Mark of the Lion (14 page)

“Hold your fire. It’s dead,” Jade said and rose from her position. The pain in her knee disappeared. “Madeline, how’s the boy?”

“He’s fine,” Madeline answered. “Just some scrapes.” She nodded to the hyena. “Are you sure it’s dead?” Jelani broke free of Madeline’s protective embrace and plunged his knife up to the hilt in the hyena’s throat.

“It is now,” Jade said.

“Bloody hell,” muttered Colridge. “The damned brute went for the
boma
goats after all.”

“He went for Jelani,” said Jade.

Neville squatted down beside the hyena and examined the body. “Marvelous shot, Miss Jade,” he said. “You went straight into the heart and … My word.”

“What?” Jade knelt beside him.

Hascombe leaned over her shoulder for a better look. “I don’t see …”

Lord Colridge stood by Madeline and helped her to her feet. “Well, are you going to tell us what it is or are you all going to stammer like imbeciles?” he scolded.

“You’ll want to see this for yourself, Miles,” said Hascombe.

“See what?” demanded Madeline.

“The fur’s been shaved into geometric patterns,” said Jade. “And there’s a bone knotted into the neck ruff.”

“It is the sign of the
laibon
, memsabu,” Jelani explained. “We killed his hyena.”

 

Later that night, the man crouched by the now smoldering fire and thought about what had happened. His beast was dead. He had felt his own will driven from it in its death throes. He also knew who had killed his creature. Had he not seen her through the beast’s very eyes? In his rage he slammed his fist into the ground. How dare the Kikuyu attempt to defy him! Calling for that stupid old man to help. Thinking his magic was stronger because he was under a king’s protection. What could an English king do here? He let his hatred ferment inside him. It would be useful later, a power to be tapped.

While the man had watched earlier through his animal’s eyes, the fool Colridge tried to set a trap for his familiar. But the man was too clever for them all. He, like his teacher, could control the animal, but unlike his teacher, he had learned more, much more. And why not? Wasn’t he smarter? Wasn’t his teacher a tool to be used just like the hyena? The human bone knotted in the ruff had turned the animal away from the old nanny towards human prey. When his familiar had hesitated, he directed the hyena with barely whispered incantations away from the trap and into the
boma
, towards the scent of the boy and the women.

His eyes mirrored the fire’s sparks as they flashed in anger. That woman! She would bear watching, and eventually, she would have to pay. But all in good time.

All predators learned patience.

THE SOPWITH CAMEL PLUMMETED INTO A nosedive, wind screaming over its wings. Jade squinted against the wing’s reflective glare and ran across the field.
I must warn him before he goes into a death roll.
Too late. The plane hit the earth with a sickening thud. A shout came to her throat, drowned out by the maniacal laughter of the shell-shocked wounded all around her. Bloody hands snatched at her hair and clothes. She plowed her way through the endless mob, but as she reached the downed plane and the pilot, a hideously large hyena sprang in between her and David, snarling in defense of its carrion prey. Jade launched a right hook at the brute’s slavering jaws. Her fist swung in the empty air, and she woke in a cold sweat. Outside, a sweet, high-pitched chirp announced another beautiful, cool morning.

Jade lay panting on her cot and sorted nightmare from fact. Last night’s hyena was real, no doubt about that, but it hadn’t attacked David. Just as she felt something akin to relief, the weight of the ring on her chest reminded her of that other reality, David’s death.

“I’m sorry, David,” she whispered and clutched the ring through her bush shirt. “I told you I’d find your brother, and I will. You have to give me more time, please.”

Her boots stood upright beside her cot, and Jade shook each one upside down before slipping them on. The action itself, perfectly normal and advisable on safari, triggered another place-time distortion. She caught herself looking for Beverly and listening for the commandant’s call.

“I need some coffee,” she muttered and stepped out into the cool air of a highland morning.

Miles Colridge, sitting at the table, ignored her disheveled appearance and greeted her. “Good morning, Miss del Cameron. Splendid morning. I trust you slept well. Good, good,” he said without waiting for her answer. “There’s coffee in the pot. Help yourself.”

“Good morning. And thank you, I believe I shall.” She picked up the pot with a towel and poured a mug full of the black brew. The fragrant aroma wafted up to her nostrils, and she inhaled deeply with a contented sigh.

“By thunder, Miss del Cameron, that was fine shooting last night. I underestimated you, and Mrs. Thompson, too, it seems. If I understand the story rightly, she pulled the Kikuyu boy out of the way.” He chuckled and puffed out his bushy mustache. “Lady Penelope would’ve been proud.”

“Your wife, sir?” inquired Jade. She blew on her coffee and took a tentative sip. Nectar!

“My late wife, yes. She loved Africa. Loved everything about it.” The old man stared into his own cup, and Jade detected a twinge of sorrow cross his grizzled features. She waited patiently for him to continue or not, as he chose, and offered a word of support.

“A fine lady,” she said as a statement rather than a question and took a seat. The sun hadn’t risen yet, but it would soon enough. Most of the stars were invisible, and there was an expectancy in the air, a stirring of hidden life in preparation. The waning moon hung low over the western horizon as though it waited for permission to set.

“A remarkably fine lady,” said Colridge eventually.

Jade wanted to ask how and when she had died and whether or not they had children, but British reserve wasn’t something one pried into, especially when speaking with an aristocrat. But something in his fidgety mannerism told her he needed to speak, wanted to speak, wanted to be asked. She did. “May I be so bold, sir, as to inquire?”

“A year ago. One of the first influenza victims.”

“I’m sorry, sir. It’s a loss to you and to the colony.”

The old man looked up gratefully. “Good of you to say so, Miss del Cameron. Our son survived the war. He’s in London now, but I daresay he’ll come home soon.” A noise outside the other tent roused him to his old self. “Ah, Thompson, Mrs. Thompson, you are awake. About time, the sun is already rising.”

True to his decree, the sun sent its first golden spears over the hills and spilled light into the campsite. Jade marveled at the man’s sense of timing. It spoke of a long partnership with Africa.

“Good morning, Lord Colridge, Miss Jade,” said Neville. “Hascombe rode back to his ranch last night after all?”

“Just a few miles away,” answered Colridge. “No spare tent. Sensible thing to do. Did say he’d come back for breakfast. Should be here now, in fact.”

Harry Hascombe, unlike the sun, did not obey Lord Colridge’s imperial commands. It was a full half an hour later before he rode up on Whiskey, about the time they were digging into warm, sweet scones and slices of salted bacon, fried crisp. Jade was in heaven; well, nearly so. A large side of golden hashed brown potatoes seasoned with bits of onion would have done the trick. Jade looked up from her plate and noticed that the powerful rancher had shaved.

Harry seated himself in the coffee-stained chair and helped himself to a heaping plate of food. Finally, she could ask about the incredible hyena hide. Harry brought up the subject himself.

“Well, Miles,” he said, “still doubt the witchcraft stories?” Colridge only snorted loudly. “Should be quite an interesting trophy for you, Miss del Cameron.”

“I’ve never seen or heard of anything like that before,” Jade said. “That is, except for incomplete references made around here and Jelani’s statement. Would someone explain it?”

Harry grinned broadly. “Most happy to oblige a pretty huntress,” he said with a slight bow. “The Kikuyu told our host here that a witch sent a familiar, if you please, after their flocks and themselves. Like any good, God-fearing Englishman, he sorts out the witchcraft angle but goes after the hyena. This time, the Kikuyu were right. Someone owned that hyena. That geometric pattern shaved into the fur had some meaning, perhaps the witch’s secret name.”

“Like a cattle brand?” suggested Jade.

“Exactly,” agreed Harry. “The bead in the fur may be a talisman or mark of power. Or maybe it all worked together to call up some magic power on the animal, an incantation.” He drained his cup. “Of course, I’m speculating. Witches don’t readily reveal their secrets.”

“And where would this witch live?” asked Jade. Harry extended his arms to indicate anywhere in Africa. Jade persisted. “Surely he must have a tribe?”

“A
laibon
is a shaman,” explained Harry. “He could be Maasai or one of the tribes related to the Maasai. Perhaps the Samburu. These
laibon
generally deal with day-to-day problems such as illnesses, fidelity, or bringing rainfall. One class helps the warriors defeat enemies. The English tend to see these men as seats of power. In reality, elders make the decisions for the
kralls
, or villages.” He paused and thought a moment. “Well, maybe not the warrior-class villages.”

“So if we went to the closest Maasai village,” Jade said in summary, “we might find this
laibon
and confront him?”

Harry leaned forward in his chair, his brow furrowed, and his square-cut jaw set. “Well, if you do, you’ll do it without me. Those men may or may not have power, but I’m not making any enemies of the Maasai.”

“Quite right,” Colridge declared. “No need to borrow trouble. We killed the brute animal. Problem solved.”

“Where is the hide now?” asked Madeline.

“I took the brute, as Miles called him, back last night and skinned it out, Mrs. Thompson,” said Harry. “It’s already curing on the side of a hut for Miss del Cameron.” He touched the brim of his hat in salutation. “And may I congratulate you in advance of your victory celebration?”

“What victory celebration?” asked Jade in confusion.

“Er, the Kikuyu wish to hold a
ngoma
for you tonight at the village,” said Colridge. “That is their name for a big celebration dance.”

“What a smashing addition to your article, Jade,” said Madeline. “That is, if we stay for it,” she added, looking at Lord Colridge like a pleading child.

“
I’ve
no time for it,” said Colridge, “but I don’t deny Miss del Cameron should be there. Thompson, I depend on you and your wife to accompany her. Hascombe, too. Myself, I prefer the Muthaiga for celebrating. Miss del Cameron, remember I have a dinner party set for you at the club on Saturday. Of course, Harry, you are invited, as well as Mr. and Mrs. Thompson.”

Jade again thanked the old lord. Neville looked as though he would burst with pride, Madeline appeared delighted, and Harry simply sat looking supremely amused by it all.

“Might I make another suggestion, Miles,” Harry said and continued since the question was rhetorical at best. “As you are leaving this jolly group, allow me to take them to my ranch for the day. I’ll escort them to the
ngoma
tonight, bring them back to my ranch, and see them and your horses safely back at your farm tomorrow.”

Jade felt something strike her booted foot. She looked sideways to see Madeline smiling impishly, mouth incompletely hidden behind her hand. Jade kicked her back.

“Very good, Hascombe,” replied Colridge. “I depend on you and Thompson, too.”

“We should return to the farm,” said Neville. “I have plans for a water-powered sawmill, and I must get started with the flumes. If Harry takes care of Miss Jade, I’d be free to carry on.”

“Good lad! That’s the kind of dedication that makes success, but steam is what you want,” stated Colridge in a tone that allowed no debate. “I can arrange for you to purchase an old locomotive just as I have for minimal cost. Make you a loan if need be. We’ll discuss it when you return the horses. Wouldn’t think of you leaving your wife out of this or behind with a scoundrel like Hascombe.” He chuckled and winked at Madeline.

“I don’t want to be a bother,” said Jade. “Surely we can stay here at camp.”

Madeline’s eyes opened wide. “Nonsense, Jade! You
must
see Harry’s ranch, for the Maasai if for no other reason. They’re really a marvelous race.”

Jade’s interest grew. “
You
have Maasai working on your ranch, Mr. Hascombe? Could there be a
laibon
there as well?”

“I only hire a few warrior-class men who work in return for one of the calves. They are by far the best cattlemen you can ever hope to meet,” he answered.