Black Leopard, Red Wolf

“Not long but deep like in sleep. Your eye was milk white. I thought demons were in your head, but no froth came to your mouth.”

“It happens only when I am not expecting it. I smell something and someone’s life comes to me all in a rush. It is a madness, even now when I have learned to master it. But, Ogo, there is something.”

“Another dead body?”

“No, the boy.”

He looked in the urn.

“No, the boy we seek. He is alive. And I know where he is.”

THIRTEEN

Truly, it was foolish to say I found the boy. I found that he was far away. The Ogo, on hearing my news, grabbed his torch and dashed off to his left, then right, then went into the children’s dwelling, and yanked up so many rugs that a cloud of dust rose up and made itself known, even in the dark.

“The boy is nearly three moons away,” I said.

“What does that mean?” he said. He was still lifting rugs and waving his torch.

“About as far as the East from the West.”

He threw down the rugs and the gust blew out the torch.

“Well at least coming all this way served a purpose,” he said.

“I wonder what purpose it served Sogolon,” I mumbled.

“What?”

I forgot that Ogos had sharp ears. She was here before and not that long ago, perhaps even last night. Back in Fumanguru’s room, among the fallen books and ripped papers, her smell came on most strong. I made one step into the room and stopped. The smell came to me at once, and from every side. Shea butter mixed with charcoal, used on the face and skin to become one with the dark.

“We go out, Sadogo.”

He turned to head to the back wall.

“No, through the front door. It’s already open.”

We cut through the bush and walked right into a group of armed men. Sadogo pulled back, surprised, but I was not. They wore skin dye to blend with night black. I heard the crunch and scrape of the Ogo squeezing his iron knuckles. Ten and five of them standing in a half-moon, lake-blue turbans on their heads, lake-blue veils covering all but eye and nose. A sash the same blue across chest and back, black tunic and breeches underneath. And with spear, bow, spear, bow, spear, bow, and on and on, till the last one, carrying a sword on his left, sheathed, like mine. I held on to my sword but did not pull it out. Sadogo stepped once and knocked an archer out of his way, sending him and the arrow flying. The men turned to him in a blink, pulling back bows and ready to hurl spears. The man with the sword was not dressed as they. He wore a red cape over his right shoulder and under his left, flapping in the wind and slapping the ground. A tunic with the chest open that stopped right above his thighs and tied at the waist with a leather belt that held his sword. He waved them down, but watched me the whole time. Sadogo stood in position, waiting for a fight.

“You look certain we’re not going to kill you,” the swordsman said.

“Mine is not the death I worry about,” I said.

The swordsman glared at us. “I am Mossi, third prefect of the Kongori chieftain army.”

“We took nothing,” I said.

“Such a sword could not be yours. Not when I saw it three nights before.”

“You waiting for anyone, or just us?”

“Leave questions to me and answers to yourself.”

He came in closer until he was right in front of me. He was tall but shorter than me, his eyes almost reached mine, and his face was hidden in black dye. Gourd helmet with an iron stitch running in the middle, though the sun was gone and it was cool. A thin silver necklace, lost in chest bush. Head shaped sharp like an arrowpoint, nose hawk-like, thick lips that curved up as if he was smiling, and eyes so clear I could see them in the dark. Rings in both ears.

“Tell me when you see something that pleases you,” he said.

“That sword is not Kongori,” I said.

“No. It belonged to a slaver from the land of the eastern light. Caught him kidnapping free women to sell as slaves. Wouldn’t part with it without parting with his hand, so …”

“You are the second sword thief I have met.”

“Steal from a thief and the gods smile. What is your name?”

“Tracker.”

“Not your mother’s favorite, then.”

He was close enough for me to feel his breath.

“There’s a devil living in your eye,” he said.

He reached for it with his finger and I flinched.

“Or did he punch you one night?” He pointed at Sadogo.

“Not a devil. A wolf,” I said.

“So when the moon bares herself do you howl at it?”

I said nothing, but watched his men. He pointed at Sadogo, who still tensed his arms, waiting to strike.

“Is he an Ogo?”

“Try to kill him and find out.”

“Nevertheless, this conversation continues at the fort. That way.” He pointed east.

“Is that the fort no prisoner leaves? What if we choose not to go?”

“Then this talk between us, sweet and easy, becomes difficult.”

“We’ll kill at least seven of your men.”

“And my men are very generous with their spears. I can lose seven. Can you lose one? This is not an arrest. I prefer talk where streets don’t listen. Do we understand each other?”