WAR: Opposition: (WAR Book 3) (24 page)

Seth checked each end of the stage. Men with AK-47s guarded the bottom of the stairs. God dammit, they were trapped.

Kirra recovered her composure and gave the crowd a brilliant smile. “Hello. As Madame Florence mentioned, I’m on my way up to the Shine a Light concert for the victims of the rebels.”

The crowd cheered, although Seth saw several people shoot wary glances at Sankoh and the guards.

“For those of you who won’t be able to attend, I’m going to play the set list from that concert.”

More shouts of approval from the crowd.

“Since my voice is a bit hoarse tonight and this is not my usual guitar, I beg your forgiveness for any mistakes.” Kirra strummed her fingers over the strings and hummed a few notes. The crowd held its breath. Then she launched into song.

Seth couldn’t have moved even if his life depended on it. Kirra’s voice, despite all they’d been through, soared out over the crowd in a pure, heart-wrenching melody. The words were mostly in English and spoke of the sorrow of losing a child to violence. Seth expected the crowd to turn away from the grim message, or for Sankoh and the guards to be disapproving. Instead, her voice and the simple notes from her guitar seemed to have placed everyone in thrall. Even Pistol Man had loosened the pressure against Seth’s side.

Excellent.

At the end of the song, the crowd erupted into applause. Sankoh clapped, the speculative look on his face indicating that he hadn’t expected Kirra to possess such talent.

Kirra gave the crowd a slight smile, then started into a bold song about a woman taking back her power. The drummers leapt back onto the stage and accompanied her as the crowd swayed and stamped their feet.

Pride filled Seth. He wasn’t a musician, but he knew how to listen to a helicopter and pick out discordant sounds that indicated trouble. Kirra’s voice and her guitar flowed together seamlessly. She seemed to know exactly when it was time to slow things down with a romantic song, when to whip the crowd into a dancing frenzy, or when to wrench the heart strings with a deeply emotional song. She never let the mood sober up for long, following with upbeat songs to wipe away the sorrow and pain.

The last notes of the current song vibrated in the night air. Kirra let the silence build. She flicked a quick glance toward Seth, then cut her eyes left and right, before lowering her gaze to her guitar.

Yeah, sweetheart. I see the guards. I don’t know how I’m going to get you out of here without getting someone killed, but I will help you escape.

If someone had suggested three days ago that he’d give up a perfect opportunity to die because of a woman he’d never met before, he would have said the person was crazy. Nothing was more important than protecting his family. But he couldn’t leave Kirra to a similar fate. And he would always treasure the time they’d spent together.

As long as word of his activities didn’t cause the blackmailer to lash out at Seth’s family, he’d make certain Kirra reached safety.

Finally, when the audience was practically falling forward in anticipation, Kirra leaned toward the microphone.

K
irra let
the last notes of the song melt into the night sky, then waited in silence to allow the audience time to process the strong emotions. Should she finish with the song her heart demanded? Or play it safe and sing the song that officially ended this set?

While she debated with herself, she studied the crowd. Despite the threat from Sankoh, and the fear that the guard would shoot Seth, it was an unexpected honor to sing for this appreciative crowd. Looking at the rapt expressions on the faces turned toward her, she had another moment of bone-deep certainty such as she’d had the first time she held a guitar. Using her music to offer people a bit of escape, give them solace, or remind them of the sheer joy of life was the work she was meant to do.

Even when it meant performing under duress.

After Sankoh had ensured Kirra’s cooperation, Madame Florence had escorted Kirra to her sister’s house, accompanied by two of Sankoh’s guards carrying the backpacks. The guards had waited outside the bathing chamber—one by the door and the other at the window—while Kirra cleaned up and dressed in the outfit Madame Florence provided.

Kirra had protested that she had suitable clothing in her pack, but Madame Florence insisted that Kirra accept her gift. So she’d given in. The clothes fit remarkably well and she had to admit that the gold-plated jewelry made her feel glamorous.

On the walk through the darkened town to the festival, Kirra had done her best to memorize the street layout. The town had a few street lamps along the main road, but none inside the town. With one guard holding tightly to Kirra’s arm, Madame Florence had been tasked with carrying the lantern.

The darkness would prove a hazard when Kirra escaped, but she was good at hiding in unusual places. As long as she could find a place to hole up nearby, she trusted that Sankoh’s men wouldn’t find her.

Once she’d reached the waiting area behind the stage, Kirra had dropped into her pre-performance mindset. When it was her turn, she’d nearly laughed at the sight of Sankoh sitting on a throne at the back of the stage, smiling at the audience as if he were a generous patron instead of the man who’d ordered Seth beaten. But she knew her role and didn’t let any of her hatred show as she’d approached the microphone.

Her composure had briefly cracked when Sankoh directed her attention to Seth and his armed guard. Seth’s face was a bit more battered. If he’d suffered other damage, she couldn’t see it. Like her, he’d been given time to bathe and change into local clothing. The alertness in his body and the intense way he studied the area around him signaled that he was plotting an escape, the same as her. Relief that he was alive had eased some of Kirra’s tension and she’d thrown herself into her music.

Noticing that some people in the crowd had begun to shift their weight restlessly, she leaned forward and spoke into the microphone. “If you have the patience for one more song,” she said, “I would like to play a new piece I’ve been working on.” Her heart gave a nervous lurch. She hadn’t been certain she would offer the song until the words came out of her mouth.

The audience drew in an appreciative breath, then murmured their approval.

“I should warn you that it is not polished as the others were,” Kirra said. Which wasn’t quite true. She never polished her songs to death. Only gave them a little shine and sparkle once they were on paper. Enough to crystalize the mood and the message of the music.

And with this song…Well, the way it had been tugging at her heartstrings, she didn’t think it would need polishing. This one, she suspected, was meant to be sung raw. But tonight would tell. If the audience responded as she hoped, then she would leave it as it stood.

Taking a deep breath, she found it impossible not to slide a glance over at Seth. Since Sankoh sat behind her, she didn’t expect to meet Seth’s gaze. Yet he met her eyes and smiled in encouragement. Her breath caught. The smile made Seth unbearably handsome. Softening his edges even through the cuts and bruises on his face.

She nodded in reply, then positioned her fingers over the strings. Nervous butterflies took flight in her belly and she dropped her eyes to the guitar so no one would see the emotion that this song evoked in her. Taking a few deep breaths, she centered herself.

“This song has no title yet,” she said softly. A lie. She called it “Seth’s Song.” But that wasn’t something she cared to share with the public. Not now. Possibly not ever. It would depend on what happened next between her and Seth.

Realizing that her fingers were trembling, she bit her lip then began the first few notes of the song. Because it was new—she’d begun composing it in her head the night Seth had taken her home—the music was at once both fresh in her mind and not so fixed that she could let her mind drift while singing. She felt her way through the song, letting the guitar carry the burden for the first several bars before allowing her voice to chime in. This was not a song to be performed in a stadium full of people. It had been written with one man in mind. One man who she didn’t have the courage to look at, no matter how desperately she wanted to see his reaction. She doubted he’d realize it was about him. She’d mixed the lyrics between English and Afrikaans, with the highly emotional pieces, the private pieces, in Afrikaans. Not because she associated that language with such tender emotions, but because, although she’d written the song to release emotions too strong to keep inside, she wasn’t yet ready to admit them to the rest of the world.

So she sang words of loss and longing, of fear and pain, and of the joy of unexpected second chances. Of two damaged souls searching for healing. She sang just loudly enough for the crowd to hear her if they remained quiet. A song of such fragile emotion needed a soft touch.

Even the night birds and insects stopped their singing so that the only competition to her voice was a soft wind that gave her face an encouraging caress. She closed her eyes as a deep sense of peace and calm settled over her. Then she sang the final line without accompaniment, letting the notes sail quietly into the night.

Silence hovered over the crowd. Kirra opened her eyes and saw people dabbing at their faces with handkerchiefs. Her heart swelled.

But she still couldn’t bring herself to look at Seth.

Then someone in the audience began to clap. The applause grew. People started cheering and stamping their feet. The drummers on stage with her started beating out a festive rhythm. Several dancers leapt onto the stage. Others raced up the stairs to join the growing group. Soon Kirra was caught up in a series of enthusiastic hugs and vigorous hand pumping. Someone removed the guitar from her grasp. Others grabbed her hands and pulled her into the circle of dance.

After a few minutes, she found herself in the middle of a tight cluster of people. They leapt and gyrated and moved as a unit toward the back stairs. Kirra glanced toward the throne. Sankoh was trapped behind a wall of dancers aggressively kicking and thrusting their arms in the air in the moves of a tribal dance.

Kirra’s group danced its way down the stairs. She expected trouble from the guards, but the space behind the stage was also packed with partying townspeople and Kirra didn’t spot any of Sankoh’s men. She tried to break free of the group, but two women hooked their arms through hers and bumped their hips against her. “All will be okay,” one of the women whispered. “Please follow our lead.”

Not knowing what else to do, Kirra let the dancers sweep her away. The group leapt and gyrated down the empty street and around a corner. Then the women pulled Kirra toward an open door. The women shoved Kirra inside and the group on the street danced on past.

Kirra blinked her eyes and glanced around the lantern-lit room. Madame Florence stood in the center of the floor of a small food shop. Kirra’s carryall and the backpacks sat at her feet.

“Quick, change clothes so you will be harder to spot.” Madame Florence gestured toward a blanket hanging in the corner. Kirra moved behind it and found a set of olive green cargo pants, a long-sleeved, dark blue t-shirt, and a black headscarf. They weren’t her clothes, but she slipped them on anyway. A pair of dark blue
takkies
had also been provided, replacing her worn, dirty ones.

Pulling off the earrings as she moved, Kirra emerged from behind the curtain and handed the jewelry to Madame Florence. “Thank you for the change of clothing. How much do I—”

Madame Florence shook her head and placed the earrings on a nearby table. “You know better than to believe that payment is expected, child.”

“All right,” Kirra said reluctantly as she bent to remove the ankle bracelets. What did it say about her that she’d had no trouble stealing valuables, but felt so uncomfortable accepting charity?

“We must hurry before Sankoh and his men force their way through the crowd,” Madame Florence warned.

Kirra stuffed her carryall into her backpack and slipped the pack onto her back. To her surprise, Madame Florence shouldered Seth’s pack.

“Why are you helping me?” Kirra asked.

“I do not trust Sankoh.” Madame Florence went to the door on the opposite side from where they’d entered and peeked outside. “From the way he has kept you guarded it is clear that he wishes to keep you here. People who stay with him do not always come out whole.” She glanced back at Kirra and nodded toward her arms. “I saw your scars. You have already survived some great ordeal. I would be no kind of Christian if I let him hurt you.” She beckoned to Kirra. “This way.”

“Wait,” Kirra said. “There was a white man in the audience being guarded by Sankoh’s men. Last I saw they were in front of the the leather shop. He’s a friend.”

“Others are helping that one,” Madame Florence said. “We will see the two of you reunited, but there is not much time.”

Kirra took Madame Florence’s hand. “I appreciate all you’ve done, but I don’t want you or your friends to be punished by Sankoh because you helped me.”

“Do not worry child, we shall handle all that comes.” She squeezed Kirra’s fingers, then pulled her hand free. “Now, we must leave.” She slipped outside and Kirra followed.

There was little light in town and Madame Florence didn’t use a torch. Kirra stuck close behind her guide so she wouldn’t fall in a ditch. Dancers, singers, and drummers kept the party going on nearby streets, but Madame Florence stuck to the dark, unoccupied places.

Kirra strained to separate the noises around her, expecting to hear shots. Instead, she heard the sound of heavy boots hitting the ground. She pulled Madame Florence to a stop and pointed over her shoulder at the faintly bobbing lights of torches heading toward them.

Madame Florence nodded. She led Kirra off the narrow street they’d been on, through a gate and into a small courtyard. Then she halted and indicated that they would wait until the men passed by.

Kirra eased over to the wooden gate and peered through the gap between the gate and the fence. Two guards holding powerful torches came into view. As they moved down the street they shone their lights into the most obvious hiding places. The light passed quickly over the gate. The closest man flicked a glance at their hiding place, but didn’t stop. A moment later, they disappeared down the street.