Beasts of Prey Page 3

  Decades later, Lkossan academics still occasionally spoke of old Nkrumah, musing over his infamous demise and disappearance. Some believed silver-haired yumboes from the depths of the Greater Jungle had spirited the old man away and still danced with him barefoot by moonlight. Others held a more sinister opinion, sure that some malevolent creature had dragged him from his bed. Of course, these stories were just that, a collection of myths and folktales. Ekon Okojo, who was not an academic, knew better than to believe in myths and folktales—they lacked accreditation—but there was one thing he believed in with certainty.

  The Greater Jungle was an evil place, and it could not be trusted.

  Sweat rolled down the back of his neck in beads as he marched, focusing on the steady crunch beneath his sandals instead of the eerie black-trunked trees to his immediate right. Five hundred seventy-three steps exactly, a good number. He tapped his fingers against his side in a steady rhythm as he added to that count.

  One-two-three. One-two-three. One-two-three.

  Goose bumps stippled his bare arms despite the heat, but he did his best to ignore them too, and continued his counting.

  One-two-three. One-two-three. One-two-three.

  He’d prayed to the Six that he wouldn’t be assigned a patrol shift tonight, but it seemed the gods either hadn’t heard him or hadn’t cared. It was nearly dusk now, the time when Lkossa’s blood-orange sun fell behind the trees and set their silhouettes ablaze, the time he least liked to be near the jungle. He swallowed hard, tightening his grip on the leather-hilted hanjari tucked into his belt.

  “We found the last body earlier.”

  Kamau was walking beside him, shoulder to shoulder, his hawkish gaze trained ahead. He seemed unbothered by the adjacent jungle, but he did look fatigued. “It was an old woman, prone to late-night wandering.”

  Ekon drew in a sharp breath. “How bad?”

  “Bad.” Kamau shook his head. “We had to wrap what was left of the remains in a blanket just to get her to the temple for cremation. It . . . wasn’t pretty.”

  The remains. Ekon tore his gaze from the trees, fighting a sudden wave of nausea. For his part, Kamau’s expression remained stoic. Most people said that Ekon and Kamau, seventeen and nineteen respectively, looked more like twins than like older and younger brother—both had skin the color of rain-soaked earth, umber-brown eyes, and coiled black hair tapered on the sides in Yaba fashion. But their looks were where their similarities ended; Kamau was more muscled, while Ekon was of a leaner build. Kamau favored a spear; Ekon preferred books in his spare time. And there was another visible difference between them tonight.

  Ekon’s kaftan was clean. His brother’s was bloody.

  “Didn’t see you at dinner last night,” Ekon noted, trying for a distraction.

  Kamau didn’t answer. He was staring at a shrub of silver-veined leaves clustered near the roots of a nearby tree. When his gaze lingered, Ekon cleared his throat.

  “Kam?”

  “What?”

  “I . . . asked where you were last night.”

  Kamau frowned. “Father Olufemi had some work for me to do, confidential.” He glanced at Ekon’s fingers, still drumming at his side. “You’re doing that weird thing again.”

  “Sorry.” Ekon closed his hand in a fist, forcing his fingers to still. He couldn’t really remember when he’d started doing it, the counting, just that it was something he couldn’t help. It was impossible to explain, but there was something calming in the habit, a comfort he found in the trifecta of it.

  One-two-three.

  Three. Three was a good number, as was any number divisible by it.

  He let the new count in his head fill the awkward silence that followed. It was easier to think about numbers than to think about the fact that Kamau hadn’t actually answered his question. There’d been a time when he and his brother had shared everything with each other, but that was happening less and less lately. When it became clear his brother wasn’t going to offer anything else, he tried again. “So . . . there are still no new leads? No witnesses?”

  “Are there ever?” Kamau kicked at a pebble in frustration. “It’s the same as always. No tracks, no witnesses, just bodies.”

  A shiver ran through Ekon, and a solemn quiet settled between them like dust as they continued on. It had been nearly a full day since the Shetani’s latest victims had been recovered along the jungle’s edge. By now, it should have been less shocking—the beast had menaced Lkossa longer than Ekon had been alive—but in truth, it was impossible to get used to the carnage left in its wake. Somehow, the pools of blood in the dirt always managed to be horrific, the mutilated corpses ever-sickening. Ekon’s stomach churned at the thought of the mortality report he’d read a few hours ago. Eight victims. The youngest one this time had been a little boy, an indentured servant no older than twelve, found alone. Those were the kinds of people the beast seemed to always pick—the defenseless, the vulnerable.

  They rounded a bend in the path where the sunlight had not yet withdrawn. At once, Ekon tensed. To his right, the jungle’s trees still loomed like sentries; to his left, a barren expanse of russet dirt stretched several yards wide between the city’s edge and the jungle’s border to create a no-man’s-land. It was a familiar place. As small children, he and Kamau had come here to play when they were feeling brave or reckless. They’d fashioned sticks into fake spears and pretended the two of them alone could defend their city from the creatures of the Greater Jungle, the monstrous beasts of legend. But those adventures were a thing of the past; times had changed. Now when Ekon looked into the jungle’s snarl of trees, roots, and vines, he remembered no legends.

  He remembered a voice.

  Ekon.

  Ekon started. Every time he heard his father’s voice in his head, it was slurred like that of a man who’d drunk too much palm wine.

  Please. Ekon, please.

  It wasn’t real, Ekon knew that, but his heartbeat still quickened. He started to drum his fingers again, faster, trying to use the counts to center himself and quell what he knew was coming next.

  One-two-three. One-two-three. Don’t think about it. One-two-three. One-two-three.

  It didn’t work. The corners of his vision began to blur, growing hazy as an old nightmare returned to him. He felt himself slipping, struggling to separate reality from memory, the immediate present from the distant past. In his imagination, he wasn’t at the jungle’s edge anymore, he was in the jungle now, hearing everything, seeing everything, things he didn’t want to . . .

  Ekon, please.

  And then he saw the body, soaked in dark blood. He heard a menacing rustle in the leaves just before a putrid smell soured the air—the smell of something long dead. He saw a shadowy figure weaving between the trees, a monster.

  It all led back to the monster.

  In protest, his lungs seized, and then Ekon forgot how to breathe at all. The trees seemed to be reaching for him now, gnarled black branches outstretched like claws, hungry . . .

  “Ekon?”

  As suddenly as it had descended, the opaque haze in Ekon’s mind receded, returning him to the present. He was back at the jungle’s edge, his father’s voice was gone, and Kamau had stopped walking. Concern creased the skin between his brother’s brows. “You okay?”

  “Uh, yeah.” Ekon shook himself, brushing away the remnants of the nightmare like a cobweb. “Just . . . thinking about tonight.”

  “Ah.” The brief bemusement vanished from Kamau’s face, replaced with a look of knowing. “You’re scared.”

  “No.”

  “It’s entirely understandable,” said Kamau smugly. He made a show of stretching, and Ekon resented how much bigger his biceps were. “Some consider the temple’s rites of passage to be the most difficult in all Eshōza. Of course, I didn’t find them too challenging . . .”

  Ekon r
olled his eyes. Two years ago, his brother had become eligible to join the Sons of the Six, the city’s elite warriorship. His rites had gone so well that, immediately after his initiation, he’d been promoted to a kapteni, a captain, despite his youth. Now Kamau was a well-respected warrior, a man. In their people’s eyes, Ekon was still just an unproven boy.

  “Hey.” As though he could hear Ekon’s thoughts, Kamau’s expression turned rueful. “Don’t worry, you’re going to pass.”

  “Don’t you have to say that?”

  Now Kamau rolled his eyes. “No. And I certainly wouldn’t bother to if I didn’t mean it.” He punched Ekon in the arm. “Just loosen up a little, okay? Relax. You’ve stayed out of trouble, you know your scriptures better than anyone, and . . . your spearwork’s nearly as good as mine. Plus, you’re an Okojo, so you were basically born for this.”

  Ekon felt as though he’d swallowed a kola nut whole. Born for this. For generations, every male Okojo had served the Sons of the Six, a longer tradition than that of almost any other family in Lkossa. That legacy was fortified, respected; it left little room for ineptitude.

  “You’ll make our family proud.” Kamau studied his sandals. “And I know Baba would be proud too, if he were still here.”

  At the mention of their father, Ekon flinched. “Thanks.” He paused before speaking again. “Look, Kam, I know I’m not allowed to know what’s going to happen beforehand, but can’t you—?”

  “Nope.” Kamau was already shaking his head, a renewed grin tugging at the corners of his mouth even as he tried to look serious. “The rites change each year at the presiding Kuhani’s discretion, Ekkie. It’ll be Father Olufemi who chooses yours. Even I don’t know what it will be.”

  The imaginary worms wriggling around in Ekon’s stomach settled momentarily. He was still nervous, but knowing that he wouldn’t have to do whatever Kamau had done during his rites of passage was a small comfort.

  They reached the end of the patrol path and stopped. Just yards away, the edge of the Greater Jungle unfurled before them. Kamau looked up, and Ekon followed his brother’s gaze to take in the silver-white stars beginning to speckle the sky overhead. In their quiet luminance, the scars left from the Rupture almost disappeared. Almost. The illusion didn’t fool him.

  “We’d better get going,” said Kamau. “It’s nearly time.”

  Ekon didn’t admit it aloud, but the more distance they put between themselves and the jungle’s border, the better he felt. With each step away from it, the tension in his shoulders eased. Gradually, the evening air filled with the familiar din that was the city of Lkossa, the sounds and smells of home.

  Along its dirt-swept streets, grocers stood posted beside stalls of fresh fruit, haggling down their final sales as shops prepared to close. Ekon tallied each one. He counted fifteen different merchants waving wax-dyed textiles through the air and a pair of boys stooped over a wooden oware board as they stopped their game to wave enthusiastically at Kamau when they saw his hanjari’s gilded hilt. A huddle of young women—four young women—giggled behind their hands when they passed, eyeing Kamau appreciatively, and Ekon tried to temper an old stab of jealousy. As a boy, he’d been used to people giving Baba this kind of attention when they saw him in uniform, but with Kamau it was harder. Ekon wanted that respect and admiration for himself, to be noticed without trying.

  Almost there, he reminded himself as his fingers drummed at his side. After you pass your last rite of passage tonight, you’ll become a Son of the Six, a warrior, and a man. It’ll be your turn. Even in the privacy of his mind, that promise felt like it belonged to someone else.

  The streets quieted as they neared the road that led to the temple, but just before it, Kamau’s expression hardened.

  “Halt!”

  At once, the street’s bustle died, and apprehensive gazes lifted. Even Ekon stopped in confusion. There were, by his count, only eighteen people on this particular road. He searched a moment, then found what Kamau already had. He’d miscounted.

  The little girl standing a few yards from them had dark, sunken eyes, a tangle of uncombed black hair framing her gaunt face. She wore a threadbare tunic, one sleeve hanging off her too-sharp shoulder, and the skin of her legs and feet was visibly dry and cracked. For a moment, Ekon didn’t understand her frightened expression as she stared back at them, but then he saw her bulging pocket, the tremor in her hands. She had the distinct look of someone who’d just been caught.

  “You!” Kamau started toward her, and Ekon’s heart sank. “Remain where you are!”

  A single beat passed before the girl tore down the street.

  “Stop!” Kamau broke into a run, and Ekon did too. No one else in the street moved as they wove between people in pursuit. The girl veered right, then disappeared into a forked alley. Kamau growled in frustration. “These passages connect.” He started down one and pointed Ekon in the opposite direction. “Take the other!”

  Ekon obeyed without hesitation, ignoring the small pang of pity in his chest. The girl had looked so young, scared. He didn’t know if she’d actually stolen anything of value, but that didn’t matter. She’d disobeyed a direct order from a Son of the Six. If she was caught, she’d be caned. He shook his head, pushing emotion away to refocus. The girl had led them into the Chafu District, Lkossa’s slums, a rougher part of the city. His hand flew to his hanjari as he ran. He wouldn’t make a fool of himself here by getting jumped or ambushed.

  He turned a corner, expecting to find Kamau. Instead, he stared down an empty alley.

  “Hello?” His call went unanswered, echoing eerily against the grimy mud bricks. “Kam?”

  “Afraid not, young man.”

  Ekon whirled. An old woman was sitting cross-legged against one of the alley’s walls, nearly camouflaged in its filth. Her hair was white and cottony, and her skin was brown and uneven in texture like roughly hewn wood. A tarnished amulet hung from a cord around her neck, though it was too dark to distinguish its details. She offered Ekon a gummy smile as they appraised each other, and he fought a shudder—she was missing several teeth.

  “How strange . . .” The old woman dragged a finger across her bottom lip. She was speaking Zamani, but her dialect had an almost musical lilt. She was a Gede, and of the Gedezi People. “I don’t usually see Yaba boys in this part of the city.”

  Ekon drew himself up to full height. “I’m looking for a little girl, have you seen—?”

  Ekon.

  Ekon went stock-still, unnerved. For a second, he thought he’d heard . . . but . . . no, not here. It couldn’t be. He was too far away from the jungle now for Baba’s voice to follow him. He’d never heard it at this distance. It wasn’t possible. He cleared his throat.

  “Ahem. Have you—?”

  Ekon, please.

  This time, Ekon’s jaw snapped shut. He didn’t resist the shiver that ran the length of him.

  No. He looked right, in the direction of the jungle, as his fingers danced at his side. No, not here, not now . . .

  “Does it call to you often?”

  Ekon started. He’d almost forgotten about the old woman entirely. She was still sitting before him, but now her expression held amusement.

  “I—” Ekon paused, trying to process her words. “It?”

  “The jungle.” The old woman readjusted, rocking from side to side as though swaying to an inaudible tune. “It calls to me too sometimes. I couldn’t tell you why, magic is a peculiar thing, as are the things it touches.”

  A chill skittered up Ekon’s bare arm like a spider; his mouth went paper dry. “There . . . there’s no such thing as magic,” he said shakily.

  “Is that what you think?” The old woman cocked her head like a bird and rubbed a thumb against her amulet. She was studying Ekon much harder now. “How curious, very curious . . .”

  Every instinct in Ekon’s body told him to run, bu
t suddenly that felt impossible. Something about the old woman’s voice, her eyes, held him fast. He stepped toward her, tugged like a fish helplessly hooked on a line—

  “Ekkie?”

  Ekon looked up, the strange trance instantly broken. Kamau was approaching from the other end of the alley, lit sconces mounted on the wall throwing his frown into sharp relief. “What are you doing?”

  “I—” Ekon looked to where the old woman had been sitting. She wasn’t there now. Strangely, he found he had trouble even recalling her likeness. It was as though she hadn’t existed at all. Unnerved, he faced Kamau, trying to keep his voice steady. “I . . . couldn’t find the girl.”

  “Me neither,” said Kamau. “But we don’t have time to keep looking. Come on.”

  They walked in silence until they reached the two gilded pillars marking the start of the Takatifu District, and Ekon stood straighter. The city of Lkossa was a collection of neatly ordered sections, but the temple’s district was different. It was the only part of the city that maintained a curfew; after sunset, it was closed to the public. They made their way up its winding path, and even from there he could already discern the temple itself. Of course, it was home, the place where he lived, but tonight it seemed different. Its massive dome, capped over white alabaster stonework, seemed determined to hold every one of the stars’ glittering lights in its reflection. The breeze lifted, and he smelled the cloves of prayer incense emanating from its arched windows and parapets. Just as he’d expected, when they got closer, he made out two figures standing at the top of the main stairs with their backs turned away. Fahim and Shomari—his co-candidates—were waiting for him. It was time.

  “When we meet again, you’ll be an anointed Son of the Six.” Kamau stopped beside him at the base of the stairs, keeping his voice low. “We’ll be brothers in spear, just as we are brothers in blood.” He made the proclamation without a trace of doubt. Ekon swallowed. His brother had faith in him; he believed in him.