“It could be you, Nyimbi, whose flesh provides a feast for the crocodiles,” Zuriye said. “You’d make quite a meal for them, don’t you think? They wouldn’t need to eat again for days.”
When Nyimbi did not respond, Zuriye increased the pressure of the point against the Bagara’s skin. Nyimbi nodded, sweat beading her dark brow. She was so frightened, she could not speak. Abruptly, Zuriye pulled the dagger away from Nyimbi’s throat.
“You deserve to die,” Zuriye said. “But for the sake of those of your people who are my friends, I will allow you to live. Go. Do not come near me again. And do not speak of this to anyone ... not that you’d want to, I’d imagine.”
Still holding the dagger, Zuriye rose and watched Nyimbi haul herself to her feet. Not daring to meet Zuriye’s gaze, the Bagara woman dressed and turned to depart. She stopped short when Zuriye called: “Wait!”
Reluctantly, Nyimbi turned to face Zuriye again.
“You forgot this,” Zuriye said, holding the dagger hilt-first to Nyimbi.
The Bagara reached for the weapon. Just as her fingers were about to close around the hilt, Zuriye hurled the weapon over her bare shoulder and into the Zaikumbe. Then she laughed at the open-mouthed expression on Nyimbi’s face. Nyimbi scurried away as though a leopard were pursuing her. Still smiling, Zuriye began to dress. She was winding her turban around her hair when she heard a voice in the foliage behind her.
“Don’t move,” the voice warned.
ZURIYE’S BREATH HISSED inward as she froze in mid-motion, reflex causing her to obey the command of the hidden voice. A swift whoosh in the air marked the passage of a spear past her head. Then a bestial shriek sounded behind her, and she heard a frenzied thrashing in the shallow water. Zuriye whirled toward the sound – and her hands shot to her mouth to stifle a sudden scream of fright.
A huge, cat-like creature was struggling toward her despite the spear half-buried in its breast. Just as the beast reached the bank, a dark shape leaped in front of Zuriye – Mgaru.
Rushing behind the wounded creature, Mgaru drove his broad-bladed dagger into a spot just beneath the base of its flat skull. Then he danced away from the spasmodic whirl of claws that would have torn him to tatters had they chanced to strike him. With a final shudder, the beast collapsed and lay still.
Zuriye also shuddered as she looked more closely at her attacker. Larger than a lion, its thick brown fur was spattered with gore. Mostly catlike in character, it also had the long, thick tail and short legs of an otter. The thought of what would have happened if the creature had caught her caused Zuriye to look away from it.
“It’s a dilali, Mgaru said, answering Zuriye’s unspoken question. “A water-lion. Usually, they don’t come this close to Bagara, for they fear our kibokos – hippopotamus. This one must have been attracted by the disturbance you and Nyimbi made.”
“Then you heard and saw what happened,” Zuriye murmured, looking up at Mgaru.
“Yes,” said Mgaru. “Did you really think you could lose me so easily? I would have stayed hidden, but when I saw Nyimbi come here, I became suspicious. I would have disarmed her if you hadn’t.”
“Again, I owe you my life, Mgaru,” Zuriye said with a smile.
Mgaru did not return the smile.
“You are more than you appear to be, Zuriye,” he said seriously. “Beneath your softness lies iron. Iron ... and cruelty.”
“Cruelty?” she repeated, her eyes not leaving his.
‘Yes, cruelty!” he blurted, stepping forward and grasping Zuriye’s arms. “More than a moon has passed since I brought you to Bagara. During that time, I have done everything I know how to let you know I love you. Yet you continue to spurn me. Why? In the name of Ngai and all the ancestors, why?”
Zuriye laid her hands on Mgaru’s broad chest.
“I know your feelings, Mgaru,” she said. “And I would like to return them. But I cannot stay among your people. Were all Bagara like you, I would feel differently. But there are too many like Nyimbi and her mother and even your uncle Msumu – and, of course, Ajoola.”
She touched his face, then continued.
“Mgaru, if you do love me, then you will take me back to my people. Why continue to expose me to the threat of death?”
Mgaru released her and looked down.
“There is truth in what you say,” he admitted. “But if I return you to your people, I will lose you forever. I cannot bear that.”
“That doesn’t have to happen, Mgaru. You would be welcome among the Komeh. We do not believe in witches – or in Silent Ghosts. My father would honor you for having saved my life.”
Mgaru looked at her. An inner debate raged plainly on his face. To leave Bagara ... he had never before even considered the possibility. But the events of the recent past had turned the Bagara into people armed against themselves. And his father ... every day, Mweyzo appeared to derive more pleasure in finding fault with Mgaru. It was the latter thought that confirmed his decision.
“I will take you back to your people, Zuriye,” he said. “For you, I will become a Komeh, and leave Bagara behind.”
“One day, you will be diop of Bagara,” Zuriye reminded him.
“That is what my father wants,” Mgaru said. “What I want is ... you.”
Zuriye did not answer Mgaru’s plea with words. Instead, she stepped close to him and wound her arms around his neck. Mgaru pulled her closer, his hands nearly spanning her narrow waist. Their mouths met ... at first tentatively, then fiercely. Their garments dropped away. They sank into a patch of grass near the riverbank, totally unaware of the pair of eyes that glared hatefully at them from a thicket of tangled foliage ...
FEAR ATE AT NYIMBI’S resolve
