Stones of Nairobi

by Vered Ehsani

  “The deadly sort,” she replied, amusement underlying her words.

  “Surely that is more in line with your temperament than mine,” I said, finishing with the bridle. I forced myself to face her.

  “You underestimate yourself, Miss Knight,” she whispered. “I find you delightfully deadly. Shall we?”

  “Deadly is delightful” a voice as seductive as Koki’s stroked the air.

  “Yao,” I cried and realized my plight. If I was relieved to see the African vampire stroll into my barn, I truly was in a desperate state. “You’re wearing a shirt.”

  “Yes, as gentlemen sometimes do,” he said, then pouted. “Yao was hoping this barn would be empty. Jonas is disturbing the peace in the Hardinge stables. Now where shall we go?” Shaking his head, the Adze sighed and turned to someone hiding just out of view.

  “We?” I asked.

  “He’s with Jonas’ girl child,” Koki said. “Yet another reason to leave. They seem to be in need of privacy.”

  “And you care what they might need?” I asked.

  “Of course,” Koki said, shrugging at my disbelief.

  “I never imagined a she-demon as Cupid,” I said as I led Nelly outside, nodding at a blushing Wanjiru on my way.

  “Is there any difference?” Koki asked as I mounted Nelly.

  “Cupid is a demon,” Yao commented as Wanjiru hurried back to the Hardinge house. “A naughty, cursed demon.” Glaring at me, as if this was all my fault, he added, “Yao doesn’t like Cupid.”

  On that note, Koki hopped up behind me. Ignoring the tingling along the back of my neck she always inspired in me, I urged Nelly with a mental nudge. A heartbeat later, we were hurtling through the air and away from the love-struck Adze.

  Chapter Nine

  AFTER SOME ADDITIONAL prompting from Koki, Nelly flew over a strange land that seemed a hybrid of the familiar: marsh, grasslands, forest and mangroves could all be viewed within proximity of each other.

  Of course, Nelly ensured that we landed in the marsh. Perhaps she was thirsty. Rather I suspected she enjoyed the sensation of the water splashing her riders as she trotted through the reeds in search of more food.

  To one side was a small forest that shivered with flocks of diverse birds. To the other were mangroves bordering the ocean. Although we couldn’t see the water, the scent of salt and seaweed was sharp in the humid breeze that fluttered around us. As Nelly sloshed her way to a clump of flowering bushes, the humidity bore down on me, and I felt the intensity of the heat in every sweaty pore. Compared to this, Nairobi was cool and dry.

  Nearby, a herd of antelope grazed, unperturbed by our presence, their curved horns wickedly sharp. Further off, where the water was deeper, a hippo’s ears and flaring nostrils were visible as it snorted noisily. Cranes carefully lifted and lowered delicate legs, hardly causing a ripple, as their long, narrow beaks sought out their next meal.

  “Welcome to the Tana Delta,” Koki said while gesturing with one arm.

  “Where are the carnivores?” I asked. The idyllic scene was too calm and peaceful.

  Chuckling behind me, she said, “They are lurking under the surface. Crocodiles, for the most part.”

  The closest I had thus far been to a crocodile was at a store that sold leather bags. That was close enough.

  “Is he buried here?” I asked, glancing about in search of the bumpy leather of a crocodile.

  “No, but near.”

  Koki urged Nelly forward, and the world disappeared in a blur. When next I could clearly see, we were standing on a beach with sand that was painful to stare at under the brightness of the sun. Nelly snuffled at the sand, her ears laid back to express to us how unimpressed she was by the lack of edible vegetation. Having determined that her culinary options were non-existent, she promptly fell asleep with a snort and a snore.

  “His home was here, on Pate Island,” Koki explained as she slid off. “The village of Shanga is close now. Come along.”

  Weary from the unrelenting heat, I eyed Koki’s long cotton dress. It shifted easily in the breeze, the thin fabric hanging loosely from her tall, slim form. Compared to that, my layers of clothing were more suited for a winter blizzard.

  “A pox on English fashion,” I muttered.

  “I never could understand the preoccupation with hiding the human form under so many heavy and unnecessary layers,” Koki mused as she strode ahead. “It must be terribly uncomfortable in this heat.”

  “Yes, yes, get on with it then,” I said, my crankiness exacerbated by the clinginess of my clothes and the mixture of sweat and sea salt that was already caking onto my skin.

  The island was barren of any vegetation beyond a mangrove forest facing the mainland and some coconut trees scattered here and there. It also was mercifully flat apart from the occasional sand dune, some of which loomed above us like small hills.

  “Why would anyone live on such a desolate patch of rock?” I demanded.

  “Protection.”

  I glanced back to the mainland which was almost a swimmable distance away. “From what?”

  There was no answer, so I resigned myself to discomfort without distraction and trudged along behind my guide. Despite the height of my boots, sand somehow managed to find its way inside, scratching through my socks into my skin.

  Ahead of me, Koki glided barefoot and serene, unaffected by the discomforts that plagued me. I even found myself envying her short hair clipped close to her scalp. No sweat dribbled over her head and into her eyes.

  After the lushness and life of the delta, the island felt barren in contrast. There were only the desolate cries of seabirds above us and the smacking of waves against the coral rocks.

  “You said we were going to a village,” I said, my tone accusatory.

  “Yes, I did,” she replied.

  “So where are the people?”

  She glanced at me over her shoulder, a mocking smile gracing her lips. “I didn’t say there would be people in the village.”

  My disquiet deepened. The lack of life and movement, rather than reassuring me of the absence of danger, only heightened the prickling of my nerves.

  “Is there anyone here at all? Or anything?” I demanded, glancing about and preparing to use my walking stick.

  “Only stones and bones,” came the reply.

  Before I could ponder the meaning of that statement, we rounded a dune and came upon a small house made of coral and limestone. It was a charming structure, a single story abode, the walls of which were created from blocks of pale coral that were one foot thick, if not more.

  Standing on the threshold of the arched doorway, I could feel the coolness of the shadows within brushing my skin with loving invitation. Carved into the walls were niches rather than windows. I could only presume it was to limit the escape of the cool air, or perhaps to allow archers inside the houses to defend their homes with greater ease.

  I shivered, the charm of the house losing some appeal.

  All the buildings in the village were of a similar layout and design, all empty of life. As we meandered along the narrow alleys that snaked between the closely clustered houses, I searched for some indication that once upon a time people had lived here. Not even the flicker of ghosts disturbed the deadness of the place which, ironically, was deader than the Underworld.

  “What happened?” I demanded.

  Koki shrugged, not concerned in the least regarding the fate of the inhabitants. “No one knows. One day, there was a thriving community, and the next there was nothing.”

  Under my boots, sand and bits of coral crunched like breaking bones.

  That distinct sound reminded me of a time I had actually walked across bones. It was in the forest behind my childhood home, the day I’d lost my brother for the first time, the day a werewolf had exacted her revenge and stolen him from me.

  Crunch. Crunch. Eyes watching from the shadows.

  I shivered away the memory even as the ground beneath my boots continued to crumble. />
  The shadowed coolness of the houses was not mirrored in the network of paths that ran through the village. Instead, the heat of the sun reflected off the pale cream and pink coral rock, causing my eyes to squint and water, and my skin to flush with heat and dehydration.

  Perhaps sensing my discomfort, Koki said, “We’re almost there.”

  As she spoke, we exited the abandoned village. My relief was short-lived, for across a field that grew nothing but rocky sand and a few coconut trees was a cemetery. At first glance, it appeared too big for the number of inhabitants that would have lived in the village.

  “That’s all this place seems able to grow,” I muttered. “Stones and tombs.”

  Koki snickered. “And don’t forget the coconuts.”

  As we crossed the field, the wind rustled through the branches of the coconut trees above us, a mournful cry amidst the desolation. I glanced up, anticipating a large fruit falling on my head. There were no coconuts to be found.

  “How peculiar,” I said. “What’s a tree without any fruit?”

  “Firewood,” Koki answered, her dress swishing about her long legs as she strode ahead without any apparent concern for the oppressive atmosphere.

  “It’s too hot for that,” I said as I paused beside her at the entrance to the cemetery. “Unless you’re offering to boil a kettle for tea.”

  Shaking her head, Koki said, “You English and your tea. I’m surprised you bleed red and not brown.”

  “You would know,” I retorted, my metal hand twitching with wolf energy.

  Smirking, she declined to comment and strolled amongst the graves. Some were marked with little more than a headstone and a pile of coral rubble. Others were covered with a slab of rock with engravings, some of which were clearly Arabic and others were of a forgotten language. A few graves had elaborately carved stonework, but one stood out for its grandiosity, central location and elaborate design, all of which indicated that a prominent person of singular proportions was interred beneath.

  The unusual grave was at a point slightly higher than the others, enclosed by a low wall created entirely from branches of coral. The headstone was as tall as me, with intricate carvings of a style that reminded me of hieroglyphics and yet it wasn’t Egyptian. An impressively sized slab of stone, weatherworn and mottled with stains of rain and algae, covered the grave itself. A lengthy verse was carved into it using a script I didn’t recognize.

  There was no doubt to whom this monument belonged: the poet warrior, King Liongo.

  Reverently, Koki approached, her demeanor subdued, as if she weren’t standing before a pile of bones and stones but rather a living king. I glanced about and still could see no indication of any life beyond a few insects. I marveled that they could find something upon which to feed. The wind’s whistle and the roll of waves against the unseen shore were the only sounds.

  “Your glasses, Miss Knight,” Koki murmured, her head lowered in an approximation of submission, her gaze fixed upon the tombstone.

  Pressing a notch in my walking stick, I retrieved my glasses from the small drawer that had popped open. Designed to magnify my powers of energy perception, the glasses were in shape and form similar to a set that ladies would take to the opera. However, my version had several additional lenses that could be manipulated to go down or up, thus creating different strengths of vision.

  But I didn’t use them to observe the costumes of opera singers or the intricacies of the stage. Instead, I wore them to enhance my abilities to read energy. With the correct setting, I could penetrate deeply into the energy field of whatever creature I wished to study.

  And therein lay the conundrum. “These are only useful for reading the energy of the living,” I informed Koki as I held up the glasses. “They surely won’t be of much use in analyzing skeletons and ancient stone.”

  Her smile was that of a bemused adult being confronted by a wayward and obstinate child. “Miss Knight, what you don’t know could create a library in and of itself. Put on the glasses and read the tombstone.”

  Disgruntled by the slight against my knowledge, I did as I was instructed, albeit reluctantly. As I turned the knobs on the side of the glasses and peered at the stone, an energy field sprung up before me.

  “But how is that possible?” I cried, almost flinging the glasses away in my consternation.

  “Never mind that,” Koki purred in a tone that impressed me for its reassuring and comforting quality. “Study the poem.”

  “Poem?” I repeated, my brain too engrossed with my astonishment to comprehend her instruction.

  Waving an arm toward the glowing stone covering Liongo’s grave, she said, “Yes, Miss Knight, the poem. Read it.”

  Squinting through a series of lenses at the stone, I observed the lengthy inscription shifting before me, molding itself into a script that I could read. Even the elaborately carved designs, presumed to be decorative, unfurled characters to form words. In less than a moment of suspended breath, the inscription was laid out before me in English, each letter glowing with the energy of life, despite the utter absence of it on the island.

  “Goodness,” I breathed out. “I’ve never witnessed such an artifact as this. What a marvelous power.”

  Sensing the rising impatience of the woman standing by my side, I refocused my vision to find the meaning of the words.

  “I should just read it out?” I asked.

  A huff was her only response.

  Clearing my throat, I began:

  O thou handmaid Saada, list my words to­day!

  Haste thee to my mother, tell her what I say.

  Bid her bake for me a cake of chaff and bran, I pray,

  And hide therein an iron file to cut my bonds away,

  File to free my fettered feet, swiftly as I may;

  Forth I'll glide like serpent's child, silently to slay.

  The moment I finished, the ground shuddered. A snapping boomed around us, and a large crack whipped down the center of the tombstone. The energy faded away as the two halves slid off on either side, revealing the opening of a vault, the bottom of which I couldn’t discern. A set of stairs led down into the darkness.

  Plucking my glasses off my nose, I glanced at Koki whose countenance was one that mirrored my own incredulity but lacked the trepidation that I experienced.

  “Shall we?” she instead said, imitating an English accent and manner.

  My eyes widened of their own accord. If I hadn’t seen her mouth move, I’d have supposed a colonialist had joined our party. She laughed and led the way down the stone stairs.

  A cool dampness enveloped us as we descended but it wasn’t a pleasant relief from the humid heat above. Moist slime soiled the walls. The air clung to my skin with hints of moldering bones and unpleasant secrets. In a few steps, we were entirely swallowed by earth and shadows. The opening above our heads provided us only the dimmest illumination. As the tomb we entered was not so big, it was sufficient for the purpose.

  A sarcophagus filled most of the space. Carved out of a single chunk of coral, it had similar engravings on the side as the stone above it. The outline of an unusually tall man protruded out of the lid, the carved features of the face somber and stern.

  “Do we need to launch into poetry again to open this lid?” I enquired. “Or will a song and dance suffice?”

  Smirking, Koki replied almost affectionately, “Insolent human.”

  Approaching the sarcophagus, she gestured for me to join her. Wordlessly, we both pushed on the lid. Despite its size, it wasn’t as heavy as it appeared. I could only thank the porosity of coral for that one consolation. In preparation for the fumes that would certainly exit around us, I ceased breathing through my nose and, as the lid crashed onto the other side, I held my breath entirely.

  Peering down, we came to the same realization at the same instant: Liongo’s body was gone.

  “Well, how inconsiderate,” I said as I turned to Koki. “It’s one thing to drag me half way across the country to
this desolate, dreary and uncomfortable isle. It’s quite another to do so for no purpose at all.”

  Bewilderment was a rare, if impossible, mood for Koki and yet, in that moment, it clouded her countenance thoroughly. “I don’t understand. The body is supposed to be here.”

  A glimmer caught my attention. I leaned over the edge of the sarcophagus, its cool stone pressing into my waist, and studied the phenomena through my glasses.

  “There’s more writing here,” I said and read the inscription. “Cool water.” Straightening up and removing my glasses, I scoffed, “There’s nothing cool around here.”

  “It’s the Maasai name for Nairobi,” Koki said, her smug smile reasserting itself. “Enkare Nairobi. Cool water. His body must have been moved there, to protect him from his enemies.”

  Before we could continue discussing the whereabouts of a corpse, a deep, throaty, snarling growl vibrated around me, its volume equivalent to an entire pride of lions growling together. The earth vibrated just as we heard an explosive crashing above our heads. Bits of coral and dust loosened and fell upon our upturned faces. Something large covered the opening to the tomb.

  In the resulting darkness, I heard Koki sigh.

  “What is that?” I demanded, hefting my walking stick in preparation.

  Koki replied in a bored tone, “That, dear Miss Knight, is why the island is deserted.”

  Chapter Ten

  “BLAST IT,” I muttered as a toothy snout almost as long as I was tall pushed its way into the opening above us. “Simon’s quite correct. I can’t seem to undertake a simple mission without attracting trouble.”

  The snout snapped in agreement, the teeth clanging together in a manner that did not bode well for my efforts at remaining alive and in one piece. The dank air filled with the stench of dead fish and decomposing seaweed.

  I pressed a couple of the fingernails of the metal fist atop my walking stick. A blade slid out the other end of the stick with a satisfying click. “What is it and, more importantly, how do we dispatch it?” I asked.