“Different people, different customs,” said Aisha with a laugh.
As they all sat cross-legged in a semi-circle to enjoy the feast, Chief Izangomma was eager to learn more of their names and where they were from. He had certainly heard of their interest in Jokameno but judiciously made no more mention of it. His men must have informed him of the closeness between Aisha and Ole because, when it came time to hear of their past, he assumed they were husband and wife. Catlo laughed very loud when Musa translated that.
“No,” said Aisha, “we are not married. Just interested.”
Ole blushed.
Izangomma clapped his hands and appeared very pleased. He stood, smiling and shouting something to his people, which made them all sigh in content and relief, he then rattled off something and ushered some of his folk away as if to fetch someone.
“What did he say?” Aisha asked Musa.
“He said he was very glad to hear it, because since you two are not married, it will now be permissible for his son to attempt a courtship.”
“I’m very flattered, but I am not interested in his son.” She shook her head toward the chief.
Izangomma’s eyebrows furrowed as a deep frown covered his face, he then asked Musa to explain what was said.
Musa tried to iterate, “Oh no, I’m afraid that his son wouldn’t be interested in you, he likes men…and he especially likes the big pale man.”
Ole spit out his drink.
Aisha’s jaw dropped.
Catlo laughed again, saying, “Different people, different customs.”
A huge man with a great pot-belly strode up behind the chief. It was easy to see that it was his son, the resemblance was striking, though the son was of much greater stature. He was easily as tall as Ole, but significantly heavier.
Chief Izangomma said something as a way of introduction between Ole and his son. Musa translated, “When the son was a baby, he was stolen by a witch who gave him strange herbs from the mountains beyond the black sea. He grew to be four times the size of a regular man and ate the witch out of house and home. She brought him back because the giant child was too much of a burden.”
Aisha and Ole looked to each other in disbelief. Aisha said, “He may be the weight of four men.”
Ole proclaimed, “Tell the chief, that I am flattered as well, but that I am not interested. Tell him I intend to marry the woman Aisha, if that will help ease the situation.”
Musa repeated the statement and the chief and his son laughed, though the humor of such was not there.
Izangomma made a demand and pointed from Aisha to his son then back to Ole, then rudely told Musa to tell them. He sat back on his haunches and it seemed that his congeniality was gone.
“You said something unkind,” Aisha whispered to Ole.
“No, I didn’t. They just took it wrong,” Ole said.
“Whatever you said, now we’ve gone from friends to dessert,” muttered Catlo angrily.
Musa repeated the chief’s demands. “Chief Izangomma says that since you are not married then you can break off the engagement.”
“And if I don’t want to?” Ole asked, looking the chief dead in the eye.
“Then there must be a duel, with the winner claims the prize.”
“All right.” Ole threw down his haunch of steer. “I gotta fight the big guy to end this?”
The assembled leopard men gasped, and the chief shouted them down, then sternly shouted at Ole.
Musa continued, “It cannot be you that fights for yourself. It must be the woman if she wishes to claim you.”
“What? Against fatty there?” said Ole in surprise.
“Yes,” answered Musa. “You are the prize.”
“With what weapons?” asked Aisha.
“No weapons. They do not wish blood to be shed. It will be hand to hand, with the winner claiming Ole.”
Ole furrowed his brow and shook his head. “This is not right.”
“Somehow I think you’ve been on the other end of this a time or two,” said Aisha.
“Maybe I have, but I never thought a man would be fighting over me.” He gave an involuntary shiver.
“Well, I don’t have to. I could leave you here to become his new bride,” she teased.
“Something tells me that wouldn’t go over real well.” Ole cracked his knuckles.
“I can handle this.” She pushed her forearm against his chest. “I’m as strong as any man alive.”
“He’s a big boy. Looks like a world class wrestler,” said Ole.
“Tell them I will fight for my man,” shouted Aisha as she stood and faced the flabby giant.
Musa repeated her challenge.
The leopard men shouted and jostled. The son folded his arms across his great chest and let out a deep booming laugh. He called to his folk and someone led one of the long-horned cows into the square. The son stood beside the cow, he breathed deeply then hooked his arms under the beast and hefted it full off the ground. He dropped it back down and slapped his hands together in grim satisfaction.
Musa said, “He thinks to intimidate you into giving up before you have even begun. He is trying to let you save face.”
“Save face? By lifting a cow? I can’t lift a cow, but I’m still going to knock that smug look off his face,” said Aisha.
The leopard men prepared a circle along the beach near the black sea. Aisha marveled at the glass-like stillness that now held the dark water in thrall. It held starlight like pitch and she couldn’t help but wonder what lay beyond that dark sea. The map she had read told nothing about the lands to the west, only that Jokameno lay to the south.
One of the leopard men took hold of a rope with one end attached to a staff which was slammed into the sand. He then used his foot to mark an exact circle in the sand. It was about twenty feet wide.
The sand was warm and grey, as well as coarse and thick. She noticed that even if she kicked it, it was wet and clumpy enough that it wouldn’t make dust or anything for tricks such as blindness. There were also no stones that she could see, so there was unlikely to be anything that might break a bone beyond just a general thrashing of bodies.
She knew she was stronger than the average woman or man, but this was a very big and heavy man. He was fat, but obviously as strong as they come. It wouldn’t do to be caught by him. What might be the best way to defeat him?
“What are the rules?” she asked Musa.
Musa talked with Izangomma who laughed and said something short and to the point.
“He said there are no rules and it would not be insulting if you were to give up now.”
“Not likely.” She rubbed her hands together and glared at the fat son.
Torches illuminated the beach. Catlo munched on a turkey leg as the crowd gathered about the circle. Ole sat in a place of honor beside the chief.
“This is humiliating,” he said.
“I think now you know how most women feel in all of your competitions.”
“No, I don’t,” he protested. “Women like being fought over, men don’t.”
She smirked and Catlo guffawed.
Musa related something to the chief who now shouted for silence. “Chief Izangomma says it is not too late for you to concede defeat and step down,” he said to Aisha.
“Like hell,” she retorted.
Musa said, “He understood that. I do not need to translate.”
A circle of warriors appeared with tall kite shields almost as tall as the warriors themselves which averaged a foot taller than Aisha herself. There were tribal designs and the skins of many different animals upon them and it was clear it was a skill the Leopard men took much pride in.
The warriors arranged themselves in a circle about the prearranged site, leaving only the one gap for the contestants to enter. A pair of warriors stood ready to close that gap once Aisha and the chief’s son entered.
“This is crazy,” muttered Aisha. “It’s not like you are interested.” She turned Ole.
&n
bsp; Musa said, “He is their royalty and they are hoping for an heir. Izangomma said he wants a grandchild.”
Aisha shot a look at Musa. “You can’t be serious.”
“They believe that if the gods will it, that it is possible for a man to bear a child.”
“Why doesn’t he just lay with a woman?”
Musa turned and asked the chief’s son. The big man rattled off something and made a clenching sound with his hands. Then he gave them an evil grin. Musa answered, “He doesn’t like women. He says they break too easily.”
Ole overheard them and crushed his drinking vessel in hand. “I’m going to have to kill people.”
“Not if I win,” said Aisha.
Izangomma spoke to his tribe and there was a moment of silence then elated cheering as Aisha and the son were led into the makeshift arena.
The chief’s son, who Aisha still didn’t know the name of, wore only a loin cloth, the top of which was lost beneath his bulging belly. His hair was close cropped, and his beady eyes looked almost black in the twilight, but his vile grin of white teeth shone like the full moon at midnight. His hands were among the biggest she had ever seen and after the feat of his lifting a cow, it wasn’t hard to imagine him being able to break the neck of a bull and twist it off. No wonder he had said that women broke too easily. He was a massive, misguided behemoth, with appetites that had never been given limits by his father.
She would amend that.
Aisha herself wore only her vest and battered leggings. She was not allowed her boots. The sand felt strange beneath her toes. It had been a long time since she had walked barefoot in the sand. The Leopard men had been watchful making sure she had no weapons or anything that could be used against the princeling son. Even her bracelet of silver and headband were taken away.
The warriors began a chant, it was similar enough to the one they had cried at the river when they first saw them. “Da dusa! Da dusa! Da dusa! Da dusa! Hie!” They repeated this continually and Aisha could no longer hear anything else.
Chief Izangomma loomed over the shoulder of one of the warriors and said something short and to the point to his son. Aisha didn’t have Musa to translate but she guessed the meaning was something akin to take it easy on her and make it last.
She would make them regret that. She took a handful of sand and felt the grit between her fingers, saying, “Sowing dragon teeth.”
The fat giant charged with his arms thrown wide, she ducked but still the great reach of his fist caught the side of her head and sent her flying to the ground. He stormed after her and stomped. She rolled away just in time to avoid broken ribs or worse.
Maybe Izangomma had said end this quickly?
Aisha, the quicker of the two, scrambled around behind him. She leapt upon his back and wrapped a forearm around his bull neck to squeeze the life out of him. His fat didn’t allow him to reach behind and peel her off but she knew he could fall and crush her beneath his sweaty back. She had to let go and scramble away as he slammed into the sand.
She kicked her heel into his iron jaw but on the second attempt he caught her ankle and dragged her close. He moved to roll his flabby bulk on top of her, pinning her to the ground. She kicked his groin with the ball of her foot and lifted him off the ground an inch or two. He blinked in pain, gasped, and rolled away. He hit his knees cradling himself.
On her feet, she lanced closer to kick him in the face, but he shielded with his thick forearm and knocked her aside. He jumped up and came for her again with sausage-like fingers that flexed in and out, ready to wrap about her neck and squeeze, his face a mask of mindless rage.
She dodged away from his attack as he barreled into the zebra skin shields of the warriors behind. They braced each other but were nearly knocked asunder by his wild assault.
Aisha was strong, strong as any woman alive thanks to the drops of dragon blood in her veins, but even she was beginning to tire from the relentless assault of this man mountain. He didn’t even have labored breathing yet despite his huge bulk. He slapped his belly, as if mocking the very conundrum that now plagued her mind. He stepped closer, slapping that round stomach as if daring her to strike him.
She took the dare and punched with all her strength. His organs flattened behind her fist. Air escaped his lungs and he gasped at her strike, but like a trap-door spider he had wanted this, and his hands caught her shoulders and pulled her in.
The giant lunged, grasping Aisha in a bear hug, trapping her arms and lifting her off the ground. The gathering laughed as the son shouted in triumph. He held her before him and crowed like a wild ape. His vile grin split his face with awful mirth. Aisha had one way of fighting back and she took it. She slammed her forehead into his nose again and again, breaking the nose and pulping the lips.
The blinded giant dropped her and smacked her away, but she came back and slammed an elbow to the back of his drooping head. He fell to his knees and she slammed the palms of her hands over his ears, punched his temples, and struck a backhand to his throat. He collapsed unconscious.
She wiped the blood from her face, pointed at Ole and shouted, “He is my man!”
17. Trail of the Old Ones
They bid farewell to the Leopard tribe that next morning, having been equipped with more food and water for their journey as well as given direction of the swiftest path to the south. They were to follow a tributary that flowed from the Black Sea that would eventually meet up with the Hermonthis River.
There were slight misgivings from Chief Izangomma about the loss of his son finding a new ‘bride’ but since Aisha had not slain the man, there was nothing they could do in protest. The fat giant had lost the contest to a woman and had been stricken a greater blow before the tribe than he could have possibly expected.
Before they left the borders of the village, Izangomma warned them once more as he was translated through Musa, “Keep to the path and when you reach the valley of mists, you must keep hold of the rope there. Carry torches as well. If you lose your way you are doomed, for the Grey Stalks will devour anyone who becomes lost there.”
“What are the Grey Stalks?” asked Aisha.
Izangomma shook his head. “No one has ever seen them clearly and lived. They are long skinny shadows that move about in the mists. They do not approach anyone wielding flame, but it is certain they feed upon the lost. My folk avoid them if they can, but since you said you are in need of the swiftest route, I have told you, but it is the most dangerous, too.”
“My thanks, Chief Izangomma,” said Aisha.
There was reluctance in the chief’s face, but he shook her hand as they parted. He leaned in and whispered in passable Valchiki. “I know what it is you seek. The gods of the mountain will not allow it. You all ride to your doom, unless…”
Aisha was shocked that he spoke a common tongue and had kept it a secret until now.
Izangomma squeezed her hand. “I serve the old ones and I must warn you, you were my guest and accorded all the honor of a guest, but if me or my folk should see you again, we must be obliged to kill you. You seek to upset the balance of things.”
“Why tell me this now?”
“You are leaving the protection of being my guest and do not think I am not grateful for your destroying the poison tree, I am eternally grateful for that monster to be dead, but you seek the unknowable, the obscene, the sacred. We cannot turn a blind eye to what you seek to do. It is heresy.”
“What do you think I want to do at the mountain?” she asked.
Izangomma’s eyes narrowed and he swallowed hard as if he fought off the flaring anger in his heart. “You are thieves. You plan on plundering the tomb of the flying gods. It is blasphemous. I warn you now, that my folk will demand we come after you and we shall, though we will take the longer path. But we will come.”
“I am not interested in the treasure of dragons. I want revenge on the one that slew my father.”
He looked deep into her eyes and realization dawned like the rising sun. �
��No wonder you defeated my enchanted son. You have the blood of dragons in you!” He looked about nervously, realizing that they had spent longer than he meant whispering privately and his secret might be revealed. “What if you are the one?”
“What one?”
“One that the dream shamans have prophesied of?”
“I am no chosen one,” she said.
Izangomma shook his head. “Maybe you are and maybe you aren’t. But you have been warned. We are coming and we shall see. Farewell, whatever the end. May you keep to the path.” He then turned and strode back to his hut.
“What was that about?” asked Ole.
“He speaks Valchiki just fine, He was playing with us all along,” she said.
“Then why reveal it now? To what end?” He stared back at the retreating chief.
“He said that we were guests but no longer and now that he has an idea of what we plan to do at the mountain, he and his folk will follow and kill us.”
“Maybe I should have stayed and joined the tribe,” joked Ole.
Aisha didn’t laugh.
“Are they attacking us now? They don’t look like they are preparing yet.”
She shook her head. “Not yet. He said they wouldn’t even take this path in pursuit of us, but he swore they would come and try to kill us, unless…”
“Unless what?”
Aisha looked to the horizon and the clouds draped greyly there almost looked like a sinuous dragon. “He wondered if I might be some kind of prophesied chosen one.”
Ole grinned, asking, “And are you?”
“No. Of course not.”
“Then we had best hurry and catch up to the others and do what we are gonna do.”
“Plunder the mountain?” she said, as she swung into the saddle.
“You got it,” said Ole with a chuckle.
They rode on ahead and caught up to Catlo and Musa.
“That chief sure seemed to think you were something special. Someone he could talk to,” said Catlo.
“Maybe he just knows a capable person when he sees one,” she retorted.
Catlo frowned but said nothing more as they rode away to the southwest.
Sowing Dragon Teeth Page 17
