Climate of Change (50 page)

They traveled as rapidly as was feasible, knowing that the town of Malindi could fall at any time. On occasion Hero strung his bow and used it to bring down small game, so that they could eat without depending on villages. They were used to camping out, when they found suitable sleeping places. Often it had to be trees, for the ground could be dangerous at night. But trees, though relatively safe, were also relatively uncomfortable.

The Segeju were some distance up the coast. But travel was good, and they made it there in good time, considering. They were long-since hardened to the rigors of urgent marches. Even Tourette, despite her delicate appearance, kept the pace without difficulty.

They came to the southernmost Segeju outpost. The Segeju were savage tribesman from the north, not yet settled in. They remained on an essentially military footing, at least in this area. They were surely being cautious about their eventual encounter with the Zimba.

Alert scouts spotted and tracked the family for some time before
challenging it. Hero realized that most people were on legitimate business, hunting or passing through, so they were merely watched until they lingered too long.

Three Segeju warriors barred their way. “What is your business here?” their leader demanded.

“We seek a healer,” Hero said. He paused, for he was aware of something happening.

Now the tension set off Tourette, as sometimes happened, and she went into a series of grunts and wild facial expressions, while her limbs twitched uncontrollably. Her mouth opened and closed and her eyes rolled back. It was a siege, harmless, but frightening to those who did not understand. It did look as if a demon were fighting for possession of her body.

One of the guards nodded. “We have seen that before. Our healers can't cure it.”

“Maybe in this case it would be possible,” Hero said. “We would like to talk to your healer directly.”

The leader shrugged. Tourette was after all a pretty girl, even in the throes of her fit.

The healer was an old woman, with lines of wisdom across her face. “We have seen this before,” she said, confirming the scout's comment. “I doubt it's a demon, because exorcism has no effect. We can't help you.”

“There is something else,” Hero said.

“Oh?” She seemed not especially surprised.

“We needed a pretext to come to you, to talk with your headman.”

Her mouth tightened. “If you waste his time, he'll rape your girl.”

Tourette shrank back, knowing that this was not an empty threat. She knew she was attractive to men, especially those who liked their women young. But she was ready to risk it. They had discussed it before, to be sure.

“We will not waste his time,” Hero said. This was the danger they had understood without discussion. Peaceful villages were one thing; warrior parties were another.

Before long they were before the local chief. “Your women are appealing,”
he remarked, his gaze passing openly across Crenelle and fixing on Tourette. He
did
like them young. It was a threat.

Hero quickly made the case, including their mission to get the goats. “You know you must encounter the Zimba sometime,” he concluded. “This may be your best chance to defeat them. If you catch them at the right moment.”

The chief squinted at him assessingly. “We are aware of the opportunity. But the Zimba are alert. Their scouts watch all approaches to Malindi, and they know our appearance. The moment one of us appears, they will sound that alarm and focus defensively, nullifying any possible advantage we might seek. Attack at this time is not feasible.”

Hero saw the logic of it. The man was right. There was only one main access from the north, suitable for massed troops, and of course it would be watched. “It seems I did not think it through,” he said heavily. “I thought we had a useful idea.” Would Tourette pay for his mistake?

“However,” the chief said.

So the man was playing a more complicated game. That explained why he had been willing to see them, despite guessing their mission.

Hero met his gaze. “There is a way?”

“You are not Segeju. The Zimba will not recognize Xhosa travelers as a threat. They will merely capture you, rape your women, and eat all four of you. Routine, for them.”

Hero caught on. “You want us to distract them.”

“So that we can secure their checkpoint and move our troops through efficiently before they know. Then much becomes possible.” He eyed Hero. “You are a warrior. A good one. I know the signs. Your brother is not, but I suspect he can use a spear when he has to. And your women will have knives and courage. The four of you could surprise the Zimba warriors, who will have eyes mainly on the women. If you care to. What is your price?”

“The goats,” Hero said immediately. “And safe passage out of the town.”

“Agreed.”

They were given nice food and lodging for the night. But Hero was cynical. “They saw us coming.”

“Well, we weren't trying to hide from them,” Tourette said.

“I mean that they anticipated our mission, and were prepared to use us, just as we want to use them. They needed nonlocal travelers to work their ruse. They are guesting us now so that they have time to organize for the attack.”

Tourette considered. “So all that business about not wasting the chief's time, and how appealing our women are, was just a ruse, not a real threat?”

“No ruse,” Hero said. “The threat is real. These people are as cynical and deadly as are the Zimba, apart from the cannibalism. We must perform as we have agreed, or pay the price.”

“But the chief seemed so reasonable!”

“He is dealing from power. He knew that I, as a warrior, would understand. It is a fair deal.”

She was outraged. “Fair? To risk rape of Mother and me, and who knows what else?”

“And death for Keeper and me.”

She took stock. “Mother, you knew? Before we came here?”

“We knew,” Crenelle agreed. “It is the only way to get those goats.”

“Keeper?”

“Yes. I'm sorry.”

She tried to retain her composure, but the tension got to her and she went into a fit of grimaces and grunts. They waited it out, then Crenelle put her arm around her daughter's shoulders. That was all.

Hero sighed inaudibly. An aspect of Tourette's innocence had been abated. Such insights were necessary but seldom pleasant.

“You could have told me,” Tourette said accusingly to Keeper.

“I'm sorry,” he repeated, pained.

That, too, was disturbing. The girl had a right to feel betrayed, but it was Keeper she chided, rather than her parents. As though she felt a closer connection to her uncle. And he had reacted as if the rebuke was personally deserved, when all he had done was go along with the decision of the family.

But such private interactions and their implications might be meaningless tomorrow. There truly was danger in their mission, as all
of them appreciated. The Zimba were not patsies. If they, too, saw the family coming. . .

In the morning they set out south. It was a two-day walk to Malindi. The main access had a checkpoint manned by four warriors, day and night. The Segeju had timed their approach for the middle of a shift, so that help would not be coming soon. All they had to do was take out the four, or distract them long enough for the Segeju to do so. What kind of distraction would be effective? Screaming women being raped.

“Tourette,” Hero said somberly as they camped beside the trail the night before the encounter.

“Yes, I have my knife,” she replied, showing the iron blade where it was fastened inside her skirt. It was long enough to do the job.

“But can you use it effectively?”

“I know how.”

That was not a sufficient answer. “You must not hesitate. Straight in the belly. Then as he folds over, across the neck. If you hesitate, he will disarm you. Then you will be finished.”

“I know. I will not hesitate.”

“Because you will have to do it alone. That is our strategy.”

“Yes.”

“Scream as he pursues you, so he believes you are helpless.”

“I will, Father.”

He kissed her on the forehead. “I love you, Tourette.”

“She will do it,” Crenelle murmured as he clasped her in the darkness. “So will I.”

“You must scream too. They must not suspect.”

“I will.”

They spoke no more of the matter. They were prepared.

Next day they approached the checkpoint. There was no sign of the Segeju, but Hero knew their scouts were watching. The moment the Zimba guards were taken out, the Segeju would march in force, silently. Surprise was everything.

The guards spied them, and came out to surround them. They were armed with battle spears and long knives. “Who are you?” the leader
demanded menacingly, glancing at Hero's knobkerrie and hunting spear with open contempt.

“I am Hero, a Xhosa traveler, with my brother, wife, and daughter. We have business in Malindi.”

“You
did
have business there,” the leader said, his gaze moving on to the woman and the girl. “Now you have business with us.”

“Scatter!” Hero cried as the Zimba closed in, their weapons raised.

The four of them ran in four directions, as rehearsed. The Zimba, liking the sport, separated into four to pursue them. The leader went after Hero.

Hero circled a tree, spun about, drew his knobkerrie, and suddenly closed in on the Zimba. He swung the knob swiftly against the man's head. There was a thunk, and the man went down, his spear only half lifted.

Hero didn't even check on him. He knew the Zimba was dead. The man had seriously underestimated the potential of a warrior with a weapon he knew how to use.

Crenelle and Tourette were screaming, as they were supposed to. Hero oriented on Tourette, as the one more likely to need rescuing. But as he loped into sight of her, he saw her pursuer fall. She had stabbed him in the gut and jumped back. The Zimba was not dead, but he was seriously distracted by the wound.

“Good girl!” Hero said, swinging his knobkerrie down to club the man's head.
Now
he was dead.

Tourette fell into Hero's arms, sobbing. She had done what she knew she had to do, and now was reacting. He held her, comforting her, while looking around. Two down.

“Mother! Keeper!” Tourette exclaimed. “Are they—?”

“We'll see.” Crenelle's screaming had stopped; that was probably a good sign, because had the warrior caught and disarmed her, he would be raping her, and she would still be screaming. But once she took him out, screaming would be pointless.

They found Crenelle standing over her antagonist, blood on her knife. “The fool,” she said disparagingly. “He tried to grab me bare-handed.”

“Mother—there's blood on your skirt!”

“I couldn't step back in time.” Crenelle wiped her soiled knife on the back of the fallen warrior, and sheathed it again under her skirt. “I'll have some washing to do.”

Keeper appeared. There was no blood on him. He had his own knobker rie. One advantage of that weapon was that it spattered less blood.

Their trap had worked. The way was now clear. “We must tell the Segeju,” Keeper said.

“They already know,” Hero replied.

Indeed, the scouts were hooting, signaling their people in a rapid relay. The troops would be marching in very short order, for the window of opportunity was only a few hours.

“Meanwhile their guard house is ours to ransack,” Crenelle said. “We have earned our spoils.”

Tourette shuddered, looking faint. She stepped into Keeper's embrace, needing more comfort.

Hero decided to let it be. He followed Crenelle to the guards' hut.

The moment they were out of sight of the others, Crenelle collapsed in tears. Hero held her, as he had held their daughter, supporting her physically and emotionally. “You were magnificent,” he murmured, thinking of the way she had maintained her composure so that the others would not be alarmed.

“It was horrible,” she sobbed. “I hate killing.”

But soon enough she recovered. “We have goats to collect.”

They took what few items interested them from the hut, but did not touch the haunch of meat. It looked human.

Now the Segeju were marching. The chief was talking with Keeper and Tourette. He smiled as Hero and Crenelle came up. “You did your part. You will have your goats. But you will have to wait until we reduce the enemy. You will stay with my personal retinue.”

So it was that the family had an excellent view of that reduction. It was a literal massacre that made the women avert their gaze.

The Segeju caught the Zimba completely by surprise, just as they were breaching the town's defenses. They struck the Zimba down
from behind, and routed them before they fully realized that they were themselves under attack. It was a strategic masterstroke.

“Maybe you had better get in there and see to your goats,” the chief murmured to Hero. “My men may not distinguish between one breed or another. They are warriors, not goatkeepers.” He laughed at his own witticism.

It was nevertheless a good suggestion. But Keeper would have to come along, to identify the goats. That would leave the women unguarded.

The chief smiled. “Fear not for your kin. I will personally guard them.” His eyes surveyed them again as he licked his lips. “If you do not return, I will add them to my harem, as a favor. They well be safe.”

That was exactly the kind of danger Hero feared. But in the situation, it was fair. If Hero and Keeper got killed, the women would be at the mercy of the Segeju. The chief's harem was probably their kindest alternative.

Hero, experienced in political machinations as well as combat, saw another aspect. The chief was attracted to the women, and wanted them, but couldn't take them without violating his deal with Hero. He did have his kind of honor, and appearances had to be maintained. So he was finding another way, by phrasing it as a favor. These were treacherous waters.