A Spear of Summer Grass by Deanna Raybourn

Author:Deanna Raybourn
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: MIRA
Published: 2013-09-03T04:00:00+00:00

14

I shot a sizeable antelope for the cooking pot, and the men smiled their appreciation. The cook made it into some sort of stew with gourds and onions and they devoured it by their own fires, one for each tribe. They had piled their fires high with green matter causing them to smoke heavily, driving away the insects that would have plagued them. They would sleep under the stars, but two tents had been pitched on level ground, one for me and another for Ryder. Tusker refused to sleep in a tent, choosing the car instead.

“No, thank you,” she said when I offered to share. “I have had quite enough experience of snakes in the bush. It makes me drink just to think about it. A nice day’s hunting and no sooner do you fall asleep than something comes slithering into your tent to bed down between your legs. No, thank you, indeed.”

Ryder’s mouth was twitching hard, and I looked away so as not to laugh. Tusker excused herself and I rose from the fireside, wrapping a length of Masai cloth about my shoulders. Gideon had presented it to me before trotting off to make a bed for himself under the trees, and I was glad of it. Nights on the plains could be cool.

“Delilah,” Ryder called as I reached my tent. I paused.

“Yes?”

He looked up from where he lounged, hands laced behind his head, legs crossed at the ankle.

“You might get scared,” he said evenly. “There are noises in the bush, scary things with teeth and claws that go bump in the night. You might need protecting. I could help with that.”

“Don’t worry,” I said sweetly. “I have my gun. If I hear anything coming toward my tent, I’ll just shoot first and worry about what it might have been later.”

He was still laughing when I shut myself in my tent.

The next morning we picked up the track again and it veered sharply south. Ryder was quiet, his mood solemn, and Gideon must have sensed it. He didn’t ask for poetry and I doubt he would have gotten any if he had. Ryder grew even quieter as we approached an outcropping of rock. Gideon fell back with the headman and the porters and together they kept to the track. Only Ryder struck off, heading straight toward the rocks. I followed him, and he slowed, matching his pace to mine. I did not ask where we were going. The rocks rose straight before us, grey and weathered, the only real landmark in this part of the savannah.

We stopped at the foot and I saw where a cross had been carved roughly into the rock. Ryder took off his hat as we moved close. He passed his hand over it, tracing the lines, first down, then across. He laid the flat of his hand over the stone, palm to rock, and remained that way for several minutes. Then he gave a great sigh and backed away to stand next to me.

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