Abu Ali's face went grim and he reined his horse closer to Ali. "They are insane," he whispered. "Hold back a bit. Give Shaka and his men the honor of first contact."
"Gladly." Even gallant Ali looked unnerved.
Kai was still formulating his answer when Nandi rode past them. Her tan riding pants were unadorned, as simply functional as any of the men's. Somehow, the garb merely enhanced her sensuality.
As she passed Kai she spurred her steed and grinned back at him.
As the very wind of her passage ruffled his face, Kai felt her call: primal and wild and stronger than he had anticipated. He felt dizzied. "You would have me marry into this family, Father?" Kai called to Abu Ali. "They are all mad." And perhaps I am as well, he thought. "Hai!"
Kai spurred his own horse forward into the fray.
Ali laughed. "Allah, preserve us! I think the boy is in love." And raced after his younger brother.
The footmen's shielded, gas-burning lanterns probed the darkness, but deep patches of shadow remained in the forest. Death lurked within them.
Shaka, his nephews and footmen worked forward in a practiced arc, clearing one segment of grass after another. The buffalo seemed to have disappeared.
Kai's heart was in his throat. How could so large a beast vanish so completely? Twice he had seen the buffalo erupt out of shadows, and the mounted Zulus had scattered, hooting, as its horns came within digits of their horses. Insanity! Worse yet, they treated it almost like a game. Almost. These men were in the finest, highest physical condition he had ever witnessed. Clearly, they were competing with each other not only physically, but in display of courage. And Nandi was right in the thick of it. What manner of man could ever control such a woman?
There! Their prey had raised up again, and snorted as it charged. One of Shaka's footmen thrust at the beast with a spear, and it wheeled, hitting the man from the side. This time, the hunter was unable to spin out of the way, and the horn pierced his ribs. With a despairing wail, the footman collapsed bleeding into the tall grass.
Two more men veered in, jabbing, and the buffalo turned. Shaka galloped back in. "Hold!" he cried. "He is mine!"
Deferentially, the footmen backed away. Almost as if it understood that some ultimate moment had arrived, the beast pawed the earth and faced Shaka. Had the Zulus trained it for such an encounter? Did they somehow prepare the calves to provide such moments of drama? Certainly no wild beast would behave in such a manner. Kai glimpsed, and in a shadowy manner understood, something new about the culture whose daughter he was to marry.
Kai and Nandi were eighty cubits to the side, and Kai was ready to wheel and run for it if the monster broke in his direction. But he was also transfixed by its power, by its lethal sweep of horns and breadth of shoulder. In the darkness, partially lit by torches, it seemed more a creature of myth than reality, and Shaka some conquering hero of legend, not a man of flesh and bone.
Shaka and Keefah drew their bows, pulling steadily . . .
Suddenly, as if finally comprehending its danger, the animal flickered its tail and turned, vanishing into the high grass. As it turned, Shaka loosed his first arrow and it struck behind the buffalo's shoulder. Keefah's shaft, only a moment later, missed the flank and drove into the ground. Roaring with pain and anger, the buffalo made a chuffing sound as it disappeared.
Bearing lanterns and spears, the footmen beat the long grass, pushing ahead in a horseshoe configuration. They were supported by horsemen, all holding to the rigid pattern.
Shaka rode along the outside, striving for position. When their prey tried to break away, it was herded back with shouts and spears. The buffalo seemed confused, but far from fatigued.
Shaka raced for a shooting position ahead of his prey, but without warning the animal changed course, racing back straight for the footmen. With insane courage they thrust their spears, shone their lights in its eyes and shouted. Again it wheeled, running for the open, where Shaka waited, bow drawn.
Then the beast doubled back again, suddenly ignoring the shouts and spear thrusts. Several of the men cast their umkhontos. Two struck the beast, the hafts flagging out from its back and side like dreadful bamboo stalks, blood running black in the darkness.
The center man was little more than a boy, perhaps seventeen summers. He lost his nerve, cast poorly as the buffalo came straight at him, and missed his mark completely. The men scattered as it charged their line. The beast caught the boy who had missed his cast, gouging his back and sending him flying.
The boy landed hard in the grass, screaming and thrashing, reaching back spastically for the bleeding wound.
"Fool!" Shaka yelled as he rode by. There was a sheen of madness on his face now. His eyes were too wide, lips pulled tight against his white teeth. The footmen had been left behind now—it was up to the horsemen.
Shaka was racing beside the wounded prey now. He gripped his bow and aimed, horse and buffalo seeming to match each other stride for stride.
He released his bolt, and it entered just behind the left shoulder. The buffalo stumbled, rose again, and thundered on. Shaka released a second arrow. As it struck, the buffalo's knees crumpled, and it dove nose-first into the ground with an earth-shaking impact that would have shattered a lesser creature's spine.
Kai held his breath, unable to fully grasp what he had just witnessed, beyond any doubt the most intense experience of his young life. Allah preserve him! He did not even know that men such as these existed!
Shaka raised his hands to the stars. "Haii!"
"Who is the greatest hunter in all creation?" Darbul roared.
And his footmen, gasping now as they caught up with him, cheered in expected response. Shaka trotted his horse over to his trophy—
And it lurched up, catching Shaka's horse in the belly with its left horn. Mortally wounded and neighing in agony, his mount tumbled over backward, and Shaka spilled. Despite his awesome athleticism he crashed awkwardly to earth.
Shaka seemed momentarily dazed, disoriented, and for a moment the entire party was frozen, as if they shared his confusion. As Shaka's mount whined pitiably, the buffalo lurched to its feet. In that instant it could have slain Shaka, but instead it seemed to stare at him, blood drooling from its nose.
The Zulu's face was gaunt and strained. Kai knew that in that moment Shaka Zulu, great hunter, great warrior, was gazing into the face of his own death, and that his soul had recoiled from the awful sight.
Then, twin shots rang out. The buffalo staggered to its knees, then collapsed onto its side.
Kai turned, startled. His father and brother both had their rifles to their shoulders. Smoke drifted from both barrels.
Composing himself as best he could, Shaka rose. His limbs trembled a bit. Perhaps it was the chill of night, but Kai thought otherwise. Shaka gave a perfunctory nod of thanks to Abu Ali and his son, and walked on unsteady legs to the buffalo.
Kai found himself looking deep into the beast's eyes. The mighty buffalo's breath huffed in painful bursts. Its black eyes were filmed with dust. Kai's next reaction startled him. This poor thing had been stolen in childhood from its native land, raised only to die for the entertainment of its captors. It had struggled for freedom and life, that Kai could understand. Pointless and absurd as it seemed, he wanted to tell the felled creature well done.
Shaka snatched a spear from one of his men and drove it into the wounded beast's side. It heaved in pain. Shaka bore down with all his weight, working the spear back and forth until the heart was pierced and the buffalo lay still.
Shaka raised his arms in victory, yelling in musical, staccato Zulu. The men replied in kind.
"Ngikhuluma isiZulu kancane," Kai said haltingly to Nandi. I speak only a bit of Zulu. "What did he say?"
"He said that this was no ordinary creature, it was a demon, and in slaying it he has become more than a man." Her eyes shone with admiration. She had apparently seen nothing that was not glorious, nothing in the least disturbing in her uncle’s behavior. Was t
hat pragmatism? An understanding that even the bravest men know fear? Or delusion, an inability to acknowledge what she had seen? He wasn't sure which, and that uncertainty troubled him.
To Kai's gaze, Shaka had not yet fully recovered, and his trembling was not from the cold. His men apparently noticed nothing of their leader's momentary weakness. They cheered, beating their spears against the ground. Kai and his family smiled politely, but shared searing sidelong glances.
Shaka wrenched his spear from the dead animal's side. Its tip glistened black with blood. He rubbed his finger slowly along the edge. Ignoring his dying horse, Shaka then ran to the spot where his second man had been injured. Kai broke his mount into a trot to keep up.
The wounded youth was curled onto his side like an injured lizard, his right arm still groping back for the bleeding wound.
"You are hurt," Shaka said coldly.
The wounded man looked up at Shaka, his teeth chattering.
"Your stupidity could have killed me," Shaka continued, in a conversational tone.
The wounded man said something in Zulu. Kai had the very clear impression that he was begging for his life.
Shaka spoke to him in the same language, his face calm and comforting. Then with shocking suddenness he raised the spear and thrust it deeply into the hunter's stomach. Kai's stomach fisted as the boy's body arched, as if trying to take the spear more deeply into his belly. Then with dreadful finality, he went limp.
Kai felt dizzy and sick with rage.
"Allah preserve us!" Abu Ali said in disbelief. "What have you done?"
Shaka withdrew the spear and wiped it on the dead boy's chest. "What is my right." He shrugged as if it was of little consequence. "He would have died in some days. To die on your king's spear is an honor."
The Wakil's face was as stone. "There are no kings in Bilalistan."
Shaka grinned and pointed to his men, who had moved to encircle the party. "Tell them," he said.
Kai scanned them. Fourteen now, standing proud and silent, chests high, gripping their spears, ready to kill or die for the man they followed. Kai felt a deep and pervasive cold seeping into his bones.
"There were kings in the days of my fathers," Shaka said. "Mark well— there may be again."
His mood had shifted completely, as if killing the hunter had purged him of all stress. He turned to his men. "Bring me the head! Put my steed from its misery. Bear your brother on a stretcher, he burns tomorrow."
Shaka ordered one of his men off his horse and mounted without a trace of hesitation. If he had been injured in the fall, the injury was already forgotten. His men scrambled to fulfill his orders.
Abu Ali and his sons rode together quietly, watching. Nandi pulled her horse up next to Shaka, clearly worshipful. "Uncle," she said. "You were wonderful. But weren't you afraid?"
Shaka Zulu rode proudly. "Nandi, fear is neither ally nor enemy. I never see fear, my child."
Ali whispered in Kai's ear: "You cannot see what lives behind your own eyes.
"Father," Kai said. "What do we do?"
Abu Ali shook his head. "The Zulus are allies of the Empress—and Shaka is as much royalty as Lamiya. On their land, it is their world. We can do nothing."
They watched the dead man rolled onto a stretcher. His eyes were open and turned up. Blood leaked from his side.
"It is not right," Kai said quietly.
"No, it is not," agreed Abu Ali. "But it is done."
Chapter Thirty-two
Dinner that night was a fine Zulu feast: mountains of inkukhu-bhakiwe baked chicken, inyama yezinyane lemvuyosiwe roast lamb, and amazambane potatoes and imbuba beans with corn meal, served by an army of slaves. Nandi was seated next to Kai, wearing a modest white-print wraparound emblazoned with crimson buffalo horns. In this setting she was far more restrained, deferring to her father, uncle, and brothers in a fashion that was disorientingly demure. Her every gesture was calculated and fluid, and Kai found himself nearly wondering if he had actually seen this delicate creature indulging in the bloody pleasures of the hunt.
She intrigued him. She was every bit as cultured as Lamiya, but it was impossible to forget what she had been in the previous hours. The exquisite darkness of her face seemed to dissolve her into the night, so that all he could see was her energy, her almost overwhelming aliveness. She was unlike any other woman he had ever known . . . or even known about.
And that reaction in his heart both confused and gladdened him, because any fool could see what was in the air. Cetshwayo and his brother Shaka were the most powerful men in northern New Djibouti, and Abu Ali wished to join Dar Kush to Cetshwayo's kraal. If Kai wished to remain in his father's graces, he would agree to the plan.
Cetshwayo and Abu Ali ate heartily of imbuzi goat ragout, talking business and laughing. Keefa and Darbul sat on either side of their father.
"The hunt sounds glorious," Cetshwayo said. "Damn this leg!"
"Oh, Father," Nandi purred. "You would have loved it."
Shaka hoisted a glass of fermented cow's milk. Kai was glad that, as a Muslim, he could beg off the imbibing of spiritous drinks and settle for springwater. "He was a great one," Shaka said. "Perhaps the equal of he who took your leg. I give you his head."
Cetshwayo hoisted his glass in salute. "To the kraal!" he said.
"The kraal!" Shaka repeated. And they drank. The Wakil and his sons had been relatively quiet during the dinner, and perhaps Shaka sensed that. "Wakil! I hear you had adventure yesterday, in Ababa."
"The Aztecs," Abu Ali said modestly. "Yes."
Although Kai's father was reticent, Ali seemed eager to talk about it. "I tell you, he was five cubits tall. I do believe Father struck to save the crowd from him!"
Cetshwayo's largest son Keefah snorted. "They die like any other men."
Darbul, the shorter and squatter of the two, laughed in agreement. "Uncle Shaka says the time will come when we will push them back across the Swazi and give their feathered God all the hearts it can eat."
"I hope it won't come to that," Kai said sincerely, then paused, cursing his callowness. This was one of the first occasions in which he was being treated like a man, able to hunt and speak with the other men, not restricted to near silence like his sister. And his first comment had flirted with cowardice.
Nandi looked at him curiously. "Aren't you eager to fight?"
"I know this one," Cetshwayo said, reaching along the table to grab Kai's arm. Despite his infirmity, his grip was like the jaws of a crocodile. "He has the hell in him. He has the Blood, like his father and his uncle."
The Wakil seemed uncomfortable. "Cetshwayo, I—"
Shaka cut him off. "Modest, the whole family! Or scared of the fire in their veins. Has your father never told you the story of Khartum?"
"Of course," Kai and Ali said together, and then laughed. Their father was looking at the table.
Shaka leaned forward. "Something tells me that you don't know the whole story. Your father. Your uncle. And me. Haii! What a day that was, a day when the Aztecs poured over the walls, looking to feed our hearts to their god. Corpses to the hip, boy! We were men no longer, we were lions, mad with blood, hungry for more, in that red place all men should experience once in their lives."
"Please," Abu Ali said. "Al-Wadud, the Loving One, has taken that beast from my heart."
"You deny your nature," Shaka said. Kai had the distinct sense that he was enjoying the Wakil's discomfort. “The beast is your heart. Wait until the horn sounds—Kai will be first into the fray." He raised his cup, looking from Kai to Nandi, laughing again.
Nandi looked away shyly, and Kai's heart pounded. Was that beast within him? Could Nandi see something within him that he himself did not see, and was she responding to it? If that was what she needed in a man, he
hoped that the blood of lions ran in his veins, for he was certain that the marriage deal had been struck.
Oh, well . . . he had to admit that if Nandi was the burden he was bound to bear, it might ha
ve been far heavier. He hoped he would be able to keep Sophia. Traditional Zulu men often practiced polygamy, but as their women became more educated, that custom had become less common.
That thought had just barely formed in his mind when he felt something soft and warm sliding up his leg. A bare foot. . . ? It was all he could do to keep himself from starting. He looked across the table. Nandi was looking at her father, but when Kai faced her she shot him a quick, hot glance that all but set his shirt afire.
Suddenly, Kai realized that he had pushed his chair back and was standing erect, in every sense of the word. Every eye was upon him. Embarrassed and seeking to avoid humiliation, he hoisted his cup. "To peace." he said. "Or a swift and devastating victory. Insh'Allah."
The others nodded approval and stood, glasses raised in accord.
"Insh'Allah," Abu Ali and his eldest son repeated.
"If it is the will of God," the Zulus intoned.
Elenya was watching Kai, and she glanced from Nandi to her brother and back again, a gleeful and infuriatingly knowledgeable smile on her face. He realized she had been watching him the entire time, and unlike her elders, hadn't been fooled at all.
Chapter Thirty-three
From the kitchen, Sophia could glimpse the table. Nandi and Kai were obviously flirting outrageously. She burned with anger, and something quieter and stronger than anger. But what could she do?
A curvy little Frankish serving girl passed, carrying a plate of fried plantains. Sophia stopped her.
"May I take that out?" she asked. "Please?"
The girl was confused, but agreed. Sophia balanced the plate, and then walked out into the living room with a studied sensuality in every step.
Sophia served the men, presenting the platter as if making an offering of herself. The Zulus laughed and responded by reaching for her. With a dancer's grace, she fleetly eluded their grasp.
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