The Huntress at Sunset
14. The Rains
Early morning sunlight filtered through the trees overhead, the leaves casting dusty shafts of green-gold to the ground below. The lion, sprawled on the loam beneath, was not entirely appreciative of their beauty. The way he felt, nothing would have struck him as beautiful. The elephants that roamed the plains of his mind stampeded about his skull, consuming all of his attention. Groaning, he rolled over onto his off side, throwing one forepaw over his eyes in an effort to blot out the brightness. His aching head welcomed the cool dark.
"Nengwe?"
The lion's ear twitched. "Mmm."
"Nengwe… c'mon."
A guttural growl. "Go 'way, and by the way, my name's Nengwalamwe."
"I will most certainly not. Now you look at me."
Nengwalamwe opened his eyes, his muzzle crinkling into a snarl. His hot breath escaping in short blasts. "Or what? Listen, damn it, I'm having a nap, and I'll bloody well get up when I.…"
The lioness standing next to him regarded him with a sort of endless patience that can only come through time and trial. "Yes?"
Nengwalamwe's only answer was a dull croak. "Uh."
"That may be quite easy for you to say." Melakwe yawned and licked a forepaw in a heartbreakingly familiar motion. "Well, Nengwe, I'd say you've got yourself into a mess, haven't you?"
"Mother?" Nengwalamwe shook his head, instantly closing his eyes in regret as it set the elephants trampling about gleefully. "Mother, what are you doing here?"
"Does it matter?" The elder lioness looked troubled, the familiar furrow appearing between her eyebrows in what Nengwalamwe's father called "That Look." Stepping closer, she eyed him squarely. "You and I need to talk."
Nengwalamwe cringed inwardly. The last time he'd heard that tone of voice was when he had got in trouble for nipping the tailtuft of his aunt. OK, so what if 'nipping' wasn't meant to include drawing blood?
"What about?"
"Don't be clever with me." She began to pace around him. "Nengwe… what are you doing here?"
"Well, I was sleeping."
Her eyes pierced him. "I mean way out here in the middle of absolute nowhere." She shook her head. "You're a lion, aren't you?"
He stiffened indignantly. "Of course I am!"
Melakwe shook her head. "It takes more than a mane, a loud roar and a fire in your loins Nengwe. You can sire all the cubs you want and never be a lion. You'll just be another wandering cub with teeth and claws who scares everyone into doing what you wants until another takes your place." She shook her head and sighed. "The last thing I wanted to raise was another Nengwala."
Nengwalamwe's eyes narrowed. "Father is not a wandering cub! He's…"
"Oh please! He's a tyrant who rules with his claw and not his mind. Nengwala doesn't care about anyone but Nengwala." She looked at him steadily. "Is that what you want to be, son? Another mindless brute looking out for nothing other than himself? If so, you're no better than those dogs back there; less even."
He snorted. "I showed them. Miss Elizabeth got a pretty nice shower."
"And you're proud of that?" she blasted, her eyes furrowing deeper still.
"It was Mutt's idea!"
"What! My son, the great Nengwalamwe, ruler of nothing, shows his prowess by spraying a loudmouthed beast barely a quarter of his size then runs like a threatened cub!" Nengwalamwe tried to turn away. "Now look at me when I'm talking to you! You can't run forever. One day even those great pads of yours will stop running."
Melakwe drew away in disgust and shame.
"What did you expect me to do, stand and fight them all?" He looked at her with amazement. "They'd have torn me to pieces!"
"And that was the only time you did use that head of yours for something other than a support for that bloody great mane you're so proud of!" Melakwe advanced on her startled son, closing to within a whisker's touch. "Tell me, Nengwe, where'd that bare spot on your chest come from, eh? Wear it off trying to mount your friend back there?"
Nengwalamwe's mouth hung slack, speechless at her outburst. "Mother!"
"Don't you dare 'Mother' me and look all teary eyed. You're long past a cuffing, and there's no time for all this self pity you seem to enjoy so much." Lowering her voice, she nosed his cheek gently. "Nengwe, my son… I do love you. But you've got a paw on both sides of a stream, and you have to cross it or let the crocodiles take you. There's a life for you here. You may yet be a lion, but you weren't born to it you know. There's a part of you deep down that can rise above all you inherited from your father, it has to. As I told you before, I can't help you do it, and I can't make you do it, but I can ask you to do it - to make your whole life worthwhile. To do the right thing."
Trembling, he looked up, his jaw tight. "But Mother, what do I have to do?"
Her eyes bored into his, seeming to swallow him. "There is so much still be done, so much. Just remember this: the river runs deep where the rocks are dry."
"W-What?"
Melakwe backed away from him. "Remember who your friends are, they are not your enemies, and rulers only rule as long as their people want them to. It's time to go home now; you've been living a daydream Nengwe. It's time to wake up."
"What did you mean about the rocks? Which dry rocks? The rocks covering the cave? Those rocks?" He moved to follow her, but she retreated faster than he could follow. "Mother, WAIT!"
"It's time to wake up, Nengwe."
Sharp late afternoon light stabbed into his eyes, making them water and blink. He looked up into the green canopy overhead, dusty motes dancing in their own world as the sun slid down towards the horizon. He drew back, blinking frantically, as something warm and full into his eye. Lifting his head again, Nengwalamwe looked about rapidly, feeling one, then another and another of the drops land on the exposed fur of his back and hindquarters.
He propped himself on his forelegs and stared about. His muscles complained with the dull ache of limbs that have been overtaxed and then left unused for some hours. The ground about him was disturbed; stirred up all round save where he had been lying. The clearing about him was empty. No trace of a pawprint or scent broke the isolation about him, and the only sounds were the dull huff of his breathing, the steady throb of his own heart and the pat-pat of drops falling on to the dust.
Lowering his head to his paws, Nengwalamwe sobbed. A hot flood of tears drenching the fur under his eyes, a bitter current that carried the remnants of his old life with it. His tears flowed down and into the dust to join that which flowing from above. The lion cried, and the land cried with him. The noise of the savannah was gone, held down by the clouds that sailed overhead and in a lion's heart. The plains stood still for a moment, joining with the young lion to mourn a dead world that had forever passed beyond his reach.
~oOOo~
The evening sun, so shrouded by clouds that one might have mistaken it for the moon, moved onwards in its timeless path across the sky. The lion and baboon below it moved almost as slowly, though their strides were no less of purpose. The rain fell evenly now. Dusty witheredness transformed to muddy slipperiness with every drop that fell. Nothing was dry, not even the underfur of a lion.
The lion and baboon had recently climbed out of a shallow gully. Out of its sheltered pungent greenness, the land opened up on either side. The towering growths of trees giving way to stubbier clumps of brush and occasional patches of low grass, neither of which was tall enough to hide what lay beyond. Only the rain, falling incessantly, could do that.
The river was here as well but, compared to the small watercourse they had encountered upstream, one might as well call the ocean a puddle. This was not a placid course that burbled by smoothly, inviting one to dip one's paws in for a moment of refreshment. Here the river was a living being unto itself, ever churning and growling, fleeting past and winking continuously with the silver light of the moon. Here and there, a rock gleamed in the torrent, glimmering bone white as the river frothed and spumed about them, wearing at them with a timeless patience as it always had. The beast was smug in its assurance that one day it would reclaim the stony intruders that had dared disrupt its course, and the beast was stirring….
The sand beneath feet and paws gave way to coarse gravel, increasing in size until lion and baboon found themselves picking their way across rocks and stones, each footfall carefully placed in deference to the sharp edged ancient granite. Nengwalamwe heard, and chose to ignore, Mtundu's quiet cursing as he sought to find an easier path amongst the rubble. Nengwalamwe's size and vastly greater strength enabled him to wend his way about easily enough, leaping from stone to stone. His keen eyesight, practised during his arduous trip through the dark mountains, was able to pick out rocks which could be trusted; of which there were precious few. The majority were unsafe; their uneven surfaces glimmering in the evening light with the sheen of mist the river had thrown upon them. Their odd angles and sharp edges ready to slice open a paw or send the perpetrator of ill-aimed leap tumbling into more dangerous stones below.
Nengwalamwe finally slowed, then stopped with his eyes furrowed and ears laid back against the misty froth that continually hung in the air. The damp droplets clung eagerly to his mane and whiskers, slicking the fur down; what there was left of it. Ahead the ground rose in a precipitous wall jutting out into the river. The flow, broken in its rush downstream, surged angrily back from the wall to pool around the rocks at his paws. He switched his tail agitatedly for a moment, displaying his uncertainty to the baboon who fought his way to the lion's side.
"Eh? An' now what do we do, eh? Ain't no way we're swimmin' across that mess. What'd you bring us here for, anyway? There's nothin' out this way I ever heard of, except more nothin'. Pfagh." The ape spat into the current, then looked up at the lion inquiringly. "'Less ya got some bright idea you ain't told me about yet?"
Nengwalamwe remained silent, surveying the current below his paws. The dirty brown-grey water rushed past him, striated here and there with white froth from fighting its way over the submerged rocks.
Though naïve in many ways, Nengwalamwe was relatively educated in a few things; being Nengwala's eldest son had procured some advantages. One of which was an occasional trip down to the lower reaches of the Kolata River. Though that watercourse had been far shallower and quite calm on those excursions than that which he faced now. His father was not the best of teachers nor even the best of company at times, but the young Nengwalamwe had relished these trips nevertheless; they were the only times that he and his father had had to themselves.
"Suppose you had to chase an intruder out of the Kolata. He's across the river from you now, but that doesn't mean your job is done," the older lion had scowled to his son, "You have to finish the job… never leave a task undone boy."
Nengwalamwe nodded sagely, the sparse beginnings of his mane beginning to show some of their coming glory. "I'm seeing it. Now what?"
"You have to cross over and get to him, of course." Nengwala lifted a paw, splashing a spray of water into the air. "Water has no muscle, no sinew to tear, but has heart and it will bear you away like a lioness carries a cub in her mouth if you don't be careful. Where do you cross boy?"
Young Nengwalamwe looked at the watercourse before him carefully then pointed with a jab of his muzzle. "Right there."
"Why?"
"Well, the water's slower there… it's easier to swim."
Nengwala growled, pacing over to loom before the suddenly frightened adolescent. "You fool. The water's slower because there's nothing for it to fight. It's deeper than you can stand, and you'll be carried off and become fodder for crocodiles as your intruder sniffs up your lionesses, like as not."
Nengwalamwe nodded, trembling. "I'm sorry."
"Don't be sorry, be right!" Nengwala's eyes bored into him. "I'll not lose my eldest over such a trivial matter like this. If you have to die; die fighting, not swallowing water and pulling for your mother's breast like a cub." He jabbed an exclamatory paw towards a dry, sandy area nearby. "There, where the current is swift and shallow. There's ground below the water's surface, just within paw touch. You can walk across, and have footing if you need to dodge anything." The lion swept a paw about. "Always look for the fast water. If you get in a tight spot, you can cross on the rocks." An appraising eye looked the youngster up and down. "If you're agile enough… which you aren't, boy… let's work on that now. Go hunt up your mother and tell her you need a wrestling partner."
Nengwalamwe nodded, and was about to lope off when a thought struck him. "I've already got Tashi."
"What? That excuse for aardvark? He'll never be any use to you boy; he's certainly never going to be any use to me. What's the point in having two sons? No boy, you need to learn how to really fight - the hard way – out there, against the enemy."
Nengwalamwe watched his father's face intently for a few seconds.
"Are you still here? Go on boy, go run to your mother!"
The sharp cry of a nearby waterfowl startled Nengwalamwe. Shaking his head, he thrust the thoughts of home out of his mind and studied the lay of the riverbank around him. A few lengths behind him the flow of water was more constant, but still not heavy, and the rocks gave way to a gravely bank that sloped gently enough down to the water's edge.
"Helloooooo… is anything workin' inside that fuzzball you call a head? I said, what are we doin'?" Mtundu frowned expressively in a way that Nengwalamwe could not match. "You ain't addin' to my peace 'o mind, ya know."
"I'm looking for a safe place to cross… and you're distracting me."
"Well, excuuuse me!" The monkey snorted. "I didn't know river crossin' needed brains."
"You're not helping." Nengwalamwe shook his head. "Gahhh… forget it. It's too rough here, anyway. I'd like to go back upstream a little and see if it's any calmer."
"Umm, I don't think that's a good idea."
The lion rolled his eyes. "Oh, so now you're the river expert now are you?"
"No, but I got ears Fuzzbutt. Listen!"
Nengwalamwe perked up his ears. He grimaced at the sharp yips reaching them from upstream. "Oh great, that does it! How did they find us? And why are they still following us?"
"How should I know? Just whatever you're gonna do, do it fast!" The baboon glanced back upstream frantically, gnashing his teeth in terror. "They sound really ticked."
Nengwalamwe grimaced. "Pee'd off more like. We can't cross here. Well, maybe I could, but you can't. It's too fas…"
Thunder cracked overhead, drowning the lion's statement as lightning struck out at the land, revealing the shadowy shapes of a quartet of dogs emerging from the underbrush above them. Their eyes flashed eerily in the scintillating light, the leader let out a howl of glee as their prey finally came in sight.
The quavering howl broke Nengwalamwe's nerve. The pursuit across the desert, the crocodile, his odd dreams, and the strain of trying to be on watch for two animals at once, had all worn his endurance to a thread, and it finally snapped at the alien sound. Bolting, he curled about his own length and sprinted for the open bank and the water beyond, leaving Mtundu screeching in protest.
"HEY! Where da heck you goin'?"
Groaning, the lion kept running to the water. His haunches shot backwards, launching his bulk into the air and splashing him down into the churning depths. He went under immediately then returned to the surface grudgingly, allowing him to force his muzzle above and take in a gasp of air. The furious rumbling of the river filled his ears, a roar he could feel in every stand of fur, a shuddering that sunk in along with the cold, threatening to numb him and drag him down.
Dragging in another gulp of air, Nengwe flailed at the water, shoving himself along by sheer force of will, his hindquarters twisting violently as he fought the current's insistent pull. His raw forepaws scraped across stone; he cried out; but he seized upon it desperately, claws digging into the loose gravel bed. He yanked forward, up and out, dragging himself up the bank. Shivering, the lion staggered clear of the water, glancing back the way he had come, and stopped in horror.
The flashes of lightning came rapidly, flickering across his vision, enabling him to see well enough in frozen moments. Across the river, the four dogs had cornered Mtundu against the water, encircling him in an arc that drew inward steadily. Nengwalamwe saw the baboon's eyes flashing in panic as he kept glancing behind him, but the sheer terror of the unknown river kept him frozen in place. "Mtundu! RUN! Over here!"
One of the dogs looked up at the shout and grinned, the odd piebald pattern on its side seemed familiar and grotesque framed against the almost black of his far flank. "Don' worry, Fuzzbutt. You just keep on goin' the way you are… we'll sort ol' Tuggles 'ere." Charles' tongue lolled out in a derisive laugh, Nengwalamwe barely caught his soft tittering over the roaring tumult around him. "Yeah… he's well sorted."
Nengwalamwe pointed his muzzle at the sky. A roar of anguish bellowed out, but was lost in the thunder as the clouds overhead unleashed their long hoarded arsenal. A solid sheet of rain pounded down upon the lion and drew a silver veil up from the surging water around him, cutting off his view.
~oOOo~
Falana shifted restlessly and rolled to her offside, rearranging her paws under her. The humid stillness of the savannah air gripped at her like a smothering paw, wrapping itself around her form and dulling the world about her. Sound, smell, even sight seemed to fade as the air grew increasingly oppressive. Off in the distance, the thunderheads bloomed, their edges tinged with a violent purple colour that matched her mood.
~oOOo~
That night, on a sheltered knoll a lioness waited alone. She lay alone; no one came to lie by her side, no one came to speak with her. Later, after hours of waiting, she got up and went hunting alone; no one ran at her side, no one shared her kill. When in the depths of the night the sky burst, she got wet alone; no one shared her discomfort. Towards dawn the lioness padded a path worn by a lion, it lead to a rock out cropping so high that it towered above the tallest baobab; no one walked by her side… not even her mother.
The rock, its crevices already overflowing with water, welcomed her. She picked her way up to the promontory alone with no one to guide her. Even in the rain, its slopes, transformed to cascades, held no fear for her, yet she was not at ease. She looked for something; something she might never find. She sniffed and pawed at a mound of broken rocks at the base of the promontory. Whatever she was looking for, it was clear from her pained expression and desperate scratching that she had not found it.
She turned and looked out into the droplet-misted sky; nor could she find what she sought in the sky. She dropped her head and collapsed into the flowing, folding sheet of tepid water at her paws.
By dawn she was gone, unseen and alone, except by an elderly baboon that had the misfortune to be waiting out the rain under one of the larger lone rocks that littered the plain below the promontory. He had thought his life was soon to end when the lioness stopped in front of him, yet she had said nothing more than, "He's gone… hasn't he?" His life spared, he looked away as he struggled to collect his thoughts to reply. When he looked back, he saw that she was gone into the early light.