Gathering Darkness
Saturday, 26 March 1870
Kongo, Subsaharan Africa
Nightfall
Katherine had loved riding. Still loved it, she was sure. But she wasn't certain that she wouldn't have traded everything she and Ezekiel owned at the moment to ride in a carriage or on a train for just a day. The chestnut mare beneath her snorted and tossed her head; Katherine laughed.
"Yes, you are right Kamar. That would just horrify Neecy if I gave everything away. C'est assurément. I suppose I've survived worse things than saddle sores." She shifted in her saddle, a cramp clenching in an area not mentioned in polite company. At least the hills were not desert sand anymore, golden, red and unending. She had wanted green, missed the green of England, was tired of her journey and the never ending fear that gnawed at the end of her thoughts.
She had broken off from her journey to Abyssinia, abruptly certain that she needed to be riding south. She was terrified that her instinct was wrong, rode from the caravan on a fresh mount with genuine regret. But as the sands faded to scrub, as Abyssinia faded to the east, she had been happy as she had followed the calling south and west as the terrain yielded to the softer views of vegetation. She had ridden for a day past a large and expansive lake and now rode among trees and grass in the foot lands near a mountain range.
Katherine raised in the stirrups, looking around for a place to camp for the night and brushed stray hair from her eyes. The sun was lowering in the sky; the hunters would be out and she needed to start a fire. She rode to a small copse of trees and hobbled the mare after dismounting so that the horse wouldn't go too far. Not that she had before. With the darkness, the mare stayed close to both Katherine and the fire as the roars and giggles of the lions and hyenas sounded through the night.
Katherine had grown accustomed the eyes glittering at the darkness at the edge of the fire. And she also had learned to sleep with the faith that she would awake if she were in danger. The thunder of the mare's dancing hooves usually made a staccato warning, a drumbeat of fear that accompanied her neighs that complimented Katherine's own danger sense.
After starting the fire, Katherine backtracked to a small stream she had ridden past; she had learned not to camp at waterholes after doing so, wary of being in the way of everything that wanted to drink and everything that wanted to eat the things that came to drink. The mare had stopped to drink at it as they passed and she trusted her mount not to drink foul water.
As she lowered her waterskin under the water to fill it, a flicker of movement caught her eye. She froze, her hand straying to the pistol she had bought from the last Bedouin tribe. The shot would likely scare it away. But if it didn't, it meant dropping the pistol and waterskin and drawing her sword and knife. She sighed inwardly as her heart skipped a beat. She wanted to be in Ezekiel's arms so much that it hurt, be home with their children. This adventure was survival and a desperate hunt and what little bit of fun and glamour that Katherine had been able to see gild it with was gone.
Her eyes widened as the movement proved to be a small boy, his eyes locking to hers. He was Oriental, his round inscrutable face incongruous on the edge of the mountain forest in Africa. Blinking, she rose to her feet, beckoning to him. "Come little one. Are you lost? Where are your parents?"
The little boy shook his head and patted his back and then pointed to her. Katherine stared, puzzled as he repeated the gesture. Finally, she reached where he indicated, her fingers grazing her husband's sword.
"I won't hurt you with this," she stated with confusion, holding the hilt. Why not the sword and knife at her side? The boy gestured for her to unbuckle it and then pantomimed putting it into the stream. She shook her head. It would rust and ruin. The boy shook his head firmly, pantomiming the actions again. Katherine shook her head. She looked in his eyes, her voice firm.
"It will ruin it," she answered to his wordless command, locking her eyes to his. The boy stared and Katherine gasped as a sudden pressure bore between her eyes. There was an urgency to the almond shaped gaze and the boy covered his heart and held out his hands to her before going through the motions of putting the sword in the water again. He suddenly seemed to emote fear, though she could see nothing that would be causing it other than herself. She stared, shaking her head in the negative as the space behind her eyes pulsed.
Abruptly, she realized that she could see the vegetation behind him and she gasped, stepping back. She opened her mind, stunned to see a ghost before her.
Not ruined. Please hide weapon.
She blinked at him, struggling her way through his soft and amorphous words to understanding. From whom? she thought back.
Him. Before you go, before he comes.
She couldn't help but unstrap the sword, removing it without question. The boy's soul was pulsing through her and she found herself trusting him, helplessly and willingly. Inhaling softly, she caressed the soft, plain leather scabbard once and then let it fall into the water with a sigh. The boy shimmered with a sad smile and vanished. Her knees nearly buckled, but she caught herself, her breath suddenly coming hard along with a fatigue she could barely stand against, an exhaustion that seeped deep in her bones.
Many lives, like a never ending circle, points of existence on a path so long that her mind recoiled at the eternity of it even as she tried to grasp it. An awareness burdened with sadness and knowledge, wisdom of lives upon lives. Caught, held, kept. . .
His mind broke from hers effortlessly, severing the tie with gentle finality, and the noises of the gathering evening assaulted her senses. She knelt and filled her water skin, letting her mind regain her reality, and went back to her campsite. The warmth of the fire was like a star in the gathering darkness and she went to it gladly, welcoming the gentle nicker of the mare as she arrived. Settling on a blanket in the warm grass, she found that she wasn't hungry, her mind racing as the fear at the pit of her stomach rolled and grew.
What is coming? she asked the erupting stars in the sky. Oh Lord, be with your humble servants. At length, she lay down, uneasy but tired, drawing her blades, cradling around them tenderly. At her back, there was emptiness, Ezekiel's sword no longer guarding and comforting her.
"I'm frightened," she whispered to the dark night and closed her eyes for a quick and uneasy nap.
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