by Marc Secchia
“Go, Samira. Go!” Shioni yelled.
The lioness had a grip on the rope with her forepaws. She began to inch upward, finding it hard going as her hind legs strove to get more than one or two claws in place.
Shioni caught her breath. Once, she had helped Thunder find his footing. She had done something to that baobab stuck in the river. Now, she dug deep within herself and gave Samira a healthy shove with her mind. The lioness yowled and spat in surprise as Shioni propelled her ten feet up the rope. She clutched on again and her yellow eyes glared downward. Shioni’s head spun as a result, but she still pushed again, a little more evenly and intelligently this time. The lioness began to ascend with ease, still hissing her displeasure.
A few moments later, she was high enough to leap for the side of the pit. She landed chest-on and gripped fiercely with her foreclaws. Shioni gave her one last mental boot in the behind. Samira disappeared over the top, her limbs already flailing into a dead sprint before she even touched the ground.
Shioni gave the rim of the pit a grim smile. “Go find Getu, you beauty.”
And then she turned, and saw that Tiffur had half of his shoulder inside the cage.
Chapter 18: Brotherly Love
With all of her heart, Shioni wished for free hands to defend herself. She balanced carefully, and kicked Tiffur square in the muzzle. She was fortunate not to lose her toes in the process. He snarled as he withdrew, taking more of the cage with him.
“Now you’ll feel my claws rip out your guts!”
The maddened lion threw his strength against the cage, shaking it and knocking it backward across the cave floor, careless of the splinters lancing into his chest or the blood matting his fur. Shioni had a moment to think that she had done all too good a job of distracting him. He was wild; madder than a rabid wolf. Samira was gone. Out there, all seemed silent. How long would it take Getu to return with his warriors? Would they be able to fight the King and his powers, or would they be captured as surely as she had been, and turned against each other?
She had to hunt him down. She had to stop the King of Gondar.
But she had no weapons, and no route to escape apart from the crazed lion. Tiffur snarled at his pride to help him break into the cage. With the combined strength of several lions pulling at the weakened bars, the frame began to disintegrate. Shortly, the lions would have Shioni kebabs on their claws if … ah! An idea popped into her mind–a wild, ridiculous sniff of a plan. She formulated an image of Anbessa and projected it at them. The great Lord of the Simien Mountains stood atop a peak in all his majesty, complete with a fanciful, flowing cloak, and the sceptre of a king. She bit her tongue. Now to move the image, enlarge it, make the lion roar … and the lions around her cage spun about, attacking each other in their confusion.
Shioni crouched in her place. ‘Hurry, Getu. Hurry, warriors of Sheba! Watch out for the lions. Watch out for the King’s tricks.’
Lions, to me! To me!
The mental call boomed out without warning. She heard shouts, the faraway clash of metal against metal, and another roar which had never sounded so welcome–General Getu’s battle cry, “Sheba! For Sheba!”
Abandoning their assault on the cage, the lions raced down the narrow exit passageway. Shioni knew she had to join the battle. If the King could control his lions and pitch them against the Sheban Elites in these confined spaces, it would be an ugly fight.
Throwing caution to the winds, Shioni squeezed through the hole ripped open by the lions, scraping her ribs badly in the process. She fought her way free with a wriggle and shout. She ducked beneath the upraised grating and ran down the passageway after the lions. Her bare feet slapped on rock. Torches lit the way, here and there. She spotted a lion’s tail disappearing around a corner. Good, now she knew the way.
The sounds of battle drew closer. Shouts of alarm rose from the Sheban Elites: “Lions! Beware, men!” But she knew they would not be deterred. The veterans sometimes hunted lions for sport; for the honour a fresh kill and a lion’s pelt would bring them.
The tunnels were a maze. Shioni ran what she thought was the right way, but found her path blocked. She doubled back with an angry word which would have earned her a scolding from Mama Nomuula. But in a moment, she skidded to a halt again. The sounds confused her. Her ears told her they were coming from different directions. Shioni extended her senses along the tunnels.
Which way?
A nose touched her knee. Shioni shrieked, and then laughed at herself. “Samira, you sneaky–Azurelle! You’ve taken to riding lion-back?”
“Lions, elephants, pockets–it’s nothing to me,” boasted the Fiuri, who was riding on the base of Samira’s neck and holding onto her fur for balance. “Quick, Shioni. This way. They’re fighting their way into the false King’s throne room as we speak.”
“False King?”
“Long story,” Zi said over her shoulder as Samira loped off. The Fiuri had two good handfuls of fur, and looked perfectly at home on the lioness’ back.
Belatedly, she dashed after them, wishing she had the use of her arms to help her balance and avoid bumping into the sudden turns. Several short tunnels, a twist and a turn later, and she found herself on the threshold of the underground throne room. Here she saw General Getu and several dozen Sheban Elites, and even Princess Annakiya holding her bow, with Alemnesh and Mekedis alongside her … but they all stood stock-still, like flies trapped on a warm, fresh honeycomb. And the King’s forces stood equally helpless–the dark-robed warriors, and lions with snarls frozen upon their curling lips.
Already, wounded men and beasts littered the floor.
Red-tinged, glittering eyes captured her attention. “Ah, Shioni,” said the King.
“Let my friends go,” she demanded.
He bowed very slightly. “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re just in time to see the Princess of West Sheba slit her own throat.”
Annakiya’s bow clattered to the floor. To her evident horror, her right hand dropped to the hilt of her dagger and drew it from her belt. The blade moved upward.
“Stop, Meles! Stop! You can have me. Take me instead.”
“This is much more entertaining.”
He must be mad. Shioni flung herself forward, but bounced off something invisible in the middle of the room. She fell hard on her shoulder and hip, but wrenched herself up to her knees.
“Stupid slave-girl,” he jeered. “And who’s Meles? You’ve got the wrong man.”
The wrong man? Her mind reeled.
With a clatter of armour and weapons, another group of warriors dashed into the room and stopped. Behind them she saw … the King of Gondar.
Shioni was one of the few in the room able to gasp. Finally, she understood! Twins, identical twins; one clothed in red and the other in black. One puffing for air, the other one holding a staff of power and everyone in the room, his prisoner. How had she not worked it out? Of course they were two different people, as alike as a pair of acacia thorns, but as different in heart as night and day. Her hatred had burned against the wrong man.
“The Princess of West Sheba is about to join her ancestors,” said the false king. “Does one of you God-fearers want to pray for her eternal soul?”
Shioni flung her will against the wall, but the man only laughed. “So much to learn, isn’t there, slave-girl? It beggars belief how you ever defeated Kalcha.”
“That’s because I used animals …” Shioni began to reply. And then inspiration struck from the blue.
Quietly, she turned to the lions in the room, reaching out to each of their minds, whispering words to them they had never heard before: “Freedom is endless plains of grass beneath your racing paws, plains dotted with fat buck and zebra, fat for the kill. Freedom is a place far from encroaching walls which hem you in. Freedom is the wind in your mane and a pride of your own, far from the stone houses of men. Freedom is the land of Anbessa, Lord of all Lions, where lions are proud to be lions, where their blood beats through noble veins. Free
dom means throwing this man’s yoke off your necks.”
As she spoke to their minds, the lions began to stir. They rebelled against the binding enchantment. Their hearts quickened and their paws itched for the open places, for the thrill of the chase and the kill.
“Stop!” shouted the false king, lifting his snake staff with a trembling hand. Torrid sweat broke out on his brow. “I will not have you usurping my authority, slave-girl.”
She had to make him use more of his power. So much, it would break him.
Shioni’s eyes fell on Annakiya’s bow. The once-timid Princess had come to rescue her slave-girl, bow in hand, to her first battle. Getu had let her come? The cosseted Princess’ face was caught in a hostile grimace that bore a startling similarity to Samira’s snarl.
Silently, deep within, she shaped her next attack. This would be no push. This was an arrow, a lightning bolt of pure energy. It was as narrow, focussed, and as penetrating as she could make it in her imagination. The merest flicker of thought sent her arrow of power slicing cleanly through the false king’s shield. His right shoulder jerked back as though he had been punched, and his numbed fingers dropped the snake staff.
The room erupted in war.
Sword against sword, claw against shield, battle cry against roar, the warriors and the animals fought each other; Meles’ warriors and the Shebans against the false king’s warriors and lions. The din was incredible. The rightful King, Meles, forced his way toward his brother with blows of a sword so large it could have passed for an upright lampstand. Getu faced up to two lions. The veteran warrior had a bloodthirsty grin fixed on his lips as he smashed one of the lions in the eye with the rim of the shield strapped to his stump. His sword flicked out hungrily. Spears crashed off of shields and arrows buzzed like angry wasps across the room.
And her best friend was standing in the middle of it all, frozen with indecision. She had to protect the Princess. The bow, Princess of Sheba. Annakiya snatched up her bow as though stung. She drew an arrow and pinned a marauding male lion in the rump with her first shot.
Shioni dodged a sword-stroke, ducked beneath a wild punch, and darted over to Annakiya’s side. “Shioni!” The Princess drew another arrow, nocked the bow, and let fly at one of the lions menacing General Getu.
In her mind’s eye, the arrow hissed through the air. At the last moment Shioni realised the shot had gone awry. She deflected the arrow with a swift thought. Getu’s head jerked back as the arrow plucked his beard hairs.
“Anni, careful. Take your time.”
“I know.” She had another arrow ready.
Shioni dropped to one knee, searching with her bound hands for a way to pick up the sword of a fallen warrior. Maybe, even if she held it behind her back, she could defend the Princess–somehow. A spear whistled past her head. A warrior crashed to the ground beside her. A Sheban Elite leaped on a lion’s back, trying to strike for the heart with his dagger.
STOP! The mental command froze everyone in the throne room.
Every eye turned to the dais, where the king’s brother slowly pushed himself to his feet. His snake staff was missing one eye. The empty socket still smoked as though its power had charred the underlying wood.
“You just don’t give up, do you?” he snarled at Shioni. “Now look what you did. You broke the staff of my ancestors.”
There was a terrible quality in his gaze and in his manner that would have frozen them all without the need for his magic, which lay on the room as thick as a blanket.
“I was the firstborn. But my father chose him before me. Meles, the kind-hearted. Meles, whom everyone loved. Meles, who could do no wrong.” Step by step, he moved closer to Shioni. “I’m the one my parents never loved. Can you imagine? The one doomed to live forever in his brother’s shadow. I am Haile, and the throne of Gondar belongs to me. It belongs to the firstborn! It is my birthright! And I was on the cusp of snatching it back when you interfered. Now I will kill you, and him, and assume my rightful place on the throne of my ancestors.”
“Haile,” King Meles said, somewhere behind Shioni, “don’t be like this. Come, be my brother. Be my friend once more. Shun the deeds of darkness, and turn to the light.”
“Never!” he shrieked in return. “I must own what is mine, or you will steal it from me again.”
Once more, Shioni gathered her strength in the solitude of her mind.
She moved her lips.
Haile’s eyes snapped to her mouth.
Mentally gritting her teeth, she moved her tongue. “You …” she groaned, a long, formless word.
STOP! I COMMAND–
“You cannot … hold …”
His lips moved in ancient forms of words. He thrust the staff at her as though the mere sight of it should stupefy her brain. The air thickened about her, so intense was his hold now, and her ribs stopped moving. She felt as though he had encased her body in stone.
Shioni sensed an inward pull. She frowned. Abba Petros? He was somehow … connected to her? Following the robed priest in her imagination, Shioni travelled inward what seemed a long journey, although it must have happened at the speed of thought. At length she came to an unfamiliar place. Here she mined the secret parts of her being deeper than ever before. And she found a treasure-chest of strength, and threw open the lid with delight.
Power surged up within her. She threw off his magical control as though it were a cloak she had stepped out of. “You cannot hold me forever, Haile,” she said. “And when you fail, I will be waiting for you.”
Haile’s face lost its colour; the triumphant curl of his lips sagged in disbelief. “How do you keep defying me? How dare you?” The false king tottered forward. “I will have your power. All of it, when I rip your heart out of your chest, witch.”
“You will never–”
His huge, thick-fingered hand snagged her slave-collar, choking off her defiant reply. With a chilling chuckle of satisfaction, Haile dragged her away down one of the side-tunnels.
Chapter 19: The Sacrifice
The King’s twin Brother hardly needed his magic to haul Shioni about by her neck. He was a huge man, as strong as an ox. Where she tried to drag her feet, he simply lifted her one-handed off the tunnel floor, not caring if the thick metal slave-necklet throttled her. For her own preservation, Shioni was forced to stumble along at his side. But she did not stop fighting him.
He strode down tunnel after tunnel, seeming to know the exact route, gathering strength and speed as they left the throne room behind them. His left hand still gripped the staff. Could she wrestle it away from him? Would he have any power left if she did? She tried to tangle up his legs; she battered at his mental grip. After a moment he cursed. Shioni heard a clamour break out somewhere behind them. She was hurting him. Good. She had forced him to free the others.
“Wretched slave-girl,” he snapped at her. “You’ve got some nerve. Never mind. When I’m done with you, my treacherous brother and his children–”
“He has children?”
“What do you care?” Haile seemed taken aback by the question. “Oh, why not tell you? You’ll soon be dead. I have his wife and children locked in a secret chamber beneath the throne room, where they’ll starve to death long before anyone finds them.”
Horror clenched her stomach. She had to escape!
Shioni sent back, hoping someone might hear: This way. Anyone listening … this way.
“Stop that,” snarled Haile. “They’ll never find you.”
“What’s that noise?”
He chuckled, “My secret escape route.”
At first Shioni thought she was hearing wind blustering in the tunnels, but the sound grew until it dawned on her: this was water, a rushing underground river. The tunnel bent upward. Haile dragged her after him, shaking her like a rat when she attempted to trip him once more. Shioni gathered her power, but he anticipated her attack. This time, it reflected off him as though he held a mirror. Shioni collected the edge of the backlash. She would have fa
llen save for the false king’s hand holding her up.
Shortly, they came to the edge of a rocky outcropping, lit by a crack in the rocks above. Below, a dark river swirled by. Shioni caught sight of a boat tied to a post down there.
Haile quickly kicked a rope ladder over the edge of the drop, which was more than five times Shioni’s height. “Come,” he ordered, stooping to gather her onto his shoulder.
Partly by luck and partly by instinct, Shioni raised her knee at exactly the same moment, jolting Haile from head to toe as she struck the point of his chin. Shouting in pain, he swung the staff. She half-dodged, rolling away from the force of his strike, but still collected a blow to her shoulder which rattled her teeth and spun her sideways. She fetched up against a rock, saw him coming, and gathered herself to dodge another blow.
Instead, he wiped his mouth, and hissed, “Right, slave-girl, I’ve had it with you. Say your last prayers–”
With a menacing snarl, a lioness leaped past her!
Fierce joy stabbed into Shioni–it was Samira, the bravest and truest of the lions from the pit. She slashed the man’s arm with her claws. Haile beat her back with the staff, but the lioness merely fell into a crouch and sprang for him again. Haile deflected her with his magic. Samira whirled and attacked low, at the level of his knees, but an unseen force slammed her aside so hard that the lioness was sent skidding across the rock, her claws screeching in a way that made Shioni’s hair stand on end. But it cleared her mind. At once Shioni attacked him too, imagining a flurry of flying daggers that pinged off his magical shield and made him stagger. Haile shouted words in an unknown language. The snake staff glowed as it swung up to point at the lioness.