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To Whom Her Heart Belongs

Chapter 8

Aina slipped swiftly and silently through the forest, ashamed of the tears that rose to blind her. In misery and anger, she had packed her most precious belongings in a small bag, then with bow and quiver, she set off into the forest, her face set and determined, her hazel eyes hard as the sacred stones she passed in the moonlight.

The stones were tall pillars carved with the solemn faces of the ancestors. They marked the graves of those foxes who had gone on to their eternal sleep, and in the moonlight, they towered alongside the giant red trees of Celankobi, layered in moss and tiny white flowers, crawling with insects and humming with fireflies.

Her red mane streaming, Aina swept through a cloud of fireflies and ran down a grassy hill. The area was one of the deepest, darkest places of Celankobi. A sacred place, where the Ti'uu Tribe had been burying their dead for thousands of years. The hounds never came there, and Aina knew it was the perfect place to hide. At least for a while. In the morning, she would cross the river and continue south, to where she knew not. Perhaps she'd find another tribe. Thinking of Ukudlala and her father, a surge of anger cut through her: anywhere was suddenly better than Celankobi Forest.

After Nhlahla left, it wasn't long before Ukudlala came to Aina in her bedroom, announcing as he climbed on top of her that the elder had given her to him in marriage. She lay silent as he kissed her neck and breasts, as he bit her neck and humped her. She stared numb at the ceiling as they rocked together, and when it was over, he asked anxiously if she had enjoyed it. She told him she could have done the same thing with a slobbering boar. He grew cold then. He got up and walked out.

Her father then came to her. She covered herself. There was no virgin blood staining the sheets, and her father noted it with solemn eyes but said nothing of it as he sat on the foot of the bed and calmly regarded his daughter.

Aina sat up, clutching the sheets to her naked breasts, staring angrily at the floor. She was twenty-two, but she always felt like a child under her father's stare. "You gave me to him," she said in a low voice, "without even asking me."

"My daughter," Thandanani said heavily, "I have waited for years. Too many years. The hounds continue to drive us to extinction, and pretty soon, there will be no hunters for you to choose from. The tribe must have an heir when I am gone. When you are gone. We must marry. We must flourish." He frowned. "Or they will hunt us out of existence. Would you have this happen?"

Aina swallowed hard and stared at her lap. "No, my father," she whispered, even as the first tear came. It dripped to her lip and fell off, darkening the sheet in a small dot.

Thandanani regarded his daughter sadly. He touched her face, and her ears pricked forward when he said gently, "Perhaps Uku would understand your love for Nhlahla . . . if you but told him."

"How . . ." Aina stared at her father, her mouth open. "How did you know?"

Thandanani smiled sadly. "I know my child," he said. "I know her well. When you run away tonight, I will have Uku ready to pursue. I'll give you . . . an hour's head start?"

Aina slowly smiled.

And now she was cutting through the forest, moving as fast as she could, ears pricked forward and wary for the sound of Ukudlala's approaching feet. The boy would come after her without hesitation, this she knew. But Ukudlala would not know where to look. He would not know to head to the graveyard. Most likely, he would head toward the river.

Aina met the bottom of the hill, and glancing back once over her shoulder, she kept her paw on the knife at her hip as she turned into a clearing. The grass was low here, the earth lined in circles of stones. It was here that foxes gathered to dance in the moonlight with flower wreaths on their ankles. The dance was meant to honor the lives of those who had recently died. Aina could see the paw prints in the dust - and the blue feathers of Ti'uu, the tribe's protector.

Aina stepped into the clearing and knelt down. She smiled as her long fingers pinched one of the blue feathers and lifted it. "Ti'uu," she whispered, closing her eyes, "friend and protector, guide me this night." She frowned sadly, thinking of Ukudlala and Nhlahla. "Which is the right path? Should I return to Ukudlala? What about my Nhlahla? To whom does my heart belong?"

Aina froze when she heard the cock of a rifle.

"Don't move," snarled a voice.

Aina's face hardened and her paw closed on the knife at her hip. She heard the creature shift and was surprised to smell the sweet scent of foreign flowers. A boot crushed her fingers in a swift kick and the knife flew free.

"I said don't move," repeated the voice. "Put your paws where I can see them. Do it!"

Aina's eyes snapped hatred as she slowly raised her paws. A hound. A hound had dared to come to this sacred place! What's more, it was speaking that strange crisp tongue. She thought of Hluphizwe and was suddenly very grateful she had learned the beast's language.

"Now - now stand," the hound said a little nervously. "Slowly!" She was behind Aina, and the rifle was at Aina's back, not far from her neck.

Aina slowly stood, her heart thudding in her ears. Why had a female hound come to their forests in the middle of the night? Only males were the hunters, and yet . . . It couldn't be! Could it?

"I want you to walk in that direction," the hound said slowly, enunciating each word, "and count to . . . one hundred. Don't look back. I won't shoot. I'm releasing you. Do you understand?"

Aina blinked in surprise. She nodded slowly. The hound was letting her go? No, this was some deception. Most likely she'd walk away and get a tranquilizer in the back. She would run and climb a tree, then leap from branch to branch to escape.

"Get going," the hound commanded.

Aina started to walk away but couldn't move. If the hound behind her was really the same one from the river, she had to know. She kept her paws high and slowly turned her head.

"I said don't look at me!" the hound shouted.

Aina ignored her and turned around. Their eyes met, and they froze. It was her. It was her! And she was as gorgeous as Aina remembered, as Aina dreamed as she lay in her bed at night. The same swollen bosom, the same tumbling white curls and slanted eyes. Even her scent was the same.

They stared at each other across the smooth surface of the rifle, and the hound blinked her pretty eyes uncertainly. Her long pink nails were gleaming in the moonlight. She was tall and curvy, and Aina felt dwarfed beside her statuesque beauty. Why were all the hounds so tall?

"I . . ." Aina said and gulped.

"I said go, creature. I'm letting you go, don't you understand?" the hound snapped. Her long lashes fluttered irritably. She aimed the rifle at Aina's face. "Get going, I said. Or I'll put one right in your cheek."

Aina's hazel eyes narrowed angrily. She didn't take threats lightly. Even when a gun was in her face. Without warning, she kicked the rifle. It flipped through the air and the hound watched, astonished, as her weapon flew from her paws. She glared at Aina and pulled a sword from her hip - a sword Aina had failed to notice until that moment. As the blade came slashing down, Aina thought of her father dancing in this very clearing, dancing for his daughter's spirit.

But the sword never came down.

The hound screamed, and Aina saw her head whip back. Someone had grabbed her by the mane. A red blur danced around the hound and sent it staggering with a sharp slap to the face. And another. Aina smiled: Nhlahla stood protectively before her, legs spread in fight stance. The Lucky One was wielding a sling in one paw, a ball of magical energy in the other. She swung the sling above her head with a scream and let go. The stone glanced off the hound's paw and she dropped her sword with a cry.

"Time to clean up," Nhlahla said, moving forward with careful steps, the sling spinning in her paw, her eyes narrowed viciously.

Aina reached for her bow but paused. The hound was disarmed and backing away. She was angry and frightened . . . but she didn't seem to have any intention of diving for her weapons. Aina couldn't understand why: her rifle and sword were not far away in the dirt. But she stood there, tall and beautiful, tiredly resigned to her fate.

"Stop!" Aina shouted. She blinked in surprise to hear her own voice, and looking at the others, she saw they were just as shocked. "Don't hurt her!" Aina cried, holding out her paw. "Please, Nhlah. Don't . . ."

Nhlahla's face twisted. "You hate the hounds more than anyone, and yet you protect this bitch? Why!"

"Nhlah . . ." Aina said miserably.

"So," Nhlahla said, voice dripping disgust, "this is the true reason the princess haunts the forest. You are infatuated with this creature! Tell me you haven't seen her before." Her voice was hissing, accusatory. But most of all, she sounded hurt.

Aina swallowed hard and said nothing. To continue to lie to her lover at this point would have been a slap in her face. The hound was watching them but did not understand their words. For which Aina was exceedingly grateful.

Nhlahla sneered. "I thought so." She looked at the hound and swung the sling faster. "Then she will die."

Aina's eyes flew wide. "Nhlahla - no! Don't do this! I will return with you. And I'll never enter the forest again. I promise!"

Nhlahla halted and looked at Aina. "You promised me before," she said flatly, angrily. "Your promises mean nothing." A tear gathered in her eye. "How many nights did you come here and defile this sacred place with that dog?"

Aina stared at her. "What!"

Nhlahla smiled, her eyes snapping hatred. "Don't be coy. I suspect the two of you have been carrying on for quite some time!" She let the sling fall still at her side and her full attention was on Aina. "Did she hold you here in the moonlight!" she shouted, lip trembling. "Did you tell her you loved her too!"

The hound took the opening: in one fluid motion, she rolled through the dirt, snatched up her sword, and stood again, placing the tip just under Nhlahla's chin. Face twisted, Nhlahla raised the sling and let another rock fly. The hound barely dodged the attack: the rock cut her cheek as it soared past, ripping the white fur open in a ribbon of blood. Eyes snapping fury, the hound jabbed once with her sword.

Aina's scream echoed around the clearing as Nhlahla sank to her knees. The hound ripped her sword free, and Nhlahla fell over in the grass, whimpering as she clutched with trembling paws at her bloody belly. Aina fell to her knees and crawled to her. Nhlahla was shaking and weak, her face strained, her fur slick with blood. Aina closed a trembling paw over the wound and attempted to heal it. Light brightened the clearing, setting rocks and trees aglow from under, and slowly faded away. Nhlahla's eyes rolled back and she was still.

Crouched over her lover's body, Aina slowly glared at the hound, but she stiffened to see the tears in the hound's eyes. The dog had taken up her rifle. She slowly aimed it at Aina's neck.

"I'm sorry," the hound whispered in a voice that shook . . . and fired.