Wolves of the Jungle

Chapter One: A Pursuit

If Solomon Kane had not climbed a hill in the early morning, he might never have known what had occurred. But the odd, craggy lump of what might have been volcanic rock was easily scaled, and he felt it might give him a view of what lay ahead.

He stood there in the dawn-light, a tall, rangy man, broad of shoulder and slim of hip, clad in the close black garb of the Puritan. At his hips hung a brace of heavy flintlock pistols, and beside them a long rapier and matching dirk. In his left hand he carried a staff, some three feet long, of ancient, iron-hard wood, curiously carved along its length, with the head of a cat at one end, and a killing point at the other. His broad-brimmed slouch hat was pulled down over his pale, sombre features to shade the keen, colourless eyes that scanned the horizon.

He had not meant to look back – his path lay before him – but the vista of the jungle at dawn was so lovely and ethereal. The Puritan held no love for the adornments made by man, but the beauty of Gods' work was another thing, and he turned about to take in the full panorama. It was then he saw the rising column of grey smoke, and knew that something was wrong.

The smoke rose over the village he had left but the morning before. He had stayed there above two weeks, learning their language and discovering much about their culture. A culture more complex and developed than many white men would have believed. They had welcomed him with open hearts, as a stranger in their village, according to ancient, unwritten, but binding laws of hospitality. But now it seemed some ill had befallen them.

The strange calling that had drawn him from England to this dark, brooding continent still burned within him. But against that was Kanes' own code, his own sense of justice and morality. Those people were his friends, and if aid was needed, he would not be found lacking!

The previous day he had marched away from the village at leisure, but today he covered the ground, so it was barely noon when he came in sight of the high wooden palisade that protected the village. The great gate was gone, or rather it lay scattered about in shards and half-charred logs. In front of where it had been stood a troop of five warriors, led by one Kane recognised, a canny veteran named Malak.

It was Malak who, recognising Kane, stepped forward and thrust his stabbing spear point first into the ground in token of peace, before coming closer and offering his hand to the white man.

"Hai-yah, Kane, it is good to see you, white brother! You leave early and return late. Such are the ways of the loa. Had you been with us last night, I fear that all your courage and skill might have served only to bring your death."

"What has happened?" Kane asked.

"Slavers." Malak said simply. "But no common slavers, or they would not have dared strike here."

"Malak," said one of the younger men, "should we not take this man prisoner? Might it not be that it was he who led the slavers here? Who told them when and how to strike?"

Malak laughed. "Good, Timo, good! Caution is an excellent trait in a man who would lead. But you must also learn to judge men truly. I have looked this man between the eyes, and there is no treachery or deception in him.

"But if that is not enough for you, consider, why would Kane return here now, if he was one of them?"

"True." Timo admitted. "And if he shows the temper in battle that he did in the hunt with us, surely he would have led the raiders himself. Forgive me, Kane, I spoke without thought."

"You spoke as one concerned for his folk." Kane replied. "I find no fault with that, Timo. But Malak, is there aught I can do to aid?"

"Speak with the Queen." Malak told him. "She has availed herself of your counsel before, and would no doubt do so again."

Queen Asiti was not hard to find. She was in consultation with the shaman Takor outside his great hut. The hut was surrounded by awnings made from rush mats supported on poles, and it was under these that the sick and wounded rested. Kane smiled when he thought of how the physicians of Europe would think of this, believing as they did that all disease was airborne, and that the sick must be kept within, behind closed shutters. But Takor was skilled beyond any leech Kane had met in London or Paris, brewing draughts and making poultices from the jungle plants and insects that could cure any fever or heal any wound.

The shaman and the Queen saw Kane at the same time and advanced to meet him. Asiti was a lovely woman in her thirties, as tall as Kane and with a graceful carriage. From the waist down, she was clad in flowing, brightly-coloured cloth, from the waist up, she wore nothing but barbaric silver jewellery whose splendour was accentuated by its contrast with her ebony skin. She smiled at Kane and held out both hands to grasp his in greeting.

"Hai-yah, Kane! You return in our hour of need!" She said. "Your Great Loa must have sent you."

"Perhaps." Kane said. "I saw the smoke, and thought to help."

"We will need your aid, my friend." She replied. "But more of that soon. First, Takor seeks your counsel."

Takor looked more like a warrior than a leech. A burly, muscular man of forty or so with large hands and long, clever fingers. He looked at Kane with eyes that burned with intelligence.

"Hai-yah, white brother." He greeted him. "You find me at a loss. Wounds of spear, arrow and blade, I can treat, but the wounds of firelocks are beyond my knowledge. See now, some penetrate fully through, and these I can heal. But others! When I probe the wound to see if any sickness lies in it, so that I can prepare the poultices, I find something hard, like a stone, and the wounded cry in pain when I touch it."

Kane nodded. "The firelocks hurl a ball of lead to inflict the wound, Takor. Often, it becomes lodged in the wound. It must be cut out. I know you have knives fit for the task, I have seen you cut out an arrow-head. 'Tis much the same, though your bows do not penetrate so deeply as a firelock. Your wounded will need potions for the pain, and strong men to hold them while you work. Also, you should cleanse your knives with fire after each use. This the Moorish shamans do, and it prevents the wounds from mortifying."

"Ah, my thanks, Kane." Takor smiled. "I will begin preparations at once!"

This done, Asiti led Kane to a corner of the village, walled off by its own small fence. Within was an area where the bodies of the recently dead were kept in preparation for disposal. Here lay the bodies of six warriors of the tribe, tended by the women of their families, awaiting the cremation that would take place at sunset.

Placed separately, and tended by none, were five more bodies, and these were not part of any tribe. Kane saw two Arabs, a white man, a black man and another whose yellow skin and almond-shaped eyes matched descriptions he had heard of the men of far Cathay. They were clad in an assortment of mismatched finery, none too clean in most cases, and all wore some kind of jewellery.

"These were among the slavers?" He asked.

Asiti nodded. "Before dark, they will be taken into the jungle and left for the beasts. They were no better than carrion in life, so it is a fitting end. Come."

They went to the Royal Hut, where they would be assured of privacy. Kane wasted no time in coming to the point.

"Malak said these were no common slavers?" He asked.

Asiti nodded. "He spoke the truth. No common slavers come here, we are too far from the coast and the jungle is an effective fence. But these are the Seng Brotherhood." She turned her head as she spoke the name, and spat into the fire as if to cleanse her mouth. "They came in the evening, at the Time of Song, when all arms are laid aside and the people gather in the centre of the village. Only a few guards are set on the walls, and they watch the trees for leopards, not the ground for invaders.

"They blew the gate to pieces with their fire-powder, cut down the guards and began to seize the children. They were fearless and disciplined, and when they saw that our men were armed and ready to resist, they took what they already had and retreated in good order.

"We were helpless against their firelocks, only when we could close with them could we match them, and it cost them when we did, as you saw. But they took many of our children, and among them, my only daughter, Katiri."

She closed her eyes for a moment, and Kane gave her the time. But when she spoke, it was not of her personal loss.

"It is the custom of our people, Solomon Kane, that we are always governed by a Queen. For as Man is of the Sky, and inconstant, so Woman is of the Earth, and constant. Wise rule requires constancy, and so it has ever been. Your land too, is led by a Queen, you told me, yet this is not the rule?"

Kane nodded. "Elizabeth has reigned for many years, yet there are still those who argue that the rule of a woman is contrary to the Law of God." He held no love for Elizabeth Tudor, whose Act of Uniformity the Puritans, who had supported her claim to the throne against that of the papist King of Spain, saw as a betrayal. Still, he could not but respect the cleverness and ruthlessness with which she had held her place, and made England -a tiny island - great and feared among nations. "I take it, then, that you must have Katiri back, not only as a your daughter, but your heir?"

Asiti inclined her head. "Women among the foremost families of the tribe are already pressing me to favour their daughters. You know Katiri, Kane. Would she not make a fine Queen?"

Kane indeed knew Katiri, a pretty child of some ten summers, tall for her age and already a leader among her playmates. She had plagued him daily with many shrewd questions about his land and people, and had been the only one of the village children brave enough to play mischievous tricks upon the sombre-faced white man.

"A worthy heir to a worthy mother." He said. "So you will be sending warriors after them?"

Asiti shook her head, grim-faced. "I cannot." She said. "Other tribes will have seen what you saw. Kane, they will have sent their scouts. Our gate lies shattered, and until it be remade, I must keep all our warriors here. For make no mistake, some of the others envy our wealth, the fertility of our land, and our women. They will come, perhaps tomorrow, or the next day, and we must be ready to drive them off. A single warrior I might send, but of Katiris' fathers, one lies dead, another wounded and the third must remain here to command our warriors in battle.

"Also, I cannot send anyone to follow the trail the Seng took. For our scouts followed them, and returned in fear, seeing that they had entered the country of Bangalla."

"I have not heard of Bangalla." Kane admitted.

"We do not speak of it." Asiti admitted. "It is taboo, forbidden among all the tribes nearby, except for chiefs and shamans. No war-party has ever returned, and few scouts. Those that have babble of poisoned darts, traps and stalking beasts with the cunning of men. They speak of a land where the dead walk, a land overlooked by a mountain that bears the face of Death himself.

"Which is why, Solomon Kane, your return brings me what little hope I have. The white shamans who have come here from time to time have told us many tales of your Great Loa, as you have. It is said, is it not, that he has power over Death? That his son defied Death and rose from his tomb to walk among men?"

"That is truth." Kane replied. "But I enjoy no such blessing from the Lord, being but a mortal man, and a sinner to boot."

"Nevertheless," Asiti argued, "your Great Loa must extend you some protection. If he does not fear Death, then Death may yet fear him and offer little harm to his servants? You yourself have faced the walking dead before, yet you stand before me whole and strong!"

"That also is truth." Kane admitted, thinking back to the long, hot day when he and the wizard N'Longa had hunted through the Hills of the Dead to bring an end to the plague of Vampires that troubled the people there. He still held the staff N'Longa had gifted him so long ago, and if the old man yet lived, he could advise against any supernatural foe. Yet for all his faith, Kane was a rational man. He guessed that the hands and minds of clever, but mortal, men lay behind the myths around Bangalla.

"I will go." He told Asiti solemnly. "You have my word that I shall seek out these slavers and take back what they have stolen. At least, if I cannot rescue, I will avenge!"

She smiled then, a brilliant smile, and placed her palm on his chest. "Solomon Kane," she told him, "if the laws of your Great Loa permitted it, I would have you to husband before I let you leave!"

"An honour far beyond my worth, My Lady!" He replied with a rare smile. "But I must be gone, ere the trail grow cold."

"No need for haste." She noted. "The scouts said that they camped within the borders of Bangalla for the night. Those borders are an hours' march from here, so they have less than a days' start, and a company with prisoners must move more slowly than a lone man. Stay and eat, we will prepare supplies for you.

"Also, we took the weapons from the slavers we killed, I have them here. You may take what you will of them."

None of the slavers' pistols were of as good a make as Kanes' English flintlocks. Nor could their cutlasses or scimitars match his own Toledo blade. The one musket had its lock broken from parrying a spear-thrust, but Kane had been able to replenish his supply of powder and shot. Thus equipped, he followed the trail -which was broad and clear, as if the slavers cared little for pursuit or reprisal.

In the mid afternoon, he reached the borders of Bangalla. These, he noted, were clearly marked, which was not usual. At intervals along an invisible line, seven-foot posts had been set in the ground, and from the top of each one grinned a naked human skull. Doubtless the remains of some foolish, long-past invasion. For the natives, with their belief in a world full of spirits both benevolent and hostile, these eyeless sentinels might well be thought unsleeping, vigilant guards. But Kane was not a superstitious man, not a papist to cross himself and mumble at the sight of death. He simply shrugged and passed between them, following the trail.

But as soon as he crossed the border, other instincts came into play. Kane had journeyed long in the wild and dark places. All his senses had become keen, and he had developed that sixth sense men speak of. It was this sense that told him he was being watched now. Watched from afar, and with curiosity more than hostile intent, but watched nonetheless. He shrugged, they might watch all they wished, but if they came against him, they would not find him unprepared.

The campsite of the slavers was not far from the border. The ashes of their cooking fires were cold, as Kane expected. They must have moved out at dawn. Almost a full days' start, but they would be slower than him. As far as he could tell, the camp showed little discipline. Refuse was scattered everywhere, including several empty bottles that smelled of wine or strong spirits. A crude circular fence still stood off to one side, indicating where the prisoners had been kept, and the remains of a separate cook-fire nearby seemed to indicate that they had at least been fed. But then, a half-starved, weakened slave fetched a poor price.

The trail led from the clearing, deeper into Bangalla. It was broad and obvious, the trail of a well-armed company who cared little for any who might follow. Their mistake. Some light was left in the day, and Kane moved on with the tireless stride of a born hunter. Yet even he would not follow the trail at night, when a sudden change in direction might go unnoticed. Also, the night was the time of the hunting beasts; shy of man by day, they grew bolder as the sun set and the moon rose. Kane climbed into the fork of a great tree and set himself to sleep. But it was the light sleep of a cat, and he kept a loaded pistol in his lap. Leopards roamed these forests, and were as at home among the branches as on the ground.

He resumed the hunt at dawn, coming on the slavers' second camp by mid-morning, the ashes of the fires still being warm. It was much the same as the previous one, but less spread out, as if the men who built it felt the need to pack closer together. But again, the trail out was broad and clear. Kane followed.

It was just before noon that he came upon the first body. A white man, but olive-skinned, with the look of a Spaniard about him, dressed in tattered and filthy finery, but unarmed. He lay in the trail, body and face contorted, flecks of foam about his blackened lips and his eyes still staring. Kane examined him closely. At first, there seemed to be no wound, but as he turned the body over he noticed a sliver of wood, a thorn, lodged in the skin of the neck just above one of the great veins. There were no thorny plants nearby, so how had it come there? To kill with so small a wound indicated the use of a virulent poison, all of which spoke of the hand of man. Kane had heard Spanish Conquistadores speak of the blowguns and poisoned darts used by native tribes in the Americas. He guessed this slaver had fallen prey to a similar weapon, though he had never seen them used in Africa, where bow and spear were the weapons of choice. His comrades appeared to have stripped him of his weapons and jewellery, but not accorded him any kind of burial, whether from fear of attack or simple contempt, Kane neither knew nor cared.

The nature of the trail he followed changed now. Certain signs made it clear that the slavers were going more slowly, keeping together. It meant Kane might catch up with them quicker, but also that they would be on the watch. He wondered why he himself had not been molested. A lone traveller was easy prey, and a dart might have found its mark in him at any time. Perhaps the unseen stalkers did not see him as a threat. Or perhaps they sensed that he and they had a foe in common.

After perhaps another hour, the landscape changed, from trees to low bushes. The trail now led along the crest of a gentle slope, at the bottom of which a little river bubbled and chuckled. It was here that Kane sighted another body. He halted, taking cover in a bush, and watched. After a while, seeing nothing, he went forward.

This body was a young black man, his tribal scars contrasting oddly with his tattered but flamboyant European clothing. He had clearly died as the Spaniard had. Kane crouched to look for the dart, and it was then that his instincts warned him. He rose, turned, drew and fired in a single movement. The slavers' answering shot went wide as Kanes' heavy ball took him in the chest and flung him dead to the ground. He holstered his pistol and stepped forward, then flung himself to the side.

Too late, as he heard the crash of another pistol and felt a searing pain in his head. Then he was rolling and tumbling down the slope to lie face-up on the edge of the river. His head was full of red agony and his vision was blurred. Above him, he saw a figure at the top of the slope. Instinctively, he held himself still, breathed shallow and kept his eyes to narrow slits.

Either his crude deception worked, or the fellow above was in no mood to clamber down and make sure of him. Whatever the truth, he moved off after a moment. Kane waited a while, then rolled over and plunged his face into the river. The water was cold and sweet and revived him somewhat. The pain in his head did not recede, however, and waves of blackness threatened to overcome him time and again.

Grimly, he began to crawl up the slope. At any other time, he would have bounded up with the agility of a goat. Now the gentle grassy rise seemed worse than any mountain precipice. But at the top of the slope were some bushes of a kind Takor the shaman had shown him. Could he but chew a few of their leaves, the pain would be gone. It was a long climb, and a hard. Caught between red pain and waves of blackness, Kane had no idea of how long it took him until he hauled his long body over the crest and lay exhausted. One more effort, the bushes were not far.

Then a face was in front of his own, long-muzzled and furred, eyes that met his with a mixture of ferocity and intelligence. The wolf sniffed at him and whined, then sat back on its haunches, flung back its head and vented the long howl of its kind. If it was summoning the pack, Kane knew he was a dead man. He tried to rise, to reach for his weapons, but the great beast placed its paws on his chest and pinned him. It did not growl or bare its fangs, but whined again, as if pleading with him to lie quiet.

A moment later, there was another sound, the thud of hooves, and a great white horse strode up, a tall man mounted on it. The wolf took its weight off Kane and the Puritan watched with astonishment as the rider dismounted and rubbed the fierce head.

"Well found, Devil!" The language was, incredibly, English, the tones those of an educated gentleman. "Doubly well found, for he lives yet."

The man knelt beside Kane. He wore tight-fitting clothing, a hood over his head and a vizard across his eyes. His skin was tanned by the African sun, but was clearly that of a white man. Kane made to move, to speak, but the man placed a strong hand on his chest.

"Nay, friend, lie you quiet." He said firmly. "You'll not travel far nor talk any sense with a pate thus cracked. Time enough when you are healed.

"Now, drink!"

A flask was placed at his lips. Kane drank, there seemed little point in refusing. The liquor was warm, sweet and soothing, and the pain in his head retreated at once, to be replaced by a pleasant drowsiness. He was dimly aware of the arrival of others, and of his rescuer, or captor, speaking in a tribal dialect close enough to the ones Kane knew that he could understand it.

"Continue to follow them," he was saying, "and kill any stragglers or any that grow careless. Should they offer harm to the captives, attack at once. Otherwise, follow the plan.

"Four of you stay here and bring this man to the Cave. I ride ahead to make preparations. Devil will guide and guard you."

"As you wish, Ghost Who Walks." Replied another voice in the tones of a native.

Shortly after that, Kane felt himself lifted and placed on a crude litter. As he watched the sky and the leaves overhead, he drifted into a deep sleep.