I delivered death to so many men—three this day alone—but Issa and I were trying for a baby.
My love for her left me reeling sometimes. But so did my hatred for my enemies.
Beyond the helicopter, Mount Kenya stood proud. My family had lived, warred, loved, and died on these plains for centuries. Sun struck the peak.
My instinct was to close my eyes. But I refused. I straightened my beret and prayed to my spirit guardian. Maybe my ancestors were wrong; maybe there was an afterlife.
I rose with my rifle in my outstretched hand—the posture of surrender. I stared them down, standing as proud as the mountain. But I’d be as unpredictable as a lion. I jerked my rifle to my shoulder and fired my last bullet, hitting the pilot—
Gunshots erupted from the copter.
I felt no pain. Had I died? Dozens of bullets had passed through my body. Suddenly I felt weightless—I must be leaving this world.
I only wished I could have seen Issa one last time.
As the copter plummeted into the ridge, I did shut my eyes, closing the cover on the book of my life.
I waited.
And waited.
When I opened my eyes, I stood in the bedroom of our little apartment in Nairobi. Was I already a ghost? Issa strolled out of the steamy bathroom, wrapped in a towel. Her face lit up into a smile.
She could see me?
In a delighted tone, she said, “You’re early! I wanted everything to be ready when you got here. The apartment was supposed to smell like nyama choma and biryani, and I would look like a pinup. Sawa sawa.” No worries. “I will take this surprise any day.” She hurried to give me an embrace. “Ooh, you smell like gasoline.” But she didn’t release me.
I still hadn’t spoken, hadn’t moved. I must be alive. Maybe I’d had a mental breakdown.
She drew back. “Hujambo?” Everything okay?
I finally found my voice. “Sijambo.” I’m fine. I pulled my beret off. My throat was tight as I said, “I am very glad to see you, Issa.”
_______________
Later that evening, we lay in bed, sharing a warm bottle of Tusker’s.
What if this night with Issa was all a dream? If I fell asleep, it might come to an end.
The thought chilled me. I decided to remain awake as long as possible, to spend as much time with her as I could.
She had curled up against me, was again tracing the scars across my chest. The skin that should be riddled with bullet holes.
All night I’d been replaying the shootout. Those bullets had passed through me as if I’d already been a spirit.
“Don’t go back,” Issa said with a pensive look on her beautiful face.
Don’t punish my enemies? “Let us talk tomorrow.” Today had been strange enough. After returning home from the madness of the park, I’d received a bizarre package: a satellite phone with one preprogrammed number, sealed in a military-grade storage case. I’d seen these in my training. The case would withstand fire, water, even an electronic pulse.
Reading the accompanying note had brought on a wave of dizziness:
Centurion,
When the end begins, contact me.
Death
Why would a man named Death call me “Centurion”? His note had called to mind a tale I’d learned as a young moran. Among the Maasai, the morani, warriors, were distinct from the laiboni, spiritual guides and healers, but one legendary man had been both.
Kentarch of the Legion.
The namesake of every firstborn male in my line, he was said to have rescued a lost Roman legion from starvation, becoming a blood brother to a centurion.
Kentarch had been a killer and a healer, filled with polarities, just like me. He’d also possessed unique gifts, had been able to vanish into thin air and reappear on the other side of the Great Rift Valley.
Fearing his power, other tribes had tried to kill him, attacking with their marungu. But none of those throwing clubs struck him. In front of all his people, he’d become a ghost.
Had I inherited the first Kentarch’s powers? Perhaps I could become a ghost at will. The poachers would stand no chance. . . .
I gazed up with a frown when a hot breeze blew in through the open windows, rustling the curtains. Nights were usually cool here this time of year.
Issa said, “So warm?”
Shouts sounded outside. I rose and crossed to the balcony to investigate. The sky grew brighter before my eyes. Fantastical lights began to gleam on the horizon.
What wonder was this? “Issa, come. You must see.” I stared up in awe.
She joined me at the balcony rail, and we watched the spectacle together. She whispered, “Ajabu.” Amazing.
Through sheer will, I forced my gaze away from the sky. Though I longed to look at those lights, my wife was the wonder of my life. I would much rather look at her, and I might be on borrowed time with her.
A thunderous sound rolled in the night. When it increased in intensity, my blood grew cold. “Did you hear that?” I didn’t know what was creating that sound, but I understood the message.
“Hmm?” Issa murmured without a care as the lights danced in her eyes.
The sound was the warning roar—of every lion that had ever lived. . . .
Strength (VIII)
Lark Inukai, Mistress of Fauna
“Red of tooth and claw!”
A.k.a.: Fortitude
Powers: Animal manipulation (can control all creatures). Animal scrying (can borrow the senses of animals). Animal generation (her blood affects the physiology of creatures and can make them into her familiars). Enhanced senses, night vision.
Special Skills: Healing and training animals.
Weapons: Beastly predators.
Tableau: A delicate girl in a white robe controlling the gaping jaws of a lion.