And then, within a few fevered moments, it was over.
Having hurdled the lake, the fire rapidly swept past them. Smoke hissed from scorched trees and charred swathes of stubby grass, but the murderous red-and-yellow jags were rapidly disappearing into the valley beyond them. And just as the water had been a mirror to the flames, now the sky was a reflection of the burnt land left in its wake.
A wasteland of the dead.
22
As morning finally pulled itself over the horizon, Derek could scarcely believe what it revealed. What had been an endless sunset of waist-high grass and a vast army of woodland was now a graveyard of burnt soldiers, some felled, some still on their feet. Most of the smaller trees had been completely incinerated and the larger ones now appeared like brittle skeletons, pencil sketches rendered on a charcoal canvas. The corpses of various animals and birds lay strewn at regular intervals. Scorched hooves, horns and bones lay among an ocean of seared rocks. The light-blue horizon jarred against the black land.
Derek found it difficult to believe that he had survived the wildfire with only a few minor burns on his arms and legs. Fortunately, the cold water from the lake had limited most of the damage and a fresh coat of mud had done much to soothe what little pain remained. Shawu had escaped virtually unscathed – he could not see a single scorch mark on her body. Myths, it seemed, were impervious to fire.
As they wound their way north, Derek wondered how widespread the blaze had been. How much had it destroyed? Was it still raging ahead of them somewhere? And, if so, what could possibly stop it? Dismissing the thought, he replayed the events of the evening over in his mind and two things were immediately apparent. Not only had Shawu saved his life, but it was now obvious that this was familiar territory to her. It was a route she had clearly travelled before. He could think of no other plausible explanation for her being able to find the only substantial body of water for miles. The more he thought about it, the more miraculous the events of the past few hours seemed.
While he watched Shawu move, he noticed that her injured leg no longer seemed to be troubling her at all and even the wound in her head appeared to be healing well. The prospect of her recovery was looking good, but he knew it was still far too early to declare victory.
After a while, Shawu drew to a halt and looked back at him.
Derek, in turn, pulled up and did the first thing that came into his mind – he bowed his head. It was all he could think to do. Her eyes remained on him for a few moments before she slowly turned away.
He wondered if she understood what he was trying to tell her.
He hoped so.
And then, in the quietness that only death can bring, across the warm drifts of burnt snow at their feet, they continued forward.
After miles of shuffling through the depressing and smouldering moonscape of ash and bone, they found the fire’s grave – the place where the Devil had consumed itself. It had finally perished on the banks of the Luvuvhu River, along the water’s edge. Gazing across the muddied stream, Derek’s eyes lit up at what he saw beyond the banks. It was as if a curtain had been pulled back to reveal another world. Edward had told him of this place, but nothing could prepare him for the sight of it. After slogging across barren tracts of mopane bush for hours on end, and then over rolling hills of ashland, the new landscape seemed almost alien by comparison. It was as if the river was not merely a natural boundary separating two pieces of land, but a border between different realms.
This was the much-vaunted Pafuri region and it was unlike anything Derek had ever seen. Towering cliffs hung over thick forests of large riverine trees, each tethered together by a latticework of vines and creepers. Large baobabs pierced the sides of opposing rock faces like momentous chess pieces battling for dominion over the gorge below. The area was a feast of fever trees, leadwoods, wild figs and many other trees whose names Derek did not know. The sky was speckled and blurred with all manner of colourful birds, only a handful of which he recognised. He was tempted to run and dive into the cool water, but a quick glance down the river’s rocky spine revealed a row of adult crocodiles lying in wait.
Oblivious to them, Shawu lumbered forward and stepped into the river. Knowing that this was the safest time to traverse a treacherous artery – as no sane crocodile would dare linger in the path of an approaching elephant – Derek tucked in close behind her. While she took a few minutes to quench what was a considerable thirst, he used the opportunity to fill his water bottles and drink until his own stomach was stretched and bloated.
As they finally left the water and headed up the bank, he felt like they had stepped into an ancient and sacred amphitheatre. They rounded a row of wild fig trees and were greeted by a low and gentle waterfall cascading into a large natural pool. The water was surrounded by smooth and translucent boulders, large ovals almost like dark crystal.
There was a coveted area high in the eastern Transvaal known by the locals as God’s Window. As Derek strode towards the black pool, it occurred to him that if that was his window then, surely, this had to be his view.
23
Xavier marched towards his battle-scarred truck, more content than he had been in some while. After days of negotiation, he had finally agreed a price on his remarkable cargo of giant tusks. The winning bid had eventually come in from one of his old Rhodesian contacts – an unlikeable fence who had powerful and impatient buyers scattered throughout North Africa and Asia. The sudden scarcity of good ivory and the demand for a quality haul meant that, almost overnight, Xavier could now demand three times his usual price. However, given the extraordinary dimensions of his haul, he was able to hold out for even more, settling on a figure almost five times the going rate.
He fired up the Ford and headed down a narrow gravel track which, beyond a sharp bend, fed onto a larger sand road that would lead them to the small town of Messina.
‘It’s good,’ he finally announced, sparing his brother a glance. ‘Even better than we expected.’
‘Who went highest?’ Requin asked, his teeth twisting through a smile.
‘Rhodesia. But things might still change. There are some new buyers who want to talk.’
‘Is that where we’re going?’
A nod.
‘How much so far? And how much more do you think we can push for?’
Xavier was about to respond when he noticed the blur of a white truck in his mirror. Lurching across the road, it raced up behind them, swerving out at the last moment. The driver bent over his steering wheel, an almost-empty bottle of whisky clutched in his hand, and glared at them. His passenger made a phantom rifle with his hands and pointed its imaginary barrel at them. As they passed, the driver hung his arm out and tossed the empty bottle into the air. It cartwheeled through the large swirls of dust, skipped hard off the gravel track and exploded into the front of Xavier’s truck.
Requin shot forward in his chair, raising his fist. ‘What th–the–’ he stuttered, turning to his brother.
Xavier did not reply. He barely even flinched. Instead, he blinked slowly and pushed down gently on the accelerator.
‘Wh–What’re you going to do?’ Requin spat out, his voice begging for retribution.
Xavier said nothing, his eyes locked on the white truck.
Within a minute they had closed the gap. Xavier bided his time before turning out and pulling level with the speeding truck. The pair snapped their heads at him and shouted obscenities that were lost to both the scream of the engines and the roar of the road. Now it was Xavier’s turn to lean over the steering wheel. He lifted his arm and gestured calmly for them to pull over. He held his hand over his mouth, opening and closing it like a child might, indicating that he thought they should talk. Then, he smiled warmly at them. The driver laughed in return and his passenger cocked and then fired off another round from his finger gun. They were both outstandingly drunk.
Xavier nodded at the men and allowed his truck to fall back. He slowed and tucked in behind them. ‘Ri
fle,’ he said evenly, his eyes deadpan.
Pleased at the request, Requin reached down and hauled up the Mauser. He checked to make sure it was loaded before handing it to his brother.
‘Bring down your window,’ Xavier instructed, placing the weapon across his lap. He again pressed his foot down and, for a second time, closed in on the white truck. Within less than a mile, he was alongside them again. The driver swung out as if he intended to run Xavier off the road. But it was a mock charge, one that triggered hysterical laughter in both men.
Xavier grinned back at them as if he was now prepared to be a good sport and, in fact, had changed his mind about their antics. Lads will be lads, and all of that. But then, dropping the grin, he hauled up the rifle. He shoved the barrel through Requin’s open window and let it rest on the crook of the door.
The men’s expressions changed instantly. Gone were the belligerent faces and their air of drunken aggression. In their place were looks of raw fear, a cold and sobering comprehension. The passenger held up his hands as an apology and the driver immediately began to shake his head, as if suggesting that the last few minutes had all been a big misunderstanding. That it was all a mistake … no mess, no foul, right? Let’s talk about this, his eyes pleaded. He even gestured for them to pull over so they could talk.
But Xavier was no longer interested in a discussion. That opportunity had passed them by. Besides, he loathed men who would back down at the first sign of trouble. Had they stood their ground, he might have changed his mind about what he was about to do. Perhaps he would have let them off with only a warning, a shot across the bow, maybe.
‘Don’t ever point a gun,’ he began, singling out the man in the passenger seat, ‘that you’re not prepared to use.’
And then, before the man could respond, before he could contemplate his situation – before he could bargain or even beg for forgiveness – Xavier adjusted his rifle and shot out their front tyre. The truck lurched violently, bucked sidewards, and then veered out of control. The driver wrestled desperately with the steering wheel, but to no avail.
Xavier did not even bother to watch as the truck began its deathly somersault in his rearview mirror. His mind was already ridding itself of the encounter.
24
Edward finished painting what was a particularly garish and crude St George’s cross before stepping back to regard his work. ‘Should I paint another rock? Think this is big enough?’
‘That depends on whether Derek will be travelling on foot … or by Zeppelin.’
Edward shot the professor a look of disdain. ‘I just don’t want him to miss it.’
‘I sensed that.’
Edward ignored the remark. ‘Were we right just to let him go?’
‘You ask the question as if you believe we had any real say in the matter.’
‘You know what I mean, Andrew. Shouldn’t we have thought this through a little more? It feels like we rushed into it.’
‘There wasn’t time to think it out anymore. But it doesn’t matter either way. It’s the right decision.’
Edward straightened up and used the front of his shirt to wipe the paint off his hands. Stained into the faded white cotton, the vivid red smudges evoked a brief and unwelcome memory of the war. ‘What if they got caught in that fire?’
‘They would’ve seen it coming for miles and would’ve had more than enough time to react.’
‘Not if they were sleeping.’
Andrew placed a hand on Edward’s shoulder. ‘A dead man couldn’t have slept through that. Now stop doing this to yourself. I’ve only known Derek a short while, but it’s obvious he’s a very capable man. I have no doubt that both he and Shawu are fine. In a few days he’s going to be standing here, digging up these supplies and thanking God that we thought to pack some fruitcake.’
‘Assuming they come this way.’
‘They will. The tribes followed the Limpopo.’
‘Again, assuming she’s a Desert Elephant.’
‘Your lack of faith is tiring, Edward. Do you know that?’
Edward stepped up to the edge of the bank and peered down the great dry river. ‘I’m sorry. It’s just that so much can go wrong out here.’
The professor thought for a moment. ‘May I ask you a personal question?’
Edward shrugged, then nodded slowly.
‘Why do you feel so responsible for Derek? He’s a goddamn mountain of a man and, from what I’ve gathered, he knows his way around death, more than most. More than you, in fact.’
‘I know that. But that’s not what this is about.’
‘Then what is it?’
‘Look, Derek’s very impulsive, reckless even. Always driven by his emotions. When we were young he was angry a lot of the time. I think he felt cheated by our father’s death. I sometimes wonder if that played a role in his decision to enlist. Maybe he was trying to get rid of some of his rage. Either way, his aggression forced me to become more measured. Don’t get me wrong – he’s always had a kind heart, but it can also burn wild under the right conditions. I suppose I became a counterweight to his aggression. Calmer, more reserved. I think I was forced into the role of older brother.’
Andrew picked up the paint can and, together, they made their way back to the truck. ‘I hear what you’re saying, but perhaps you need to appreciate that Derek’s no longer that troubled boy. Certainly not on the evidence of what I’ve seen. You need to let go the reins a little. You don’t need to be his keeper anymore.’
‘Maybe you’re right,’ Edward conceded, standing outside the driver’s door. He waited for the professor to slip into the cabin before completing his sentence. ‘But I’m not sure you are.’
25
Derek and Shawu continued through the majesty of Pafuri towards Crook’s Corner, a spectacular though infamous hook of land which not only witnessed the confluence of the Luvuvhu and Limpopo rivers, but was the point where three countries fell against one another – South Africa, Southern Rhodesia and Portuguese East Africa. It was an area known for its illegal trading, where thieves and poachers alike openly swapped the spoils of their bloody work. Given its position as a pivot between the three territories, arresting suspects in the area was a constant jurisdictional nightmare for police.
It was a perilous part of their journey, thick with elephant hunters, and Derek knew it. By his calculations they would reach Crook’s Corner within a day and a half. Once there, if Shawu chose to head west – to move along the Limpopo River – then any lingering doubts over her identity would almost certainly be dispelled. The great river would eventually lead them straight into Bechuanaland and the Kalahari salt pans, which was not only likely to signal the end of Shawu’s journey, but could well mark her final refuge, the place where she would see out her remaining years. Hopefully, Derek thought, free from the gaze of a poacher’s rifle.
As the sun drifted deep into the sky, like a burning kite being fed out on a thousand miles of string, Derek noticed something peculiar at his feet. Intrigued, he knelt down and inspected the ground ahead of him. He cocked his head, blinked, and then blinked again.
What was he looking at?
As its parts swam together, drawing into a single truth, he felt his back straighten.
What the hell was this?
Stamped deep into the trail were Shawu’s distinctive footprints, large and round, with deep cracks as thick as a man’s fingers radiating out from their core.
But they were not alone.
Alongside Shawu’s prints were the sand feet of another elephant. One, it appeared, almost as large as her.
Derek snatched a glance up at Shawu who had now stopped walking and was watching him. ‘This is …’ he began, swallowed. ‘One of them … survived.’
Shawu blinked back at him.
An acknowledgement?
‘You’re tracking one of your herd,’ he continued. ‘How could I not have seen this before?’
He suddenly sprang to his feet, elated. He was still try
ing to digest his own words when something even more startling occurred to him. Given an elephant’s girth, it was conceivable that if he broadened his search laterally, he might find more tracks. Roaming elephants, he recalled from his time with Maquaasi, did not always walk in single file. They sometimes travelled as birds flew, in an almost staggered formation.
Nodding at the memory, he quickly moved to his left and inspected the sand.
He was stunned by what it revealed.
The well-preserved tracks of another adult elephant were plain to see. Unable to contain his excitement, he hurried across to his right, hoping but not expecting to find any more tracks.
But he did.
There were several more, suggesting perhaps three or even four more survivors. And in between them were the traces of something else.
Derek felt his legs go limp at the discovery. Shawu may have indeed been following a spiritual trail, but she was now clearly on a far more important journey. She was tracking down the survivors of her herd. She was trying to find her family.
And, as the shape of a far smaller print suggested, possibly even her child as well.
26
Hours later, Derek was still smiling at the thought of Shawu’s family ghosting through the trees somewhere ahead of them, when he suddenly drew to a halt. There were a great many sounds in the bush that gave one reason to pause – to tread carefully or even to change one’s course – but only one stopped you dead in your tracks and made you want to turn around. Made you want to run for your life.
Lions.
They were close, at the top of a nearby rise. By the sound of their snarls they had cornered some poor animal whose time on earth had almost certainly run its course. Derek cupped his hands over his eyes and searched anxiously for a route around the hill. Absurd as it was, he felt himself hold his breath. He had absolutely no desire to announce himself to a pride of warring lions. He looked across at Shawu and noticed, with a sudden pang of concern, that she did not share his view and, inexplicably, was still heading for the rise. This was not an oversight on her part, nor was it a lapse in her hearing; she was clearly aware of their presence. If anything, it seemed to be drawing her forward. As the cries of the ill-fated animal drifted towards them, something in her walk changed.
Journey from Darkness Page 11