Black Leopard, Red Wolf

Leopard and I stood side by side. The Ogo saw me and the Leopard on one side of the room and the slaver and tall woman on the other, and stood still, his eyes hiding under the wild bush of his brow. The old woman opened her eyes.

“One room too small for so many fools,” she said. But she did not move from the mat.

She must have been a witch. She had the air and the smell of witches—lemongrass and fish, blood from a girl’s koo, and funk from not washing her arms or feet.

“Messenger is what he is, all he is,” she said.

“The first time, his message was a pig. This time it’s a sheep,” I said.

“Sangoma,” the old woman said.

“What?”

“You talk in riddles, like a Sangoma. Did you live with one? Who teach you?”

“I don’t know her name and she taught me nothing. The Sangoma from the Hills of Enchantment. The one who saved mingi children.”

“Also the one who give you that eye,” she said.

“My eye is none of your business. This some plot against us?” I asked.

“But you be nothing. Why would anyone plot against you?” the old woman said. “You wish to find the child or no? Answer the question plain, or maybe …”

“Maybe what?”

“Maybe the woman is still part of the man. No man has cut you. No wonder you so flighty.”

“Should I be like you then, a credit to your kind?”

She smiled. She was enjoying this. And there it was, a smell again, stronger this time, stronger mayhaps because of the discord in this room, but also outside it. I could not describe it, but I knew it. No, the smell knew me.

“What do you know of the men who took the boy?” I asked.

“What makes you think they were men?” the tall woman said.

“What is your name?”

“Nsaka Ne Vampi.”

“Nsaka,” I said.

“Nsaka Ne Vampi.”

“As you wish.”

“I tell you true, we know nothing,” she said. “Night is when they came. Few, maybe four, maybe five, maybe six, but they were men of strange and terrible looks. I can read the—”

“I can also read.”

“Then go to the Kongor great hall of records and seek it yourself. Nobody saw them enter. Nobody saw them leave.”

“Did no one scream?” said the Leopard. “Had they no windows or doors?”

“Neighbors saw nothing. The women overcharged for her millet porridge and flatbreads, so why would they listen twice what noises come from her house?”

“Why this boy, of all the boys in Kongor?” I asked. “Truly, Kongor is so steadfast in breeding warriors that finding a girl would be a bigger mystery. One boy in Kongor is the same as any other. Why him?”

“That is all we will say until Kongor,” the slaver said.

“Not enough. Not enough by half.”

“The slaver said his piece,” said Nsaka Ne Vampi. “You have the choice, yes or no, so make it quick. We ride in the morning. Even with fast horses it will take ten and two days to get to Kongor.”

“Tracker, we leave,” the Leopard said.

He turned to go. I watched the Ogo watch him as he stepped past.

“Wait,” I said.

“Why?”

“Have you not yet finished making marks?”

“What? Make sense, Tracker.”

“Not you. Her.”

I pointed to the old woman still crouched on the ground. She looked at me, her face blank.

“You have been drawing runes since we came into this room. Writing on air, so nobody here would know. But they are there. All around you.”

The old woman smiled.

“Tracker?” the Leopard whispered. I knew how he was when he understood nothing. He would change, ready for a fight.

“The old crone’s a witch,” I said, and the Leopard’s hair went wild across his back. I touched behind his neck and he stayed.

“You are writing runes either to let someone in or keep someone out,” I said.

I stepped forward and looked around the room.

“Show yourself,” I said. “Your stench was with this room from the moment I entered it.”

In the doorway, liquid coursing down the wall pooled on the floor. Dark and shiny, like oil, and spreading slow like blood. But the smell, something like sulfur, filled the room. “Look,” I said to the Leopard, and pulled a dagger from my waist. I clutched the blade, chucked it at the puddle, and the puddle swallowed it with a suck. In a blink, the knife shot out from the puddle. The Leopard caught it right before it hit my left eye.

“Work of devils,” he said.

“I have seen this devil before,” I said.

The Leopard watched the puddle move. I wanted to see how the others reacted. The Ogo stooped down, but was still taller than everybody else. He bent even lower. He had never seen the like before. The old woman stopped writing runes in air. She was expecting this. Nsaka Ne Vampi stood fast, but moved backward, one slow step, then another. Then she stopped, but something else made her step back again. She was here for this, but perhaps this was not what she was waiting for. Some beasts can walk through a door. Some must be conjured from ground, and some must be evoked from sky, like spirits. The slaver looked away.