“No. But it could make him an effective weapon in the hands of one who is a leader – or would like to be.”
“What do you mean?” Rumanzila asked.
“It was, perhaps, a mistake for you to put Bomunu in charge of the newcomer,” said Angulu. “Bomunu would like Imaro to become to him what Mbuto is to you. Of course, Bomunu is no match for you. But Imaro is more than a match for Mbuto, and I think you know that.”
Rumanzila did not say anything. Again fearing he had gone too far, the wa-nyanume spoke on.
“During my studies, I learned of far-off places,” he said. “I saw maps that were old before the time of our grandfathers’ grandfathers. I remember seeing this ‘Tamburure’ Imaro says he comes from on one of those maps. It is almost as far away over land as the traders’ country is over the sea. I read of a fierce, savage people called the Ilyassai – Imaro’s people. According to the stories, an Ilyassai youth must slay a lion single-handed before he can be counted as a man. Imaro certainly looks as though he could have done that.”
Rumanzila snorted in derision.
“I have one more test for this lion-slayer,” he said.
“What would that be?” Angulu asked.
Instead of responding directly, Rumanzila asked a question of his own.
“Why are you so anxious to get rid of the river-people’s idol?” he demanded. “Are you afraid of it?”
“Yes,” the sorcerer replied without hesitation.
The two men said little more before Angulu rose and went to his shelter. Rumanzila sat alone for a long time afterward, staring into the fire.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“Imaro.”
The warrior recognized the voice that called to him as he sat in front of his shelter. He was using a stone to whet the blade of his sword. With its greater length and steel blade, this weapon suited him far better than the Ilyassai simi.
Imaro looked up, tilting his head back farther than usual. Standing in front of him was Ngodire, the Ndashikuya. With the hand that held the whetstone, Imaro motioned Ngodire to sit near him. As Ngodire lowered himself to the ground, with his long legs folded, he resembled a gigantic mantis. Awkward as the Ndashikuya’s position appeared, however, Imaro knew Ngodire was capable of springing to his feet, weapon in hand, with a quickness that rivaled the Ilyassai’s own.
Even in a seated position, Ngodire still looked down on Imaro. He was the only one among the haramia who could do that. Patiently, Imaro waited for the other man to speak further.
The silence between the two men was companionable. Theirs was a friendship born of similar circumstances, for among the haramia, they were the outsiders. At the beginning of his time among the bandits, Imaro found that Ngodire was the only one who treated him in a way that did not bring back memories of his time among the Ilyassai.
But there was a sharper edge to Ngodire as well, as Imaro had discovered when he asked the Ndashikuya how he had managed to withstand the Choice.
Ngodire had laughed derisively.
“The Choice is only for captives, like you,” he said. “I was no captive. I am here because this is where I belong. I stole treasure from my country’s king, and I barely escaped with my life. I came to the haramia because a thief should be with other thieves.”
Then he had given Imaro a long, penetrating gaze.
“You belong among warriors, not thieves,” he said. “One day, you will understand that.”
Now, in a low tone that barely carried above the noises of the encampment, Ngodire said a single word.
“Beware.”
Imaro made a sound that was not quite a laugh.
“That is what I’ve been doing all my life,” he said.
“This is different,” said Ngodire.
“How?”
The Ndashikuya shifted his eyes away from those of Imaro. Following the direction of Ngodire’s gaze, Imaro saw the shrouded form of Tanisha. The Shikaza captive was guarded lightly, but guarded nonetheless, usually by at least two haramia women. Tanisha and her warders stood a fair distance from Imaro and Ngodire. But from the position of the eye-slit in her kuva, Imaro realized that she was looking in his direction.
Imaro turned his attention back to Ngodire and gave him a look that asked an unspoken question.
“That one has been watching you ever since we captured her,” Ngodire said.
“And that’s what I should beware?” Imaro asked.
“Rumanzila has been watching you, too.”
Imaro’s only response to that observation was a tightening of his grip on the whetstone.
“What do his eyes have to do with hers?” he demanded.
“I do not know,” Ngodire admitted. “I see only what I see. It is up to you to see more – if you want to.”
“If I do see more, I will have you to thank,” Imaro said.
Ngodire nodded. Then he rose to his feet in a single motion and left Imaro to his sword and whetstone.
Imaro thought about what the Ndashikuya had said. From the time he had withstood Mbuto’s lash without crying out, Imaro had known he needed to be wary of Rumanzila. The bandit chieftain reminded him of Chui the leopard, lying in wait, hidden in the tall grass.
But the woman…
He stole a glance in Tanisha’s direction. She had not moved, and neither had the haramia who guarded her. She was still looking at him.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Several days passed with no sign of either Bomunu or Chimba. Like their leader, the haramia were becoming even more restless. The iron discipline Rumanzila maintained was beginning to show cracks, though none was yet so blatant as to require a session with Mbuto.
One night, as he lay on the grass sleeping-mat in his shelter, Imaro once again compared the haramia to the Ilyassai. He was beginning to believe the two were not as similar as he had first thought. Although Ilyassai warriors respected leaders like the Kitoko clan’s ol-arem, they did not fear them, as the bandits did Rumanzila. And although Masadu dispensed painful punishments during warrior-training, he was not a mindless tool, like Mbuto.
Imaro had long since been aware that Rumanzila considered his lack of fear as a lack of respect. And he knew Rumanzila believed that others would eventually emulate Imaro’s disrespect, and that would lead to the bandit leader’s downfall. And who did Rumanzila think would take his place? The newcomer, the warrior, the man who had withstood Mbuto’s lash…
What Rumanzila did not know was that Imaro had no desire to usurp the leadership of the haramia. Indeed, the warrior was considering leaving the band of outlaws.
His dreams of the Place of Stones were becoming more frequent. The names Chitendu had spoken echoed through his mind, even when he was awake. Although he did not sense any presence of the type of mchawi Chitendu had wielded, he was beginning to believe the enemies of which the oibonok had spoken were somewhere, somehow, hunting him. He should be the one hunting them, he thought. But how was he to find them?
He remembered what Ngodire had told him: You belong among warriors…
A slight sound interrupted Imaro’s musings. It came from outside his shelter. As he looked toward the narrow entrance of the makeshift structure, he saw a moon-shadow on the ground.
With the stealth and speed of a panther, Imaro rose from his sleeping-mat, reached outside and pulled the intruder into the darkness of the shelter. Imaro expected a struggle; he expected teeth to tear into the hand he had clamped over the intruder’s mouth. But that did not happen. The intruder did not move.
Although he could not be entirely certain of the identity of the person he held in his arms, Imaro believed he knew who it was. At the very least, he knew it was a woman.
“You are the one called Tanisha,” he said in a low voice. “The one we captured from the Zanjians.”
The woman nodded her head.
“I’m going to take my hand away from your mouth,” Imaro said. “Then I’ll decide what I am going to do with you. Do not cry out. Understand?”
; Tanisha nodded again. Imaro removed his hand. Tanisha’s mouth opened, but only to take a gasping breath, not to scream. Then, with a subtle twist for which Imaro was not prepared, she turned her body to face the warrior – and her mouth found his. Her hands caressed the hard muscles of his shoulders, and she pressed her gold-bedecked skin against his.
Imaro’s arms tightened around Tanisha as their tongues danced. For a single, frightful moment, the image of Keteke as he had last seen her flashed through his mind. Then it was gone, banished by the taste of Tanisha’s mouth and the scent of her skin.
But another vision entered unbidden into his mind – the face of Rumanzila, laughing …
Abruptly, Imaro pulled his mouth away from Tanisha’s.
“Who sent you to me?” he demanded. “Guards are at your side day and night. You could not have gotten away from them on your own.”
Tanisha let out a laugh that was almost inaudible. Then, even though Imaro was holding her in a tight grasp, she wriggled free before he could react. But she made no attempt to escape. She remained in front of Imaro, kneeling in the darkness, her shape a silhouette among shadows.
“The guards are fools,” she said. “They see my kuva, and think they see me.”
She laid her hand against the warrior’s chest.
“No one sent me, Imaro,” she said. “I am here because I want to be.”
“Why?” Imaro demanded.
Tanisha did not reply immediately. As the silence stretched, Imaro’s suspicions grew... as did his desire. Then Tanisha spoke.
“Among my people, women are trained from birth to serve men, to please men… to know men,” she said. “We of the Shikaza are a small tribe, a weak tribe. But we are also a free tribe, because we trade our women in exchange for safety. To the outsiders, a Shikaza woman is worth more than her weight in gold or jewels.”
Her hand slid across his skin as she spoke.
“The Shikaza women are taught something else as well,” she continued. “We are taught that no matter how many men buy us and use us, there will be, for each of us, one man to whom we will truly belong, whether or not he buys us. For me, that man is you. I knew that from the moment I saw you, even though you came to steal me from the men of Zanj.”
Imaro could barely think, let alone say anything in response. In all his life, no one had spoken of him in this way – for the most part, what he heard was the opposite. Yet now, a woman over whom bandits and solders were willing to fight and die, and for whom treasures were traded as though they were trinkets, was prepared to risk all her value to give herself to him.
He desired her more than he ever had wanted Keteke. Tanisha’s presence had already helped him to begin to overcome the guilt that had eaten at him since Keteke’s death.
But still…
“You do not know me,” he said. “You do not know who I am, or what I must face.”
“Tell me,” said Tanisha.
And, to his surprise, he did exactly that. He spoke of his past in a way he never had before. He told her about his life among the Ilyassai; about olmaiyo; about his encounter with Chitendu at the Place of Stones; about the unseen, unknown menace of the sorcerers of Naama and the Place of Stones…
After he finished, Tanisha murmured: “Naama… Mashataan… I have heard those names before.”
Imaro’s hand tightened around her wrist. If the pressure of his grasp was painful, Tanisha did not acknowledge it.
“What do you know about those names?” he demanded.
“Only this,” Tanisha replied. “Those names are so evil that they must be spoken only in whispers… so that they do not echo in the ears of those who should not hear them.”
Imaro relaxed his grasp.
“Now you know I have enemies who are worse than Rumanzila,” he said.
“Yes. But Rumanzila is the enemy you can see and touch,” Tanisha said. “And with him, you have but one choice: kill him before he kills you, or leave the haramia. If you stay, I will stay with you. If you go, I will go with you. Either way, you must decide soon.”
Once again, Tanisha covered his mouth with hers. Her hands slowly pulled his garments aside. As their bodies joined, the image of Keteke receded in Imaro’s mind until it was gone, if not forgotten. At the end, when both he and Tanisha were sated, she left him with a single word:
“Soon.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
In the time that followed, Tanisha visited Imaro’s shelter as often as she could – not every night, but enough times to build a bond between herself and the enigmatic warrior who had come from afar.
She told him of her life among the Shikaza: how the most beautiful girl-children of the tribe were taken from their parents at a young age to be instructed in the many arts involved in pleasing a man. They learned dances that were unmatched in all of Nyumbani, and their lovemaking skills were legendary. It was through the sale of those skills that the Shikaza survived the wars and conquests of neighboring tribes and kingdoms.
The training Tanisha had undergone reminded Imaro, in its own way, of mafundishu-ya-muran. The Shikaza women protected their people; and so did the men of the Ilyassai. The more time he spent with her, the more he learned of what it meant to be one with a woman; to allow himself to love. It was then that he realized that what he had felt for Keteke had not been love at all; not even a shadow of what love truly was. It had previously been an emotion as foreign to him as fear. Despite what he felt for Tanisha, however, he would forever regret that Keteke had died because he had stolen her from her people.
But had he not also stolen Tanisha? That question did not enter his mind when she was with him. She would appear suddenly, as though she had an ability to conceal her appearance until she wanted to be seen. Yet Imaro could not detect any taint of mchawi about her. If she were indeed practicing sorcery, it was of an entirely different kind, and Imaro surrendered to it.
Not only did Imaro and Tanisha speak of their past lives; they also considered the future. What would happen when Chimba returned from his negotiations with the Azanian noble? Tanisha was certain the Azanian would meet Rumanzila’s demand for a higher price. Imaro was certain he would not allow her to go to the Azanian for any price.
Days passed slowly as the haramia awaited the return of both Chimba and Bomunu, for Rumanzila had commanded that no further raids would occur until the transactions for the Afua and Tanisha were completed, and the proceeds duly divided. Only foragers were allowed to leave the encampment, to replenish dwindling food supplies.
The forced inactivity irritated the bandits. They chafed against each other like grains of sand against the skin, and quarrels broke out constantly. Only the haramias’ dread of Mbuto’s whip prevented the arguments from becoming physical fights that would eventually lead to fatalities. If Bomunu and Chimba did not return soon, even the fear of Mbuto, and of Rumanzila himself, would not be sufficient to contain the rising tension.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Tanisha stirred in Imaro’s arms. They were lying together in the darkness of Imaro’s shelter, silhouettes in the minimal light that filtered through its cloth walls. Skin to skin, they held each other. There were no longer any secrets between them – only a choice; one that needed to be made soon.
“Imaro,” Tanisha whispered, her lips moving against his shoulder.
The warrior made a wordless sound. He had nearly fallen asleep. On more than one occasion, he had slid into slumber while still holding Tanisha close to him. Each time he had awakened, she had been gone, slipping out of his grasp without awakening him.
Tanisha sat up and looked down at him.
“You must decide now,” she said. “There are only two alternatives.”
Imaro was well aware of the truth of her words. They had discussed – and discarded – all options other than the ones Imaro now identified aloud.
“To escape with you. Or to challenge Rumanzila for the leadership of the haramia.”
“Which do you choose?” Tanisha asked.
&
nbsp; Imaro had given long consideration to both alternatives. Escaping from the encampment would be a difficult feat, but it was possible, given that the haramias were distracted by their impatience and restlessness. But if he and Tanisha fled, Rumanzila would pursue them, and they would be only two against dozens of relentless foes. Imaro’s friends among the haramia would be compelled to join the hunt for him and Tanisha – join it, or face Mbuto’s whip.
And even though he had rejected the Ilyassai, the ways of the warrior-tribe were still rooted deep within him. Those ways demanded that an Ilyassai warrior must never run from a foe.
Yet overthrowing Rumanzila would not be a simple task. Even outlaws lived by rules and traditions. If Imaro were to challenge Rumanzila over Tanisha, his justification would have to be a disagreement with the price that would be paid for her. However, that price had not yet been determined, and would not be until Chimba returned.
The result of such a challenge would be the death of either Imaro or Rumanzila. And even if Imaro prevailed, his leadership would not immediately be accepted by all the haramia. Some, like Chimba, openly disliked him. Others would have doubts about being led by an outlander. And there were still others like Bomunu, whose own ambitions were obvious.
The dangers of challenging Rumanzila were clear. But so, too, was the incentive – Tanisha. As leader, Imaro would have the choice to cancel her sale to the Azanian. The bandits would object to the loss of so much gold – but that was a consequence Imaro was willing to accept.
“I will not run,” he said.
Tanisha squeezed his shoulder.
“I knew you would not,” Tanisha said.
Then she leaned down and darted her tongue into his mouth. But when he reached up to draw her down to him, she pulled away.
“I will not come to you again until the challenge is won,” she said. “We cannot take any more chances, now that the decision is made.”
Imaro opened his mouth to speak, but before he could utter a word, Tanisha was gone. Only a quickly vanished shadow and a slight stirring of the cloth walls of the shelter marked her passage.
Imaro: Book I Page 16
