Valley of Stars (The Merriams Book 3)

by Ava Miles

  “It must have been hard to keep it a secret so long,” Clara mused.

  “Before, when there was not much travel in these hills, no one trespassed,” she said. “But more people started coming, some with the government or business and some with tourism. Our chief mandated no one could walk our lands without a guide from the tribe. This helped.”

  “And we had warriors like me to take care of trespassers,” Sironka said, flexing his muscles with a smile. “Our tribe has more warriors than other tribes. And our spears are laced with poison and never miss.”

  He’d have to write about that in his story, assuming they made it back.

  “Are those monkeys overhead a threat?” Clara asked.

  He looked up to see a group of monkeys above, staring silently down at them.

  “They might try and pull you up into the trees, Mrs. Hale,” Sironka said, “but they wouldn’t be about to swing to and fro if they did.”

  Arthur increased his pace, ushering Clara away from the little beasts. “Naserian, isn’t there a shortcut to the valley?”

  She paused and looked at Sironka for a long moment. “I do not like to take it, but perhaps we should, given the urgency.”

  Clara beat him to asking, “Why don’t you like to take it?”

  “We must cross a river,” Naserian replied. “You have experienced the terrors in our rivers already.”

  “If it gets us to the flower more quickly, we’ll manage,” Clara said before he could ask more questions.

  Well, if she was up for it, then so was he. Michaela needed them.

  They walked through the forest for another hour or so, not a single trail marker in sight. Naserian seemed to know exactly where she was going, which was quite remarkable, if he were being honest. He heard the water before he saw it. Moments later, they were poised atop a large rock, the sun beating down on his head. The shadow of a large bird fell over him and he squinted up at it.

  “Looks like an eagle,” Clara said, shielding her eyes.

  “A black-chested snake eagle,” Sironka said, pointing with his spear. “I saw one when we left your campsite. A good omen.”

  “How are we supposed to get down to the river?” Arthur asked.

  Sironka shared a smile with his mother. “You climb, Mr. Hale.”

  Clara sputtered, God help him, but she started to follow them as they descended from the rock. He did the same.

  “I think it’s time for you to call us Arthur and Clara,” he called, aware the rock face was scratching his hands.

  Naserian looked over her shoulder as he made it down to the ground, the beads in her hair bouncing. “You are elders. It is not possible.”

  And yet they were asking him to stride into these hills and climb down rocks like he was in some Iron Man marathon.

  “Beware of the hippos,” Naserian said. “They like to nap along the river.”

  “Nap?” Oh Lord. “Not the kind of nap we like to take, right, Clara?”

  “Oh, Arthur, do be quiet.” She took a deep breath. “I just saw a crocodile emerge from that brush over there. It showed me its teeth before sliding into the water.”

  Arthur flashed back to Michaela and Boyd plunging into the water just yesterday, their boat upended. He was starting to hate African rivers. “Please tell me you have a boat stored around here.”

  Sironka laughed. “No, I was going to strap you both on my back and swim across the river. Mr. Hale, I am a warrior. Not Superman.”

  So they knew about Superman. He’d have to ask later. “Great, let’s get going.”

  “Stay here while I find the boat,” Sironka said, heading toward the water with his spear outstretched.

  Just the way Arthur would move if he’d been asked to do the retrieving. No way he’d want to disturb napping hippos. They were bad enough when they were awake.

  Something rustled behind him, and he spun around as a crocodile’s head emerged from the bush a few yards behind them. Clara hadn’t been joking about the teeth. Good god! Its leathery green hide glistened eerily in the sunlight. The thing had to be sixteen feet long.

  “Come to me,” Naserian called, pulling out a short, wickedly curved club from her robes.

  Arthur grabbed Clara and rushed to the woman. She promptly stood in front of him, which didn’t make him feel too salty given he didn’t know the first thing about stopping crocodiles and she seemed to. Her club was poised to strike.

  The crocodile shot toward them suddenly, its short legs moving fast. Sironka appeared in front of them in a protective stance, his spear jabbing through the air. The crocodile received a few stabs to the head before it thrashed away ill-manneredly and disappeared back into the brush.

  “He was a big one,” Sironka said, lowering his spear to the ground as he turned to face them. “Everyone okay?”

  Once he saw no one had been injured—physically, at least—he returned to his task.

  “Goodness, that was…” Clara’s hand shook as she pushed her hair back behind her ear.

  Death-defying? “My heart is beating so hard I might—”

  “Deep breaths, Mr. Hale,” Naserian said, sheathing her club. She reached into the pouch at her waist and pulled out a pinch of something. “Breathe this for me. It will calm your heart.”

  “Me too,” Clara said, taking her turn after he’d inhaled the herbaceous scent.

  He didn’t ask what herb it was, but it helped, thank God.

  Sironka reappeared, dragging the boat to the water’s edge. “Come, let’s be off.”

  Arthur helped Clara onto the boat and positioned her in front of him as Naserian climbed in. Then, as Sironka pushed off and hastened to join them, Arthur turned his gaze to the river. They didn’t have far to cross, thank God. When he spied the first hippo in the water not five feet away, he prayed it would leave them in peace. A crocodile surfaced in front of the hippo and the two attacked each other.

  “Row faster, my son,” Naserian said, poised at the front of the boat.

  “Yes, mother,” he called, steering them away from all the thrashing in the water.

  Clara reached back for his hand, and he clenched her fingers. The sunlight on the water was punishing to the eyes, but he caught the slithers in the water as Sironka maneuvered the boat toward the adjacent shore.

  When they reached it, Clara muttered something and then jumped out of the boat behind Naserian, who had her club out again. The brush and trees around them, all perfect hiding places for toothy carnivores, made him feel low on the food chain. He pushed himself out of the boat and watched as Sironka pulled it quickly across the ground to a shady tree.

  “That’s one hell of a shortcut, Naserian,” Arthur said to break the tension.

  “Cut down almost a day,” she said, releasing a long breath. “I don’t think I’ve prayed that hard for some time.”

  “Me either,” Clara said, meeting his eyes.

  He knew what she was thinking. Yes, if they survived it, they’d have one hell of an adventure to share with the grandchildren.

  “Let us go,” Sironka said when he returned.

  “So much for that sign, right, Sironka?”

  The warrior’s brow rose. “We aren’t dead, are we, Mr. Hale?”

  A fair point.

  Arthur took Clara’s hand and followed them into the thicket. They came across more monkeys, who jeered at them from the trees. But an hour later, he got chills at the sight of a small white-brown owl with long ear-tufts, perched in the hollow of a tree a few feet above them. It opened its eyes, and Arthur couldn’t believe how golden they were. Then it flew away. Naserian didn’t have to say anything about omens. Arthur had felt the woo-woo himself.

  They ate sparingly as they walked, the dried meat strips reminding him of beef jerky. Another watering hole provided them with more water to replenish their stock. And they kept walking. Late afternoon gave way to evening, streaks of orange and yellow limning the trees overhead.

  When his legs were beginning to turn rubbery, t
hey broke through the forest into a large glade. The sky had turned a deep blue, and a few stars shone in the cloudless sky overhead. Naserian and Sironka stopped, and Arthur and Clara did the same. He watched as the healer leaned down and brushed her fingers across the ground, saying words in her language. A shiver went through him again at the stillness of the place, and he scanned the area, knowing it was special somehow. He’d felt the same way the first time he’d gone into Chartres Cathedral in France.

  Hills surrounded them on three sides, lined with trees. Before them, a wide valley spread out, and in the distance, he spotted something white amidst the verdant plant life. The flower… At last!

  “Welcome to the Valley of Stars,” Naserian said, rising with a smile. “The gods welcome you.”

  Sironka laid his spear on the ground and said a few words, and then he and his mother began walking forward.

  Arthur looked at Clara. “We seem to have arrived, my dear.”

  She gasped, her gaze straight ahead. “Look, Arthur! Do you see him?”

  He squinted in the twilight. “My God, it’s a lion. Sironka! There’s a—”

  It disappeared. What the hell? Where had it gone? The beast had been there one moment and gone the next. There was no way it could have moved that quickly.

  Clara grabbed his arm. “It’s vanished. Like someone shut off the movie projector or something. Arthur, do you think it was a vision?”

  He kept his eyes on the area he’d seen the lion, caution and curiosity warring inside him. “I don’t know, dear. After today, I’d say anything is possible. I only know Sironka seems to have dropped his spear, and I’m tempted to pick it up.”

  “Well, he’d be the first of us to recognize danger, so I think we’re safe. I mean, look at the way he handled that crocodile earlier! Come, let’s get this flower. When I was too tired to continue, I’d think about Michaela and her fever. If this flower does what they say it does, I have a name for it.”

  They came across a plant loaded with flowers, and suddenly Arthur understood why the Valley of Stars had been the name for this land. The flower was tiny, yet the blossoms had a star-shaped pattern with what looked to be a silver center. “What do you want to call it?” he asked, hoping the flower would earn her moniker.

  “Life Giver,” Clara whispered, plucking off a flower and studying it before tucking it into her pocket. “Let’s catch up to Naserian and Sironka. I expect we’ll be spending the night here. Picking the flowers in the morning.”

  He’d imagined the same, but he expected sleep would be elusive in this place. At least there were no hippos or crocs. A mythical lion he could deal with.

  “What do you think of the Valley of Stars?” Naserian called as Sironka began to build a fire in a clearing.

  “It’s beautiful,” Clara said, awe shooting through her voice. “Enchanting.”

  None of her worry for Michaela was evident in her voice now, and he was proud of her forbearance. For once in his life, he didn’t have it in him to wax poetic. His niece was ill, and her well-being depended on him crossing that life-threatening river again—after another several hours of hiking.

  He wasn’t going to let her down.

  Chapter 18

  Michaela was worsening.

  Boyd knew it by the way she started moaning in her sleep. Every time she cried out, her body bathed in sweat, he had to force himself not to freak out. Lemayian had given her a tea made from the bark of warburgia, one of their go-to plants for fever. She’d swallowed sips of it without waking up. He knew and believed in the power of plants—hell, he’d made it his life work—but in the face of losing Michaela, his faith was dimming.

  “You might take a break, sir,” Hargreaves said, wringing out a cloth before returning it to Michaela’s forehead again, something they’d taken turns doing since Arthur and Clara had departed for the Valley of Stars that morning.

  “I’m not leaving her,” he ground out, although the hut had become stuffy and confining. Hargreaves had procured another kerosene lantern, but the darkness still seemed to be closing in on them as night fell.

  “You’ll be more refreshed to help Ms. Merriam if you take a break.”

  “You haven’t,” he spat back. In fact, Hargreaves had showed up unexpectedly this morning, announcing he’d decided to stay behind to help with Michaela, and he hadn’t left since.

  “I will when you do, sir,” Hargreaves said, sitting across from him in a chair he’d brought in. “Perhaps this is a good time to remind you that a fever is the body’s natural way of fighting infection. Michaela is also young and in good health.”

  Which meant squat in this remote part of the country, where the closest hospital was likely a hundred or more miles away.

  But lashing out at Hargreaves wouldn’t change any of that. He’d been nothing but helpful. “I appreciate you mentioning it right now. I only wish she’d wake up.”

  “As do I, sir,” Hargreaves said, his folded hands signifying only calm. “I’ll go for more water. It’s a shame we left behind the coolers with the ice. I’d never imagined missing the mere luxury of ice until now.”

  “Yeah,” Boyd said, taking his eyes off Michaela and looking at Hargreaves, who had grooves around his mouth. “Thank you again for helping.”

  “It’s an honor, sir. I only wish I could do more. The first-aid kit I packed doesn’t have anything useful for what Ms. Merriam faces. We must trust in Madam and Mr. Hale. I know they will be back as soon as possible.”

  And yet they were walking God only knew how far, which wouldn’t be a picnic at their age. But he nodded and the man left.

  Boyd touched Michaela’s brow, his fingertips scorching from the heat emanating from her. The fact that he didn’t know her exact temperature bothered him. Hargreaves had been right about fevers—they could heal a patient—but they could also kill one. He stopped his mind in its tracks. Best not to think about that.

  She moaned again, this time rolling awkwardly onto her side. She vomited in a sudden rush.

  He lurched out of his chair and pulled her hair back as much as he could. “Oh, baby!” It wasn’t like she had anything in her stomach. She’d barely drunk the tea Lemayian had brewed. The small pot still sat on the table, which they’d moved close to the bed. The empty wooden cup sat beside it.

  “Boyd,” she whispered, her voice a harsh rasp.

  “Yeah, Mickey, it’s me.” He eased her onto her back, smoothing her hair out, cleaning everything up as best he could with a spare cloth he’d laid out earlier. “I’m right here.”

  “Where are we?” Her green eyes were glassy and unfocused when she opened them. “My head hurts and my bones ache like crazy. Do I have the flu? I never get sick.”

  Tears filled his eyes. God, she sounded raspy, so unlike herself. “I remember that about you. Yes, you’re sick, but we’re taking care of you.”

  “Where are we? And why is a cow on me?” She pushed the hide off weakly, her cotton T-shirt soaked again.

  “We’re in Kenya, babe, really close to the Valley of Stars.” He traced her cheek softly. “They’re bringing the flower to you.”

  “The flower? Oh, right. We found it. That’s good, because I feel wretched.”

  Hargreaves appeared in the opening of the tent, an earthenware pitcher in hand.

  “Don’t worry, Mickey, everything is going to be okay. I promise.” He knew this wasn’t a promise he could guarantee, but he needed to comfort her. It was the one thing he might have the power to do in this situation. “Babe, I’m sorry you’re sick.”

  “Me too.” Moaning, she closed her eyes again. “God, I’m so hot. I don’t want this on me.”

  He whisked the hide off her. Her bare legs were slicked with sweat. Water seemed to be pouring out of her. Alarmed, he looked at Hargreaves as the man handed him a wet cloth. “Find Lemayian.”

  The man rushed out without bowing, a rarity for him.

  “Who are you talking to?” she asked. He took her hand, but it felt limp in his g
rasp, even though he could tell she was trying to hold on to him too.

  “Hargreaves. Who knew he’d come in handy as a nurse on this trip?”

  “I can hear the worry in your voice.” She was quiet a moment, then said, “Do you know how much I love listening to your voice? I used to close my eyes when we were talking in bed, like that could make me hear it better or something. I missed it when you were gone.”

  He wiped at the tears in his eyes with his other hand. “Well, I’m back, so there’s nothing to miss.” He stared down at her. Her long curly hair was sticking to her skin from sweat. He needed to find her a new shirt. But she didn’t have any clean clothes after the fall in the river. Now she might die, and it was his fault.

  Pain tore through his heart like lightning tearing into a tree. How had he let their fight last for six months? He’d missed all that time. Well, no more. Taking out his wallet from his back pocket, he removed her engagement ring.

  “I know you haven’t said you’ll marry me yet since I haven’t officially asked you, but I figure this is as good a time as any to make a vow: I won’t ever leave you or let you down ever again, Mickey.”

  “Good,” she whispered, her voice faint. “I’d be so mad at you if you did.”

  He slid the ring onto her finger and lifted her hand to his mouth so he could kiss it.

  “Kiss it and make it better,” she whispered. “Mom always did that. I miss her.”

  “I know you do,” he said, his gut roiling at the thought of her family. How would they take it if she worsened? If…

  “I suppose if I can’t have my mom, you’ll do.”

  Usually a remark like that would have made him laugh. This time it only brought more tears filling his eyes. She was so weak, so feverish, and given the sweat sliding off her, she had to be dehydrated too.

  “I love you, Mickey.”

  “Love you,” she breathed out, and then she closed her eyes and went slack again.