by Marc Secchia
“Selam. I’ve been out here two days… I think I broke my ankle near the river. Are you sure you’re not–”
“Look, if you weren’t hurt I’d pinch you,” Shioni said, thinking that now she had to help this girl, she wouldn’t reach the lion’s cave in time and might indeed land in hot water upon her return. But the thought left a bitter aftertaste in her mouth, like yellow curd. She could have spat at herself. Of course she would help!
“I guess angels aren’t so touchy,” said Selam, with a hesitant smile. “Are you an albino?”
Shioni liked her immediately. She had a gentle smile and a sweet, open face framed by the tight, intricate shuruba braids women seemed to favour in the mountains.
“Look, I am a slave of Sheba,” she said, indicating her necklet. “I–uh, well, I come from a faraway land. Let’s take a look at your ankle.”
Her ankle was hot, swollen, and sitting at an impossible angle. Shioni did not dare touch it, but instead, whistled between her teeth. “What did you do, kick a tree?”
Selam laughed. “Almost as silly as that, Shioni. I was playing near the river when I fell off a small bank and caught my foot between two rocks.”
“We should get you to your home.”
Selam had never been on a pony before. But between them, they managed to lift her onto Star. On their way to her home on the far side of the wood, Shioni emptied her pockets of a bread crust and a handful of dried spiced grain, which Selam ate as though her life depended on it. They chatted like old friends the whole way. Selam had four older brothers, two of whom worked at the castle as carpenters, she learned. Her mother had died but her father was alive. A shadow crossed her face as she spoke of her father, and Shioni wondered at this.
Home was two huts–a large one for living in and a small hut for sheltering animals from the fierce mountain storms, which Shioni had not yet experienced as it was dry season. They were round, mud-and-stick huts with a conical roof thatched with heather and moss. A wooden fence surrounded the huts, for keeping animals in. But as they approached the gate, Shioni could hear voices raised in anger.
“Tell me which is worse, the Shebans or the Wasabi?” someone was shouting.
“I’d rather have the Sheban yoke myself!”
“But yoke it is!” shouted the first voice. “If you want to be yoked like a dumb ox–!”
“Now is not the time to rebel, Desta! These Shebans are too strong.”
“Hush! Someone comes!”
By this time they were at the gate, and Selam was innocently calling out a greeting to her brother, Desta. Astonishment, followed by fear and anger, played across his features as he came out to meet her. Selam was chattering away like a magpie about how she had been rescued. She was so excited with her pony ride! But the men at Desta’s shoulder were not equally happy. Shioni recognised several faces amongst their number. And the implications of what they had been arguing about were beginning to make sense–rather too much sense–to her.
“Where’s our father?” Selam was asking.
“Inside, drunk as usual,” said Desta, flatly. Selam’s face fell. “Sleeping.”
“Oh dear God, save us!” hissed one of the men. “It’s the ferengi from the castle. She works for the Princess!”
“How lovely!” smiled Selam. “You didn’t tell me that, Shioni. I bet you can tell me lots of stories about–Desta! What are you doing?”
What Desta was doing, was holding a knife to Shioni’s throat! “She’s heard too much.”
Everyone seemed to be shouting at once, but Desta would not be deterred. He moved closer, gripping her arm with one hand and keeping the knife steady with the other.
“Desta, you have to take your sister to Mama Nomuula,” said Shioni, trying to keep from shaking. Having a knife at her throat was a new and most unpleasant experience for her. “I’ve seen her set plenty of breaks like that one. If you don’t, she might never walk or work properly again.”
“Hold your tongue, slave!” he snarled.
“Desta!” cried his sister.
“Let me go!” He shouldered her aside roughly. “Don’t you see you’ve ruined everything coming here with her?”
Another, older man caught Selam as she fell backward with a cry of pain. “Killing is not our way, Desta!”
“Desta.” Only a whisper, but it silenced them all. The squabbling men drew apart, letting an old woman into the circle. “I sense an ill spirit in the wind. Has it overcome you?”
Shioni stared. It was the old woman, the arogit, from Ginab Village! She was an ancient, tiny slip of a woman, so withered and bent that her head came barely to Shioni’s shoulder. Her face was lined like the oldest of Annakiya’s scrolls. But most unusually of all, her eyes were as blue as the sky, and as bright as if all the life that had faded from her body now shone out of them. How had she even managed to walk from the village to here?
Shamefaced, Desta dropped his dagger, but he was still muttering and complaining under his breath. Shioni’s whole body breathed a sigh of relief.
“What’s your name, girl?” said the old woman, leaning on her stick and shuffling closer.
“Shioni.”
“On your way… yes, beyond Ginab even?” Shioni nodded uneasily. How did she know that? “So you found our Selam… hmm. A life-debt owed. None from her family missed her for two days? How is that?”
Desta’s answer was to shuffle his feet. “But what should we do, my mother?” he said. “What wisdom can you give us?”
“So impatient,” said the old woman. “Well. Hopefully a look will set your hearts at ease. Give me your hands, girl. Don’t worry…”
Taking Shioni’s hands in her knotted old fingers, she turned her face to the skies. Her eyes fluttered until only the whites showed. A strange sensation seemed to be tickling the edge of Shioni’s mind. She must be a wise woman! Shioni had heard about wise women from Mama Nomuula, but never actually met one. In the mountains, the wise women had even more power than tribal chiefs. Mama had added that while witches were bad, wise women were always good.
“Ah,” she said, coming back from wherever she had gone. “While there is much to fear and much to expect from this one, her heart is true. Desta, you should be fine if you just leave her alone.”
Leaving Desta gaping and Shioni bemused, the old woman gave a chuckle and moved off. She had almost disappeared into the hut when she threw over her shoulder: “I would let her go if I were you.”
Desta was clearly very unhappy but helpless in the face of the arogit’s bizarre proclamation.
Not long after, Shioni was waving to Selam one last time. Desta was trudging up the valley to the castle, carrying his sister on his back. The ox-carts and horse-carts she had become used to from the plains seemed absent up here, she realised. These people had so little in comparison to the plains-dwellers. And they had no love of Sheba! How would she carry this secret in her heart, when it could lead to huge trouble for Princess Annakiya, Mama, and the others?
No predictions for the future? No wisdom for the road? The wise woman had simply told Desta to stay out of her way! The idea was so very mundane, she felt slighted. No ‘you will not be a slave forever, Shioni’? Or, ‘you are secretly a Princess’… Shioni laughed at her fancies. What kind of a wise woman was she?
She directed Star’s nose to the east. It was growing late.
Chapter 14: A Rip-Roaring Adventure
Several hours after midnight, Shioni dismounted. The night air finally felt cool–for days now, the dry season heat had been baking in the days and lingering into the night. Every evening was hotter and muggier than the last, while the overheated air hardly seemed to stir. She hoped Mama Nomuula had been able to attend to Selam. Mama always complained about how difficult ankle injuries were, and how slow to heal properly–if at all.
Shioni grimaced. Some clever tracker she was. More like a brainless sheep! In the darkness she had completely missed her landmarks and ridden right past the lion’s cave and on down the trai
l. She had eventually realised her mistake and turned around, but had already lost a great deal of time.
She tethered Star on a long rope to the old, lightning-split acacia. “Wait here. This shouldn’t take long.” The pony replied with an image of tall, sweet grass. Shioni patted her neck. “Fill up and rest. We’ve the ride back to come.”
She slipped from shadow to shadow towards the lion’s den. A band of clouds across the moon was making her task nearly impossible. She wished she could have checked for tracks, but it was too dark and she had been unable to take a lamp this time. She had only her eyes and ears, and they were telling her it was still. Almost too still.
Shioni checked the throwing-knives at her belt, then the long dagger she used in place of a sword. Herbs and potions in her bag. Hopefully Mama Nomuula wouldn’t miss them before morning. Water gourd…
The lion’s plight had eaten deeper and deeper into her thoughts while the dancing, feasting and merriment wound on and on, and the slaves worked their fingers to the bone for the nobles’ and priests’ enjoyment. She eased her shoulders. If she closed her eyes, she could still feel the rhythm of the heavy stick used to pound dried spice-pods and imagine chopping vegetables by the cart load. One day she had slaughtered, plucked and prepared over a hundred chickens. Pots? Were there so many pots in the world? But at least the slaves had been allowed to eat well. Her stomach was grateful for that!
Was the lion still lying there? Would she smell only death when she entered its lair? She doubted it would recover. After all, hyena jaws were powerful enough to crack the bones of an elephant. But it still didn’t make sense. Why would any hyena attack a large male lion, even one injured by a hunter’s arrow?
For the umpteenth time, she wondered if she wasn’t going insane. Her newfound ability to listen to animals, while scary and smacking of witchcraft or asmati-work, was also addictive. She had to keep it hidden or be branded a witch. The sensible part of her wanted it to stop, but she found she craved trying to see what she could do. Maybe she should confront the elephants? Or had she simply imagined a trunk inserting a key into her mind...?
She should worry about explanations later.
That lion was huge. Shioni had seen a few, but never from close up. Last time had been too close. She paused, seeking to penetrate the shadows in the narrow defile that led to its lair.
Suddenly, a searing pain ripped across her left shoulder. A terrible blow spun her right around. Sky, rocks, an earth-shaking roar; she was lying on her back, whimpering, and now a hot breath wafted across her cheek, the musky reek of a male lion, and fangs flashed near her throat.
“No!” she cried out. “Please!”
The fangs gripped the soft skin of her throat delicately. “Tell me why I shouldn’t kill you right now!”
“I… I…” The shock was too great.
“Ah!” the fangs withdrew. “Your scent… I know you! You were in my cave. I thought I dreamed.”
“Guilty,” Shioni managed in a whisper, clutching her wound. She couldn’t keep the shredded muscle together. There was an alarming amount of blood seeping between her fingers. This time she had gone too far. She should have told Mama Nomuula where she was going–would they even find her body? Would Selam or Desta have told her? But they only knew about Ginab Village…
“You’ve a mane like a lion,” puzzled her attacker. “Are you a human cub? What is your name? Is your den in the stone house with the other human creatures?” Whiskers tickled her cheek. “What is this leaking of water, cub?”
“Crying? I am… Shioni.”
The moon chose that moment to break free of the bank of clouds and bathe the scene in cold brilliance. The great lion sat back on his haunches and regarded her with tawny eyes so deep and wise that they seemed almost sorrowful. His size was formidable; the distinctive black ruff of his mane, majestic. His intense gaze seemed to burn into her heart and mind, stripping them bare. Shioni had never in her life felt quite so little. Not even standing beside an elephant.
She could hear him wonderfully well. Her ears were hearing a language she should never have understood. Her brain was transforming it into speech. But while she comprehended it at one level, at another, their interaction resonated with nuances and undercurrents she did not yet grasp.
“Shioni?” he rumbled, at length. “That is an admirable name. Here,” he said, moving forward to nuzzle the hand covering her shoulder, “do not be afraid. Remove your paw. Let me tend your wound.”
A remarkably rough tongue rasped over the broken skin. A glint of white bone showed in several of the four slashes from the lion’s claws, Shioni saw, and rightly, she should be fainting from the pain. But his tongue seemed to soothe rather than scrape. Her whole arm was tingling now. At his urging she raised herself onto her elbow, so that he could reach behind her shoulder blade. The tingling started there too.
Understanding blossomed within her. The lion had healed so quickly, even from the severe wounds he had suffered from the hyenas and from the hunter’s arrow which had stuck deep in his chest. However, healing herbs and food forced down his throat was no explanation for this miraculous recovery. It must be magic.
She had helped him, now he was healing her.
Shioni’s eyes were agog, huge with wonder. The lion padded in lithe circles, flexing his claws impatiently as she examined her shoulder.
“Do not use your limb for several days,” he cautioned. “The bleeding has stopped, but you will always bear my mark. Bear it with pride.”
“You… who are you? What are you?”
“Who are you, human cub, that you boldly enter the lion’s lair?” he growled back. “As for me, I am called Anbessa. I am the Lord of all Lions, and ruler of these mountains.” And with this he lifted his head to the stars and roared a shattering roar!
Shioni found herself backed up against a boulder, as far away from Anbessa as she could be. Her ears were ringing, and her heart thumped madly against her ribs.
Narrowing his eyes to slits, the lion demanded, “Answer my questions! Why do your people make a den beneath Kalcha’s curse? Why is your mane like a lion’s?”
Quite unexpectedly, Shioni’s anger flared like wildfire. Why, this lion was nothing but a big bully, thundering at her like this! She pushed off the rock. “Stop snarling at me!”
Anbessa’s lips curled up over his dagger-like canines, but his snarl was mixed with laughter. “Showing your teeth, little cub?” He seemed oddly pleased. “Then speak.”
Shioni explained about her origins; about her owner, and the strangeness of the castle, infested with snakes; how the workers had become afraid of witchcraft because of the many accidents. Just the day before, a wall had collapsed, killing six slaves and a warrior. Mama Nomuula had more snakebite cases than she could deal with. She related her encounter with the python and her strange faint in the elephant pen. Then, at Anbessa’s urging, she backtracked to the hyena-pack, and why she had returned to treat his wounds. “I could not leave you,” she finished. “I feared the warriors would return for their trophy. Indeed, you should leave this place. The warriors will come.”
“So, your people do not practice witchcraft?” asked the lion.
“We hate witchcraft!”
“Then how is it you speak to me? And to the four-hoof? Are you a witch–Shioni?”
“Me?” she squeaked, realising he must have been stalking her. Somewhere in the shadows, predatory, slit yellow eyes–and she hadn’t sensed a thing. “No way! No, I told you, I don’t know why... or how.”
Anbessa nodded, seeming satisfied.
“I hear you, Shioni. Now hear me too. There is a power of witchery over your stone den. It is the power of Kalcha, the witch-leader of the Wasabi. The Wasabi sacrifice their children to feed her power. The python beneath the tree may well be one of her servants. Red eyes? That is a hallmark of her power. The power of a witch is in the eyes.”
“The hyenas that attacked me belonged to Kalcha. Her Wasabi worship the hyena. Her kind and m
ine have battled since ancient times, but now, since Kalcha’s power has grown, the battle goes ill with us.”
“We’ll help you!”
Her outburst did not seem to move him. He demanded, “And how will a slave change the course of Sheba?”
“I don’t know.”
“Or best this mighty Wasabi witch?
“I don’t know–but I will try!”
The lion showed his great canines again. “I see much of a lion in your spirit, Shioni of Sheba,” he rumbled, prowling towards her again with fluid, muscular menace. Her every instinct was screaming at her to flee, but her feet remained rooted.
He said, “You should return to your den to rest. You have lost much blood. As for me, I will heed your warning. You will not find me here again.”
Abruptly, Anbessa turned away.
“Wait! Please… I have so many questions.”
His yellow eyes blinked over his shoulder. “We will meet again.”
“Anbessa, if you ever need any help–I mean, you’re awfully mighty and a king too, but–”
The eyes were positively gleaming now. “I will roar your name in the night, human cub.” Again, he made to move off.
“But–your name just means ‘lion’ in the old tongue.”
“I am the Lion, Shioni. Think upon that. Now remember, the power of a witch–”
“–is in the eyes. But, Anbessa!”
“Yes?” In the shadows, only his great canines caught a gleam of moonlight.
“What does my name mean? You didn’t say.”
“It means a human who asks questions like a persistent itch I can’t reach!” He chuckled at her expression. “In Lion, ‘Shioni’ means… let’s see… it means ‘Graceful Strength of the Dawn’. A fine name for a human cub.”
And in two huge bounds, he was lost in the night.
Chapter 15: What Kind of a Friend are You?
Mama Nomuula brandished her arms like battering rams and roared, “I’s a-having the truth from you or I’s locking you in the pantry for a month, you stubborn, willful… you infuriating… oh! You’s gonna be the death of me, Shioni!”
