by Alex Archer
When the lion hadn’t backed off after the first few times she’d injured it, Annja had quietly told herself that she was going to need to kill it to survive, whether she liked it or not. Trouble was the wily beast refused to give her the opportunity. It had developed a healthy respect for the shining blade and danced in and out, feinting and striking, over and over again without getting close enough for Annja to deliver a fatal thrust.
It was almost as if it was playing with her.
Eventually, she knew, she would tire and the lion would get past her defenses. She would vanish just as Humphrey had with no one the wiser. She needed to find a way out of this before she reached that point. She was too tired to run; the cat would pull her down in seconds. She could keep fighting for five, maybe ten, more minutes, but she could already feel her responses getting sloppy, her recovery after each cut and thrust getting slower. She supposed she could try to climb the tree behind her, but that would mean turning her back and that wasn’t something she wanted to do, not even for a second. Maybe as a last resort.
The lion stopped pacing and fixed its stare on her.
A chill ran through her.
This is it. It’s going to charge.
Annja braced herself, the sword out before her. If it rushed she’d do her best to deliver a thrust deep into its heart, but its reach was longer than her own and those claws would get her for sure.
She readied herself.
But to her surprise, it didn’t come.
Instead, she heard the sound of running feet and Annja was no longer alone. San tribesmen appeared out of nowhere to stand on either side of her, their wooden spears thrust out in front of them, creating a wall of deadly intent that would make it difficult for the beast to reach her without being injured in the process.
The lion checked its charge, rearing up on its hind legs. It slashed the air with its right front paw and roared at them, but didn’t come any closer.
Rather than be intimidated, the San warriors roared right back, shaking their spears and jumping up and down, using the action to make themselves look bigger and therefore more of a threat. That was what Annja had tried to do earlier.
Seeing what they were doing, she joined in, as well, shouting and yelling with the rest of them while brandishing her sword in front of her.
It was too much for the lion. One lone woman, armed or not, was prey. But this jumping, shouting mass was too much to wrap its feline brain around, and with a final roar it turned and disappeared into the brush.
Annja sagged in relief.
That had been much closer than she liked.
The San tribesmen were laughing and cheering, apparently as happy at the lion’s departure as she was. In the resulting confusion, Annja released her sword back into the otherwhere when she thought no one was looking.
A small form darted between the cheering men and slammed into her legs with the force of a battering ram. Annja looked down to find the boy she’d saved from the tree hugging her tightly about the waist. She bent down and hugged him back, just as thankful as he was to still be alive.
Though she couldn’t understand anything they said, the warriors made it clear through hand gestures that they wanted her to follow them back to the village.
Given that they were her link to the mysterious elephant graveyard, Annja was more than happy to oblige.
21
They threw a banquet that night in Annja’s honor. A large bonfire had been built at the center of the village, and the San gathered in a group as the feast was being prepared.
The main course was to be the eland Annja had seen the women skinning earlier that afternoon, the antelope roasted over a crackling fire. The smell of the roasting meat had Annja salivating, but the food would have to wait until after the ritual dance.
Several of the women rose and gathered in a loose circle around the bonfire, led by the mother of the boy Annja had rescued, a woman a few years younger than herself, named Balanka. The women wore patterned headbands and wreaths of beaded necklaces, and bangles at their ankles and wrists. They moved in a circuitous line, stamping the earth, filling the air with the rattle of their jewelry and sending up clouds of fine dust with every step. First Balanka began singing, a short burst of song here and there, and then the rest of the group joined in, weaving distinct patterns of melodies acting in counterpoint to one another. They clapped their hands in complex rhythms as they danced, and Annja found herself swaying along with them. The dancers’ dark skin gleamed in the firelight, their bodies slick with the sweat of their exertion.
As the song gained momentum, several men rose and joined the circle, their deep voices harmonizing with the women’s. The singing grew louder, the dance moved faster, and Annja felt a swelling sense of delight and with it a need to move with the music. When Xabba stood in front of her and extended his hand, she didn’t hesitate. She jumped to her feet and joined the dancing, clapping group, doing her best to follow along until the dance was finally over and she staggered back to her seat, a wide smile on her face.
Balanka brought her a plate heaped high with antelope meat and roasted vegetables, and Annja fell to it with a vengeance. The meat was tender, succulent and came apart in her fingers as easily as something that had been marinating in a Crock-Pot all day long.
It was absolutely delicious.
As Annja was finishing the last of her meal, Mmegi rose and began speaking. Xabba listened carefully, laughed and then turned to Annja.
“Mmegi wants to honor you with a story.”
Annja knew that the San were a highly creative people who loved to express themselves artistically.
“Tell him I would be honored.”
Mmegi’s reply to her was swift and the group around them clapped in enthusiasm when he was finished.
Xabba said, “Because of your interest earlier, he will tell us of the story of how the elephant came to be.”
Annja clapped with the others. “Excellent! I can’t wait to hear it.”
Mmegi launched into his tale without preamble and had the audience captivated in seconds, even Annja, who didn’t understand a word until Xabba translated it. Mmegi was a born storyteller, using facial expressions and body movements to enhance the telling.
“Long ago, when the world was young, the First People lived in harmony with the world and the rest of its inhabitants, enjoying the life that the Twin Gods had given them. They walked and talked and played in the valley without fear.
“One day several of them were out walking when they heard a cry for help. Following the sound, they at last came to a large mud hole near the banks of the great river. In the middle of the mud hole was an animal they had never seen before. It was about the size of a hippopotamus, with a large nose and ears that were too big for its body, but only a little.
“‘Please help me,’ the animal cried, upon seeing the First People standing on the bank above the mud hole. ‘I’m stuck.’
“Xhosa, the leader of the group, hated to see an animal in pain and so he quickly convinced the others that they should free this strange-looking beast.
“Very carefully the four of them climbed down the banks to the edge of the mud hole. They made sure to stay on firm ground, not wanting to get stuck themselves, and got behind the animal. They pushed and pushed and pushed, to no avail.
“The sun was hot that day and it gradually began to leech the color out of the poor animal’s hide as they worked. Before long its pebbly skin went from being dark gray to light gray to nearly white and still the First People were unable to free the great beast.
“Finally, Xhosa had an idea.
“He left one of his companions to push it from behind and placed the other two on either side of the animal, instructing them to pull on his ears. Xhosa himself went around to the front and grasped hold of the animal’s nose.
“‘I’m sorry, but this is the only way I can think of to free you from the mud,’ he told the animal.
“‘I don’t mind,’ came the reply, ‘as long as you get me
out of here.’
“So Xhosa counted to three and on the final count his friends pushed and pulled with all their might.
“‘Harder!’ Xhosa cried, and his friends obeyed.
“They were pulling so hard, that the animal’s ears and nose began to stretch, growing larger and longer with every tug.
“Seeing this, Xhosa was about to tell his friends to stop when the animal cried, ‘No, don’t stop! I’m almost free!’
“And so the First People did as they were told. They pushed and pulled, harder and harder, until...pop! The mud released the animal and it stumbled forward onto dry land.
“But the damage had been done. The animal’s nose was now longer than Xhosa’s arm and its ears were as big as boulders.
“Xhosa knew that the animal would be sad when it saw itself in the watering hole later that day, so he acted quickly to save it some pain.
“‘Look at you!’ he cried in wonder. ‘Out of the mud and muck comes a beautiful new creature. I name you Elephant and declare you a friend of the First People as long as you live.’
“And so, from that day forth, the First People and the elephant were as close as family.”
The San were whistling and shouting their approval of the story and Annja joined in. Mmegi caught her eye and winked, which she took as a good sign.
Perhaps she might get the information she needed from them, after all.
The celebration eventually came to an end and Xabba offered to show her to a hut where she could sleep for the evening. Annja tried to refuse, upset that she might be evicting someone else, but Xabba assured her that the small shelter had been empty. It would be good to have something between her and the local animal life, even it if was just a temporary structure.
Nemso, the boy she’d rescued, was waiting for her outside the hut she would be using. In his hands he had a cloth-covered bundle, which he handed to Annja.
“Mmegi would like to express his thanks and appreciation,” Xabba explained, “and so would Nemso. They offer this gift as a token of their respect and a hope that you will remain a friend to the First People even longer than the elephant has.”
Annja smiled, trying to put the boy at ease.
Taking off her baseball cap she held it out to Nemso, saying, “Where I come from it is the visitor that offers the gift, not the host. In this case, however, I will make an exception, provided you accept this gift from me in return.”
Nemso’s eyes grew wide as he listened to Xabba translate. He stared at the cap, then looked up at Annja.
“For...m-m-me?” he asked in halting English.
“Yes, for you,” Annja said, catching the look of pride Xabba gave him. She showed Nemso how to adjust the strap for fit and then watched him race off, eager to show his friends what he’d received.
Xabba said, “He was very fortunate you were there today.”
“I was happy to help.”
Her companion glanced at her shrewdly. “Happy to get in Mmegi’s good graces again, as well?”
“I didn’t stop to think. I simply acted to save the boy’s life,” she replied.
“Of course. I did not mean to imply otherwise. But even you must admit that the Twin Gods have smiled on you today. It is not every day that you get to save the village elder’s only grandson.”
Xabba laughed when he saw her shock.
“We will talk more about Humphrey in the morning, eh, Annja? Good night.”
And with that, he moved off in the darkness, leaving Annja with a host of new questions.
A few more days, and she’d be that much closer to unraveling what had happened to Humphrey’s expedition.
22
The hut contained nothing more than a small bed of eland skins stretched over a pile of dried grasses. Annja sat on it gratefully. It had been a long, exhausting day in more ways than one and she was ready to get some much-needed rest, but first there was one more task to take care of.
Under the light of her flashlight, Annja carefully unwrapped the package Nemso had given her. Inside the bundle of animal skins was an intricately decorated horn made from what could only be the tusk of an elephant. The exterior was covered with carved symbols, reminding Annja of rock art she’d seen at digs in other parts of the world. The images were clearly telling a story but she wasn’t familiar enough with San folklore to know exactly what was being represented. Both ends of the tusk were capped with what appeared to be a plug of silver, which made her pause.
Silver? The San weren’t metal workers. Where had the silver come from?
Given the unique nature of the item, as well as its relative worth, Annja assumed that it was really from Mmegi, rather than Nemso. After Mmegi’s public disapproval of her interest in the elephant graveyard earlier that day, she couldn’t see him telling her what she wanted to know outright; that might cause strife with his people. But passing her some information on the sly through his grandson? That made perfect sense.
She tried to pull the caps off, but the seals were too solidly set in place and there was no way she was going to be able to get them loose without tools. She bent closer to get a better look at the larger of the two caps and noticed a thin seam running down the exterior of the tusk away from the cap. It looked too straight to be of natural origin. Cracks in the bone would be irregular and this particular line wasn’t. The first seam bisected several others running in different directions across the surface of the piece.
There’s something inside.
She knew it was true as soon as it occurred to her. She’d solved too many puzzle boxes, secret containers and carefully constructed hiding places not to recognize one when she saw it. All she had to do was figure out how to open it.
Of course, that turned out to be easier said than done.
She tried twisting, turning, pushing and pulling the various sections of the tusk, hoping to find a way to release the two sections, but nothing seemed to work. It was only after nearly a half hour of experimentation that she figured it out. She pushed down on opposite sections with the thumbs of each hand while simultaneously twisting the ends in opposite directions and pulled them apart.
The two halves separated without a sound, revealing the hollow interior. Inside was a rolled piece of tanned animal skin. It reminded her of the cloth the villagers used for their clothing. This piece was small, however, only about two inches wide and six inches long when unrolled.
A series of symbols, five in all, had been drawn on one side of the cloth in what looked to Annja to be charcoal. In order, from top to bottom, Annja saw an antelope, a round disk with lines coming out of it that was probably the sun, three wavy lines that reminded Annja of water, an elephant, easily recognizable due to its long trunk, and what she thought was a snake. They were simple, even primitive in nature.
But she had absolutely no idea what the symbols were supposed to mean.
She tried to find a connection between them but aside from the fact that they were all natural instead of man-made objects, she didn’t see one. She tried to view them as a pictorial, but couldn’t come up with any kind of story that made sense, never mind telling her something she didn’t already know about the location of the elephant graveyard and what had happened to Humphrey’s expedition.
After puzzling over them for another twenty minutes, she finally gave up. She might have a better chance of unraveling the puzzle in the morning after a good night’s sleep.
With her thoughts still churning, she lay down to try to get some rest.
* * *
A HAND TOUCHED Annja’s shoulder, bringing her out of her sleep. She opened her eyes to find the young boy’s mother, Balanka, leaning over her.
Annja opened her mouth to say something, but the other woman quickly shook her head and put a finger vertically over her own lips in the universal signal for silence. Annja’s eyes widened at the sight—who was the woman worried would hear?—but she kept her mouth shut and didn’t say anything.
With a few quick gestures Balanka made
it clear that Annja should put her things together and follow her.
Intrigued, Annja did as she was asked. She always slept clothed in the field, so all she needed to do was pull on her boots and toss the souvenirs and gifts she’d been given at the ceremony last night into her backpack.
As quietly as a ghost, Balanka slipped out of the hut. Annja followed.
In the gray dimness of the predawn light the village seemed deserted. Even the cooking fires were still banked from the night before, with just thin wisps of smoke rising from them to serve as harbingers of the flames to come.
Balanka looked around nervously. Annja got the sense Balanka was worried about being seen with her and could only come up with one reason why that might be the case: Balanka knew something about the elephant graveyard.
Satisfied that they were alone, Balanka slipped between several huts until she reached the edge of the village and then set out across the scrubland toward a large grove of monkey thorn trees. Intrigued, Annja hustled to catch up.
Once they were out of earshot of the village, Annja broke the silence. “Where are we going?” she asked.
Balanka glanced over at her and said something in the clicking language of her people, gesturing at the trees ahead of them. Or maybe it was the mountain in the distance. Annja wasn’t sure. She wasn’t even sure Balanka had understood her question.
Nothing to do but follow along, it seemed.
Fifteen minutes later they reached the grove of trees. They were a thick tangle of intertwining trunks, the space between and surrounding them filled with waist-high growths of thorny bushes with spines that looked as big as her pinkie finger. So thick was the growth that the copse looked completely impassable.
Thankfully Balanka didn’t try to fight her way through it. Instead, she led Annja around the side, following the line of trees until they were no longer within sight of the village behind them in the distance. Balanka clearly knew where she was going; not once did she hesitate or look around as if trying to find a particular landmark. From the way she moved it was clear that she’d been here several times in the past and Annja began to hope that she might be back on the right track, thanks to the young tribeswoman’s help.