The walk to the Kikuyu village took them down from an airy, elevated plain and its shorter grasses into the knee-high vegetation and woodier brush of the lowlands. The hike itself was not difficult, but Jade wondered what it would be like going back in the dark and uphill when they were tired. She looked down, pulled a tick from her trousers, and tossed it aside.
Once inside the village, Lord Colridge directed everyone to their places. By previous order, the Kikuyu had retired to their huts, though the droning whispers from within spoke of their intention to keep vigil. Jade sent Jelani off to the huts as soon as they entered the village.
“Thompson, you, Hascombe, and myself will wait over there.” Colridge pointed to a slightly upraised blind of poles and thatch that the Kikuyu had constructed for him. “The ladies will wait it out in the boma with the goats, where it’s safer.”
Jade and Madeline immediately protested, but Colridge shushed them with a dictatorial hand motion. “Miss del Cameron, you will be able to see perfectly well through the breaks in the boma, especially with this moonlight. Mrs. Thompson, I trust you’ll want to keep her company.”
“I was under the impression, sir,” argued Jade, “that the hyena broke into the boma in the past. I’d hardly call it a safe place.”
“But there wasn’t any bait out for it on those nights,” Colridge said, his voice patronizing. “The hyena is a lazy brute at heart, like most predators. It won’t work any harder than it needs to for a meal.”
“I’m going to scout around the perimeter,” said Harry.
Neville turned to his wife. “Off you go, Madeline. Be a good sport about it.”
“I don’t care to be treated like a child, Neville,” she whispered lest Lord Colridge overhear her.
“I know, darling,” said Neville. “But this is no time to argue.” He nodded sideways at Colridge and contorted his face into a grimace to convey to his spouse the importance of the man’s patronage and approval.
Madeline took the hint. “Yes, of course, darling,” she said in a louder voice. “You are absolutely correct. We’ll just be going into the boma.”
Jade reluctantly followed Madeline through a small gateway and pulled the brush back into place behind them. The goats paid no attention to their arrival and settled down on their knobby knees in the dirt. A few kids butted their mothers’ udders to be fed. Outside the boma, the sun sat low on the horizon and filled the sky with gorgeous splashes of scarlet and gold. Long shadows bathed the village and surrounding hills in cool, grape blue shadows. Nearly a quarter hour later, they heard Mr. Hascombe return and enter the blind. Then, as the sunset plunged the world into darkness, they heard a scratching at the boma gate. Jade lowered her rifle when a voice from without called softly.
“Memsabu, it is me.”
“Jelani? What are you doing out there? I thought you went into a hut.” She trotted over to the entrance and pulled back the brush from the opening. “Come inside at once,” she ordered.
Jelani slipped in through the opening, and Jade pushed the brush back into place. She took the boy by the shoulders and brought her face down to within an inch of his. “We must be silent,” she whispered. “When the hyena comes, it should only hear the goat outside.”
Jelani nodded and tiptoed in front of Jade along the wall and away from the opening. A few goats trotted before them. A patch of white appeared dimly ahead—Madeline’s shirt. “Over here,” she whispered.
They squatted down near her and peered through various gaps in the brush towards the stake that tethered the goat near the blind. Jade reckoned the distance to be about twenty yards, an easy shot. But bad luck and the gently rolling topography put the raised blind barely above the line of her fire. If she missed the hyena, she risked hitting one of the men. For that matter, from their current position the women risked being hit in the cross fire. Under her breath Jade cursed Lord Colridge and his antiquated chivalrous attitude.
They moved farther aside and sat in the dark for nearly half an hour more before the moon rose overhead and washed the landscape with its iridescent glow. The bait had long since knelt down in the dirt with its head resting to one side, and Madeline had given up on kneeling in favor of sitting with her legs curled to the left. Jade shifted from one knee to the other until her wounded knee began to ache. She shifted again when she realized Jelani was not by her side. She looked for him and saw him standing at the gate, trying to peer out. Before she could call him back, a mad cackling laugh erupted from outside the rear of the boma.
The skin along Jade’s forearms prickled and tingled. She shivered involuntarily. The laugh repeated itself. Erratic, high-pitched notes touched with insanity rolled through the night, the type of laugh she had heard from the shell-shocked victims. The darkness, the ghostly light, and the inhuman sounds triggered the memory of a particularly harrowing night ambulance run when the insanity behind her seat went on for endless miles.
Her breath came in rapid gasps. The nearly instinctive panic, the urge to flee the war with its smells, sickness, and death, oppressed her and pushed her to the limits of reason. She closed her eyes and fought the fear, mentally reciting her old shelling mantra. Then the laughter ceased, and Madeline gently shook her.
“Jade,” she whispered. “Are you all right? You look ill.” Jade pulled a kerchief from her hip pocket and wiped the sweat from her brow. Now she knew how a grouse felt as the dogs edged closer and closer until it finally gave in to its panic and flew out into the open. She also knew she must find a way to conquer those panic attacks or she would forever be in danger. Any sound, any smell might trigger them. Why they needed to be conquered was not the issue, but how.
“I’m fine,” Jade answered. “That laugh, bad memories.”
“Hyena,” explained Madeline.
The old nanny outside had heard the eerie, quavering calls as well. It stood up and stomped its hooves nervously as its ears twitched from side to side, listening for danger. If another animal had entered the village, it kept itself out of sight. Jade took a deep breath, held it, and listened. Then she heard it, a soft scrabbling at the boma gate, right where Jelani stood.
“Jelani,” she whispered, “get back now!”
Madeline crept closer to her. “What is it?” she whispered.
Jade didn’t reply. She shouldered her rifle and steadied herself. Jelani started to back slowly away from the gate. His right hand clutched a slender object. It glinted in the moonlight, and Jade saw it was a knife. “Damn,” she muttered. Jelani seemed intent on becoming a warrior sooner than necessary.
Suddenly the boma’s gate bowed inward with a groan and a crackling snap. The low head and high shoulders of the spotted hyena pushed through. Jade chambered a round and waited. The animal hesitated and sniffed the air. A shot now was impossible. Jelani stood in the way, and if Jade moved, the hyena might charge. Jade concentrated on keeping her breathing slow and regular and tried to ignore the intense throbbing pain in her knee.
The powerful animal eyed Jelani and stalked into the boma towards him. Its massive jaws quivered slightly, glistening wet with saliva. The shorter hindquarters tensed themselves for the rush. Jade set her sights on the animal’s chest and shouted.
“Jelani, run! Now!” She trusted in the immediate obedience of the boy, who had learned to take orders, but she underestimated the predator’s speed and power. Jelani jumped out of the line of fire just as the hyena charged. The beast knocked the boy to the ground with a glancing blow from its massive shoulder. Jade saw her shot and squeezed the trigger as she exhaled. The animal yelped and leaped into the air.
“Madeline, get Jelani,” ordered Jade. Madeline darted around the nervous, bleating goats and pulled the Kikuyu youth aside as the hyena bit its own shoulder to attack the source of its pain. Jade worked the lever smoothly, chambered another round, and waited for her opportunity.
“Over here, you toto-eating monster,” she shouted. The hyena glared at her and presented its open chest to her sights. She fired again
, and the hyena jerked, fell, and lay still. The sound of running feet came from the direction of the blind. Colridge, Hascombe, and Thompson rushed into the boma, rifles ready.
“Hold your fire. It’s dead,” Jade said and rose from her position. The pain in her knee disappeared. “Madeline, how’s the boy?”
“He’s fine,” Madeline answered. “Just some scrapes.” She nodded to the hyena. “Are you sure it’s dead?” Jelani broke free of Madeline’s protective embrace and plunged his knife up to the hilt in the hyena’s throat.
“It is now,” Jade said.
“Bloody hell,” muttered Colridge. “The damned brute went for the boma goats after all.”
“He went for Jelani,” said Jade.
Neville squatted down beside the hyena and examined the body. “Marvelous shot, Miss Jade,” he said. “You went straight into the heart and . . . My word.”
“What?” Jade knelt beside him.
Hascombe leaned over her shoulder for a better look. “I don’t see . . .”
Lord Colridge stood by Madeline and helped her to her feet. “Well, are you going to tell us what it is or are you all going to stammer like imbeciles?” he scolded.
“You’ll want to see this for yourself, Miles,” said Hascombe.
“See what?” demanded Madeline.
“The fur’s been shaved into geometric patterns,” said Jade. “And there’s a bone knotted into the neck ruff.”
“It is the sign of the laibon, memsabu,” Jelani explained. “We killed his hyena.”
Later that night, the man crouched by the now smoldering fire and thought about what had happened. His beast was dead. He had felt his own will driven from it in its death throes. He also knew who had killed his creature. Had he not seen her through the beast’s very eyes? In his rage he slammed his fist into the ground. How dare the Kikuyu attempt to defy him! Calling for that stupid old man to help. Thinking his magic was stronger because he was under a king’s protection. What could an English king do here? He let his hatred ferment inside him. It would be useful later, a power to be tapped.
While the man had watched earlier through his animal’s eyes, the fool Colridge tried to set a trap for his familiar. But the man was too clever for them all. He, like his teacher, could control the animal, but unlike his teacher, he had learned more, much more. And why not? Wasn’t he smarter? Wasn’t his teacher a tool to be used just like the hyena? The human bone knotted in the ruff had turned the animal away from the old nanny towards human prey. When his familiar had hesitated, he directed the hyena with barely whispered incantations away from the trap and into the boma, towards the scent of the boy and the women.
His eyes mirrored the fire’s sparks as they flashed in anger. That woman! She would bear watching, and eventually, she would have to pay. But all in good time.
All predators learned patience.
CHAPTER 9
“Most races or groups of people believe they are superior in some way to others. The Maasai know they are.”
—The Traveler
THE SOPWITH CAMEL PLUMMETED INTO A nosedive, wind screaming over its wings. Jade squinted against the wing’s reflective glare and ran across the field. I must warn him before he goes into a death roll. Too late. The plane hit the earth with a sickening thud. A shout came to her throat, drowned out by the maniacal laughter of the shell-shocked wounded all around her. Bloody hands snatched at her hair and clothes. She plowed her way through the endless mob, but as she reached the downed plane and the pilot, a hideously large hyena sprang in between her and David, snarling in defense of its carrion prey. Jade launched a right hook at the brute’s slavering jaws. Her fist swung in the empty air, and she woke in a cold sweat. Outside, a sweet, high-pitched chirp announced another beautiful, cool morning.
Jade lay panting on her cot and sorted nightmare from fact. Last night’s hyena was real, no doubt about that, but it hadn’t attacked David. Just as she felt something akin to relief, the weight of the ring on her chest reminded her of that other reality, David’s death.
“I’m sorry, David,” she whispered and clutched the ring through her bush shirt. “I told you I’d find your brother, and I will. You have to give me more time, please.”
Her boots stood upright beside her cot, and Jade shook each one upside down before slipping them on. The action itself, perfectly normal and advisable on safari, triggered another place-time distortion. She caught herself looking for Beverly and listening for the commandant’s call.
“I need some coffee,” she muttered and stepped out into the cool air of a highland morning.
Miles Colridge, sitting at the table, ignored her disheveled appearance and greeted her. “Good morning, Miss del Cameron. Splendid morning. I trust you slept well. Good, good,” he said without waiting for her answer. “There’s coffee in the pot. Help yourself.”
“Good morning. And thank you, I believe I shall.” She picked up the pot with a towel and poured a mug full of the black brew. The fragrant aroma wafted up to her nostrils, and she inhaled deeply with a contented sigh.
“By thunder, Miss del Cameron, that was fine shooting last night. I underestimated you, and Mrs. Thompson, too, it seems. If I understand the story rightly, she pulled the Kikuyu boy out of the way.” He chuckled and puffed out his bushy mustache. “Lady Penelope would’ve been proud.”
“Your wife, sir?” inquired Jade. She blew on her coffee and took a tentative sip. Nectar!
“My late wife, yes. She loved Africa. Loved everything about it.” The old man stared into his own cup, and Jade detected a twinge of sorrow cross his grizzled features. She waited patiently for him to continue or not, as he chose, and offered a word of support.
“A fine lady,” she said as a statement rather than a question and took a seat. The sun hadn’t risen yet, but it would soon enough. Most of the stars were invisible, and there was an expectancy in the air, a stirring of hidden life in preparation. The waning moon hung low over the western horizon as though it waited for permission to set.
“A remarkably fine lady,” said Colridge eventually.
Jade wanted to ask how and when she had died and whether or not they had children, but British reserve wasn’t something one pried into, especially when speaking with an aristocrat. But something in his fidgety mannerism told her he needed to speak, wanted to speak, wanted to be asked. She did. “May I be so bold, sir, as to inquire?”
“A year ago. One of the first influenza victims.”
“I’m sorry, sir. It’s a loss to you and to the colony.”
The old man looked up gratefully. “Good of you to say so, Miss del Cameron. Our son survived the war. He’s in London now, but I daresay he’ll come home soon.” A noise outside the other tent roused him to his old self. “Ah, Thompson, Mrs. Thompson, you are awake. About time, the sun is already rising.”
True to his decree, the sun sent its first golden spears over the hills and spilled light into the campsite. Jade marveled at the man’s sense of timing. It spoke of a long partnership with Africa.
“Good morning, Lord Colridge, Miss Jade,” said Neville. “Hascombe rode back to his ranch last night after all?”
“Just a few miles away,” answered Colridge. “No spare tent. Sensible thing to do. Did say he’d come back for breakfast. Should be here now, in fact.”
Harry Hascombe, unlike the sun, did not obey Lord Colridge’s imperial commands. It was a full half an hour later before he rode up on Whiskey, about the time they were digging into warm, sweet scones and slices of salted bacon, fried crisp. Jade was in heaven; well, nearly so. A large side of golden hashed brown potatoes seasoned with bits of onion would have done the trick. Jade looked up from her plate and noticed that the powerful rancher had shaved.
Harry seated himself in the coffee-stained chair and helped himself to a heaping plate of food. Finally, she could ask about the incredible hyena hide. Harry brought up the subject himself.
“Well, Miles,” he said, “still doubt the witchcraft sto
ries?” Colridge only snorted loudly. “Should be quite an interesting trophy for you, Miss del Cameron.”
“I’ve never seen or heard of anything like that before,” Jade said. “That is, except for incomplete references made around here and Jelani’s statement. Would someone explain it?”
Harry grinned broadly. “Most happy to oblige a pretty huntress,” he said with a slight bow. “The Kikuyu told our host here that a witch sent a familiar, if you please, after their flocks and themselves. Like any good, God-fearing Englishman, he sorts out the witchcraft angle but goes after the hyena. This time, the Kikuyu were right. Someone owned that hyena. That geometric pattern shaved into the fur had some meaning, perhaps the witch’s secret name.”
“Like a cattle brand?” suggested Jade.
“Exactly,” agreed Harry. “The bead in the fur may be a talisman or mark of power. Or maybe it all worked together to call up some magic power on the animal, an incantation.” He drained his cup. “Of course, I’m speculating. Witches don’t readily reveal their secrets.”
“And where would this witch live?” asked Jade. Harry extended his arms to indicate anywhere in Africa. Jade persisted. “Surely he must have a tribe?”
“A laibon is a shaman,” explained Harry. “He could be Maasai or one of the tribes related to the Maasai. Perhaps the Samburu. These laibon generally deal with day-to-day problems such as illnesses, fidelity, or bringing rainfall. One class helps the warriors defeat enemies. The English tend to see these men as seats of power. In reality, elders make the decisions for the kralls, or villages.” He paused and thought a moment. “Well, maybe not the warrior-class villages.”
“So if we went to the closest Maasai village,” Jade said in summary, “we might find this laibon and confront him?”
Harry leaned forward in his chair, his brow furrowed, and his square-cut jaw set. “Well, if you do, you’ll do it without me. Those men may or may not have power, but I’m not making any enemies of the Maasai.”
Mark of the Lion Page 10
