The Enchanted Castle (Shioni of Sheba Book 1) by Marc Secchia

Author:Marc Secchia [Secchia, Marc]
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3
Published: 2013-12-22T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 14: A Rip-Roaring Adventure

Several hours after midnight, Shioni dismounted. The night air finally felt cool–for days now, the dry season heat had been baking in the days and lingering into the night. Every evening was hotter and muggier than the last, while the overheated air hardly seemed to stir. She hoped Mama Nomuula had been able to attend to Selam. Mama always complained about how difficult ankle injuries were, and how slow to heal properly–if at all.

Shioni grimaced. Some clever tracker she was. More like a brainless sheep! In the darkness she had completely missed her landmarks and ridden right past the lion’s cave and on down the trail. She had eventually realised her mistake and turned around, but had already lost a great deal of time.

She tethered Star on a long rope to the old, lightning-split acacia. “Wait here. This shouldn’t take long.” The pony replied with an image of tall, sweet grass. Shioni patted her neck. “Fill up and rest. We’ve the ride back to come.”

She slipped from shadow to shadow towards the lion’s den. A band of clouds across the moon was making her task nearly impossible. She wished she could have checked for tracks, but it was too dark and she had been unable to take a lamp this time. She had only her eyes and ears, and they were telling her it was still. Almost too still.

Shioni checked the throwing-knives at her belt, then the long dagger she used in place of a sword. Herbs and potions in her bag. Hopefully Mama Nomuula wouldn’t miss them before morning. Water gourd…

The lion’s plight had eaten deeper and deeper into her thoughts while the dancing, feasting and merriment wound on and on, and the slaves worked their fingers to the bone for the nobles’ and priests’ enjoyment. She eased her shoulders. If she closed her eyes, she could still feel the rhythm of the heavy stick used to pound dried spice-pods and imagine chopping vegetables by the cart load. One day she had slaughtered, plucked and prepared over a hundred chickens. Pots? Were there so many pots in the world? But at least the slaves had been allowed to eat well. Her stomach was grateful for that!

Was the lion still lying there? Would she smell only death when she entered its lair? She doubted it would recover. After all, hyena jaws were powerful enough to crack the bones of an elephant. But it still didn’t make sense. Why would any hyena attack a large male lion, even one injured by a hunter’s arrow?

For the umpteenth time, she wondered if she wasn’t going insane. Her newfound ability to listen to animals, while scary and smacking of witchcraft or asmati-work, was also addictive. She had to keep it hidden or be branded a witch. The sensible part of her wanted it to stop, but she found she craved trying to see what she could do. Maybe she should confront the elephants? Or had she simply imagined a trunk inserting a key into her mind.

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