I will fear no evil: For thou art with me;
Thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me.
Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies;
Thou annointest my head with oil; My cup runneth over.
Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life,
and I will dwell in the House of the Lord forever. - 23rd Psalm.
Chunk of the spade into the parched earth. It is the dry season here in the Masai Mara. Makes for easy digging, at least. Throw the dirt onto the steadily growing pile. Six feet down. The correct, traditional depth for a grave. It stops both wild animals digging in, and any diseases from escaping. Clamber out of the hole. Flash gives a whine and sniffed the cloth wrapped bundle beside the grave. The big cats can feel grief, just not exactly like us.
Sit by the body and recover for a bit, reassuring Flash by touch and thought. Drink some water. A file of people approach, shimmering in the heat haze. Each carrying a stone, the largest they can carry. They stop, three paces away.
“Which of our brothers is it?” The leader, an old man, asks simply.
“Ahitana, of M'barsu village. His body will become one with the Mara, his soul will fly free above it like the birds. And his deeds will live on, as long as one member of the tribes lives.” Where the hell did that come from? The old man nods gravely.
“Ahitana's mother was my wife's father's cousin. We will hear his deeds around the fire from his brother in arms, and cherish them always.” Willing hands respectfully lower his body into the waiting grave, fill it and the stones are gently placed to form a cairn over him. The old man stoops and plants an acacia seed, watering it liberally from his water skin.
“Grow, tree. Grow tall and strong from our brother. Mark his resting place well. Provide shelter and shade to those in need, and a home to our four footed brothers and sisters.” A simple nod to the cairn, gesture to me to accompany them, and we head back to their camp. Tomorrow, back into the fray at the Seattle nest. Tonight though, I shall tell the tale of Ahitana's life, both it's triumphs and it's failures, it's joys and it's sorrows. And his brothers and sisters will sit and listen and not forget.
It is no bad way to be remembered.
* * *
Luigi sighs as he puts away the clean glasses. The dishwasher is broken yet again, and the kitchen help is getting a little mutinous about it. No willingness to work hard, these youngsters …
The front door, locked for the afternoon, rattles, then opens with a bang. Hans stands in the entry, lockpick in one hand. Other arm supporting Ronnie, sagging and bleeding on the step. Drags him in and kicks the door shut behind him.
“We arranged to meet at the pub in Campo di Fiore. Ronnie had a contact to meet, so had I. He found something, don't know what.” Hans gasps. “He was late, and his phone off, so I left a message and went for a walk. Found him like this in one of the alleys off the square. You were the closest place to bring him.”
“Take him through. Quickly.” Luigi already punching numbers into the phone. Rings. Answered almost immediately. “Don Brent, we need a discreet doctor here as soon as possible. Some guards would be gratefully received too. Ronnie has been attacked.”
“James will be there in five minutes with the doctor. You will have guards all around you in three. Where was he attacked?”
“Just off Campo di Fiore.”
“I'll send out some feelers, see who saw anything. Brent off.”
Tap on the door. Peek through the glass and see large man standing on the threshold. He twists slightly, showing a yellow trillium badge, gives Luigi a nod and thumbs up, then settles on the bench just outside the door. Just another tourist or office worker, resting his feet and enjoying the day. Bustle through to the private room. James is already there, doctor squatting beside Ronnie and checking him over with rapid, thorough professionalism. “Beaten quite badly, broken arm and collar bone, possible skull fracture, certainly concussion, and given at least one heavy dose of some hypnotic or other. He should be in hospital,” glances at James, “but I assume that will not be convenient.”
“No, not really,” James shrugs. “How long will he be out? We need to know what he knows as soon as possible.”
“Can't say yet. Depends on what hypnotic, and how much he was given. I'll run a blood test on him in a second, and try to counter whatever it is. Unconsciousness and concussion are bad bedfellows. But while he is already out ...” the doctor seizes Ronnie's arm, with a grinding jerk, re-aligns the fractured bone. “Hold that steady while I rough splint it. Can do a proper job on it later.”
“Figlio di Troia! Another one!” Marta stands in the doorway, hands on hips. “Has Cat been yet told?” The doctor ignores her, continuing to work on Ronnie.
“Not yet, Marta. It may be nothing to do with ...” Hans starts.
“Are you all cagacazzo?”Her eyes flash. “If he is as good as he is supposed to be, it can only mean one thing. Our enemies have a Seer on their side.” Whirls to Luigi. “Phone Cat. Now. And ask Sergei to escort Seraphina to us as soon as she can. We will be needing protection. Strong protection.”
* * *
Waiting. It is something she does well. Visions can take time to reveal themselves, even under self hypnosis. Sit quietly, holding Ronnie's hand. He is still unconscious. Relaxed, breathing slow and even. The need to see must be subordinate to the will. Extraneous thoughts, sounds in the room – all distraction held at bay by the light trance state she can slip into at will. It is as easily as putting on a coat by now. The vision comes. She recites what she sees.
Two men await, on the wall, Flash of needle, see him fall.
Name his friends, they command, the crusader ignores the demand.
Beg and plead for the mute to speak, in frustration kick and beat.
No answer comes, to their dismay, Gart will make them rue this day.
Open her eyes, looks round and smiles apologetically. “That's all I got. Sorry, about the verse, it always comes out that way. Those are the rules of the Oracle.”
“It was clearer than most of them. We know he didn't speak of us. And at least we got a name. Gart. Familiar to anyone?” James looks around the room, to be greeted by head shakes from everyone except Luis, who looks puzzled.
“I know a Gart. Or rather, knew one. He was a One with a very strong gift of the Sight. He'd have been trained as a Seer if we were not always so chronically, desperately short of Ones. He died, rather badly, on a mission about two years ago. We only ever found one of his hands and some teeth”
“So he could have just disappeared? Sounds like something I can deal with, especially if he had his hand regrown.” Hans sounds pleased. This is normal, everyday stuff for him. Luis shrugs.
“It is possible, I guess. The Sighted have great difficulty in seeing each other, so no Seer would know he lived. The demon he was sent to banish survived, so we just naturally assumed ...”
“Yeah. And it is a very handy way for Shakihwa to build up a team of his own. We have had some experience with officially killing people as a way of hiding them” Hans looks grim.
“But what does he expect to gain? You cannot control demons for long, and they will always fight it. Make killing you once released their highest priority.” Luigi waves at his library. “Every book and report agrees on that.”
Luis slumps weakly into the nearest chair as the realisation suddenly hits. “Oh, my fucking christ. Tanekawa. He has Tanekawa to protect him.” Looks round at uncomprehending eyes. “She is a Demon Killer. The fastest person ever to be enhanced. And …” apologetic look to Seraphina, “Cat's lover.”
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