* * *
The sound of the shotgun had brought Riff and Raff once again to a staggering stop. The echo was so confusing! It seemed to have come from the Duchy, yet that place was now in darkness! As well, this was no small gun! A large gun. Not one Afsoon could manage. Then two other sounds reached them - perhaps three. One was the crackle of burning, beneath columns of pale glowing smoke. Another was Shoomba’s desperate screech of prayer. And the last, so faintly, barely there, was a cry from the throat of their daughter. All of which combined to transport them both back to Yakawlang, to the walled-in, wailing, burning women and children.
What they knew then was that their world had once again gone mad with violence. And that their one child, all of value that remained to them, was somewhere out there. As one, they howled out their own hopeless need and defiance and plunged desperately on, bounding out the other side of the banana palm forest.
“Afsoon! Afsoon!” Riff was screaming as he ran. “Haletan koob est? Haletan koob est?”
Neville the Less Page 69
