her chin and primping her hair. Infuriated, the tall man flung himself into a monstrous overhead blow. But Shioni was not there. She ducked, slithered between his legs, came up right behind him, and delivered a spanking forehand strike with the flat of her blade even as he crashed sparks off the rock. His sword cartwheeled out of his nerveless, jangling fingers.
“In Sheba, we give foul-mouthed boys a spanking,” said Shioni.
The watching Elites convulsed with laughter.
Mikael darted after his blade, but again Shioni was faster. As he reached down to grasp it out of the dust, she swatted him a second time. The blade met his backside with a resounding smack. Mikael sprawled on his face.
“Of course, we temper discipline with mercy,” said Shioni, bowing. “Please, my Lord. You appear to have lost your weapon.”
Picking up his sword, the man launched himself at her with a despairing howl. “Witch!”
“No, no witchcraft, just good old-fashioned Sheban hospitality.”
Shioni leaned aside from his rush like a supple reed bending before the wind. His own momentum sent him sprawling. She brought the blade whistling about for another crack at his behind, but suddenly saw the Prince of Gondar putting himself in the way. She pulled the stroke awkwardly, struck the Prince’s shin a glancing blow, and then her blade stuck in the ground, twisting her wrist sharply. Crack!
“That’s enough,” the Prince declared.
Shioni hugged her arm to her body. “My Lord Prince, I–”
“Enough, I said. On behalf of all Gondar, I apologise for this man’s behaviour.” The Prince bowed stiffly to Annakiya, then to General Getu, and then to Shioni. “I should not have been led by him, nor will I hear his counsel any longer. I am ashamed and offer my humble apologies.”
“Accepted, of course,” said the Princess. “Dawit, I–”
“A moment, please.” He turned to Mikael. “Get your sorry behind on your horse. I am sick of the sight of your face. And your two friends. All of you. Go!”
Mikael’s features described astonishment and chagrin. “But, my Lord … the four days back to Gondar–”
“Starve!” snarled Prince Dawit. “I don’t care. Clear off!”
General Getu beckoned to Shioni. “Trying to become one-armed, like me?” He bent over her arm. “You slay a dragon but contrive to break your arm avoiding hitting a Prince? I reckon that boy might have the makings of a king after all. What do you think? Yirgu! Any of your men know how to set a broken arm?”
Chapter 31: Elephants Can’t Run
SHioni Walked with the lioness, watching the easy, rippling flow of her muscles. Samira looked well. The puckered scar on her stomach promised to fade. She seemed un
able to get enough of walking though the tall riverine grasses, or skulking through the dense woodlands that dominated the hills. Now, if she could just learn how to track, stalk, and kill her prey, the lioness’ happiness would be complete.
“My paw’s getting better,” Shioni responded to an unspoken question. “It hurts, but this wooden splint Captain Yirgu carved keeps the bones from moving.”
“I thought you were going to die when they pulled your arm straight.”
Five burly warriors, a stick for her to bite on … Shioni never wanted to do that again. “I thought you meant to kill them, Samira. You are terribly fierce-looking when you’re angry.”
“Good. How much farther to this stone den of yours?”
Habitually, she scanned the riverside acacia trees, the reed beds, and the stony slopes either side of the Takazze River, before she replied, “I’ve lost track of the days, Samira. I think we should reach the Mesheha River gorge today or tomorrow. Another day beyond that is the ford; and two or three days further to Takazze. Well, it was slower with the merchants. But we’ll cut up into the mountains rather than follow the river.”
“That’s the part I want to see.”
“You can see the Simiens already. All those black peaks beneath the clouds.”
Samira’s tawny eyes glowed as she followed the direction of Shioni’s chin. “I sense something there–a pull. Is it magic, or how do you humans put it …?”
“Destiny?”
She purred deep in her chest. “So my paws itch, cubling. So they itch indeed.”
“My trunk itches, for in truth, you haven’t asked me how the battle went at Gondar,” said Shifta, swinging alongside them with his endlessly shuffling stride.
“I heard a mighty elephant routed the rebels,” Shioni said, truthfully. A gust of air from his trunk puffed her hair across her face. “Hey! Alright, Shifta–you’re the strongest elephant in the world, by the way–how was the battle? Please, tell me the whole story. Leave nothing out.”
And they whiled the day away in conversation as Shifta, in minute elephantine detail, proceeded to give her a blow-by-blow account of what Shioni suspected was a brief and very unequal battle outside the walls of Gondar. The best part was his pictures. She could see and smell the battle from his perspective. Her response to his thundering charge into the ranks of Haile’s unfortunate rebels clearly delighted the elephant.
As evening drew in, the Sheban force waded through the river where before, they had been forced to extract the baobab tree and drain a lake. Now, they barely wet their knees in the flow. Samira leaped the small stream, but afterward Shioni saw her limping and grimacing. She must have stretched her wound.
Shioni turned her gaze to the mountains. She had a nagging feeling they should hurry.
“We’ll camp in the lee of the ridge,” Getu ordered. “Early start tomorrow.”
Did he sense it too?
Later, when she was amusing herself watching Princess Annakiya and Prince Dawit learning to skin a small buck, Getu stumped up to her place and lowered himself carefully onto a rock she quickly vacated for him. For a long time, they both stared at her campfire.
“What do greybeard warriors do when they’re finished, my daughter?”
“Are you finished?” Her eyes leaped to his missing foot.
He eased his knee. “I still feel my foot there–strange, isn’t it?”
“Captain Yirgu says he will carve you a foot and make leather straps to fasten it to–”
“And shall I learn how to fight all over again, at my age?”
Shioni considered her response carefully before pouring scorn into her reply. “Then choose to roll over and die, old man. I didn’t carve a dragon open only to listen to your bellyaching. Mama Nomuula would say the same. ‘I don’t want no bitter old stick in my arms’,” she imitated Mama’s broad accent glibly. “‘I’s gonna put you over my knee, Shioni. Fancy lettin’ my General get a-chewed up by some mangy old dragon?’”
“What’re you saying about me and Mama Nomuula, girl?”
“My father, even a large heart can be broken.”
Only when Getu chuckled did she dare to let out the breath she had been holding. “Even the shemageles get younger around here. I must be old,” he said. “So you’re playing matchmaker now? Or am I considered old enough and ugly enough to take care of myself?”
“I am but a humble slave-girl, gashe.”
Getu aimed his crutch at her. “Say that again and I will employ this to beat some sense into your empty head. Now, what do you sense regarding Castle Hiwot?”
“I … how do you know?”
“You’ve had that look in your eye all day, girl. Don’t think I didn’t take notice. Spit it out.”
“We need to hurry, General.”
“How much? The men and the horses are weary. We’ve been pushing them unkindly.”
Shioni smacked a mosquito on her arm as she considered this. “I really couldn’t say, my father. But I just know it has to do with the King.”
“Therefore,” he shot back at once, “this whole expedition could be tossed on a garbage heap if we don’t take notice. And don’t give me that ‘it’s just a feeling’ look. I will consult with Captain Yirgu. Expect an early call in the morning.”
Shioni sighed. Early by the General’s mark was even earlier for her, given that she had to prepare Shifta for travel, as well as the Princess.
Hours before dawn, the Sheban Elites mounted up and pushed ahead. In the course of the morning, they passed the village where Shioni had played the asmati. Plenty of voices chimed in to remind her of how she stank! During the late afternoon they passed the place where she had downed two ducks with one arrow.
Shioni found her eyes turning more and more often to the mountains. Something was not right up there. They had to move on. She chafed at every delay. Every moment they spent walking the horses dragged on her nerves, but by nightfall, she had to admit that the horses–and the warriors–had reached the limits of their endurance. That was when Shifta voiced his idea.
General Getu frowned at her and the elephant. “He says he can take us to Castle Hiwot faster than horses?”
“He says to test his strength and see.” Shioni nodded, listening to two conversations at once as Getu and Yirgu thrashed out the idea. “He’ll walk all night and by morning be so far down the trail, the ‘four-footed ones’ will never catch up.”
“He is quick, I’ll give him that. Should have used him to travel down to the Sacred Lake–except he would have been stuck in the forest.”
“He says elephants can walk for days without stopping.”
“Shioni–your feeling …?”
“Worse, my Lord. More urgent than ever.”
“Then we’ll go with your gut. Princess,” rapped the General. “No rest tonight. I want you, Shioni, Yirgu, me, and maybe the lioness–we can’t leave her behind now–in the howdah. If we meet shiftas, we set the lioness loose on them. We test this elephant tonight. If the others can catch up tomorrow, so be it. We’ll race them to Castle Hiwot.”
Shifta harrumphed in a way that left no-one in doubt as to what he thought.
“We travel light. No tents, just gabis for the night, essential food, water, and weapons. Prince Dawit, will you join us?”
“I’d only slow you down, my Lord. I will ride with your trusted warriors.”
“Fine. Get moving! Am I surrounded by dumb donkeys? Princess, you’ve got the teshal somewhere safe? Shioni, where’s that overgrown butterfly? Pack her in too. I want the Fiuri where I can see and smell her.”
Azurelle waved cheekily at the General from Annakiya’s pocket, but wisely kept her mouth shut, which in itself was a notable event.
Shioni grabbed several warriors. “Help me place extra padding beneath the howdah. No telling when we’ll get it off his back again.”
Shortly, the elephant departed the Sheban campsite, striding into the gathering darkness. Only a few wisps of cloud dared shroud the stars, an
d the riverside trail was easy, taking them steadily down into the flat river plains that stretched all the way to the Sheban capital. After an hour or so, they passed the thundering Mesheha cataract, where the two rivers met.
“A day from here to the ford,” said Azurelle. “That’s what it took us last time. Do you think Annakiya’s tired, by any chance?”
Shioni reached over and tucked the gabi up to her best friend’s chin. “We all are.”
“So, how well do you see by starlight?”
“Um–as well as most humans, I guess. Why?”
“Let’s think about seeing with more than our eyes. How would you do that?”
Without further ado, Azurelle began to talk to her about seeing like a Fiuri, in all the glorious colours of her world; in the hues of magic, thought, and emotion. As she spoke of Fiuriel, Shioni noticed that the curlicue patterns on her arms and legs began to shift and glow. The Fiuri’s powers were returning, she thought. She remembered what General Getu had once said of the Fiuri, that no-one knew exactly how powerful these magical butterfly-creatures were.
Shioni leaned close to listen, her green-gold eyes riveted on the Fiuri’s animated face. And so the hours of night rocked by on elephant-back.
Shifta’s endurance was amazing, and his stride deceptively long. What seemed no great pace was indeed a purposeful walk, which he sustained for hour upon hour without flagging. In the early hours Shioni startled awake at the sound of splashing. She removed Samira’s heavy paw from her midriff and sat up.
“The river crossing,” said General Getu.
“Already?”
“They don’t have a hope of catching us now.”
“Shall I take a watch, General?”
“It’s not necessary.”
“I thought old warriors knew to take naps when they can.”
“You’ve been listening to me,” Getu accused. “Stop it. Actually, tell me this, girl: Annakiya said something that intrigued me. Did the dragon say something like: ‘It’s the magic, it’s real, but your kind are all dead?’ Did it, Shioni?”
