Mtenda Herder, Creature
Illus. Zina Saunders

An hour after I had disposed of the old woman's body, I heard a young man's voice and the bleating of goats outside the hut. I heard him rustle the curtain in the doorway, then a boyish shriek: "Wise woman under the monkeytree! I come far to meet with you! My eyes are glad to see you. Let me tell you what an awful day I have had; I have lost many goats today." He prattled on for a while, long enough for me to see he carried no more than a bone knife, a gourd, and a throwing stick.

To myself, I thought, This boy isn't much of a goatherd; six goats isn't much to brag about. But I kept up the disguise and, keeping my face low, I quietly stepped to within a dagger's reach and whispered, "I had a vision that you would come, little goatherd."

"I herd few goats now, old woman," he said, his eyes bright. "My name is Jojo, and this has not been such a good day. My goats have been burned, crushed, clawed by wildcats, and split open like holiday snakes. What can I do to shed this curse?"

"It is the Amber Prison of Kaervek," I said. "That's what is troubling your goats, little Jojo."

I played the oracle's role to the hilt, but the young fool seemed immune to my overacting and stood there with his mouth hanging open. He seemed astounded that I knew about his curse, even though he had just finished telling me about it. "Yes, that Yellow Rock, it has made my day a nightmare," he babbled. "You are so wise; I knew I was right to come visit you."

"Show me the rock, my son," I said. "You carry it in your water sack?"

"I carry it in my goat, revered mother," he said, lifting his empty water gourd. "Can you remove this curse?" I made reassuring noises and asked him to show me his damn goats.

"Gladly, mother." He put his forearm under my shoulder, and helped me toward the grazing herd. "Mother, you say your limbs are old, but your arms are strong and sinewy."

"Oh no, Jojo, the Quiver has my bones. Is it the broken-horned one over there?"

"No no, not that one. Wise one, you say your eyes fade, but you can tell the goats apart well enough." Maybe the little fool wasn't such a little fool after all.

"Oh, they are all a blur to me," I said. "This smelly one, then?"

"No, mother," he said. "You say you have the wisdom of our ancestors, but you cannot tell a sick goat from a healthy one?" I thought to myself, They're all going to be unhealthy in a minute, boy.

"Jojo, it is not polite--oh, enough!" And in a flash, I threw aside the old crone's veil and overcloth, and stood before him in the mask of the Breathstealers, Acidic Dagger in hand. I grabbed the nearest goat and put the blade to its throat.

"Give me the rock, fool, or your precious goat dies." I pricked the smelly thing to prove my point; it belched out a foul-smelling bleat.

The boy's knees were practically knocking together; he dropped his empty gourd and started toward me, babbling all the while about how Fate had turned against him. He seemed to think my desire for the Amber Prison was some tribal vendetta against him personally, as if he were worth the trouble.

I couldn't believe his ignorance. "You are such a simpleton. This isn't about you, fool. Listen, goatherd, for your own sake. Don't get drawn in; there's far more going on here than you realize. If you play the hero, you will get hurt." I put my back against the hut, and watched the goatboy move closer, right up to the wall on my right. My eyes never left his.

The boy was obviously about to try something. I knew this, just as I knew he was no threat; except that the goat under my right arm decided to squirm just as its master came near, and it hampered me as the boy moved in. He got past my guard with no more than a scratch. But a scratch was all I needed. I had him at last; all I needed to do was eat enough mana to power the Acidic Dagger, and that would turn his scratch into a fatal slash.

But it's tough to concentrate when you have a bone knife at your throat.

The boy felt he had the situation in hand (ha!), and he spoke, saying,"You killed my goats, goatkiller. I'm tired of this day, and I'm tired of you. If you let my goat go, I'll let you live another day."

The mana I needed was slow in coming, so now I was the one babbling, buying time. "Jojo, I intend to kill this goat, then kill you, then kill every other goat here until I find the Amber Prison. My master Bwire ordered this, and I follow his commands."

The goat screamed as I drew my dagger against its throat--and then I felt the familiar lurching sickness of Bwire's summoning. The boy's knife didn't even nick me as I vanished.