Heart of Light (41 page)

Somewhere, from deep in the jungle, came a roar. Nigel was gone. And she was left with these two . . . creatures, both of whom would cause her harm if they could.

“I was very young,” Kitwana said. He spoke softly, as a man who speaks of something distant and quite factual, and not of his own life, his own destiny. “I was very young and very innocent, having been raised in a small, insular village. I'd been with my uncle's people for only a little while. The emissaries of the Hyena Men told me that if I joined, I could fight to free Africa, fight to free it from the white oppressor. Was that not a worthy goal?”

Emily clutched the place on her sleeve that hid the black mark and swallowed. She wanted to say that joining an evil organization could never be good, but in her mind rose images of her own mother talking about how the British had despoiled India. She heard her mother speaking of how Emily's uncles were viewed as inferior creatures, having had the misfortune of being born with brown skin and dark hair. And that in their own land, where their ancestors had lived from time immemorial.

Thinking of this, she nodded slowly, then rallied. “You bound my mind. That is illegal in most countries. It is evil in all. It was not honorable.”

Kitwana smiled—an expression that showed no joy at all. “That is when I started having doubts about the Hyena Men. I started wondering if people who were willing to stoop to this sort of behavior should have power over Africa, or over any continent. If they treated humans so lightly, why would they treat our own people better once they had control?”

“But you didn't leave,” Emily said.

“I couldn't leave.” As he spoke, Kitwana turned away, and Emily wondered what embarrassed him so. “I also didn't want the Europeans to find Heart of Light and finish binding all the magic in the world to them,” Kitwana said very evenly, as if he were discussing the weather. “That would only give them yet more power over my people. Surely you can see that.”

“And so you decided to stay behind and see that no one found the ruby.”

Kitwana shrugged. For some reason, he looked more civilized, more intelligent than ever, in the dark of night and wearing only a loincloth. “I don't believe I had formulated any plans quite so specific as that. I thought only of protecting the expedition from . . . him.”

A look at where Peter had been showed her that he had moved. He had crawled on his belly a few feet away, headed for the dark forest. Kitwana put his foot on Farewell's back. Peter groaned, but didn't speak. He looked very pale, his eyes wide and rolling. He'd been pulling himself on his elbows, and now let himself fall on his face, in the dirt.

“You see?” Kitwana said. “He's only trying to distract us, so he can crawl into the jungle and heal, and then come back to devour us.”

Peter Farewell groaned again. It sounded as if he felt too exhausted, too hopeless to find words. “You tried to kill me,” he said at last, his voice sounding like an echo of itself. “I just want to save myself. I just want . . . I hurt.”

Emily thought of the wounded dragon above her, its blood raining down on their upturned faces.

Kitwana looked guilty and combative in equal parts. But he kept his foot on Peter's back.

Emily feared he would say something, do something to bring out the dragon in Peter. She had some sense that the dragon was not in full control of himself. That the dragon—once needled enough, once in enough pain—could take charge of Peter, could commit any crime, violate all decency.

“I was only trying to keep safe those under my protection,” Kitwana said. “Dragons eat people.”

“And Hyena Men kill them,” Peter Farewell said. Kitwana pushed his foot hard into Peter's back, and Emily felt the barely repressed current of violence between the two men.

“And you never intended harm to me?” she asked Kitwana, as much to distract him as to secure a guarantee that he did not mean to kill her or mind-strip her in the dark.

He looked at her, and his eyes widened a little in wonder, as if he couldn't even believe that she might think that of him. “I would never—” Kitwana said, and stopped, as if the fullness of his feelings couldn't adequately be expressed in words. “I could never hurt you. Hurt any human.”

For a moment they stood staring at each other. Emily was conscious of something, not quite a smirk, in Peter's eyes.

Emily would never believe Kitwana fully. After being betrayed by Nigel and deceived by Peter Farewell, she would never believe anyone fully. But she believed Kitwana was indeed telling her the truth, or the truth as he believed it to be. Looking into the man's eyes, she was met again with that open, straightforward expression that had so impressed her before.

“And yet you surely gave the appearance of wishing to harm me,” she said softly, her mind only on letting Peter Farewell live. He might be a villain, and perhaps he deserved death, but Emily wasn't ready to see him killed in cold blood. Particularly when his executioner might very well be as guilty as the dragon. Besides, the dragon was something Peter had inherited, a dark evil in his genes. But Kitwana had picked the Hyena Men on his own.

“Perhaps,” Emily said, “Mr. Farewell has more good and honor in him than his actions suggest so far. And perhaps you do also, Mr. Kitwana. Let's not judge hastily. Take your foot off his back. And, Mr. Farewell, come near us.”

“He'll try to run again,” Kitwana said.

Emily looked at Peter Farewell where he lay, pale and shivering, on the ground. He hadn't moved when Kitwana took his foot from his back. She thought that there was a better chance that he would die, alone in the bush. Surely the scion of one of the most prominent British families deserved better. Surely Nigel's childhood friend deserved better.

Peter raised his head from the ground. “You can tie me up,” he said, “if it will help you trust me.” He made a sound that wasn't quite a groan or a sob. “But please don't kill me.”

“If you change into a dragon, you'll break your bonds,” Kitwana said.

“Then spell the bonds that tie me, so I can't turn into a dragon. If you can spell a lance to kill me, surely you can bind me.”

Kitwana looked discomfited. Emily understood his hesitation. A spelled rope would never stop what was an internal process of Farewell's. And a psychic bind could have other consequences.

“Mr. Farewell,” she said. “Give me your word of honor.”

Farewell looked puzzled. “You'd trust my word?” “Yes,” she said. “Whatever else you are, I don't think you see yourself as a man without honor.”

Groaning, Peter Farewell turned over and slowly sat up. “You have my word, Mrs. Oldhall,” he said. He looked toward Kitwana. “And you also, Mr. Kitwana. I will not try to escape. Nor will I harm either of you, now or ever. Not if it is within my control.”

Kitwana looked doubtful.

“Please,” Peter said. “Would you help me near the fire? I am very cold.”

Still looking doubtful, Kitwana half helped, half dragged Farewell to his feet and nearer the fire. Emily wiped her hands on her skirt and turned to Kitwana.

“You say Mr. Oldhall left?” she asked. “With the girl?”

“Amid the melee, I saw Nassira dragging Mr. Oldhall into the bush,” Kitwana said. “I believe she was trying to save him.”

“Do you have any idea where she would have taken him?”

“I can smell them,” Peter said.

They both turned, astounded, to look at him.

Still pale, looking weak and scared, he managed one of his smiles, though in this case it was scarcely more than a trembling of his pale lips.

“Do not look so shocked,” he said. “I am a were, and weres have a better sense of smell than other humans. Oh, I didn't mean I can smell them now. But I can smell them out in the morning and find Nigel.”

“I wonder if he wishes to be found,” Emily said in turn, and was conscious of both their gazes converging on her.

“What do you mean?” Kitwana asked.

“You don't find it strange,” Emily said, feeling wan and tired and afraid of being told exactly what she feared most, “that my husband should leave with another woman and leave me in the middle of a pitched battle?”

Peter shook his head slowly. “You must see that Nigel is often half-awake for an hour or two after rising. I would guess the woman decided to rescue him. She is the type who tries to rescue everyone. She probably tried to rescue him, and Nigel followed, tripping, half-asleep, not even sure of where he was going. I'd be surprised if in the morning he does not look for us before we look for him.”

Emily stared at the dark sky above. The morning seemed a lifetime away. And the evening before—the genteel talk around the fire, and her intention of seducing the Peter Farewell, who had been a British gentleman and not a dragon—seemed even further away.

“Are we quite safe here?” she asked Kitwana. “Do you think we'll be in any danger?”

“Danger from what?” Kitwana asked. “I don't think the Hyena Men will return. They were routed by fear of Mr. Farewell's teeth and magic. Besides, I was their leader here away from . . . from Shenta, who leads the organization at large. Without me, it will take them some time and effort to figure out how to contact Shenta, let alone any other member of the organization. I think we're safe from them.”

“And I'll vouchsafe for us being safe from beasts,” Peter said. He paused and swallowed audibly in the still evening air. “They will not approach me, you see. Not lions and not hyenas, and not even cats or dogs. My father's hunting dogs . . . It was the first symptom of . . .” He paused and shook his head, seemingly overcome by an emotion too unbearable to allow him to continue.

Emily wanted to ask him how and when he'd found out his true nature. Had he always known it? While he went through school, playing childhood games alongside Nigel, had he known that in his heart he was a creature full of rage and destruction?

It seemed impossible, but she could not know without asking. And seeing Peter's expression, close upon itself with pain, she would not dare to ask.

“Let us do some packing tonight,” Kitwana said, “before we rest, in case Mr. Oldhall really does seek us out in the morning.”

“We can pack no more than two people can carry,” Emily said, fearing the arduous way that lay ahead of them through the jungle.

“Three,” Peter said. “Dragons heal fast.” He spoke in a short, decisive jab, and neither of them dared contradict him.

And yet, Emily decided, they would pack as lightly as the circumstances would allow. She picked up the essentials of the camp spread around the clearing—water jug and other things without which dinner would not be possible. These would be in her keeping now, assuming that Nassira didn't return. And by carrying these, how much room would she have for other things?

As she was thinking, she heard a sound from Kitwana—not dismay, yet something like it. Looking up, she realized Kitwana had thrown open one of her many travel trunks. Within the trunk, carefully packed, lay her dresses, layer upon layer. And Emily realized, with a great shock, how almost impossible it would be to cross Africa with no carriers, no beaters, and still look like a British lady. Her skirts would catch on branches where no one had bothered to cut a path. Her parasol would be a ridiculous affectation that she would have no means of carrying, with her hands full of the cooking implements.

“Leave those behind,” she said.

“Are you sure?” Kitwana asked. “For I can imagine how much they—”

Emily shook her head. “I'll wear this dress.” She rummaged through her trunk and brought out a garment made of muslin, white and plain. Fitting for the heat. “Just this.”

She had no time to worry about what her father would think of her tonight—alone with two males of dubious reputation.

Whether Nigel came back in the morning or not—and why did her heart misgive the idea that Nigel would come back?—she must survive Africa. And she would.

THE FOREST

For a while, creeping and sliding around the trees in
the dense forest, Nassira could feel the magic of the flying rugs above them. Now and then, the searchlight shone. Nassira forged forward, without daring to stop and speak to Nigel.

She did not doubt that once their pursuers failed to find them on the rug flight, they would look for them on foot. The farther the two of them went into the forest, the better their chance of escaping.