Stones of Nairobi

by Vered Ehsani

  Floating on her back on my other side, Koki waved languidly and said, “It’s good of you not to drown, Miss Knight.”

  “What about me?” Gideon demanded.

  He received no response, to which he muttered an unsavory term regarding our companion. Rather than reprimand him, I enjoyed the sensation of swimming without effort.

  “Are there any carnivorous creatures in here?” Gideon asked.

  I immediately thought of Tompandrano, the old sea croc we encountered on the island. As I began to spiral my arms about me so I could twist around to study the shore, I sank again.

  “This is a nuisance,” I muttered.

  Koki laughed at my predicament. “Stop fussing. The only dangerous creatures in these waters are you and me, Miss Knight.”

  “What about me?” Gideon asked again, his countenance the epitome of insulted outrage.

  With a quirk of her eyebrow, Koki dismissed his concern. “Oh, you’re dangerous, all right,” she sneered and again glanced meaningfully between the two of us.

  While Gideon was surprisingly oblivious to her innuendo, I was acutely aware of her intention. It discomforted me greatly, for Koki was correct. As a ghost, Gideon was easy to dismiss. As a solid, breathing man, he quite literally took on other dimensions, as did our relationship.

  “Drat,” I muttered. Koki smiled.

  Rather than dwell on Gideon’s presence, I scanned the shorelines, searching for signs of life or death or anything in-between. There was nothing but forests of massive trees surrounded by impenetrable undergrowth. On occasion, I’d detect a movement but no shape emerged from the shadows. All in all, it was uneventful.

  “Why aren’t we being attacked?” I demanded.

  “Disappointed?” Koki asked, her gaze fixed on the sky, her entire posture that of one reclining on a bed rather than a river.

  “Suspicious,” I corrected her. “Why would Le-Eyo allow us in so easily?”

  “Maybe it was meant to be,” Gideon murmured as he floated closer to my side.

  “Maybe you shouldn’t be here,” I snapped.

  “Children, children,” Koki intervened. “There’s no need to fight.”

  “We’re not fighting,” Gideon said. “Are we?”

  Ignoring him, I turned my head toward Koki.

  Sighing, she said, “Le-Eyo was a good friend of Liongo. After all, the poet did dispatch significant numbers of his enemies to the Underworld. I’m sure Le-Eyo misses the good old days.”

  “Lovely,” I said.

  “Besides,” Koki continued, her expression thoughtful, “the God of Death also liked Koitalel, the prophet of the Nandi, and he doesn’t approve of people who engage traitors to do their unsavory work.”

  “Huh?” Gideon huffed.

  “Koitalel was murdered by a traitor who was working for the British, and I imagine Liongo will be tasked with defending the land against the British forces,” I explained. “So it seems even Death takes sides.”

  “Of course,” Koki said.

  Before I could continue that line of thought, the trees on one side of the river shook as a giant of a man stomped into view. He notched an arrow into his long bow and aimed it at my head.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “YOU JINXED US,” Gideon muttered.

  “Liongo,” Koki called out as she angled herself toward the shore.

  The man shifted his aim to her. Unperturbed, Koki stood up in the shallows and sauntered onto a narrow strip of sandy beach. I followed her lead and was relieved to note that my clothes were untainted by whatever colored the water. As Koki addressed Liongo in a soothing tone, using a language that was incomprehensible to me, I studied the poet-warrior.

  Standing at least seven feet tall, the African’s entire form was corded with muscles trained by a lifetime of battle. His cleanly shaven head was well-proportioned, his scalp smooth and rounded as if designed for a war helmet. Dark eyes pierced reality with a deep understanding.

  The set of his lips indicated neither cruelty nor generosity but a firm resolve to do whatever was required of him. The deep lines on either side of his mouth didn’t suggest age; rather, they were proof of experience with all the disappointments life could offer a man: loss, betrayal, pain, death. A heavy leather chest plate and a short, leather skirt stained red were his only items of clothing.

  “Avert your eyes,” Gideon hissed by my side as he grabbed my hand and squeezed it.

  “I will not,” I retorted in a whisper and yanked my hand from his grip.

  Still, he had called me back to my senses, for I had been in danger of gaping at Liongo’s impressive physique. While not particularly handsome, there was something compelling about his features.

  “Simon should thank me,” Gideon muttered.

  “That’s Mr. Timmons to you,” I corrected him as I studiously focused on the back of Koki’s head.

  A rumbling of words distracted me. Liongo was speaking. His voice was deeper than that of the Lightning God, Kam. It called to mind the incessant pounding of fierce ocean waves against an unyielding rocky cliff, two forces clashing in an eternal cycle.

  “Marvelous,” Koki purred as she turned to me. “It seems you won’t be needing your bow after all, Miss Knight.”

  “What a disappointment,” I said.

  My gaze flitted to the dense forest a few yards away. Shadows mocked me, hiding an untold number of dangers. Shrill squawks and sharp hoots reverberated from within the forest’s depths. It was hard to decide if the short-lived screeching was a result of monkeys fighting or some beast being devoured by a larger creature. The scent of decomposing plants and overly sweet flowers drifted on the waves of hot, humid air that enveloped me.

  “My apologies,” she replied, her smile smug. “However, Liongo was informed of our arrival and has permission to leave.”

  Something akin to alarm clutched at me and I gawked at the warrior-poet. “Death is letting you go?” I demanded, my voice pitching higher with each word.

  Liongo peered down at me, unfazed by my skepticism. “Yes, and why shouldn’t he?” he said in carefully enunciated English.

  “Because,” I said through gritted teeth, “he’s the God. Of. Death. Death has a certain finality to it.” Raising the hand that held the bow and gesturing with it to emphasize the point, I continued, “Why would he allow anyone to come back to life? It would defy the laws of nature, not to mention setting a dangerous precedent. If you’re allowed to depart from here, then everyone will want to follow.”

  Shrugging, Liongo said, “Well, of course they all want to leave.”

  I struggled to verbalize my growing unease. “Death is a stickler for law and order. Even when it’s against his own interest, he’ll follow the law to the letter.”

  Now it was Koki’s turn to shrug. “There are always exceptions, little girl.”

  Fuming, I glared at the two of them. “Nothing is ever this easy,” I argued. “Either it’s a trap or… or—”

  “Or maybe there are miracles after all,” Gideon murmured, standing far too close to me. His breath tickled my ear, his physical presence causing my energy to tingle. “Maybe this is a gift, and what do they say about looking a gift horse in the mouth?”

  Stumbling away from him, I spat out, “That it’s a Trojan horse.”

  Gideon shook his head. “Tsk, tsk, Beatrice. They say never look the gift in the mouth. Just saddle it up and ride off into the sunset. It sounds romantic, doesn’t it?”

  Behind Gideon, Liongo glanced at Koki, his stoic expression displaying a hint of bewilderment. Koki smirked and cast me that knowing look. I felt the heat of mortification creeping into my cheeks, and I could only hope that my flushed appearance would be attributed to the hot, humid air.

  “So what next?” Gideon asked.

  Rather than answer, Koki strolled back into the river and allowed the sluggish current to carry her.

  “But the water’s not running toward the bridge,” I protested even as Liongo followed Koki.


  “Come along, child,” she called back to me.

  Gritting my teeth, I stomped into the tepid water. “I despise her patronization,” I muttered.

  “I thought you would say that you despise her,” Gideon said as he flopped onto the surface of the water with nary a splash or ripple.

  “Well, of course,” I spluttered.

  “Are you sure?” Gideon asked. “You two seem to be akin to intimate acquaintances.”

  I pretended not to hear him, for I didn’t know how to answer. Instead, I studied the forest edging the river. It was a monotonous view which encouraged my mind to dwell on Death’s logic, if he had any.

  Why would he allow us to leave without so much as a spear being tossed at our backs? The more I prodded and poked at the question, the more certain I became that this wasn’t out of the goodness of his heart, if he even had one.

  “We’re here,” Gideon shouted.

  Startled out of my dark musings, I glanced about and saw the bridge just ahead of us.

  “That makes no sense,” I said, protesting the odd laws that governed this domain.

  “Be imaginative, Bee,” Gideon said, grinning at my discomfiture. “Isn’t that one of the critical skills of a paranormal investigator?”

  That he of all people was reminding me of this galled me to no end. “Impudent man,” I grumbled as I stumbled onto the clearing that separated the bridge from the jungle.

  Before I could approach the bridge and lead everyone across, a hand clasped around my wrist. Spinning around, I prepared to whack the culprit across the face with my bow. Instead, I froze in Gideon’s all-embracing gaze.

  “Stay here,” he said, his voice pitched low, his eyes glittering with repressed emotions.

  My tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth. I was dimly aware of Koki and Liongo, their footsteps on the wooden footbridge muted by whatever bubble of unreality had captured me.

  “We could make a life here,” he urged. “I have my body back, Beatrice! We can be together again.”

  “Gideon,” I croaked, my tongue still not functioning properly.

  Using my temporary muteness against me, he tugged me closer. Rather than digging into the sand, my treacherous feet shuffled into submission. “Stay with me,” he murmured, his breath caressing my cheek as he bent toward me.

  “Shameless boy,” Koki said as she wrapped an arm around my shoulder and steered me away. “Your time is done, Mr. Knight. Miss Knight has better things to do than live amongst the dead.”

  “She was my wife first,” Gideon yelled at her.

  “Males,” she scoffed as she guided me to the bridge. “They’re so possessive and irrational.”

  Looking over her shoulder, she said in a raised voice, “She was never yours, boy. You cannot ever truly own a woman. You can only worship her and hope she’ll allow you access to a piece of her heart.”

  Her embrace tightened as I struggled not to snivel, and I was grateful that she retained her hold on me until we’d crossed the bridge. Too cowardly to risk another encounter, I ensured that she remained between Gideon and me. I didn’t dare glance back, for I feared that if I met his gaze, I would be swallowed up by the pain therein and I would never return.

  Chapter Seventeen

  AS WE RESURFACED into the land of the living, I coughed as if trying to clear my lungs of water. I felt arms around me lifting me to a sitting position. Father’s calming voice murmured reassurances.

  During our absence, night had descended upon the house. A crackling noise drew my gaze to a cheerful fire that provided a warm glow to the library. My nose tickled with the sweet fragrance of burning wood.

  “We’re back,” I said, feeling compelled to state the obvious.

  Koki’s dress rustled as she pushed herself onto her elbows. “Let’s never do that again.”

  “Argh!”

  Scowling, I shifted my head to face Gideon’s ghostly form. I tutted and said, “Stop complaining.”

  Sneering at me, he returned my glare with an offended air and a cold, challenging stare of his own. “It wasn’t me.”

  “Then who—?”

  The pounding of a fist against wood interrupted me. As one, we all turned to face the corner of the room and the source of the noise: the coffin.

  As if stupefied by a spell, we remained frozen before this evidence that our foray into the Underworld had been fruitful. The thumping ceased, and the coffin began to shake, and rocked to and fro. Only when a sharp cracking sound ricochetted around us did we stir into action.

  “We mustn’t let him out yet,” Father cried just as Koki leaped to her feet and uttered, “We must free him.”

  The two lunged for the coffin but Father was faster. He steadied the coffin and pushed it back against the wall. Koki snarled and sought to loosen the clasps that held the wooden lid shut.

  “Reflect first,” Father implored her. “Liongo has been dead for centuries. We know not in what condition his mental faculties will be. There are women and children in this household who rely on others for their safety. This is not the place to open the coffin of a dead warrior.”

  While I assumed that Father was not referring to me when he made mention of defenseless women, I could see the effect of his calm and measured words on Koki. Her fierce features settled into a more agreeable expression and her posture softened, if only slightly.

  “Very well, vampire,” she hissed. “It shall be as you say. Let’s move him to the cottage.”

  “I think not,” I huffed. “I’ve had enough of unwelcome creatures wreaking havoc in my home.”

  “I rather enjoy havoc and wreaking,” Gideon said, chortling at whatever image had come to his mind.

  Ignoring him, I continued, “The barn will have to do.”

  So agreeing, Father and Koki took opposite sides of the shaking coffin. After collecting my bow and quiver, I lit a lantern, opened the doors leading to the veranda and checked that no one was about. Only swooping bats and the calls of various nocturnal predators greeted me. The distant skyline leaked a pale, milky substance from the moon’s ascent.

  “Let’s go,” I whispered as I confirmed the absence of witnesses.

  Then again, I reassured myself, I needn’t worry about any onlookers. After all, anyone living on this estate would be quite familiar with the going-ons of its more peculiar residents. Two people carrying a coffin would hardly cause an eyebrow to rise, except to enquire as to the reason the remains inside seemed to be alive.

  Still, there was no point in risking alarming a passing pastoralist, so we proceeded with caution. With Gideon hovering overhead, a coffin shaking and thumping in our midst, and my lantern casting disturbing shadows on the scene, we were a sight to behold.

  We reached the barn, by which time Koki and Father were struggling to hold onto the coffin. The log-sized wooden box jerked and bucked as its occupant attempted to free himself from the confines. I ushered them inside and closed the door behind us just as the two dropped the coffin and sat on its bouncing lid.

  “Now what?” I breathed out, sounding as if I had been the one to haul the heavy load across the grounds.

  “Let him out,” Gideon trilled from the safety of the rafters. “Let’s have some fun.”

  “Releasing a re-animated corpse is hardly my idea of fun, Gideon,” I scolded him.

  “Boring,” he replied as he stretched himself across a beam, head leaning against a hand.

  “This box won’t hold much longer,” Father said.

  To prove his point, there was another crack, and a large fist thrust its way through the coffin’s lid. Both Father and Koki leaped to their feet just as the lid shuddered and splintered down the center.

  “Let him out,” I said and backed away from the box as I notched an arrow.

  “Your weapon will not be necessary,” Koki said as she leaned over to free the latches. She didn’t sound as confident as usual and stepped away once the latches were open.

  The lid snapped open and clattered to one side. A
muscular hand slapped onto the edge of the coffin. For a moment, the scene remained thus, the three of us warily waiting at a distance, Gideon leaning down from above, the animals stirring restlessly in their stalls, Nelly snoring softly and the undead figure pausing in his efforts to escape.

  Then, with a grunt, a head and torso appeared, neither of which appeared damaged by the passage of centuries spent inside of a coffin. Two dark eyes shifted under hooded lids, a disturbing level of calculating awareness present in them despite having been shut in death for several lifetimes.

  I began to lift my bow but Koki hissed a warning while Liongo’s eyes narrowed further. There was no other discernible movement, yet I perceived that his every muscle was prepared to launch him into an attack should I carry out on my threat. I relaxed the tension in my limbs, allowing the arrow to sink downward.

  Seemingly satisfied that he was safe, Liongo stood in one lumbering movement. He was as large in life as he had been in death, and it was all I could do not to gape at him. Somehow, his physical presence was more potent here than in the Underworld, his energy rolling across his skin like storm clouds across the savannah. I could detect his power of persuasion as tendrils of it explored the room. Underneath that, there was something else glimmering, an even greater power that I couldn’t identify.

  He lurched forward and frowned at his legs, as if to silently castigate them for not operating as they should after years of decay. Swaying as if drunk, he studiously shifted one leg, then the other, testing their stability. He paced back and forth, each step smoother than the last. Satisfied, he stopped and stood before us, a magnificent giant who seemed more warrior than poet.

  Koki cleared her throat and rose to her height which, while impressive for a woman, was still inconsiderable before Liongo. She spoke a greeting in a tribal language, and he returned the formality in his rich, powerful voice.

  “What’s he saying?” Gideon asked, boredom clear in his tone now that it was evident no mayhem would be forthcoming.

  “He thanks us for freeing him,” Koki translated as Liongo continued to study us. “And he bids us farewell as he wishes to return to his coastal kingdom and reclaim his throne.”