“Then maybe this demon is a friend of mine,” said Catlo with a malevolent chuckle.
Musa glared at him but said nothing more.
“Let us ride on past it and keep going,” said Aisha. “I see nothing and no one to stop us.”
Musa glared about, as if straining to see something that could not be seen. “I have never been this close to one. I have only heard tales from my grandfather. It was said to stay far away from these trees. We should go back the way we have come.”
Ole rubbed at his jaw and grit his teeth. “Those bodies. Some of them look fresh.” He held his throwing axe at the ready. The sunlight glinted upon the razor-sharp edge.
Aisha loosened her sword in its scabbard, but she could see no sign of anything living but for themselves and the handful of carrion birds in the tree itself.
“There is no other way to go, move on,” growled Catlo. “We cannot go back. For all we know the leopard men will be coming over that rise behind us soon.”
Aisha looked over the edge of the mesa. It was not a route that a horse could possibly take. She thought perhaps a mountain goat could do it, but she didn’t wish to try herself.
“I will not ride under it,” said Musa, who led his horse to the very edge of the canyon. There was no room to go over the side and continue. It was not a sheer drop down to the river, but neither was there room for a man let alone a horse to traverse the steep embankment. The river caught sunlight far below and it would be a painful way down to a river that likely as not was swarming with crocodiles. Musa walked carefully but swiftly, leading his horse. The branches of the tree reached to within inches of Musa’s intended path.
The wind seemed to make the vines and branches holding the dead men sway toward Musa but he quickly picked up his pace as his horse snorted in fear and hurried past. The wind died down and the tree was still again save for the occasional flutter of a magpie or crow.
Catlo followed him, though he dared to ride a few inches closer to the tree than the Umoja. He raced his horse past the tree as if daring the wind to push him over the cliff.
Aisha and Ole were next. There was an uncomfortable sound, the rubbing of the ropes across one another, an unhealthy strain from the weight of the bodies and the sagging of the tree. A monotonous rub and creak. Some of the corpses still had their eyes open and peered sightlessly at the travelers. One jerked in his death spasms and Aisha choked back a curse. Then she realized it wasn’t death spasms but carrion worms erupting from a bloated corpse She leaned to the side of her horse and vomited.
Ole touched her arm. “Don’t look, just keep moving. Nice and easy.”
But she looked back toward the tree anyway, and it was a good thing she did, as vines stretched toward her and Ole.
“Behind you!” she shouted.
Ole shot a glance up just as a vine reached for him. He slammed his axe against it, shearing only the first of a dozen extended tendrils.
Aisha’s sword sliced the reaching vines, but one grasped her horse’s rear leg. It yanked the hoof from off the ground. The horse screamed in panic as Aisha was thrown. On her knees, she slashed away at the creepers which coiled and splayed out, all with the effort to take the living beings that now crouched at its base.
Her sword cut the vine that had gripped her horse, but just as quickly, a tenuous green creeper coiled about her shoulders and attempted to lift her from the ground. Aisha kicked upward, guessing that the drop might snap the vines grip. It tightened then snapped as she plummeted, landing hard on the ground, but free. Her horse raced past her, with whipping vines in hot pursuit She slashed them as Ole came barreling into her and grasped her about the waist and into his arms. He easily swung her up to his saddle.
A vine caught him about the neck, and he launched from his saddle. Aisha barely retained a grip on the saddle horn and just as she reached safety, out of range of the vines, she jumped to the ground and ran back for Ole.
A garden of vines strained to reach the others, but they were a mere twenty paces away, just barely too far for the lashing tendrils to reach them.
The vines held Ole up by his arms and legs, along with one about his throat. His pale face turned red beyond his normal. He had lost his axe but strained to reach his knife. His fingers cringed but could not reach his belt.
Catlo caught Aisha by the elbow and held her back. “No, it has him. Let him go. There is nothing we can do.”
She elbowed Catlo in the stomach and raced toward Ole but Catlo followed and tripped her, sending her reeling to the ground. He put his boot on her back and his sword blade at her neck.
“I said there is nothing we can do. It has him. I’ll not let you throw your life away to only become his corpse bride!”
“You pig! Save him! You said he was your friend!”
Catlo shook his head sadly. “He is, or was, but I’ll not die for a friend. That is true friendship. To know when you must let go is true freedom. He would have done the same for me.”
“That’s bull shit!” she strained to get up, but he pressed the tip of his sword into her neck and drew blood.
“Don’t make me hurt you Aisha, I’ll need your blade more than ever once we’re through here.”
She screamed and raged at him. “You damn coward! I’ll give you my blade point first! I’ll never show you the secret door! Let me go!”
“No!” he shouted. “You’ll cool in time and still tell me. He isn’t worth it.”
“Yes, he is!” she raged to get up and he stomped on her back. Her lungs ached as they lost all the air that had been in them.
“Let her go,” said Musa, holding his long spear at Catlo’s kidneys. “If she wants to die to save her man, let her.”
“You crazy fool. No!” snapped Catlo. “This tree will kill us all if it can. We have to be smart and escape.”
But Musa persisted and pressed his own spear into Catlo’s side. The bandit leader removed his foot and let Aisha up.
She coughed but struggled and ran toward Ole. Her sword swung wildly, clearing a path through the vibrant wild vines that still ached to pick her up.
Ole’s fingers had reached his knife and he had cut the vine about his neck loose but now he hung upside down gasping for air. Aisha could not reach the vines still tangled about his legs.
“Don’t let it consume me. It’s no way for a warrior to die. Throw my axe into my chest. Slay me, that I might pass into Valhol rather than this,” he choked.
“No!” She took hold of his axe and struck at the tree. Whenever one of the vines came closer, she sheared it off with her sword. A pile of snaky limbs grew at her feet and a big red gash scarred oily bark of the tree.
“I never would have believed it,” said Catlo, stunned. Encouraged by her agility in cutting back the vines, he raced forward and stood beside her, cutting down the reaching tendrils that came for them. Musa, too, crept forward and lanced the ends with his spear, twisting them until they snapped off.
After Aisha had cut into the tree several inches, a great chunk of the bark broke free. A piece almost the size of a fist snapped and fell away to reveal a hollow inside the tree. Blood-red sap poured from the tree as if a well spring had been tapped. The putrid gore rushed out and poured over the side of the cliff. The tree slowly wilted and turned a sickly brown. The vines loosened over Ole and dropped him and all the other bodies it had once held.
Ole had no sooner hit the ground than Aisha rushed and took him in her arms, kissing him. He was powerless to stop her and Catlo said nothing. She squeezed the big man and he grunted. “Easy, I’m broken.”
He was not broken but terribly bruised over almost the entirety of his body.
The tree turned from a deep green to a pale brown, looking almost akin to driftwood and just as dry. Musa struck tinder and lit the now dried-out tree on fire which erupted in a terrible flame as the now decayed branches burned. Even the vile pitch that remained on the ground caught the lick of voracious fire and soon a tongue of orange cast a gloomy message acro
ss the canyon wall.
A terrible black cloud signaled the end of the fateful tree and Musa sang an Umoja song of joy and triumph. “Atawale mwachie Yesu! Atawale! Wa milele wa milele! Atawale mwachie Yesu! Atawale! Wa milele wa milele!”
Aisha had never heard anything like it but couldn’t help but be overjoyed that she had rescued Ole. His being alive even helped wash away the anger and contempt she held for Catlo.
The flames and smoke rose into the sky, the massive black cloud signaling hope in the enchanted land.
They rode on for several more miles along the top of the mesa, until Ole finally declared he needed a rest. They made camp in a small tangle of boulders that they hoped would conceal them from prying eyes. They fell asleep then and there were no bad dreams that night.
In the morning they awoke and found that they were not alone. Dozens of leopard men stood round about them, just staring and waiting.
“Ole, this is worse than yesterday,” said Aisha, as she slowly drew her sword from her belt.
Ole blinked awake and saw the leopard men surrounding them on every side. “You’re right, this is worse.”
16. The Courtship of Ole
When the four of them awoke and looked up at the host of leopard men, they gritted their teeth and gripped their weapons tight. But the leopard men did not attack, instead they cheered in unison and shouted with feral joy. They did not brandish their long spears but smiled and looked kindly upon the four travelers.
“What is this?” hissed Catlo, suspicious as a cornered serpent.
Musa said, “They say we are heroes and praise us for destroying the poison tree which has afflicted their land for generations.”
“I don’t like it,” said Aisha. “Hard to trust someone who drew a weapon on you yesterday.” She glared at Catlo as she spoke, but he was oblivious.
“I don’t like it either,” said Musa. “But I think they speak true. They would have attacked already otherwise. There is no guile in them, just savagery.”
They stood and crept out of the rocky enclave. The leopard men cheered once again and pointed back to the north where the poison tree’s remains still smoked in the distance. They chattered all at once and Musa translated as fast he could.
“They invite us to return with them to their village and meet their chief, Izangomma.”
“Is that wise?” asked Aisha.
“If they wanted us dead, we would be,” answered Musa. “But if we go with them, we may be fed and shown a swifter route to Jokameno.”
The cheering leopard men paused in their swift, cheery talk when they heard Musa mention Jokameno. A few of them shouted at him angrily and he responded in their own language that none of the others could understand.
“What did you just say to them?” asked Catlo.
“I told them that we seek the mountain. I did not say why. Only that we wish to see the flying gods. The dragons.”
“Have they seen dragons?” asked Aisha, anxiously.
“No,” said Musa. “But they say that no one should wake the gods, but the chosen one.”
They mounted their horses and rode alongside the leopard men who ran almost as swiftly as the horses could canter. The leopard men showed them a hidden path down the mesa and over a log bridge which crossed the river.
“I thought you said they did not build anything,” remarked Aisha to Musa.
“They don’t. This was built by my people long ago. See the mark there?” He pointed with his spear to a glyph in the post on the opposite shore. “That is the sign of my tribe, the Umoja. We were driven from this land in the tribal wars. We have not been to this place since the days of my fathers, this is a great day indeed.”
They had just crossed the bridge, when Musa jumped down from his horse and examined the ground. There were faint hooved tracks in the dried mud.
“What is it?” asked Aisha.
Musa didn’t answer her right away but asked one of the Leopard men a question. They pointed down the river then up the river.
“Well?” she asked.
Musa answered, “The great chief is still continuing his journey to Jokameno. The leopard men saw his shaman’s bundle upon his mule and left him alone. They thought it bad medicine to disturb him, so he continues, just as we are. This is good news.” He was very pleased to find out that Zahur’s body was still traveling on. “They even tied a bell to the mule to help scare away evil spirits so that it may journey on unimpeded.”
“A bell?” said Catlo, shaking his head in disgust. “Superstitious fools.”
It was just one of those strange things that Aisha decided would try to convince her of fate. Whether Zahur’s mule could and would take his body all the way to the mountain remained to be seen. It was miraculous it had made it this far.
From the river they rode up to a hillside trail that wove its way through the rocky canyonlands. It gradually zigzagged up a cliff face where they were forced to move in single file ever upward. Once on top, the landscape flattened into a rolling savannah, and Aisha thought she never would have guessed that the river and winding canyons were hidden away there at all. This was a magical land.
They roamed on for several hours until almost dusk. Rain clouds threatened in the distance, but none of the leopard men seemed concerned. A gentle slope took them down, and Aisha beheld a great black sea.
The clouds above were dark and grey, pregnant with rain and, save for a few white caps on the sea, it was as dark as shining obsidian. A village was along its shore with more than a score of huts and even a few tents that Musa said must have been stolen from other travelers. Some strange cattle with incredibly long horns that Aisha had never seen before were herded within a staked corral and even a few dogs were hanging around as pets for the leopard men’s children, who hung back, but watched the newcomers with great curiosity.
Bonfires burned in several spots round about the village and Ole asked, “They’re not planning on having us for dinner, are they?”
Musa laughed, then grew somber and said, “No.” He laughed again.
They were welcomed into the village as heroes, it was soon apparent that runners had brought word that they were coming. The chief, named Izangomma, a big pot-bellied man of late middle years stood with open arms calling welcome. He wore a wide leopard tunic and had ivory bangles all up and down both arms as well as a headdress fashioned of ivory and feathers. His black beard was just beginning to turn grey.
He hugged each of them as his own men spoke and Musa translated each of their names. He looked them all up and down and gave each of them a second hug. He might have lingered a bit long on Aisha and took a very appreciative glance at her exposed bosom, since her silken shirt had long since been torn to rags. She pulled her vest tighter around herself, but there was only so much she could do.
“Chief Izangomma wishes to know what he might do for each of you? As a gift for ridding his people of the poison tree. He says it has plagued his people since it fell to earth from the heavens in the time of his great grandfather.”
“It fell to earth?” asked Aisha.
Izangomma listened to Musa’s repeat of Aisha’s question and he went into animated story, gesturing wildly about with his arms at how they had seen the seed of the tree coming like a comet until it landed. They had gone to inspect the thing when many men were slain by it, though when they found it, it was only a sapling. Since those days it had grown much larger and didn’t move around as much.
“As much? It moved around?”
“Yes,” explained Izangomma through Musa’s translation. “When it was smaller it traveled along upon its roots, walking, and would invade our villages in the night.” The leopard men removed their villages from their favored places, along the edge of the deep black sea, to the high mesas because they thought they would be safe from its predations. But the tree followed them and ate many men, women, and children. Finally, it grew large enough that it did not follow them down from the mesa but remained there, as if it were full and bloated
like a well-fed python. It still ate men that came to test their manhood against it, or other travelers that did not know of its dangerous eating habits. They thought it was a curse from the gods upon them for the many evils of the past.
This was a revelation to Musa himself as his own tribe had heard legends of the tree but did not know how truly dangerous it was. It seemed that this was a truly awful curse upon the leopard people in particular and it made a little more sense to him now why they were as savage as they were and why they did not build nor grow things like his own tribe did.
“But,” continued Izangomma, as interpreted by Musa, “this is a day of celebration and thankfulness. We feast and wish many blessings upon you! Please allow us to give you gifts.”
Aisha said, “Musa, ask him for the gift of the swiftest way south toward Jokameno Mountain.”
Musa gave a worried look at this, but Izangomma recognized the name Jokameno and everyone sitting around them went quiet as well. Izangomma gravely repeated a few sentences worth and then Musa translated.
“He says the mountain is both sacred and cursed and we should not wish to go that way. He did speak of a passage through a dark canyon, but it is perilous. It could save us a week’s travel, but he did not think it a good idea.”
“Why not?” prodded Aisha.
Izangomma glanced about, then almost whispered, and Musa answered, “Grey Stalks haunt that place. He does not wish to say more and worries that we invite bad spirits. He says he has repaid your gift seven times over by even taking the chance of mentioning such ill things.”
“You had better drop it,” Ole urged.
Aisha asked no more questions and the revelry continued with nothing more being spoken of the subject that night.
Food was carted out, all manner of fruit and vegetables and many roasted birds, dates and nuts. Pigs were skewered and put on spits over the fires and they even prepared a butchered cow. They also served roast dog, at the sight of which Catlo balked.
“That is disgusting, serving a true and loyal animal like that,” he said. “They are savages!”
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