Gifts for the One Who Comes After by Helen Marshall

Author:Helen Marshall [Marshall, Helen]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Horror, Short Stories (single author)
ISBN: 9781771483032
Google: 2p90AwAAQBAJ
Publisher: HarperCollins Canada
Published: 2014-09-15T22:00:00+00:00

The Moon still hung in the sky, casting a silvery light over the sands until they gleamed like the hair of a newlywed bride. There was not a hill here that Dajan had not climbed, not a grain that had not tickled his skin as he walked. Still, Esu seemed satisfied to simply wander as he talked, so Dajan shrugged and kept pace. He had the patience of a hunter, and he knew his prize was near.

“Once, there was a man as handsome as Ghana is tall and as wily as Ubora, King of the Antelopes,” Esu began, his hyena grin dividing his head like two halves of a split calabash fruit.

“Better to say as proud as Tembo the elephant,” Dajan snorted.

“Quiet, hunter.” Esu commanded, aiming a swat at Dajan’s head. “This man knew the secrets of the world and was a trickster at heart. During the Season of the Sweet Grain, he met a hunter in the desert.”

“I believe I know this story,” Dajan muttered.

“And the hunter was rude, but the trickster, who was patient as the wind, spoke with him a while. You see the hunter was no ordinary hunter. Of course not. The trickster never talked with ordinary men. The hunter was a spirit. He had been foolish and had lost his life for it. His brother’s sons offered honey and milk to his memory, but as is the way of mortals, they grew old, and their sons grew old, and their sons grew old until the honey became rare and milk was needed for the babes of the family. None remembered the foolish hunter. As is the way of such spirits, he passed into the desert. Into Zamani.”

“Stop!” Dajan ordered. “Do not mock me.”

Esu rolled his eyes. “Are you deaf? I do not lie. Besides, this is a story.”

With regal dignity, Esu began to speak once more. “So the trickster found the hunter in the desert and was well-pleased with his tales. Still, the hunter did not understand why the trickster had come to the desert. ‘Why are you here?’ he cried with all the impatience of a child. And the trickster answered, for he was kind as the honeybird who always aids mankind, ‘I am here for a trade.’ ‘I have nothing,’ the hunter replied, but the trickster was wily as Ubora, and he knew this was not true. ‘You have many gifts, hunter. I but require one—a red strip of cloth so I might bind up my hair.’”

“Be quiet!” Dajan pleaded. “I do not want to hear your story anymore!” And he clutched the spear closer to his side. Esu only clicked his tongue and grinned a wide grin, his ancient teeth gaping.

“Of course, the hunter was loath to part with the gift, for it had been dyed with his heart’s blood and would look foolish in the hair of an old man. ‘What would I gain in return for such a prize?’

“‘Why, I shall tell you the end of a story,’ the trickster replied.

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