Rain is a distant memory, like the tender young shoots of spring. Where once a wide and swirling river flowed, only a tiny trickle remains. The steady wind smells hot and dry, without a trace of moisture in it.
The clans raise clouds of dust as we move across the plain. Drought drives us to seek greener grazing lands as we chase the distant storms. In our trek along this well-worn route, we pause at watering holes to recover our strength before setting our feet on the ancient path again.
Our clan, Antilopina’s clan, follows the larger ones, picking through their leavings. From the day I was born, I have associated the scent of our clan with shelter and with home. They are my aunts, my sisters, my nieces. Now, I have a daughter of my own. Giselle is my joy, a brightness in this otherwise dun and dreary land. Like many in our clan, this is her first journey across the plain. It is only my second.
Along the shriveled river, our few men stand watch at the edge of the clan’s territory. We have no soldiers, only sentries to scan for danger and raise an alarm. With so many new mothers among us, we are a tempting target for Panthera and her kin. But we are quick and agile, ready to flee from the slightest provocation. Our enemies have a difficult time capturing us unless they catch us alone and off-guard.
Antilopina nestles up our territory to the small rise where Papio’s clan leader has marked his claim. His is a foreign clan with strange and different customs. His lieutenants are his soldiers. They all guard families of their own. His clan doesn’t worry as much about lone enemies like Panthera, only when her more powerful cousins form up in packs to hunt.
My mother always told me that the leader of Papio’s clan was our Guardian. Without him, I might not be alive. The fragrance of his clan blends with our own to create a comforting scent of safety. He and his soldiers are powerful and strong where our men are not. To young eyes they look like heroes.
When I was young, my mother warned me not to provoke the Guardian or I would pay a terrible price. I still do not know why he protects our clan. A dark secret swirls around him, but my mother never confided it to me. She fell last season when Panthera’s kin came stalking. With the Sheba dead, Antilopina inherited our clan. Now, she, not my mother, is our matriarch and the keeper of our secrets.
Today is not a travel day. Antilopina declared a day of rest, a day for gathering food and water to help us on our journey before the grasses become trampled and the stream muddy from the nearness of too many feet.
Grant and Thompson stand watch beyond the edge of our encampment. Their eyes sweep across the plain seeking anything dangerous or out of place as Antilopina leads the clan out for gleaning at first light. The clan disperses to search for succulents.
I keep Giselle close, under the shadow of my limited protection. I instruct her on which plants to look for and which are best left untouched. I wish she would pay more attention to the ever-present dangers of the plain. She is still young. The world is new and full of wonder to her eyes. She would rather bound through the grass than attend to my mundane lessons. Many mornings I wish I could join her. But there is still so much for her to learn.
I struggle to remember all the lore my mother passed on to me. My sole focus is to teach Giselle and keep her safe so that she might pass on the Sheba’s wisdom to her daughters in turn. Even a change in a birdsong might signal danger on the plain.
We drift out from the others as we find a patch of ungleaned succulents near the long grass claimed by a rival clan. The river lends a cool, tingly edge to the morning. A thin mist rises and burns off across the valley.
Giselle begins chasing a black and yellow butterfly. I don’t have the heart to call her back to her lessons on such a stunning day. The sun begins to warm my skin, breeding complacency disguised as nostalgia as I watch her play. I range a little farther from the clan to keep Giselle in sight. It’s only when I hear Grant echo Thompson’s warning signal that I realize how far we’ve strayed.
I glance around to identify the danger. There, precisely camouflaged as always, Panthera has come calling, moving low through the high forage of a distant clan.
I call Giselle to my side. She doesn’t heed my voice. Instead, she springs away as though we’ve begun a game of hide and seek. Not the time, my daughter.
I survey the grassland again. Thompson’s gaze directs me to where Panthera is lurking. Giselle hasn’t noticed. She’s still too excited by the day.
By the river, the Guardian and his lieutenants are lounging beneath a tree on the small rise near the shore. When Cuvier and Dama take up the watch’s warning, the Guardian stretches and yawns before rising to see what’s caused the commotion.
I begin to feel skittish. Panthera is edging closer. Grant takes up a new cry. Our enemy is not alone. Her adolescent son hunts with her. When they hunt together, they move as if they share a mind. They stalk toward positions to cut off Giselle from the rest of clan. In a few heartbeats, I, too, will be isolated. If I run now, I might be able to save myself. But I cannot abandon my daughter.
The Guardian watches but does not move. Why does he not come? Has the Sheba’s death changed the terms of our agreement? Is there some part of the pact that I do not understand?
I call Giselle again. I stomp a foot insistently. She takes it as a challenge and bounds away. Now, I must chase after her. If I encounter Panthera or her son in the tall grass, I’ll have no choice but to protect my daughter. I go nowhere on the plain unarmed. But I am small even for our people, so have only surprise and determination, not strength, on my side. Still, no one will take my Giselle without a fight.
I find Giselle exploring at the edge of the tall grass, on the outskirts of a larger clan’s territory. Each time I try to herd her back toward the safety of the river, she springs away toward a new distraction. I dare not scold her too loudly. Panthera’s hearing is keen and she moves on padded feet.
I chase Giselle through a maze of well-worn trails. Her legs have grown long, her body fast. The tall grass obscures my sightline to the clan. I still hear Grant’s and Thompson’s warnings echoing through the shallow valley. Other clans recall their members to form defensive perimeters. We are too small for that. Our safety relies on watches, warnings and our feet.
I leave the tall grass when I hear the warnings change again. Our sentries have lost sight of Panthera. Many dozens of paces away, Giselle also emerges, her head cocked as if finally taking notice of the danger. I wish I could tell her how much her playfulness has imperiled us both. I save my admonishment for when we return to the safety of the clan. I suspect she now realizes that this life is not a game.
From the edge of the shorter grass, I scan the plain again. The Guardian and his lieutenants are ambling toward us now, spread across the valley. The Guardian is in the lead, his lieutenants trailing to either side. They must see something our scouts cannot. They rarely leave their shade and the safety of the river on speculation. I trace the line of their passage toward the long grass. There, midway between Giselle and I, a pair of eyes close to the ground darts from me to her.
I call to Giselle to stay exactly where she is. Perhaps Panthera hasn’t spotted her through the camouflage of her position. She may have been heard but not yet seen, a cardinal rule for all children of the plain. It’s too late to retrieve her, too late to dash to her side and shield her with my body. All I can do is distract Panthera, like any mother would. Expose myself to protect my wayward daughter. Even from this distance, I can see Giselle shivering where she stands. The reality of our situation has finally settled in.
I gauge the distance, gauge Panthera’s speed against my own. How long can I outrun her? How far will I get before she captures me? She doesn’t seem to have noticed the Guardian and his lieutenants. They are cunning. They aren’t headed directly for her. They circle around to cut her off once she reveals herself to chase either Giselle or I. All I need to do is stall for time.
Then I remember her son also lurks nearby. I feel his eyes fixed hungrily upon me from somewhere in the brush. Any moment, I could find myself caught between him and his mother, a captive to my fate. I have no choice. Panthera is preparing to spring her ambush. The Guardian will not arrive in time to protect Giselle.
Step by step, I limp out from hiding favoring one leg as though I’ve injured it in the brush, a trick I’ve learned from the flyers on the plain. I know this ploy will attract Panthera’s attention. It is much easier to run down the wounded than the young. I am a more tempting target for her anyway. I carry more weight than Giselle among the clan.
I feel Panthera’s eyes shift to me, watching for any misstep to indicate a ruse. I continue limping, wandering slightly as if lost and disoriented, casting wide eyes toward the river and our clan. I let my fear wash over me until I’m sure she can smell it in my sweat even from this distance. That, at least, is not untrue.
I pause, balancing as I hang the leg in the midair. I’m certain Panthera’s spotted me. The hair on my neck rises from the focus of her eyes. Doe-eyed, I gaze across the valley. The Guardian and his lieutenants have disappeared. Now I begin to worry in earnest.
Before I can take another hobbling step, the long grass near Panthera erupts in violence. I jump sideways as her screams carry across the plain. The Guardian has navigated the maze of trails to ambush her unaware. He and one lieutenant engage her in a pitched battle. A heartbeat later, she sprints toward her daylight refuge, bloodied but intact. The Guardian’s lieutenant gives chase, though he doesn’t try to catch her. An instant later, his other lieutenant drives off Panthera’s son. He, too, ceases the chase after a few paces. The Guardian roars and beats his chest with one arm, reinforcing his claim to this territory and to us.
I am overjoyed at our good fortune. Giselle remains alive with a valuable lesson that will serve her and her daughters well.
My celebration dies prematurely as I see her tentatively emerge from her blind. The situation reorders itself before my eyes. The Guardian and his soldiers have not just positioned themselves to protect Giselle and I from Panthera. Their new positions interpose them between us, the clan and each other. What treachery is this?
Giselle does not sense this latest danger. Before I can open my mouth, she prances up to the Guardian to thank him. He reaches out a hand as if to stroke her hair. With a quick grab and shake, he snaps her neck.
I charge to confront him with my simple weapons. One of his lieutenants draws back a hand before I come within a dozen paces. His warning is clear. I can join her if I like.
I freeze where I stand. Dying will serve no purpose now other than to deprive my next daughter of the lesson I have learned.
I look to Antilopina, who shakes her head in resignation. Only Cuvier and Dama hang their heads in sympathy. The rest of the clan has already turned away to resume their gleaning. Grant and Thompson resume their watch.
The Guardian slings Giselle’s body over one shoulder, a ration of protein for him and his soldiers before they move with us again.
Now I understand the Sheba’s warning about the Guardian, the dark secret that swirls around him. The occasional theft of a life like Giselle’s is the unstated price of his protection.
The next morning, I resume the northward migration with the remainder of my clan. My world is as brown and sere as the landscape, as lifeless as my heart. I bear the Guardian wide passage as he perches upon his hill, his beard still stained from last night’s feast. Where yesterday I drew comfort from his nearness, today I find his scent tainted with danger and the pain of a mother's loss.
© 2011 Edward P. Morgan III
