Sacred. And right.
~ 13 ~
After I dismissed the children, I went to work with Efe for a while. All of the younger elephants were skittish and recalcitrant, having been left to their own devices during the rains. Old veterans like Violet had stepped back into work with alert interest, as if they’d grown as bored as we had with little to do. The young, however, had to be gradually coaxed back into their training routines.
Efe, in particular, had reverted considerably. More than ever she reminded me of myself, retreating back into my silences and aloneness. Not even Ochieng had tried to ride her yet, saying she needed time to get used to being around people again. Mostly I was supposed to visit her—buried in mud to her eyeballs more often than not—and to give her treats, to remind her people could be good parts of life. I wouldn’t tell Ochieng as much, but I found myself using the same techniques on her as he did on me: undemanding affection, quiet understanding, and plenty of sweet words.
There were good reasons Ochieng had managed to domesticate the wild thing I’d become as much as he had.
Ochieng had been conferring with Palesa, discussing the various elephants of the tribe and assigning them the best riders to work with. When he finished—and I gave up getting Efe to come out of the lagoon, though she did lever up enough to tuck the fruits I brought her into her mouth—he took my hand and led me to the storehouse.
As we arrived, the workers were just lowering a large tree trunk from the top level, using ropes and pulleys. Hart gave me a jaunty salute, and several of the workers made ribald comments, so I figured everyone knew what the trunk was for. I refused to be embarrassed. Or rather, to reveal how self-conscious I felt. It reminded me of some of the discussions around me during my wedding celebrations, when the men had spoken to each other about my deflowering. Despite the theoretical knowledge I’d had then, I understood much better now what they’d referred to. If I thought about it too hard, that dark anger stirred, that they’d laughed about it.
I hadn’t been a person to them, and that wound remained unhealed. But this joking wasn’t unkindly meant, so I resolved to look past it, and gave Ochieng a reassuring smile when he touched my hand in silent question.
I studied the trunk as they laid it on the ground and unhooked the ropes from it. It had been stripped of the major branches before we’d ever floated it downriver, mostly courtesy of Violet and Bimyr, who’d done the heavy work of uprooting the tree in the first place. That had been a good day, when Ochieng took me to the forest to see how the elephants worked together. Once they’d brought the tree down, the humans had sat for a picnic, while the elephants stripped the tree of all the delicious goodies. Then Ochieng had marked the tree with the D’tiembo symbol and the elephants had carried it in tandem to dump it in the river to later fetch up on the weir downstream.
I’d missed that part, when the D’tiembo workers had pulled the tree out and stored it, because that’s when all the terrible news arrived.
Ochieng picked up my hand and kissed it. “That was a good day,” he said, with a warm smile.
“And bad,” I reminded him.
“More good though. Our first kiss. The first time you spoke to me. Our tree.”
I had to laugh. “Perhaps more good than bad then.”
“Let’s move this to a place we can work on it.” He glanced around and saw Capa, one of the younger elephants not currently training with Palesa, loitering around—and considering getting into trouble by trying to steal some fruit, by the gleam in her eye. Hearing Ochieng’s signal, she ambled over, trunk skating over the ground in curiosity.
“Hup, hola, ho,” Ochieng sang, some of the workers singing it back, weaving into the bright sunshine of the day, and my surprisingly happy mood. I’d successfully set aside the dark thoughts, so that had to be a good sign. Capa eyed the tree, dusting it with the tip of her trunk, then wrapping her trunk almost delicately around a smooth spot.
“Don’t we need two elephants to carry it?” I asked.
“Naw—Capa can drag it the little ways we have to go. The path is all cleared off.” Ochieng put a hand under the corner of her jaw and began walking. He guided her around the bluff—not the direction I expected—and to the little beach.
Of course he’d remembered I’d wanted to visit it. At the base of the bluff, the stretch of fine gravel formed a crescent along the side of the river, free of the tall grasses and shrubs that otherwise blurred the margin between water and land. The shape of the beach had changed since I saw it last, reworked by the floods, and littered with various bits of detritus. But the sun shone warm on the rocks and the peaceful feel of the place felt like a kind of coming home.
Which it could be. If—when—I married Ochieng, I would be part of this family and this place for the rest of my life.
As Ochieng guided Capa to a clear area, I looked around for evidence of the wood I’d heard falling—and spotted Ayela and Femi gathering the pieces and neatly stacking them against the cliff side. High above, the steps dangled, looking exceptionally precarious.
“I thought the kids could start salvaging the wood,” Ochieng said, following the direction of my gaze. “I didn’t want to donate more to the river than necessary.”
“I’m sorry about that,” I started to say, but he threw me an affectionate smile.
“Don’t be. Sometimes the pus has to be squeezed out before the wound can heal.” He directed Capa to drop her load in a smooth area well above the water. With a pat on her flank, he thanked her, and she happily waded into the river. “You should see if Efe wants to come watch.”
“Now?”
“Sure. I need to smooth this trunk before we can start in earnest. See if an excursion to the river can coax her out of her mudhole.” He pulled a hatchet from his belt and began chopping at the nubs of the broken-off branches.
“All right.” I waved to Ayela and Femi, then went back down the path that wended its way along the river’s edge before going back inland to skirt the elephants’ lagoon. The mud there remained exceptionally sodden, squeezing between my toes, and the grasses had grown in leaps since before the rains. They waved above my head in places, bright green, and full of life.
The river flowed full and sluggish now, bloated with rain and satisfied with herself. Ripples glittered in the sunlight, with great flocks of waterfowl descending in waves to skim along the surface, then settle in to glide with the minimal current. Life returning to normal in the wake of the storms.
I caught a glimpse of something else, something bigger on the water, and shielded my eyes against the glare. A formation of long, narrow boats, rowing upstream against the current, remarkably fast for all that. People from town? I hadn’t seen them use boats like this before, but—
Something whistled toward me, and I dodged. An arrow thudded into the ground a hands-breadth away. All my senses—the well-honed instincts of the victimized—screamed into high alert.
Capa in the river. The kids gathering wood. Ochieng. Ochieng. Ochieng.
I ran, fast as I could, ducking low though my white hair and colorful gown no doubt shone like a flag. A few more arrows flew around me, but I ignored them. I needed to get to Ochieng.
Two of the boats were outpacing me. I rounded the bend. Ochieng on the beach, back to the river as he straddled our wedding log, chopping at the nubs of branches. Capa in the river showering herself with water.
I shouted. No words, just a warning, a scream of despair. Ochieng looked up in surprise, the lines of his body going tense. At the same moment, Capa sent up a trumpet of pain as an arrow thudded into her flank.
Ayela screamed in fury, a tiny warrior running down the beach to the water, knife glinting in her hand, Femi right behind her.
“No!” I yelled, impotently, heart hammering so loud in my ears I couldn’t hear myself.
Ochieng yelled something at the kids and splashed into the water, whe
re Capa flailed, trumpeting her pain and rage. In the distance, other elephants answered. Ochieng climbed Capa’s tall body like a tree, wheeling her around. She fought him. Another arrow hit her, perilously close to where Ochieng lay on her back, and she reared.
He got through to her somehow, and she wheeled, coming down on the boat nearing her. It cracked open, spilling men into the water. The other boat neared the shore and two men leapt out, dragging it onto the sand.
I stood, rooted, paralyzed, empty-handed. Unable to make myself do anything at all. Blood streaked down Capa’s sides, swirling into the water. Ochieng urged her into interposing her bulk between the kids and the attacking men.
Kaja would have charged into the fight. Kaja would have been wearing her sword. She wouldn’t have left it packed away, useless, in the house. Good Danu, the house. Smoke billowed up on the top of the bluff, an acrid stench in the balmy air. I should do something, but I had no idea what.
Ayela screamed. One of the attacking warriors had lifted her off her feet. She kicked his jaw, impressively knocking his head aside before he tossed her through the air. She landed in a crumple and he turned his attention to Capa’s wildly swinging trunk.
And I was running again. Dimly I heard Ochieng’s shouting. Elephants trumpeting. Blood in the water and fire in the sky. Ayela, having regained her feet ran toward me, tears pouring down her face. Femi lay on the sand unmoving. No, oh no.
Catching Ayela, I pulled the knife from her hand. Not the blunted practice blade, but one of the Dasnarian daggers I’d gotten from Ochieng only that morning. Plenty sharp. “Go!” I shouted at her. I pointed upriver. “Run and hide.”
“Femi!” she sobbed.
“Run,” I repeated. “Run fast!”
I turned to the battle. The noise and panic had receded from pounding around my temples. Cold, clear, and eerie silence wrapped around me. And inside, that serpent of hatred raised her head and flared her hood, waking from deep sleep.
~ 14 ~
“Ivariel.”
I knew that voice. A good sound. I stood in a river of blood, eyes watering from choking smoke, screams in my ears. No. Oh no.
“Ivariel. Please, I need your help.”
I blinked away the moisture, then went to wipe a hand over my face. A grip on my wrist and I spun, lashing out with the blade I hadn’t known was in my hand. The man ducked, matched my spin, and came up behind me, arm wrapped around my waist, body cupping around mine—and my wrist in his fierce grip out to the side.
“Ivariel!” His voice came harsh and panting in my ear. “I need you. Come back to me.”
My hand hurt from gripping the dagger so hard, my wrist straining as I fought to free myself.
“La, Ivariel, steady now,” Ochieng crooned. Ochieng. My Ochieng.
I let go of the knife.
He let out a long breath, laying his cheek against mine. “Are you all right?”
I nodded.
“Words, please.”
“I am here,” I said.
“And in a language I know?”
I might have laughed at the absurdity, but blood swirled around me, a river of it. Concentrating, I reached for the words. “I’m fine, but what about Femi?”
With a gust of relief, Ochieng let me go, turning me to look into my eyes. Then nodded crisply at whatever he saw. “Stay with me, all right? Femi is lost to us. I need your help with Capa.”
I looked around, able to see beyond the screaming images in my head, and took in the scene. Bodies of the foreign warriors floated in the water, or half-draped across the sand. Femi’s little body lay where I’d last seen it, when I told Ayela to run. Capa… the big elephant lay on her side in the water, blood flowing out and mixing with the attackers’ turning the river red where I stood in it calf-deep.
“What do you need me to do?”
“Here.” He pulled me to her, and I only then noticed the barely concealed desperation in him, how carefully he’d cloaked his panic with calm in order to deal with me. “Press down to staunch the bleeding.” He arranged my hands around an arrow in Capa’s upper leg, where blood pulsed out. “This is the worst. Can you stay with her while I get help?”
I nodded, an automatic response, though I wondered at the way she lay, with her head partly in the water. “Won’t she drown?”
“She’s all right lying down, she can breathe.”
I noticed she held the tip of her trunk above water, like Efe did in her mud baths. Efe—had the attackers gotten to her? “Ochieng, there were more boats. The house—”
“Shh. I know. It hasn’t been that long. I’m going to see and for help.” He set the dagger on Capa’s flank, handy to me. “In case you need it,” he said.
“You take it.”
“I have this.” He held up the hatchet he’d been using, the handle streaked with blood, and for the first time I noticed he also was spattered with gore. “I’ll be right back.”
“I should go with you,” I started to let go, but Capa’s blood pulsed out, hot and bright over my hands, so I pressed down again.
“You’re better here.” Ochieng said this very firmly, giving me a long look. And I understood what he was saying—that if I went into a frenzy again, I could hurt someone not the enemy. “Capa needs you.”
“I’ll stay here,” I said. “Ochieng, I—”
“I know.” He saluted me with the hatchet, then took off running.
* * * *
I’d been through strange waiting periods in my life, but that afternoon vigil of kneeling in the bloody water—Capa’s breathing soughing heavily, her blood seeping between my fingers—as the light lengthened was one of the strangest. For a while I stared at the dagger Ochieng had left for me, reconstructing the memory of taking it from Ayela, knowing the little brat had taken it without permission, sending her to run and hide… And then not much of anything.
The dark serpent that dealt death stirred, rearranging her coils around my heart. Ready.
Was it the blade in my hand that set her off? I didn’t think so. Something else then, as had happened the night before when I ran down the steps. The difference then was that I hadn’t had a blade to rend and tear.
Waiting there, I had plenty of time to survey the bodies. Which showed signs of Ochieng’s hatchet, which had been unmistakably crushed by Capa’s fury—and the many who looked to be dead from the dagger I’d wielded.
I wasn’t sorry to have killed them, not as I sat in the water staining still with Capa’s blood, the gentle elephant wheezing, the arrows piercing her in several places wobbling with each labored breath. She kept her trunk draped over her shoulder, but I began to be sure that she’d die under my hands. So I sang to her. Not Nyamburan songs, as none came to me, but a Dasnarian lullaby I used to sing to my baby siblings. Harlan had loved it and I tried to summon his gentle nature to soothe Capa.
Sleep baby sparrow, safe in your nest.
Sleep cozy kitten, at your mam’s breast.
The wind blows cold, the wind blows mean.
But it can’t touch you, and it won’t chill me.
You have your nest, and I have my song.
And the sun that has set will rise before long.
Funny how the words all came back to me, and I sang it over and over, until my throat grew too dry. The smoke from the house seemed to be thinning, though I didn’t know what that meant. The house itself wasn’t visible from the beach, so it could be that everything had burned, the fire down to bare stone. It could be that the attackers had killed everyone, which meant they’d eventually find me and Capa. I supposed if that happened, I’d release the wound, take up the dagger, and give myself over to the serpent of destruction. Maybe I could kill a few more of them. It would do no good to save Capa only to leave her to the people who killed her.
As Capa’s breath grew more labored, and the blood seeped ever more
slowly, with barely any of the thrust it once had; it seemed she would die, regardless. I considered taking up the dagger and going to join the fight. Though I might hurt someone of the family. Which would be worse—to kill someone by my own hand or through my inaction? What’s important is what our intention is.
I mentally debated the philosophical question, which is how it seemed: remote and very far from my odd suspension in time.
A scream rent the air, bringing me to alert. I wrenched my head around to see Ayela’s mother, Nafula, running headlong down the beach, strong brown legs flashing as she held her skirts high to run fastest. She reached Femi and fell to her knees, sobbing. Capa groaned at the disturbance, and I sang to her, so she wouldn’t thrash. My only job.
Nafula’s husband followed soon after, and Palesa, gathering in a small and broken huddle. Then Ochieng was beside me, a leather bag slung over his shoulder. He gave me a smile, though it was grim, and set to work with a huge needle and sinew. Capa flinched, an all over body shudder at the first piercing of the needle, so I began to sing to her again and she calmed.
Tersely Ochieng had told me to move the pressure of my hands from here to there, holding flaps of tissue closed while he stitched them together like fabric. I was glad to have this task, at least, so I could be excused from those who carried Femi’s limp body away from the beach.
“The good side to Capa being so far gone,” Ochieng said, “is that she isn’t fighting this. Your song helped. You did well. It’s fortunate you’re not squeamish. Help me with the rest?”
He hefted himself carefully over Capa’s flank. She twitched her ear, rolling her eye to look at him, which I took as a good sign that at least she cared. “Bring your dagger,” he called.
Gingerly, I took up the thing, holding it all wrong, because I was afraid that if I seated it properly into my hand then that other face would rise up and take me on a killing spree. I partly wanted that to happen, to go kill all of those who’d hurt us. Which made me distrust it all the more.
Warrior of the World Page 10
