The Huntress at Sunset

15. The River

When the bedraggled lion hauled himself out of the river, he had no thoughts other than for his friend. He watched, calling and roaring, as the dogs lead the baboon away from the water's far edge. He knew he could do nothing to help him through the grey mist of driving rain; it was a barrier as great as the rocks that covered the entrance to the cave on the rock. He stood, water dripping from his underbelly, until he could no longer see movement on the far bank. Mtundu was gone; Nengwalamwe was once more alone in a strange land.

When the rains broke there had been little wind to drive the rain. Later, as night fell, the sun invisible behind the thunderously black clouds, the breeze freshened. It brought a chill to the air that only hours before had threatened to dry up the river.

Now the rain sheeted down steadily, a grey pall that surrounded the lion with a curtain of silver cold, wrapping him in its chilly embrace. His mane hung from his neck, all vainglory vanished. It dripped and ran, an endless stream of rivulets cascading down and drizzling onto his forepaws as he walked. His paws walked an aimless path, meandering downstream at an idle pace. Each forepaw blundering ahead of the other, each pawfall sinking into dank mud.

Nengwalamwe welcomed the rain. It soaked through his fur, gripping him with a moist numbness, enveloping him in a capsule of cold containing the iciness that filled him inside. His ears, clammy and immobile, ached interminably from unending exposure to chilling dampness. The dust, now turned to claw clogging mud, wedged the digits of his paws apart painfully. His great head canted downward, thin threads of water spilling from his mane in cold rills that coursed down his muzzle to drip steadily from the end of his nose and whiskers. The sensation was irritating, but he welcomed it nevertheless. It seemed to be the one thing left he could feel, a dark touch that elicited his nerves to life, reminding him he was still alive.

His ears flicked feebly, registering the pattering sound of the raindrops striking the earth around him. A low rush of air escaped his muzzle; half sigh, half moan, as he stopped and glanced about, dimly taking in his surroundings. The river, swollen and triumphant, rolled past him steadily on his left. The water, laden with mud, looked solid, like a churning flow of glassy sand. To his right, a small bower of scrub greenery nodded in the downpour, waving about frenetically as it soaked up the welcome moisture from the skies.

He flicked his tail to one side, scattering a spray of water and mud, and paced toward the bushes. He shouldered aside a limply hanging limb and nudged himself into the scant cover the vegetation offered. His hindquarters hunched down reflexively from the dripping wetness that coursed accursedly from the sodden limbs above. He sought out the largest bush. Crouching down on his belly, he crept under its meagre cover and nosed at the plant like a cub nuzzling for its mother. A great out rush of air escaped him again, catching for a moment. It hung around him as he settled his chin onto his paws. With eyes blinking rhythmically, he stared out at the grey world around him, absorbing the impressions presented by his senses in silence.

A tickling sensation stirred in his paw. He glanced down, his eyes rolling, blinking as another errant raindrop splashed in his face. An ant trundled among the wet forest of his fur; a small fragment of leaf held in its jaws like a soldier bearing his regiment's colours into battle. The lion followed its progress with vague interest, watching as it finally descended to the ground and began winding purposefully among the puddles between his forelegs. A rill of water cascaded down Nengwalamwe's mane, feeling cool as it flowed over the raw patch on his chest. Pooling on the earth before him for a moment, as if undecided, it burst over the wet ground and rolled away. He watched as it crept forward and enveloped the ant. The insect struggled momentarily, and then was swept away.

Nengwalamwe watched impassively as the creature vanished into the mud. He lifted his head slowly and stretched a paw forward, tilted it, blocking the miniature river so that it had to flow about his foreleg. After a moment the ant appeared again, struggling gamely before gaining purchase and crawling feebly up the mountainous paw, pausing a moment on one cracked and scraped pad as if resting. The lion slowly lifted his forepaw, curling it inward carefully, and laid it upon a tussock of grass next to him. The ant wavered a moment, then ran quickly down, alighting on a stalk of grass before waving its feelers momentarily and vanishing from sight. Nengwalamwe nodded silently, staring at the grass before tucking his paw back in place and resting his chin upon it again. The great golden eyes wavered a moment, then closed slowly.

A muffled crunch reached his pain-filled ears and he opened his eyes, peering into the rain dully, feeling the cold mud soaking into the fine fur on his chest, belly and loins. A dim shape, hunched over, was pushing through the other side of the bower, snapping small twigs as it came. The lion watched apathetically, his tail sliding its own width to one side before sinking back out of sight in the mucky earth… then twitching violently. With ears held erect and the fur on his back rising, he stared ahead with unblinking eyes. The rain carried on falling.

There before him stood a baboon, one lanky arm holding a branch out of the way. The monkey's fur was sodden and drenched, in barely better condition than Nengwalamwe's. A low wheeze escaped the baboon, and then his eyes flickered and focused, seeing the hulking outline in the mud. His shoulders dropped, drawing the branch close to his head, dipping his free hand into the mud at his feet.

Nengwalamwe remained silent; his jaw hung open slightly, the rain swishing in and rolling back out over his lower lip in a runnel of mixed saliva and water. He closed his mouth with a muffled snap and pulled his head back, hunching his neck down as the baboon moved forward, approaching, swaying unsteadily before sinking slowly to his knees. Lion and baboon stared at each other for a moment in silence, each weighing the other's thoughts and wondering what the other might feel. As the pair faced each other, the rain fell on…

The lion gave first. Nengwalamwe's eyes brimmed, his vision doubling, and then trebling, the cold rain on his cheeks now joined with hot tears. His jaw trembled minutely, trying to find some word, some magic that might repair the damage done at the ford in those final moments when the lightning had sundered the world and turned everything upside down.

Mtundu found it for him; sinking down, exhausted, catching hold of a lank tress of sodden mane to steady himself. The lion rolled his head, gaping open his jaws. The ape rolled back, his quivering muscles at the end of their endurance, and sank back against the welcome warmth radiating from the lion's shoulder. His head curled down slightly, his eyes slipping closed for a moment. Opening them again as the lion drew his teeth together. The baboon peered up into amber eyes, providing all the answer needed to sate their questioning gaze.

Nengwalamwe lay quiescent, his head curled down and in, chin pressed against the top of Mtundu's hairy forehead. His ears laid flat, filled with the sound of the hissing rain, the rain… and the soft sound of a quiet broken purr.

~oOOo~

With the increasingly swollen river carrying all within its tossing, pitching, rolling folds surging by to one side, and the barren fringe of the Western desert close by the other, the lion and the baboon travelled on. The river was never out of even the baboon's earshot while the desert was never far from the lion's mind.

By night they moved, ever mindful of the canine eyes and ears that might be lurking on the far side of the rushing swell. The lion dare not venture into the desert; the baboon would not have been able to survive there for long. By starlight, they looked for a way out: a way to anywhere. The baboon kept suggesting that they cross back over the river; a suggestion the lion cast aside. What life was there for him there other of fear and anguish? Yet, the desert held them close to the river and the life it offered. The lion thought that it never rained in the desert. Here at least, in the rains, there was water, indeed far too much, though precious little food. Where were the dry rocks? How could there be any in the rains?

By day, the pair slept. Making use of whatever shelter they could find they huddled together, lion curled around baboon, sleeping through the occasional pauses in the ear-numbing rain, or so the lion thought. The baboon often became restless during the day despite having slept little, if at all at night. He would get up and wander about, searching out whatever morsels he could find. Starved of sleep, he became increasingly nervous, often anxiously casting about through heavy eyes. When, during an evening pause in the rain, the lion spotted one of the dogs through the tangle of trees and scrub carried swiftly by the river, the baboon rushed away to hide. The wide mud and rock margins that had formed the banks of the river were gone. The four-length wide once crystal flow now swollen tenfold carried all with it: trees, rocks, bushes, even a pair of wildebeest desperately thrashing for life.

Further on the desert gave way to a thin strip of rough ground and rougher vegetation that clung on to life on the thin sandy soil. Nengwalamwe woke, a little after noon, and thought he saw movement in the distance: a running form, a small leonine form - a cub. It ran down from the closest dune and disappeared into the scrub beside the river. For a short while, it was lost to view, but then it reappeared, clear gold against the browns of the even more distant trees beyond. It stopped on the river's bank. The river was much lower than it had been for some days. It flowed gently and shallowly along channels etched into the rocks and gravel of the bed. The cub turned, looking along the banks. It turned to Nengwalamwe who, recognising her, smiled in reply. Then she was gone once more, splashing out into the shallows of the river. Scrub obscured his view of much of the river, though Nengwalamwe felt reassured and pleased when the cub he'd come to know so well re-appeared on the sun-drenched opposite bank. She met with no dogs and, after standing to drip for a moment, ran off away from the river.

Mtundu returned a while later, though from where Nengwalamwe had no clear idea. The rain had held off since he had seen Yali cross the river.

"Nengwe, when are we goin' home?"

The lion lifted his head lethargically. "Where's home?"

"Nengwe, ya know where; over there, over the river?"

"No."

"No what?"

"No, I'm not going back."

"Nengwalamwe, you know what'll happen now they've run ya out of there - Shaha and Falana'll be next."

"Falana? … No way. Look Mtundu, there's no way, get that? No way I'm going back over the river even if the whole pack of dogs comes over here and there's an end to it."

Mtundu reluctantly agreed, "Ok, ok, so where we goin'?"

"Somewhere, anywhere - how do I know?"

"Downstream. They won't look fer ya there."

"Looking for me? What about you?"

"Yeah… right… me too I guess."

The pair set off, following the river again. The scrub steadily became lusher, the forest that had been the backdrop to Yali's river crossing seemed further away than Nengwalamwe remembered. Once reached however its height and density did not disappoint, nor did it fail to strike fear into the lion's heart.

Once within its heart darkness fell, Mtundu grew tired, insisting they stop for the night. Nengwalamwe stood guard amongst the strange sounds and smells, pacing out a trail all his own until dawn came, and with it still more rain. The pair pressed on until it was Nengwalamwe's turn to carry the burden of sleep. Mtundu went off foraging; Nengwalamwe, he said, was more than big enough to look after himself.

~oOOo~

Nengwalamwe slept uneasily on the darkened bare ground below the canopy. The forest floor smelled fresh and earthy. Though he felt every ant, thousand upon thousand, that scurried across his tail like ships at sea; leaf fragment sails catching the becalmed air of the forest, he managed some respite from wakefulness.

The rain had stopped again. The sun, way above the branches, lifted the water from the soil, leaving it to hang heavily and mustily about the tree trunks. He imagined the rubble in front of the cave steaming and glistening in the sun, the water running off on to the plains below. Could that rock too fall like the leaves? Tumbling, swaying in the heavy, moist air? In the distance, and occasionally much closer, whelps and yowls of monkeys rang out through the leaves; none roused the lion. He was alone - Mtundu had still not returned - and determined to make whatever he could of the solitude; sleep seemed by far the most appealing pastime.

He did not sleep long. Other needs pressed on him and, in the heaviest part of the day, he got up, shook the coalesced moisture from his mane and wandered off to find a secluded spot. Before he had taken more than a few strides he started wondered why he was bothering - all the forest was secluded, so all spots were equally suitable. Still, if he was to go back to where he had been sleeping, he thought he might as well make the effort to make the rest of the day that bit less unpleasant. He looked about, spotting a patch of heavy undergrowth some ten lengths away; far enough for his purpose. With a final look about, he lifted a foreleg, took a couple of licks and slipped away into the vegetation. Had any animal wandered past just a minute later they would have seen and heard nothing.

When Nengwalamwe returned to the patch of bare ground he looked about, turning on the spot three times to find the perfect lie. He was just about to settle once more when a sound caught his attention. Many sounds in the forest were unfamiliar, so many that he had got used to ignoring any that he did not recognise. This was different; it was oddly familiar and it was not a sound he associated with baboons. It was a rapidly repeating almost inaudible rasping. At first, the lion could not place it, nor could he locate it. Then came a second sound - of leaves crumbling; as if from a slowly placed pawfall. Above the sound, the rasping came again, hovering in the humid, fetid air. Now Nengwalamwe knew what it was; it was an animal panting in the moist heat, more than just an animal; it was a wild dog.

Another leaf crumbled as the dog moved another paw forward delicately.

'No, it can't be. I'm hearing things now. No dog's going to come out here, there's no way that's a dog, absolutely no way.' He slipped down on to the ground, thinking, 'It's all got too much for me, I've got to get some sleep.'

He lay watching the shadows as he slipped off into the haziness of half-sleep. The sun streamed in almost solid beams that slipped and fell from the trees to his nearhind quarter. The bark of the trees ahead stood out plainly in the revealing light. Then a shadow passed across them, a shadow that should never have been there. Nengwalamwe lifted himself instantly from near-sleep. His sight cleared, and the shadow moved again. There could now be no doubt and he acted on it, thrusting forwards and upwards, closing on the shadow and covering it with his own. The dog hardly had time to hunch down, such was the speed of the surge, but the lion did not strike.

Nengwalamwe had no firm idea of what he was pouncing at, nor even of what he would do when he caught it, eat it most likely. Lions normally watch their prey for a long time before striking, hours even, but all Nengwalamwe had seen were a few out of place shadows. All he had heard were fragmentary sounds that could have been made by a wild dog, or any of thirty or more other animals. He sliced through the shrubby undergrowth; it parted violently, moments later Nengwalamwe's forepaws forced down an animal. He had been right; it was a wild hunting dog; and not just any dog. It was Eddie.

Had Nengwalamwe's hunting instincts been fully aroused he would have killed the dog before it had even turned, instead he slipped to a halt; dragging the dog beneath his forepaws. He raised and twisted his head and growled sharply. The dog, all breath knocked from him, struggled for a few moments then lay still, gasping, looking the lion straight in the eye.

"What are you doing here?" Nengwalamwe shouted through his growl.

"You ain't never gonna know lion!" the dog countered. "What you gonna do 'bout it?" Nengwalamwe intensified his growl. "I don't reckon you've got the guts to do me in 'ave you lion? The way you ran back there on the riverbank I reckon you're just like your mother. Yeah, you're mummy's little boy ain'tcha?"

"Keep Melakwe out of this! What are you doing here? Answer me before I kill you!"

Eddie's ears pricked up and a sparkle returned to his eyes. "Melakwe is it?" he sneered. "You ain't got no choice Melakwe's little boy, you've got to kill me now ain't you?" The dog almost laughed. "What else can y'do? I could be on me own, but can you risk it? If you kill me, I'll be out of yer way for good, but what about me mates? They ain't goin' to take kindly to you bumpin' me off are they? Am I right?" He looked away. "Yeah, too right I am."

Nengwalamwe jumped up, lifting his forepaws off Eddie.

"Get out! Go on, you're not worth dirtying my paws!"

"I thought so. Hah lion, you're just like all the rest, you know what's good for you." The dog struggled to his paws. "You can't kill me can you? You want to, I can see it in your eyes, but you can't because you know it won't stop nuffin. You'll have to kill all us dogs, one by one, 'cause we never stop - never!" He drew close to the lion, close enough for Nengwalamwe to smell his breath. "But you can stop it. You can stop it right here, right now. It's easy, no sweat. You just turn around, head away from the river and keep on going. We'll look after Falana for you." He smirked, lolling his tongue. "She's a cracker ain't she, you've got some taste I'll give you that." He leant forward and slurped the lion's cheek. "But we can't let you have lion pups running around all over the place now can we? I hear there's no danger of that yet, and that's the way it's gonna stay. So Melakwe's little lion - turn and run; run away and never come back." The dog began to laugh, nodding his head and half closing his eyes.

No one can ever know what then passed through Eddie's mind, before Nengwalamwe's foreclaws. He hardly had time to realise that he had under estimated the fragility of a lion's temper, and the speed of his paw. He had never met any male lions other than Nengwalamwe and so it may be that the ear-splitting howl that reverberated through the forest was born from surprise; it may have been from sheer terror. It was certainly the last sound he ever made.

~oOOo~

Standing over his kill, the lion looked up red mouthed and cast around the forest. His ears stood high, each moving independently at the slightest sound. Satisfied that there was nothing there, he dropped down, belly to the ground, and set about taking his fill.

"I'll stop it all right…" A branch cracked overhead; something fell through the trees a little way off. An ear moved to locate the noise. "Let them come. One by one if it must be. I'll just have to take that chance dog, just as you had to take yours."

~oOOo~

It was mid afternoon when Mtundu appeared. He broke cover almost opposite the sleeping lion and made to dash over to him. Before he had gone two loping paces he stopped and sneered in disgust at a few scattered bones, picked clean by piercing teeth and a rasping tongue. The baboon gazed at the remains for a moment, as if curious as to what it might have been. The lion opened an eye.

"Nengwe? Do ya have to leave your stinkin' leftovers lying around? Anyhow, what was it? Good eatin' eh?"

"It was nothing. It wasn't here" the lion replied through a gaping yawn.

"For nothing it sure left a lot behind."

"It was nothing. You said it couldn't find us. You said they wouldn't follow us here, but there it is."

Mtundu backed away to skirt round the bones. "Nengwe, what are ya talkin' about?"

"It was a wild dog Mtundu. One of those hunting dogs you said would never follow us, never find us. So, how come you know so much about these dogs huh?" The lion reached forward and licked a forepaw.

"Hey, I have eyes and ears just like you." Nengwalamwe eyed the baboon fiercely. "OK, so maybe not like you, but I keep mine open! The dogs ain't comin' after ya."

"No? So what's that? An aardvark? Where'd you get to anyhow?"

"Come on, I gotta eat. These trees ain't got no fruit, I cain't eat here. I gotta live too."

"I guess so, but if I find you're hiding something or you've betrayed me then you'll go the same way as him - but I'll not leave your bones, there won't be a trace of you left to show you'd ever lived! You hear me?"

"Yeah, yeah, I hear ya. I hear ya." Mtundu moved close to Nengwalamwe's forequarters and sat down, leaning close to the lion's head. "I won't betray you, I… I promise."

"You had better not." Nengwalamwe leant his head over, stretching out his tongue to lick the baboon's arm. "I like baboons a lot you know, though if they called me Nengwalamwe I'd like them a whole lot more. So did you see any?"

The baboon didn't answer, and even seemed oblivious to the lick. The cry of a bird echoed off the tree trunks.

"Well Mtundu? Did you?"

"What?"

"Dogs! Back there - wherever it is you've been. Did you see any dogs?"

"NO! I ain't seen any… since I last crossed the river."

"You sure? This one was alone, but he tried to make me think he wasn't. Mtundu, we have to be sure. Where we're going, I don't want the dogs to find us."

"There ain't no way they'll find out. They sure won't, I'll stake my life on it."

"Yes… you're right there. But they will won't they? He found us here. They'll never stop. Never. That's what he said. What is it with those dogs anyway? What have they got against me?"

"Nengwalamwe," said Mtundu looking toward the trail that had brought them down from the plateau. "It's not you, it's all lions."

Nengwalamwe lifted his head to Mtundu's. "All dogs hate lions. Lions hate dogs." The baboon said nothing. "But this is more than that isn't it?"

Mtundu gazed on.

"Isn't it?"

Without taking his eyes from the trail Mtundu replied distantly, "Yeah, there's more. They're afraid."

"Of what?"

"Of a lion who…" Mtundu paused.

Nengwalamwe felt a shiver shimmer through the baboon.

"...Who might… ya know."

"What?"

"Damn it Nengwe. Do I have to spell it out? Mate, have little Nengwes - make a pride!"

"What's wrong with that? Lions do it everywhere?"

"Not here. There's not been a lion round here for that many rains. Ain't you noticed that there ain't no cubs?"

"Eh? What do you mean there aren't any cubs?" Nengwalamwe raised his eyebrows as best he could. "Anyway, Mtundu, they could have got me ages ago. If they really wanted to do away with me they could have tried it anytime I was asleep on the rock."

"No, no they couldn't," said Mtundu as he turned to Nengwe smiling. "They cain't go there, that's where the lions use'ta be, see? They cain't ever go there."

"Not ever?"

"No, never. While you were up there you were… kinda the ruler I guess. When you didn't stand and fight, they reckoned they'd sussed ya. They knew you'd run then, and they were right, weren't they?"

Nengwalamwe lifted his forequarters from the ground, paused a moment, then, looking sideways at Mtundu, drew his hindquarters up to stand full square. He closed his eyes, twitched his tail and turned his ears forwards and walked away. Mtundu raised a hand to his chin, tipping his head over onto it, fingers tapping on his cheek. His features tightened over his eyes, partially closing. The lion walked on; with a sigh and a shake of his head Mtundu got up and followed him, raising his arms as he ran, shouting, "Hey Fuzzbutt! Where'dya think you're goin' wi'out me?"

The trail, never far from the rushing urgency of the river, dropped down through the forest. The path was clear, though that which had made it was not. It was purposeful, direct, rarely straying far from the river's edge. Here and there, where the path was very close to the river, smaller paths cut through the undergrowth to the banks. Yet the water was deep, swift flowing and uncrossable, the paths seemed to lead nowhere. The forest was dense and for the most part impenetrable, not that Nengwalamwe had any inclination whatever to enter its depths. It was a strange and therefore dangerous place of sounds, sights and smells alien to the lion. He had been there before and had no desire to taste its delights again.