Black Leopard, Red Wolf

“Not telling you nothing you do not know. It’s care that you lack,” I said.

“He is a slave. He was born to die servin—”

“And you could be your mother’s own sister. His birth was more noble than yours.”

“You speak against the water—”

Bunshi waved her hand and Sogolon stayed quiet.

“There are bigger things than—”

“Than what? A slave? A man? A woman? Everybody on this raft thinking, At least I am better than that slave. They will take days to kill him, you know this. They will cut him up and burn each wound so he will not die from sickness. You know how man-eaters work. And yet there are bigger things.”

“Tracker.”

“He is not a slave.”

I dived into the water.

The next morning I woke up in thin brown bush with a hand on my chest. The girl from the night before, some of her clay washed off, cupping and feeling it, as if weighing iron because she had only seen brass. I pushed her off. She scrambled back to the other side of the raft, right to the feet of Sogolon, who stood like a captain, holding her spear like a staff. The sun had been up for some time, it seemed, for my skin was hot. Then I jumped.

“Where’s Bibi?”

“Do you not remember?” Sogolon said.

And as she said it, I remembered. Swimming back in water that felt like black slick, the shore moving farther and farther away, but me using rage to get there. The Zogbanu were gone, back into the bush. I had no hatchets and only one knife. The Zogbanu’s skin had felt like tree bark, but by his ribs felt soft, and as with all beasts, one could throw a spear right through. Someone grabbed my hand with old fingers. Fingers black as night.

“Bunshi,” I said.

“Your friend is dead,” she said.

“He is not dead just because you say he is dead.”

“Tracker, they were on the hunt for food and we took away their last meal. They will not eat the boy whose neck we broke.”

“I am still going.”

“Even if it means your death?”

“What is that to you?”

“You are still a man of great use. These beasts will certainly kill you, and what would be the use of two dead bodies?”

“I shall go.”

“At least do not be seen.”

“Will you cast a masking spell?”

“Am I a witch?”

I looked around and thought she was gone until wetness seeped between my toes. The lake getting pulled to the shore by the moon, I was sure of it. Then the water rose to my ankles but did not return to the lake. There was no lake water at all, just something black, cool, and wet crawling up my legs. I caught fright, but only for a blink, and let her cover me. Bunshi stretched her skin up past my calves to my knee, around and above it, covered my thighs and belly, going onto every bit of skin. Truth, I did not like this at all. She was cold, colder than the lake, and yet looking down I wanted to go to the lake just to see myself looking like her. She reached my neck and gripped it so tight that I slapped her.

“Stop trying to kill me,” I said.

She relaxed her grip, covered my lips, face, then head.

“Zogbanu see bad in the dark. But they smell and hear and feel your heat.”

I thought she was going to lead me but she was still. We did not get very far.

The fire was already raging in the sky. One of the Zogbanu grabbed Bibi’s head and pulled him up. He held half of Bibi in the air. His chest was already cut open to remove the guts, his ribs spread out like a cow killed for a feast. They threw him on the spit and the fire rose to meet him.

I snapped myself back from the dream and vomited. I stood up. It wasn’t the dream that made me want to vomit, but the raft. And what raft was this? A huge mound of bone dirt and grass that looked like a small island, not something made by man. The Leopard sat on the other side, his legs up. He looked at me and I looked at him. Neither of us nodded. Fumeli sat down beside him, but did not look at me. Only one of the supply horses survived, cutting our meals in half. The painted girl kneeled down beside the standing Sogolon. The raft island sunk a little underneath the Ogo. What is it, this thing we sail on? I wanted to ask, but knew his answer would take us into night. Sogolon, standing there as if seeing lands we could not see, was without doubt steering this with magic. The painted girl looked at me, wrapping herself in leather-skin.

“Are you a beast, like him?” she asked, pointing at the Leopard.

“You mean this?” I said, pointing to my eye. “This is of the dog, not of the cat. And I am not an animal, I am a man.”

“What is man, and what is woman?” the girl said.

“Bingoyi yi kase nan,” I said.

“She said that to me three times in the night, even in sleep,” she said, pointing at Sogolon.

“A girl is a hunted animal,” I said.

“I am the glorious offering of—”

“Of course you are.”

Everyone was so quiet that I could hear water gurgle under the raft. The Ogo turned around. He said, “What is man and what is woman? Well that is a simple question with a simple answer, except for when—”

“Sadogo, not now,” I said.

“Your name? What do they call you?” I asked.