by Karen Prince
“No, they are fine,” Thandiwe said. “You should have seen them. Those buffalo went right past them and into the lions. I saw them climbing up a rock to watch. Eish! That Nyala can dance – Faraji too. Nerves of steel, that man. He let the buffalo touch him before he danced away! I hope they were watching properly from the city.”
Suddenly his eyes went wide with fright. For a split second Joe assumed it was part of the man’s narrative but Phomelo screamed and Joe, Nandi and Azikiwe spun round to face a large buffalo cow in full charge. She was heading straight for Joe, her neck outstretched, presenting her boss and her outstretched horns. Before Joe had time to think, Thandiwe and Azikiwe crouched down in front of him, imbedding their pointed stakes in the ground before them, pointed towards the underbelly of the beast.
28
A Surprising Revelation
Gogo Maya led her companions through the lavish gardens, and past the dying vats, in a noisy procession. Even padding softly on tiptoes the Tokoloshe could not be quiet. Ethan watched in dismay as several of them, finding the colours of the dye too irresistible, poked fingers, whole arms, and in one case, a whole body, into the vats, appearing to be delighted with the results. None of the Almohad workers remained this late in the day, except an old man who doffed his hat at them as they passed, even though it was quite obvious they had no business being there.
“Erm... could you direct us to the throne room?” Gogo Maya asked him. He pointed in the general direction of a large central structure with graceful arches and a lofty dome, extravagantly decorated in a variety of mosaic tile patterns in earthy shades of red, orange and yellow, and accented in blue.
The reception room, when they burst into it, was as quiet and as empty as the streets had been.
They interrupted two men at a game of bao.
“Everyone’s on the balcony,” one said somewhat sulkily at the interruption.
“Well, would you be kind enough to take us there! Or would you rather we wait here?” Grandma Wanyika said, wiggling her eyebrows meaningfully at her unruly clan, some of whom had begun to look at things with their hands.
One young Tokoloshe sat admiring the glinting metallic luster of a finely hammered silver and stained glass lantern, by tossing it from hand to hand. One, bright orange from the dying vats, started to unravel the gold thread from an elaborately woven wall hanging to see how it had been put together. Yet another stuffed his cheeks to bursting with ripe dates he found in a bowl, just there for the taking. Half-chewed pieces of date escaped from his mouth to splatter onto the intricately patterned, priceless looking silk carpet.
The old man beamed at Grandma superciliously. “I’ll take you,” he moaned.
“You can’t fool me. I knew he was a servant,” Grandma chuckled to Ethan as they followed the man down a passage, through a shady tiled courtyard with a fountain playing in the middle, and down another passage. “He must be one of those who has almost gained enough strength to be accepted by the Almohad, judging by his superior air, but he will still be responsible for cleaning up the mess when my boys are done exploring.”
They stopped in front of a gigantic, finely sculpted door that fit snugly into a scalloped, horseshoe shaped arch in the wall. The muffled sounds of a party drifted through the heavy wood.
Their guide threw the doors open dramatically to reveal a large room, at least thirty paces by twenty, with an open balcony overlooking the valley below. A row of drummers, straddling large, skin-covered drums along one wall, beat a frantic tattoo with their hands, while women in leopard skin skirts moved rhythmically, in a sinuous line, shaking bead encrusted rattles and gyrating their hips in time to the beat – all completely ignored by a group of lavishly robed spectators out on the balcony, jostling for turns at seven ancient looking telescopes set up to face the valley below.
“The wicked witches!” announced the guide in a voice, loud enough to be heard above the noise.
The room went gradually quiet as more and more occupants became aware of the visitors. One man, blowing a kudu horn trumpet with wild enthusiasm, was the last to realise, but eventually even he turned to stare.
“There’s nothing wicked about us,” Gogo Maya growled at the reluctant guide, and then smiled her most charming smile to the assembled Almohad, in line with not being wicked.
A strikingly handsome man in a bright turquoise robe and a bejewelled ochre headdress, with half-closed, bored-looking eyes, strolled towards them. “Ah... Gogo... Gogo...” he said, snapping his fingers, her name on the tip of his tongue.
“Yeees, Galal,” she prompted him, but she did not give him any clue as to her name.
~~~
Ethan saw Lewa immediately start to search for the thought patterns of the assembled Almohad, who were, presumably, the robed ones. He groaned; at least twenty of them were on the right side of Galal, meaning he had to process them all. Only five were on Lewa’s side. And what about the entertainment and the rest of the people, he wondered? The jumper could just as easily be one of them. They were all on his side of the room. He glanced over at Tariro and Jimoh. Both gazed intently at the Almohad, pretending to read everybody’s minds. Jimoh, at least, was pretending. Tariro was alternately glaring at them and shaking his head, muttering, “Nothing! Nothing! Not a bloody thing! Damn, I really expected something by now.”
“I’m not getting anything either.” Ethan told him.
Fisi gripped Ethan firmly by the shoulders from behind and hissed into his ear. “It will come once you start, Ethan, just start.”
Ethan took a deep breath and slowed his thoughts down. He tentatively studied a woman in a flowing, deep red dress, elaborately embroidered in yellow, green and silver, standing on the extreme right.
“What is this now? Just when we were getting to the best part of the game,” she was thinking.
“Oh, no! Witches! I wonder if they can...?” thought the woman next to her, just as colourfully dressed, her face turning expressionless suddenly.
“It’s true! They don’t seem to be affected at all,” thought the man standing on the other side of her, his face screwed up in concentration. Ethan guessed he was trying to make Gogo Maya or Grandma Wanyika do something they didn’t want to, an impossible task even without a protective amulet.
“Nice looking,” a sultry looking woman said out loud, bringing Ethan up short. She was looking at Fisi with a predatory glint in her eye. Fisi glared back at her.
“I am still getting no thought patterns, Ethan,” Tarriro said worriedly. “Is anyone thinking about the game below? Surely if Joe or anyone has been hurt, one of the Almohad will think about that.”
“No, Tariro, they are pretty much thinking about themselves,” Ethan said ruefully. Tariro looked so frustrated at not being able to tap into the magic that Ethan felt really sorry for him.
“Keep scanning, Ethan,” Salih said, sensing his distraction.
Ethan passed over the pet tiger and started on the entertainers. Surprisingly, after reading a couple of them, it appeared that they performed because they wanted to. He wondered if they had been coerced into believing that, or if they were Almohad who liked dancing and showing off.
He stopped at the last man in his group. An intense youth with a disdainful look on his face, standing where Galal had stood moments before. “These are not witches!” the man was thinking. “That one is as pale as my slave!” His hand hovered above an ornately carved sword hilt, which he wore strapped to his belt.
“Oh no, Salih, no one said there would be weapons!” Ethan whispered, moving closer to the leopard.
Galal gave up trying to recall Gogo Maya’s name. “Welcome,” he drawled in tones of carefully studied boredom.
“We brought you a small house gift,” Lewa said, stepping out from behind Tariro, who seemed to have given up on his attempts to read the Almohads’ minds and had joined Aaron in protecting her instead. Lewa offered the amulet to Galal. “Well, it’s more of a jewel, actually,” she said. “We have heard of your fondne
ss for jewels. Plus, you already have everything for the home.” She gestured pointedly at the richly decorated balcony, and then motioned to put the amulet over his head. “May I?”
Galal glanced from the fearsome scowl on Tariro’s face to the sparkling jewel as if he wasn’t sure what to make of either, but then bowed his head towards Lewa, his green eyes glinting at the sight of the gems.
Ethan exhaled softly. Fortunately the man was not quite ready to take the risk that Tariro might be a powerful witch, which was just as well because Ethan could see that Tariro was not bluffing. He really was prepared to put himself at risk for Lewa because he thought he could heal himself.
“It’s a trick!” shrieked an angry young lady, almost knocking Tariro over in her rush to snatch the amulet from Lewa. Even her hair looked furious as it swung forwards across her face before snapping back into its carefully bobbed style. Her intense black eyes glared accusingly at Lewa. “They want to control you with it,” she said to Galal.
Lewa danced away from her and slipped it over Galal’s still bowed head. Ethan hitched his breath again as Lewa gripped Galal’s reluctant face firmly between her hands and turned his ear towards her to whisper into it.
The Almohad froze in startled confusion. Among the general gasps of indignation, Ethan picked up that no one ever touched Galal, and here was this slip of a girl ensnaring him and pulling him towards her against his will.
But Galal did not rip Lewa’s head off as some of the Almohad expected. Instead he lifted his own head abruptly, stared at Gogo Maya and said, “Really? Here?”
Gogo Maya nodded.
“I have heard of this thing,” he said, his eyes darting around the room wildly. “Who?”
It must be the dark-eyed girl, Ethan decided, or why would she have tried to snatch the amulet? Besides, she looked ready for another attack.
“It’s the girl!” Tariro made a grab for her, obviously coming to the same conclusion.
Galal backed away from the girl as if she had scalded him. The petulant youth with the sword struck like lightning. One moment he was standing behind Galal and the next he had his sword at Tariro’s throat. Ethan went cold. The youth pressed his sword against Tariro’s larynx for less than a heartbeat before collapsing to the floor, writhing in agony, his sword clanging to the floor.
What the hell’s the matter with him? Ethan thought but immediately realised that he, himself, was the cause of the young man’s problem. He could not help himself. A strong current of sticky gel-like air seemed to ripple outwards from him, and he could almost see it soak into the writhing youth. He glanced at Salih to see if the leopard was channelling some new power through him, but Salih looked as startled as everyone else. Ethan realised with a sense of wonder that he was doing it on his own. Some deep instinct had made him jump to Tariro’s defence.
And what was it the youth had been thinking just before Lewa gave Galal the amulet? “That one is as pale as my slave.” The full impact of that thought hit Ethan. Who else in this strange world looked like him? With a cold certainty he knew that this young man was thinking about Joe and his mood turned hateful.
He had no idea where he got the idea from, but he watched those sticky tendrils of his search out the specialised, threadlike, nerve endings in every part of the youth’s body. Then he unleashed a cascade of neurotransmitters up the youth’s spine to his cerebral cortex, where he could properly appreciate a crushing type of pain sensation. Ethan smiled with satisfaction. He wasn’t really harming the youth, he told himself. It wasn’t real pain, only the impression of pain…
Suddenly, he almost lost his breath as the painful sensation doubled back upon himself and he realised he did not know how to let go.
All along the walls, there had been an unsheathing of weapons, from jewelled daggers, to ornately carved axes. Even the kudu horn became a weapon of sorts when swivelled in the musician’s hand. The dark-eyed girl stood with her hands on her hips, glaring at Ethan, but even she was afraid to touch him. He was vaguely aware of Salih nudging him, but his head buzzed so badly he couldn’t hear what the leopard was saying till cool hands swung his face around and he found himself staring into Jimoh’s dark, worried eyes.
“No, Ethan, is not good to hurt somebody,” the boy said quietly.
Abruptly, the man on the floor lay still and Ethan gave a jerk, shuddering with the power that still pulsed around him.
Tariro scrambled up and stood shielding Lewa, his hand gripping his throat, his face a picture of stunned awe. “Yussy, Ethan, how the hell did you do that?” he croaked.
“Well, not that evil, anyway,” Gogo Maya said, with a satisfied grin at Ethan and then glared pointedly at the unsheathed weapons.
The angry black-eyed girl rushed to help the man on the floor.
“Don’t you dare touch him, Praxades!” Galal bellowed. He stepped forward to protect the youth, and then appeared to have second thoughts because he stepped back from the snivelling youth just as smartly, staring wildly around the room.
Some of Galal’s people, sensing his confusion, already had mutinous thoughts. Ethan caught several vague snippets of plans involving new leaders. But most seemed irritated with the girl. What has Praxades done now? they were wondering.
When he looked at her closely, the girl, Praxades, looked pretty stricken herself. Ethan shook his head. She has no idea what’s going on either, he realised.
“I knew you could do it!” Lewa grinned at Ethan, and he tried unsuccessfully to hide a triumphant smile.
“I didn’t,” Gogo Maya added sternly. “You’d better not do it again.”
Most of the Almohad backed off in shock, swivelling their faces backwards and forwards between Galal, Gogo Maya and Grandma Wanyika for direction. A few braver ones stood glowering at Ethan.
“What the hell is going on?” Praxades advanced on him. “What did you do to Kitoko?”
Salih stepped in front of Ethan protectively. Gogo Maya smiled at the girl as if she were demented, took her firmly by the hand and lead her to a divan while Lewa helped the youth, Kitoko, to his feet.
“Don’t be a big baby,” Lewa said to Kitoko. “It was just a bit of pain. You will be fine in a minute.”
Kitoko slumped down beside the tiger, putting his hand on its back for support. Ethan noticed the tiger pulled away slightly. Was that revulsion he saw on its face? Or was it intelligent enough to wonder if Kitoko was about to jump it. Some of the Almohad grinned at the young man’s discomfort. Not very nice people, thought Ethan.
“I’m sorry,” he said to Kitoko, actually feeling quite guilty now that he had let go of the strange power. “Overcome with anxiety for my friend.”
“Speaking of which,” Fisi said in a cold, threatening tone, “he has another friend here that he may be suffering a pang of anxiety over. A young man. Same fair skin and golden hair. I can’t see him here. Is he perhaps busy doing something... irresponsible... in the valley below?”
Completely forgetting their part in the mission, which was to guard one Almohad each, and shoot him with a sleeping draught if he turned out to be the jumper, the Tokoloshe rushed over to the balcony to look for Joe. Some had the sense to look through the ancient-looking telescopes abandoned by the Almohad, but most just leaned precariously over the balcony for a better view into the jungle below.
“First things first,” Galal blurted out. He had a tight grip on his amulet, and he glanced anxiously over his shoulder at the man, Kitoko. He cleared his throat and addressed his people. “The witch tells me we have been harbouring a jumper.”
The Almohad moved apart suddenly as if their companions had become electrically charged.
“What’s a jumper?” a pretty woman in a cerise robe said.
“Your worst nightmare,” Gogo Maya said in a low, dramatic voice with just the right mixture of doom and authority. As the self-proclaimed expert on all things jumper, she went on to explain. Ethan could tell from some of the older Almohad that she wasn’t getting it all right, but even
the ones who had heard of jumpers radiated confusion. There had been no sudden deaths to mark the arrival of a jumper. One starkly beautiful lady, with shiny mahogany hair down to her waist, even did a mental count of all the servants, but shook her head. Everyone had known each other for years. Could the jumper have been here that long? she thought. Could it be amongst the captives?
“Oh for God’s sake, stop snivelling!” the tiger snapped suddenly, pushing Kitoko, the swordsman, aside.
“That voice!” Gogo Maya gasped. “The jumper is the tiger!”
“Gogo! I see him! I see the boy! There has been an accident!” Akin, the Tokoloshe, yelled from the edge of the balcony. He pulled the looking glass off its mount and stumbled over to Gogo Maya with it.
29
A Perfectly Valid Reason
“Joe!” Tariro gasped. He looked imploringly at Lewa, but she shooed him away.
“Go!” she said, “we will take care of this.”
As Tariro barrelled his way out of the balcony room by a side door Ethan tried to slip out after him, hoping Lewa knew what she was doing with the jumper. He needed to help Joe, and he had to tell Tariro about the blood before he got himself into any more trouble. Several of the Almohad had taken advantage of the confusion and bolted outside before him.
“No, Ethan! Stay!” Salih called into Ethan’s head. “You are the only one who can do this. You have Gogo Maya’s power. She is too weak. Lewa is powerful but her talents lie elsewhere. Do not let her down. You will need her to get home.”
Fisi vacillated for a moment and then said, “Well, I am going. I don’t think I can do anything here, and I suspect Tariro will get himself into trouble with the Almohad even if they can’t beguile him.”
“We will fetch Joe,” Jimoh said. “You try to help Gogo Maya with strange powers of the head, Ethan.” Then he slipped out behind Fisi.