The Daughters of the Darkness

by Luke Phillips

  At the far-left corner of the courtyard, he turned, making his way down a flight of stone steps that led to a makeshift prison block. Weeks before, it had held expensive wines and brandies for the paying guests of the game lodge that now served as his personal quarters. He walked down the dimly lit corridor to the end cell, the only one occupied. He stared in, the flash of his white teeth against his dark face alerting the dishevelled man on the other side of the iron bars to his presence.

  “I respect a man who takes risks in business,” said Kanu. “It’s why I asked you, with respect, to go elsewhere. Unfortunately, like most Afrikaans, your greed and disrespect have brought an end to your good fortune.”

  “Stepped on your toes did I, kaffa?” the man leered, easing himself up onto his feet from the floor, using the wall to support his weight.

  Kanu stiffened slightly at the insult, glancing down the corridor as he heard the hurried footsteps of one of his men. His eyes told the young Maasai to stop where he was, only momentarily glancing at the sack the warrior held out in front of him, its heavily twisted top held firmly between both hands.

  “Racism is born of fear Mr. Van Zyl, and fear is natural when facing death. Did you know the kingdom of Kaffa was once a state of what is now Ethiopia? Its first capital was named Bonga, as was the district around it. It was one of the prime trade routes for slaves, which is why both Kaffa and the term Bonga Bonga land came to be used by the whites in such a derogatory way. It was where the slaves came from.”

  “Getting back at the whites is it then?” Van Zyl sneered. “Bit late don’t you think?”

  “Hardly. You are a dealer of drugs. Instead of plying your trade to wealthy visitors in Nairobi as I suggested, you targeted the poor and vulnerable on the streets of Mombasa. The same streets where I grew up and watched men like you destroy whole families and neighbourhoods. You did not do as I asked Mr. Van Zyl, and that situation demands nothing short of my full attention,” Kanu replied.

  “You’re a fucking hypocrite Kanu. You’re a dealer too. Admit it, this is about shutting out the competition.”

  Kanu stepped closer to the bars, his eyes fixed on his captive.

  “I don’t mind you selling drugs Mr. Van Zyl,” he said in barely a whisper. “But I do mind who to. And you are wrong, I am not a dealer like you: I am a trafficker. I organise, sell and allow safe passage of product, be it arms or narcotics, through the territory. What I don’t allow is for those items to be used against my people. There are plenty of opportunities outside of Kenya, and even a few within its borders. You were urged to explore them. Now you must face the consequences of not doing so.”

  Kanu carefully stepped back, taking a large iron key from his pocket. Van Zyl watched him as he slowly placed it in the lock of the door and turned it. As a heavy sounding clunk signalled the release of the door, Van Zyl shot forwards and pulled it open as he attempted to dart between the two men in his way. Kanu was ready for him, pouncing forward and punching him in the chest with both fists, his forearms straight as spears. Van Zyl was knocked head over heels backwards. He crumpled onto the floor by the back wall.

  Before Van Zyl could get up, Kanu quickly took the sack from the Maasai. In one flowing movement, he took the corner in one hand and pinched the top open in the other, as he upended it and flung it forward. Van Zyl screamed as an enraged snake leapt towards him, its open mouth and two inch long fangs all he saw before he instinctively raised his arms to shield his face. He was surprised at the heavy impact he felt as the snake hit him. He panicked and threw the snake aside, but not before its teeth sank into the biceps of his right arm. The snake hit the floor with a thud and immediately made for the darkness underneath the cot bed. Once there, it coiled and lay with its eyes fixed on Van Zyl. It made no noise, but its forked tongue tasted the air every few seconds.

  “My apologies for the theatrics Mr. Van Zyl,” Kanu said. “The gaboon viper has to be somewhat provoked into delivering an envenomed bite. They’re actually quite docile. But I find them hard to resist, being the largest of their kind. The fellow who just bit you weighs 20lbs.”

  Van Zyl spat. His mouth tasted dry and his tongue felt heavy and swollen.

  “Not exactly common in this part of Kenya, people might get suspicious don’t you think?” he said, beginning to feel slightly faint.

  Kanu smiled. “Oh we’re not quite finished yet Mr. Van Zyl. When you’re found, I doubt they’ll think to check for a snake bite. I just needed to slow you down.”

  Kanu nodded to the Maasai, who had been joined by another of his men. They both stepped into the cell and picked up Van Zyl, dragging him out and back along the hall towards the stairs. Kanu slipped into the empty room behind them and picked up the snake with ease by the tail. It sought out the open sack as soon as he offered it, and he knotted the top as he walked out. At the top of the stairs, he handed the Maasai the sack.

  Van Zyl was thrown across the flatbed of a large green Toyota Land Cruiser truck. Kanu climbed into the open back with him. He looked the man over as the truck pulled off. It passed quickly through a large archway made up of the black volcanic stone of the region and ploughed forward into the African night.

  Kanu smiled down at the pale, sweat-strewn face that looked back up at him from the bed of the truck, the eyes bulging and bloodshot.

  “I would have allowed you a slightly more luxurious last ride, Mr. Van Zyl. I personally would have preferred the air conditioning. But your body is no longer in control, and I couldn’t have you shitting and pissing yourself over my leather seats,” Kanu explained.

  He brushed aside the dying man’s shirt. The welted, swollen purple flesh of his shoulder and neck were already beginning to blister. The man could no longer talk from his enlarged tongue. Soon his eyelids would also be too heavy to keep open. Kanu knew the man’s pulse would be racing and slowing with complete irregularity. If simply left, his death could still take up to an hour. He looked up and began to peer into the darkness.

  After driving for nearly thirty minutes, Kanu finally thumped on the cabin roof of the old Land Cruiser, giving the signal to stop. The driver pulled over into the long tussock grass.

  “My pets are close, Mr. Van Zyl; you will not suffer much longer,” Kanu laughed, towering over him.

  Van Zyl barely felt the rough grasp of the two men who picked him out of the flatbed and threw him to the ground. The impact of the dry, rock strewn earth on his blistered and swollen flesh sent a wave of pain through his body. He continued to writhe and struggle as he heard the truck pull away, but he no longer had the strength to stand. The sound of the engine dulled, faded and then disappeared altogether.

  He lay stricken. His arms and chest felt as though they were on fire, and his skin felt tight, as if it were too small for him. With great effort he opened his bruised and tumid eyelids, and gazed at his hand. His arm had ballooned. Its purple and yellow colouring was punctured by cracks that streamed with thin, cherry-red blood. He knew he would not stop bleeding now. He closed his eyes, knowing he would not be able to open them again. He gagged and choked on the froth filling his throat, turning his head to the side to try and vent it. His strength left him and he waited for death. Just as his thoughts threatened to fade, a sound piercing the night stabbed him with a momentary surge of adrenalin and renewed panic.

  The diabolical laughter crept closer on swift, padded feet. It made the animal sound nervous, but it was a sign of pure confidence. Van Zyl convulsed involuntarily as the hyena sniffed at his head. The animal let out a yip of excitement, leaning in closer to lick the man’s forehead and scalp.

  Another sound penetrated the night. A low, deep rumble of warning. The hyena gave a scream of fright, only pausing to snap off one of Van Zyl’s ears as it loped away. Blind and half deaf, his body shutting down in shock as his flesh was putrefied by the snake venom, Van Zyl still had time to sense the presence of the large, heavy animal as it came closer. The press of its paw on his chest was the last thing he felt as he slipped i
nto unconsciousness. Moments later, a pair of five and a half inch fangs smashed through his temples.

  ~

  She dragged the body further into the grass, seeking the cover of scrub and thorn. Deep in a thicket, she lifted her head and let out a thunderous roar, calling in the rest of the pride. She listened to them slink closer as she began to feast on the body.

  ~

  A breath of wind carried the whisper of the roar to Kanu’s ears as the truck rolled through the night back towards the compound. He smiled.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Catherine ran hard and fast. Her trail running shoes bit into the dirt as she tore along the Scottish mountain path. Arturo loped along behind. At first he had bayed loudly and joyfully as they went, but now the big dog just concentrated on keeping up. Catherine knew she wasn’t putting too much pressure on him. He was doing exactly what his breed was meant to do, coursing game over long and rugged terrain. She shuddered slightly at the thought of being game, and the memory of being trapped against the dark walls of the mine shaft flashed through her thoughts, the green eyes of the cat peering up at her out of the gloom. She gasped, stumbling a few steps before coming to a stop. She stood bent over, her hands resting on her knees as she caught her breath. Arturo stopped beside her, panting happily. He barked, as if querying which way to go next. Catherine stood up and looked about.

  The renovated deer farm Thomas had made into their home and named Sàsadh, meaning a place of comfort, was behind her, as were Loch Mullardoch and the forest. She had the choice of two paths. One led south east to the research centre where they worked, the other south west, towards the lofty pyramid shaped peak of Carn Eige. She took the upward path, away from home and work. She had fought her fears over the last eighteen months. She had started climbing much to Thomas’s dismay, her frantic scrabbling in the mineshaft a private source of shame. She had vowed it would never happen again. She had also been pleasantly surprised when Thomas had flown her out to Prague for her birthday. First, he had booked them into one of the Reindl Atelier suites of the Le Palais Art Hotel, which had thrilled her. Her art had been an important outlet for her as she had recovered from the impact of their experience. Thomas seemed to genuinely appreciate her artwork, and several of her colourful and abstract pieces now adorned the walls of Sàsadh. But in between the sumptuous luxury, and visiting the Antonín Dvo_ák museum and the Leica Gallery, they had also visited a former communist compound. There, the ex-soldiers had trained her to use a variety of weapons, from small handguns to semi-automatic rifles and a shotgun. She had even fired a Desert Eagle pistol. For the rest of the day, Thomas had suggested she become his bodyguard. But the message behind the fun was clear: he was completely behind her desire to learn how to protect herself.

  The trip to Prague had been necessary for the handgun training, because they were illegal in the UK. But on their return, he had helped her acquire her shotgun and firearms certificate. She wasn’t as good a shot as Thomas, and had no real interest in shooting, but she appreciated the sentiment. To combat the more human elements of her fear, she had started intensive Muay Thai lessons at a gym in Inverness. The feeling of being defenceless haunted her. But these practicalities weren’t how she chose to deal with her fear and trauma. She expressed it in her paintings and out here on the mountain, and by throwing herself into her work. She had been campaigning hard for the lynx reintroduction programme, as well as passionately speaking against the possible repeal of the 2007 hunting act. But today it was the mountain that offered her solace and therapy. She needed the space.

  She ran on and upwards, the landscape becoming sparser as she left the tree line behind her. As she glanced to her right, over the tops of the spruce and pine trees, she caught the glimmer of afternoon sun reflecting off the far away surface of the loch. She focused on the path again, watching her footing as she jogged along the path. The blur of dark hide streaking across the trail from the left sent her into a panic, and she lurched aside. As her heart pounded in her chest, she had the sense to drop to her knees and throw her arms around Arturo. The big black dog tried to surge forwards momentarily, but stopped as soon as he felt Catherine’s embrace and her unspoken command. She watched as the stag bolted down the mountainside, its hide discoloured by the boggy peat it had been rolling in. She let her nerves recover before starting off again, this time at a gentle walk. She wasn’t far now from where she wanted to be.

  She sat on a rocky outcrop behind a thick entanglement of gorse. She watched as a male whitethroat sat perched on a thorny stalk amongst the bright yellow flowers, repeating its scratchy, rapidly uttered warble as it claimed its territory. The song was hardly delicate, but the bird was handsome with its rust-brown back and grey-capped head. Further down, Arturo ran from rock to rock, chasing the voles that hid there. She looked up to the ridgeline and was just able to spot the two saplings that marked the entrance to the cave where the giant hybrid cat had cornered her, before Thomas had followed them in and faced it down. And now she felt trapped again, but this time by him. His absolute stubbornness meant they were going to do whatever he had agreed to with Keelson.

  She sat with her back to the mountain, feeling warm and content in the sun and cocooned between the rock and the gorse. She ran her fingers through the fine powdery soil around her, and was surprised to find a silver and brass coloured bullet casing. She picked it up and examined it. The spent 9mm ammunition had come from the gun David Fairbanks had fired at her. Although he had failed to kill her with it, the sound of gunfire had brought the cat out from its lair. She remembered the sprint from her hiding place, and the sounds of the cat tearing into Fairbanks’s flesh behind her as she made for the darkness of the cave. The cracking of the bones and ripping of sinew hadn’t frightened her. The pleasure she had felt from hearing it had. She put the casing into the pocket of her hoodie and let out a deep sigh.

  She hugged her knees as she looked down the valley, back towards the loch. She squinted as some large bird lifted off from the trees by the shore, mobbed as it went by a pair of hooded crows. It had to be an eagle, and as it drifted closer she saw it was. It followed the thermal of air up and over her head, on towards the peak above. The deeply fingered wing feathers let her know it was a white-tail. She knew Thomas would be excited to know one was in the area and smiled. She couldn’t decide if his stubbornness was something she loved or hated. Most of the time, it was just something light hearted she teased him about. But this was different. She was hurt and angry he hadn’t thought to discuss it with her first. He didn’t think about the consequences, what it might mean for their work or the preparations they would need to make in order to go travelling. It wouldn’t have even occurred to him that somebody would need to look after the dogs. He had made the decision on a whim and instinct as always.

  She looked about and realised that this was where her own instinct had told her to come. Where she had seen, and faced death. It had guided her here. She was invisibly tied to the place, just as Thomas was to Africa. She wondered what Thomas would think if he knew this was where she came to think. She had never confided in him about it. She smiled acceptingly. There was a comfort in knowing they were both occasionally ruled by their emotions. He blamed her red hair, which made her wonder what his excuse was. Arturo barked, turning his head in her direction and looking up at her.

  “Time to go home,” she said.

  As she stood up, her phone beeped in her back pocket. She knew it was Thomas. She opened the message and read the simple text. Marry me here, it said. Below the text were stunning vistas of African landscapes, sunsets and wildlife. She couldn’t help the little flutter of excitement she felt as she scrolled through the images. Let’s talk when I get back she replied. You’re still in trouble, just not quite so much. There was a glow of warmth in her chest as she remembered the elaborate proposal in Rome the year before.

  She jogged slowly and easily back along the trail, Arturo loping by her side comfortably. Great swells of relief washed over her as sh
e covered the three miles back to Sàsadh. Africa was somewhere she had always dreamt of going. She caught her breath on the drive before heading to the boot room entrance. As soon as they got through the back door, Arturo slumped down onto his blanket next to a dozing Meg. He growled softly and affectionately as Catherine cleaned his paws. The mindless activity helped clear her head and she felt calm again.

  She made her way out to the hall, where she came to a halt. The staircase was strewn with scarlet and pink dried rose petals. She followed them up, giggling slightly at the extravagant gesture. Thomas seemed to have no ability to gauge his romantic offerings, making them all or nothing, with a preference for the all. She stepped along the hall to the bathroom, following the path of petals as she went. She swung the door open and beamed.

  More petals laced the clay coloured tiles. At the centre of the room, the grey and pink hued stone bath was filled, and as she stepped closer she caught the fragrance of the jasmine, ylang-ylang and clary sage scented foam. Sitting beside the bath was an ice bucket containing a bottle of rose Veuve Clicquot. A crystal glass champagne flute sat on the rim of the bath with a singular, sliced strawberry delicately perched over its outer edge. He had turned the lights low and pulled the blind to the only window, making the red-walled room feel even warmer. Several lit candles sat on the floor to add to the cosiness. She tested the water with her fingers, as she walked past the bath to the dressing table and large framed mirror sitting against the far wall. She slipped off her running gear and left it in a messy pile underneath the table, grinning that it would slightly ruffle Thomas’s desire for neatness when he saw it. Then she paused, running the forefinger and thumb of her right hand over the band of white gold on her ring finger, its channel set with brilliant round diamonds surrounding the six-pronged centrepiece, a 2.3 carat stone. She had hit Thomas hard enough to leave a bruise on his chest after looking it up on the Tiffany website to see how much it had cost. She eased the ring off and left it on the top of the table.