The two left early in the morning. All Letee’s possessions were packed into the roll of her sleeping mat, and she carried it balanced effortlessly on her head. Bakkat went ahead of her. They moved at a trot, a pace they could keep up from morning until evening. Bakkat sang the hunting songs of his tribe as he ran, and Letee joined in the chorus in her sweet, childlike voice.
Xhia was concealed in the thickets across the stream from the mouth of the cave. He watched the couple emerge into the early sunlight. He had been spying on Bakkat during all the preceding days of his courtship. Despite his hatred for Bakkat, Xhia was intrigued by the ancient marriage ritual. He felt a lascivious thrill from watching the man and woman play out their appointed roles. He wanted to witness the final act of mating before he interceded, and exacted his revenge from Bakkat.
“Bakkat has plucked himself another pretty flower.” The fact that she was the woman of his enemy made her all the more desirable to Xhia. “But he will not enjoy her long.”
Xhia hugged himself with glee, and let the couple trot off into the forest. He would not follow too closely for he knew that although Bakkat was distracted by his new companion he was still a formidable adversary. Xhia was in no hurry. He was a hunter and the first attribute of the hunter is patience. He knew there would be a time when Bakkat and the girl were separated, if only for a short time. That would be his chance.
A little before noon Bakkat came upon a small herd of buffalo. Xhia watched as he left his bag and accoutrements in Letee’s care, and crept forward. He picked out a half-grown heifer whose flesh would be sweet and tender, not gamey and tough as that of an older beast. She was also much smaller in size so that the poison would work more swiftly. Keeping downwind, Bakkat manoeuvred skilfully into a position directly behind the heifer so that he could send an arrow into the thin skin surrounding her anus and genitals. The thicker hide of her body would resist the frail arrow. The network of veins around the heifer’s body openings would convey the poison swiftly to her heart. His shot was true, and the animal galloped away in alarm with the rest of the herd. The shaft of the arrow broke off, but the barbed, poisoned head was buried deeply. She ran for only a short distance before the poison started to take effect, and she slowed to a walk.
Bakkat and Letee followed patiently. The sun had moved only a few fingers across the sky before the heifer halted and lay down. Bakkat and his little woman squatted nearby. At last the beast groaned and rolled over on to her side. Bakkat and Letee broke into a song of praise and thanks to the heifer for giving them her flesh to sustain them, and ran forward to butcher the carcass.
That evening while it was still light they made their camp beside it. No matter that the flesh would soon turn in the heat, they would remain here until the entire cow was consumed, guarding it from the vultures and other scavengers. Letee made the fire and roasted strips of liver and the backstraps of meat. When they had finished eating, Bakkat led her to the sleeping mat and they coupled. Xhia crept closer to spy upon this final act of the courtship. In the end, when Bakkat and Letee writhed together as one and cried out in a single voice, he doubled over and, in a shuddering spasm, ejaculated in concert with them. Then, before Bakkat could recover, he slipped back into the bushes.
“It has been done,” Xhia whispered to himself, “and now the time has come for Bakkat to die. He is lulled and softened by love. There will never be a better time than this.”
In the dawn Xhia was watching when Letee rose from the mat beside her husband and knelt before the ashes of the fire to blow life back into them. When the flames burned up brightly, she left the camp and came into the bushes close to where Xhia waited. She looked about her carefully, then untied the string of her beaded apron, laid it aside and squatted. While she was busy, Xhia crept up on her. As she stood again he sprang upon her from behind. Xhia was swift and powerful. She had no chance to cry out before he had covered her mouth and nose with her own apron. He held her down easily while he gagged and trussed her with the bark rope he had plaited the previous evening. Then he lifted her on to his shoulder and carried her away. He made no effort to cover his tracks. The girl was the bait. Bakkat would follow her and Xhia would be ready for him.
Xhia had scouted the ground the previous evening, and he knew exactly where to take the girl. He had chosen an isolated kopje not far from the campsite. The sides were sheer and rocky, so that from the heights he could keep a watch over the approaches. He had discovered only one path to the top, and its entire length was exposed to an archer on the summit.
The girl was small and light. Xhia ran with her easily. At first she kicked and struggled, but he chuckled and told her, “Every time you do that I will punish you.” She took no heed of the warning and kicked wildly with both legs. She was moaning and mumbling into her gag.
“Xhia warned you to be still,” he told her, and pinched one of her nipples with his fingernails. They were sharp as flint knives, and blood oozed from the wounds they inflicted. She tried to scream, her face contorted with the effort. She writhed and fought, and tried to bump him in the face with her head. He took her other nipple and pinched it until his nails almost met in her tender flesh. She froze with agony and he started up the steep pathway to the top of the kopje. Just below the summit there was a cleft between two rocks. He laid her in it, then examined her bonds. He had tied them in haste. Now he retied the knots at ankles and wrists. Satisfied that they were tight, he removed the folds of her leather apron from between her jaws. Immediately she screamed with all the force of her lungs.
“Yes!” He laughed at her. “Do that again. It will bring Bakkat to me even as the squeals of a wounded gazelle bring the leopard.”
She hissed and spat at him. “My husband is a mighty hunter. He will kill you for this.”
“Your husband is a coward and a braggart. Before the sun sets today, I will make you a widow. Tonight you will share my sleeping mat. Tomorrow you will be married again.” He performed a few shuffling dance steps, and lifted his apron to show her that he was already tumescent.
Xhia had hidden his axe, bow and quiver among the rocks and he retrieved them. He tested his bowstring, flexing the bow to full draw. Then he removed the leather cover of his quiver and brought out his arrows. They were frail reeds, fletched with eagle feathers. Each of the arrowheads was carefully wrapped with a leather covering bound in place with twine. Xhia cut the twine and unwrapped the covers. He worked with great care. The arrowheads were carved from bone, barbed and needle sharp. They were blackened with poison made from the body juices of the larvae of a particular beetle boiled until they were thick and sticky as honey. A scratch from one of the poisoned arrows would inflict a death so certain and agonizing that Xhia kept the tips covered in case he accidentally scratched himself.
Letee knew these deadly weapons. She had seen her father and grandfather bring down the heaviest game with them. From infancy she had been warned that she must not touch even the quiver that contained them. She stared at them now in dread. Xhia held up one in front of her face. “This is the one I have chosen for Bakkat.” He stabbed the deadly point at her face, stopping it only a finger’s length before her eyes. She recoiled in horror against the rocks, and screamed again with all her strength.
“Bakkat, my husband! Danger! An enemy waits for you!”
Xhia stood up with his bow across his muscular shoulder and the unbarred arrows in his quiver, ready to hand. “My name is Xhia,” he said to Letee. “Tell him my name, so he will know who it is that waits for him.”
“Xhia!” she screamed. “It is Xhia!” and the echoes flung the name back at her. “Xhia! Xhia!”
“Xhia!” Bakkat heard the name, which only confirmed what he had already read in the sign. It was the sound of Letee’s voice that cut him to the heart, with both joy and dread: joy that she was alive, and dread that she had fallen into the hands of such a terrible enemy. He looked up at the kopje from which her cries had come. He made out the one sure and easy route to the summit, and the
urge to rush up it was almost too strong to resist. He dug the nails of his right hand into the palm so that the pain would steady him, then studied the bare cliffs of the hill.
“Xhia has chosen his ground well,” he said aloud. Once again he considered that single route to the summit and saw it was a deathtrap. Xhia would be perched above him, shooting his arrows down at him all the way.
Bakkat circled the kopje, and on the far side he picked out an alternative route. It was difficult—parts of it were so steep and dangerous that they might be impassable: a slip would mean he would plunge down on to the rocks below. However, most of the path was concealed from above by an overhang, jutting out just below the summit. Only the last part of the climb would be exposed to a watcher at the top of the kopje.
Bakkat ran back to the camp. He laid aside his bow and quiver. He would be on the summit and the range was too close for bow work before he and Xhia came together. He selected only his knife and the axe, both better suited to close fighting. Then he laid out the wet buffalo skin, and from it swiftly shaped and cut out a cape that would cover his head and shoulders. The thick hide had already begun to stink in the heat, but it would provide an effective armour against a reed arrow. He rolled the heavy cape and strapped it on to his back. Then he ran back to the kopje, but circled round to come directly to the protected route he had chosen. Stealthily he crept through the bush at the foot of the hill and reached the cliff under cover of the overhang, almost certain that Xhia had not spotted him. But with Xhia you could never be certain.
He rested for only a few moments, gathering himself for the climb, but before he could begin Letee’s screams rang out again, high above him. Then Xhia’s voice called down to him: “Watch me, Bakkat. See what I am doing to this woman of yours. Ah, yes! There! My fingers are deep inside her. She is tight and slippery.”
Bakkat tried to close his ears to Xhia’s taunts, but he could not. “Listen to your woman, Bakkat. These are only my fingers, but next she will feel something much bigger. How she will squeal when she feels that.”
Letee was sobbing and shrieking, and Xhia was giggling. The stone cliffs of the kopje magnified and echoed the dreadful sounds. Bakkat had to force himself to remain silent. He knew that Xhia wanted him to voice his rage, and in so doing betray his position. Xhia could not be sure which path Bakkat would use to try to reach the summit.
Bakkat went to the wall of red rock and began to climb it. He went swiftly at first, running up the wall like a gecko lizard. Then he reached the overhang, and was hanging out backwards reaching for every finger-and toe-hold, dragging himself round by the strength of his arms. The axe and the roll of wet skin hampered his movements, and gradually his progress slowed. The drop gaped beneath his dangling feet.
He reached for another handhold, but as he placed his weight on it, it broke off. A lump of rock twice his own size came loose from the roof above him. It grazed his head, and hurtled down the cliff to crash against the wall lower down. The echoes boomed out across the valley as it bounded on, kicking up a storm of dust and rock splinters every time it struck.
For terrible seconds Bakkat hung by the fingers of one hand. He scrabbled desperately with the other, and at last found a hold. He hung there for a while, trying to gather himself.
There were no more taunts from Xhia. He knew now exactly where Bakkat was, and would be waiting for him at the top of the cliff, a poison arrow nocked to his bow. Bakkat had no choice. The slab that had broken away had altered the shape of the wall, and cut off his retreat. There was only one route open to him, and that was upwards, to where Xhia was waiting.
Painfully slowly, Bakkat worked his way over the last stretch, and round the outer angle of the overhang. At any instant he would have a view to the summit ridge, but Xhia would be able to see him. Then, with a rush of relief, Bakkat found a narrow ledge below the lip. It was only just wide enough for him to squeeze himself on to it. He crouched there for what seemed a lifetime, and slowly the strength returned to his numbed, shaking arms. Carefully he unrolled the buffalo-skin cape and draped it over his head and shoulders. He made certain that his knife and axe were still in his belt. He came gingerly to his feet on the tiny ledge and flattened his body against the wall to maintain his balance. He was standing on his toes, his heels hanging out over the drop. He reached up and ran both hands along the lip of the cliff as high as he could reach. He found a niche just wide and deep enough for him to insert both hands and take a firm grip. He pulled himself upwards and his toes left the ledge. For a long, terrible interlude his feet dabbed against the face without finding purchase. Then he pulled himself just high enough to throw one arm over the top of the cliff.
As his head came up he looked towards the summit ledge just above. Xhia was watching him: he was smiling and his eyes were slitted as he sighted over the arrow. His bow was at full draw, the arrowhead aimed at Bakkat’s face. It was so close that Bakkat could see each of the carved barbs, as sharp as the eyetooth of the striped tiger-fish: the dung-brown poison dried into a thick paste between each barb.
Xhia loosed his arrow. It came with a flitting sound as fast as a darting swallow, and Bakkat was unable to duck or dodge. It seemed that the point would find the opening in his hide cape and strike him in the throat, but at the last instant it drifted off course and struck his shoulder. He felt the jerk as the point of the arrowhead snagged in a fold of the tough buffalo hide. The shaft snapped off and fell away, but the head stayed buried in the cape. Bakkat was galvanized by the threat of horrible death. He threw himself upwards the last few feet but as he teetered on the brink of the cliff Xhia nocked another arrow and aimed from a distance of only a few paces.
Bakkat hurled himself forward, and Xhia loosed the second arrow. Once again Bakkat caught it in the heavy folds of his cape. Though the arrowhead was stuck in the tough hide, the shaft broke off. Xhia reached for another arrow from his quiver, but Bakkat charged into him, and sent him reeling backwards. He dropped the bow and clung to Bakkat, pinning his arms before Bakkat could draw the knife from his belt. Chest to chest they struggled, turning in tight circles as they tried to swing each other off their feet.
Letee lay where Xhia had thrown her after he heard the fall of loose rock that had marked Bakkat’s position for him. She was still trussed at hand and foot, and she was bleeding where Xhia had forced his fingers into her and his ragged fingernails had torn her most tender flesh. She watched the two men wrestling each other, powerless to help her husband. Then she saw Xhia’s axe lying nearby, where he had left it. With two quick rolls she reached it. She used her bare toes to tilt the axe-head until the sharp blade was uppermost. Then, holding it securely between her feet, she laid the bark ropes that held her wrists across it and sawed at them with all her strength.
Every few seconds she glanced up. She saw Xhia manage to hook one foot behind Bakkat’s heels and trip him over backwards. They both fell heavily on to the rocks, but Bakkat was pinned under Xhia’s lithe, muscular body. He could not throw him off and, powerless to intervene, Letee watched Xhia reach for the knife on his belt. Then, suddenly, unaccountably, Xhia screamed and released his grip. He recoiled from Bakkat and stared down at his own chest.
It took Bakkat a moment to realize what had happened. The arrowhead that had broken off in the folds of his cape had come between them as they wrestled, and Xhia’s weight had driven the poisoned barbs deeply into his own flesh.
Xhia sprang to his feet and tried with both hands to claw the arrowhead free of his flesh, but the barbs held fast. Each time he tore at them a bright trickle of blood snaked down his bare chest.
“You are a dead man, Xhia,” Bakkat croaked, as he came to his knees.
Xhia let out another scream, but this was rage not terror. “I will take you with me to the land of shadows!” He drew the knife from the sheath on his belt and rushed at Bakkat who was still on his knees. He lifted the knife, but when Bakkat tried to dodge the blow his legs caught in the folds of the heavy cape and he toppled backw
ards.
“You will die with me,” Xhia screamed, as he stabbed at his adversary’s chest. Bakkat flung himself aside and the knife point grazed his upper arm. Xhia poised for the next blow, but Letee came to her feet behind him. Her ankles were still tied but her hands were free, and she held the axe. She took one hop forward and swung the axe from overhead. The blade glanced off Xhia’s skull, shaving away a thick slice of his scalp and one of his ears, then went on to bite deeply into the joint between his shoulder and knife arm. The knife dropped from his paralysed fingers and the arm dangled uselessly at his side. He whirled round to face the tiny girl, clutching his wounded scalp with one hand, blood springing from between his fingers in a fountain.
“Run!” Bakkat shouted at her and started to his feet. “Run, Letee!”
Letee ignored him. Although her ankles were tied, she jumped straight at Xhia. Fearless as a honey badger, she flew at his face and swung the axe again. Xhia reeled backwards and lifted his other arm to protect himself. The axe blade crunched into his forearm just below the elbow and the bone snapped.
Xhia staggered back, both arms maimed and useless. Letee bent swiftly and hacked away the ropes that held her ankles. Before Bakkat could intervene, she rushed at Xhia again. He saw her coming, a small fury, naked and outraged. Grievously wounded, he was tottering on the edge of the cliff. As he tried to dodge her next attack he lost his balance and went over backwards. He had no arms to save himself and he rolled down to the lip of the overhang, his blood staining the rock. He reached the edge and went over, disappearing from their view. They heard his scream receding in volume until there was a meaty thump and silence.