Black Leopard, Red Wolf

“After his generals said to the mad King, Most Divine, we must retreat from Kalindar, our four sisters are in jeopardy, the King agreed. But then that night at the camp, for he demanded to be with his men in war, he heard two cats fucking and thought it was a night devil calling him a coward for retreating. So he demanded they advance again into Kalindar, only to be beaten by women and children hurling rocks and shit from their mud-brick towers. Meanwhile, Kwash Netu took Wakadishu. The final stand at Malakal was not even much of a stand. It was the dregs of an army fleeing stone-throwing women. The war was already won.”

“Hmm. That is not what they teach in Malakal.”

“I have heard the songs and read leaves of paper bound in leather-skin, how Malakal was the last stand between the light of Kwash Netu Empire and the darkness of the Massykin. Songs of fools. Only those who have not fought in war fail to see they were both dark. Alas, a mercenary without a war is a mercenary without work.”

“You know much about war, generals, and court. How ended you here, stuffing a fat pig dates for a living?”

“Work is work, Tracker.”

“And horseshit is horseshit.”

“Sooner than later the darkness of war shades every man who fought it. My needs are simple. Feeding my children as they too become men is one. Pride is not.”

“I don’t believe you. And after all you just said, I believe you even less. There is craft in your ways. Do you plan to kill him? I know, a rival hired you to get closer to him than a lover.”

“If I wanted to kill him I could have four years ago. He knows what I can do. I think it pleases him that people think I’m a silly girl-boy who likes to play with his mouth. He thinks it means I can sift through his enemies and deal with them.”

“So you are his spy. To spy on us?”

“Fool, he has Sogolon for that. I am here for whatever surprises the gods have in store for you.”

“I would hear more about what these great wars have done to you.”

“And I would say no more about it. War is war. Think of the worst that you have seen. Now think of seeing that every three steps for one quartermoon’s walk.”

We were now in deep grassland, greener and wetter than the brown bush of the valley, with the horses’ hooves sinking deeper in the dirt. Ahead, maybe another half a day’s ride, trees stood up and spread. Mountains hung back all around us. On the side, going west from Malakal, the mountains and the forest both looked blue. Along the grass and the wetness, bamboo giants of the grass sprouted, one, then two, then a clump, then a forest of them that blocked the late-afternoon sun. Other trees reached tall into the sky and ferns hid the dirt. I smelled a fresh brook before I heard or saw it. Ferns and bulbs sprouted out of fallen trees. We followed what looked like a track until I smelled that both the Leopard and Sogolon had gone that way. On my right hand, through the tall leaves, a waterfall rushed down rocks.

“Where they gone?” Fumeli asked.

“Fuck the gods, boy,” I said. “Your cat is but a—”

“Not him. Where are the beasts? No pangolin, no mandrill, not even a butterfly. Can your nose only smell what is here, and not what is gone?”

I did not want to talk to Fumeli. I would punch whatever rudeness came from his mouth.

“I will call him Red Wolf now—that is what he told me,” Bibi said.

“Who?”

“Nyka.”

“He mocks the red ochre I used to rub on my skin, saying only Ku women wear red,” I said.

“Truth for your ears? I have never seen a man in that colour,” Bibi said.

Bibi stopped, his brow furrowed, and looked at me as if trying to catch something he missed, then shook it out.

“And wolf?” he asked.

“You have not seen my eye?”

I knew his look. It said, There is a little that you are not telling me, but I care not enough to press it.

“What is that smell on the witch? I cannot place it,” I said.

He shrugged.

“Tell me something else, Sadogo,” I said to the Ogo.

This is true: The Ogo did not stop talking until evening caught us. And then he talked about the night catching us. I forgot about Fumeli until he hissed, and paid no attention until he hissed a third time. We came to a fork in the trail, a path left and a path right.

“We go left,” I said.

“Why left? This is the trail Kwesi take?”

“This is the trail I take,” I said. “Go your own way if you wish, just untie your horse from Bibi.” I heard the dull clump of hooves on mud and branches cracking.

I did not wait for him to say anything. The trail was narrow but there was a path and the sun was almost gone.

“No bat, no owl, no chirping beast,” Fumeli said.

“What twig is up your asshole now?”

“The boy is right, Tracker. No living thing moves through this forest,” Bibi said. One hand on the bridle, the other gripped his sword.

“Where is your great nose now?” Fumeli said.