Chapter 6 — The Two Riders

The sprawling tree limbs and cool night air whipped past the two riders. They kept to the narrow path, bowing their heads to avoid getting slapped by the low-hanging branches. Chenzira kept the lead, and Dande closely followed. The old man was impressive. Never once did he lose his balance as he maneuvered his horse expertly over the rough terrain. They kept their eyes and ears open for the Thief but saw no sign of him. The path was wider now. Chenzira’s horse tired and slowed down. Dande drew up beside him.

“Are we still on the right path?" Chenzira asked.

“I’m not sure.”

Dande slowed his horse down to a trot then leaped off and examined the soil on the path they were on. Chenzira stopped and watched him.

“His tracks are still here. We’ll need to keep checking to make sure he doesn’t turn off into the woods.”

He got back onto his horse, and they rode on. Every so often, Dande would get off his horse and examine the hoof prints on the ground. The other horse’s strides were longer, and its hoof prints remained consistently shallower than theirs.

“His horse is faster, and it’s not tiring,” he said, as he got onto his horse again after stopping to check the tracks for the umpteenth time.

"Then we should push on."

“Ours can’t keep up. He picked his for one purpose only. Speed. He chose well.”

“Can we catch him?”

“We will need fresh horses.”

***

They rode all through the night and into the morning, only stopping to check the tracks and to make sure they were still on the right path. But it was clear to them that they were losing ground.

They broke through the tree line and forest cover and into the open grassland just as the sun was rising. The wind blowing in their faces was a welcome change from the stuffy, heavy air of the woodlands, though it also meant that they lost whatever patches of shade they would have enjoyed. Shreds of mist passed over the savannas, carrying the howls of the hyenas in the distance. But they soon disappeared in the morning sun, and the two riders got a clear view of the grasslands ahead of them. Anthills dotted the savannah, and little groups of antelope rested in the shade of the few trees that flecked the landscape. Dande had hoped to catch a glimpse of the Thief of the horizon, but he saw nothing. He got off his horse and scoured the tufts of grass at their feet. The hoof prints were still there.

"I'm worried I can't see him," Dande said to Chenzira. "Let's get to those trees over there. I'll climb them and take a look."

They rode to the trees, scaring the herd of gazelle that were resting beneath them. Dande scrambled up a tree and scanned the horizon, shielding his eyes from the sun.

"Do you see anything?" Chenzira asked.

"No," Dande said. He scrambled down the tree and examined the prints near the tree again. "But he came this way, that's for sure."

"Then why can't we see him? Can he be that far ahead of us?"

Dande didn't answer. He got onto his horse and rode on.

***

They kept going for several hours more. The sun had become a fiery ball that hung right in the middle of the sky. The scorching heat had turned the grasslands into a shimmering yellow haze. Their horses were now down to a steady trot. With every hour that passed, Chenzira's hopes of catching up with the Thief that day diminished. He feared he had been hasty in taking off after him with Dande. But they didn't have much of a choice. Making haste in their pursuit was the only advantage they had at the time. But as they traveled on, Chenzira realized that they hadn't contended with the heat, the drought, and the lack of supplies. The Thief had probably thought of all these things as he planned his exploits. He most likely was well-provisioned enough to survive out in the wilderness for a few days. He and Dande were not. They were not going to catch up with the man anytime soon, and they would have to accept that their mission would take longer than they thought.

As the midday sun beat down hard on them, Dande, now at the front, slowed his horse down to a slow and plodding walk.

"Why are you slowing down?" Chenzira asked.

"Because we're going to tire out the horses, and we don't know where we are going to find water. The rivers around here are all dried up."

"I don't want us to slow down," Chenzira said. "We're going to lose the Thief."

“We won’t. His horse is injured. Probably a sprain from being ridden too hard and too long. I suggest we go slowly, let the horses rest as we go, and keep our eyes peeled for any signs of the man."

Chenzira did not want to agree, but he knew that Dande was right. They had been riding hard for several hours already, with the only rests being the pauses that they took to check the tracks that the Thief's horse had left behind.

Soon, they would need water. Their horses were parched, and Chenzira's throat felt like dry cowhide. He wiped the sweat off his brow and scoured the horizon.

"Do you know the matura root?"

"No," Dande said. "What does it look like?"

"It's a small shrub. Grows about one or two hands above the ground. Not easy to see, but if we do, we could find some water."

It was a while longer before Chenzira let out a yell of excitement and scrambled down from his horse. He crouched next to a tiny plant that was nestled between some rocks, with three thick green leaves shining in the sun. He took out a knife and loosened the soil around the stem of the plant, digging around it carefully and exposing the top of its bulbous root. Dande watched as Chenzira carefully uprooted it, blew off the dust clinging to it, and carved an incision into its root. A stream of clear water trickled out. He brought it to his mouth and sucked a few mouthfuls, smacking his lips in relish.

"Try some," he said. "It's good."

Dande did so. The liquid from the root was faintly sweet and had a slightly pungent smell. It was the most refreshing thing he had ever drunk. They found a few more nearby, extracted them, and drank their fill. Then, they cut up the roots into pieces and fed them to the horses. The horses munched on them gratefully.

"Let's hope we can come across a village soon," Chenzira said. "Maybe we can buy some water and food there."

Dande nodded. He, too, realized that this was not going to be a quick journey, and they were desperately under-provisioned for it. But so far, their luck had held out, and he had managed to track the Thief. Dande was sure of it. During his harvests of training under Hondo, in preparation for the Barwe Tonga, he spent a few months learning how to track horses and people through all sorts of environments, and his training held well here.

***

Soon, they came to an escarpment which commanded a majestic view of the lands beyond. Below them, the brown grasslands spread out in an ocean of brown, with the patches of acacias like floating green islands. Far below, right at the base of the escarpment, a dry riverbed shone silver in the sun, as it wound its way like a snake across the savanna. Dande scanned the horizon and gasped.

"You see him?" Chenzira asked.

"No. There's a village not far from here. Can you see it?"

He pointed to the left. Chenzira's eyes were no longer what they used to be. He could barely make out the tiny cluster of beehive huts that shimmered in the noonday sun.

"And the Thief came this way," Dande said, staring at the tracks at his feet. "He descended down to the river."

"You think he was heading to the village."

"Let's hope so. It will make our lives easier."

They descended the rugged path that led from the top of the escarpment to the riverbed. The steep path leveled out at the bottom and was soon choked by thorn bushes. They had to dismount and lead the horses along on foot. The bushes became thick shrubs, which ended abruptly at the riverbed. Its white sand glistened in the hot sun and crunched under their feet as they stepped out onto it. They were careful not to interfere with the tracks made by the Thief. These stood out starkly against the plain white sand. They followed the tracks across the riverbed to the other side, where they crossed over a swathe of rounded grey pebbles that had accumulated on the riverbank. Dande stepped over the pebbles, paused, and scratched his head. He scanned the pebbles, scoured the ground on the other side of the riverbed, then studied the sands again.

"What?" Chenzira asked.

"His tracks have vanished."

"That can't be. I see them right there."

"Yes, they go up until the pebbles. Then they just disappear."

"I'm sure they continue on the other side."

"You can check for yourself," Dande said. "I can't see them."

Chenzira followed the tracks carefully from the riverbed and out onto the pebbles. Then he checked the riverbanks, as well as the riverbed itself and the mounds of pebbles. Sure enough, the tracks had vanished.

"What do we do now?" he asked.

"Let's split up. You go upstream, and I'll go down. I suspect he led his horse along the pebbles to hide his tracks. Then, at some point, he must have cut into the forest again."

They both walked up and down the riverbed, scanning every inch of the ground for any sign of the horse's hooves. They found nothing. Dande, unsure that the old man's eyes hadn't failed him, doubled back and scoured the section that Chenzira had checked. There was nothing to be seen on either bank. They stood there for a moment in silence, stumped, the hot sun beating down on their heads and their horses twitching their tails impatiently to shoo away the flies that had followed them down to the hot, stuffy riverbed.

"This is beyond me," Dande said. "His tracks have simply vanished."

"Do you think he traveled along the riverbank on the pebbles?"

"If he did, then I can't track him. When we were taught how to track people and animals, we learned how to do it across any terrain, but they always told us that tracking people across rock faces was impossible.”

"I've heard of people who can track people across rock."

"Yes. Professional trackers. Hunters. Scouts. But not Barwe.”

"Then we need to find someone who can help us, and we need to do it fast," Chenzira said. "We can't just stand around here talking about it."

"What do you suggest we do?”

"You saw a village not far from here?"

Dande nodded.

“Let’s go there and ask for the whereabouts of the nearest tracker. Then we bring the man here and carry on tracking the Thief before it gets dark."

"How many cowries do you have?"

"He can name his price," Chenzira said, walking up to his horse and mounting it. "We are on a mission for the empire."

They rode up from the riverbank and cut across the thicket, heading westward and keeping as close as possible to the direction in which Dande had seen the village from the top of the escarpment.

***

They came to a narrow footpath, wider than the typical animal tracks that they had met so far. It looked like an old path leading from the village to the river. They followed it. Little by little it widened as it led them away from the riverbed. Soon, they were riding past abandoned farmlands. Dead millet stalks jutted out of the ashen soil, and overturned, empty granaries lay abandoned beside crumbling mud huts. They were on the right track, though Dande was worried that they would find the village abandoned due to the drought. Ghost villages had become more frequent as people packed their belongings and moved to other lands where there might be more abundant rainfall.

His fears were soon put to rest. They came across a homestead nestled in the middle of a clump of trees. A goat was tied to one of them, and it bleated plaintively as they went past. There were people around. Dande wondered why they would leave the goat unguarded. Cattle theft was rife. The Butua and Chidima cattle raids up in the north had only just recently been brought under control. As if in answer to his question, a little boy popped out of the bushes nearby and gazed at them with wide-open eyes. Dande nodded at him, but the boy didn't wave back. His eyes followed them as they rode past the homestead, where an elderly woman eyed them warily from within the recesses of a dark hut.

At the edge of the homestead, the path widened out more and was now lined with little wooden stalls, nothing more than rickety frames that shook as the wind blew. This was a market town where the farmers would congregate on appointed days of the week and put up their goods for sale. The stalls looked like they had not been used in a long time. That made sense. The adjacent farmlands were all but abandoned. In the wake of the drought, many farmers had left farming and gone to work for the Mutapa in the mines. A few remained, clinging stubbornly to the old ways and to their land.

A group of these stalwarts were seated underneath a spreading umbrella tree on the side of the road, next to a large beehive hut. Their aged frames draped in vibrant wrapped cloths, they sat in a circle, quietly watching the newcomers. A bard sat beside them, playing a tune on a mbira, a palm-sized piece of wood with short metal strips that produced different tunes when plucked. His attire, a patchwork of vibrant, mismatched fabrics, mirrored the eccentricity of his music. His eyes gleamed like those of a mischievous child, out to break some rules. When he played, the notes were a cacophonous dance, both dissonant and strangely beautiful. He played away and swung to and fro as he croaked along to the music.

“Why are you crying, you children?

Why are you crying, you children?

The true son of Nyatsimba,

Will return and beat the drum.

Then you will laugh, you children.

Then you will dance, you children.”

Dande recognized the words. It was one of the countless little ditties that immortalized the exploits of Nyatsimba Mutota and dreamed of the return of that golden era. Such songs were popular in the countryside but would never ever be heard in the capital. There singing such a song could be treason, depending on who heard you.

"I think that is the tavern," Chenzira said, nodding at the beehive hut.

"Maybe these men can help us."

They got down from their horses and approached the men, greeting them respectfully. The men didn't give Dande a second glance, but they eyed Chenzira curiously. The quality of his robes was a dead giveaway: he was from the capital and most likely worked for the Mutapa. One of them cleared his throat loudly. The bard opened his eyes, saw Chenzira, and stopped singing.

"Men, out here in the countryside, we are free. That song was one of my favorite ones when I was a child,” Chenzira said.

In a loud and clear voice, he broke out into song.

“Then you will sing, you children.

Then you will play, you children.

When the drum brings the rain.

When Nyatsimba brings the rain.”

The men simply stared at him, not sure what to make of this stranger from the capital.

Dande stepped forward. "We need to hire a tracker," he said. "Do you know of any around here?"

The men exchanged cautious looks. None spoke.

Chenzira walked up to them and sat down on a stool. He took a straw from one of the men and, putting it to his mouth, sipped long and slow from the calabash. Then he stood up, took out a handful of cowrie shells from the pouch around his neck, and laid them beside the gourd.

"My brothers, we are in a hurry. If you know of anyone, please, we will be grateful."

One of the men pointed a long, crooked finger at the door of the adjacent beehive hut.

"Will we find a tracker in there?" Chenzira asked. The man nodded. "Thank you," Chenzira said. He stood up and joined Dande, who was standing a few paces away, watching the exchange. They walked into the beehive hut, stooping at the low door as they got in.

It took them a few seconds for their eyes to adjust to the dim light. Inside the hut, three or four groups of men sat on stools, huddled around massive gourds on the floor. The pungent smell of millet beer and sweat met their nostrils, and Dande gagged slightly at the stench. The two windows in the establishment let in a little light and only slightly more air, but the door allowed a breeze that provided moments of relief.

A robust, round woman bustled between the various groups, topping up their gourds and receiving little cowrie beads in return. She wore a wrapped skirt of colorful, patterned fabric. Her beaded necklaces clinked with every step that she took. There was a certain class and authority and dignity about the way she carried herself. Chenzira took a step forward, but Dande held his arm.

"Stay here," he said. "Let me."

"Why?"

"Your clothes."

Dande walked into the tavern, leaving Chenzira standing beside the door, looking himself over and wondering what was wrong with his clothes. Dande approached the tavern keeper.

"Greetings, mother."

"You can have a seat over there," she said, pointing at an empty stool. "I'll serve you and your friend shortly."

"We will have drinks later, but for now, we're just looking for a tracker."

"What do you need a tracker for?"

"Someone stole our goats."

"And you can't follow their droppings?" she asked, eyeing him incredulously through her beady eyes. “You look like you can handle yourself.”

"The men that took them are really good. It's as if they vanished into thin air."

"You'll want to speak to those people," she said.

She pointed to a group of patrons who sat around a calabash near a door at the opposite end of the hut. Two men and a short woman were taking turns throwing a dagger at the doorpost. The woman was particularly short. Dande had seen pygmies before, having come across them in the capital. But he still had to fight the urge to stare as he walked up to them. He went up to them and paused just outside the circle. They ignored him and carried on with their drinking and dagger-throwing.

Dande cleared his throat. "Greetings," he said.

One of the men turned and looked Dande up and down. He wore a rugged kudu skin cape that draped over his broad shoulders. His skin bore faint scars from past battles, and his frown warned Dande that he was a man who was not easily crossed. The pygmy was wearing a two-piece green wrap adorned with intricate beadwork. Her almond-shaped, soulful eyes, framed by long, dark lashes, bore a hint of curiosity as she glanced at Dande. She got up to retrieve the dagger from where it had sunk into the door jamb. The delicate sound of her anklets, adorned with tiny, colorful beads, added a gentle melody to her quick, agile movements. She handed the dagger to the second man, who was slurping up his beer through a straw with relish. His dark, scarred skin bore the rough texture of the wilderness. Dande caught a whiff of the faint earthy scent that clung to him, a blend of sweat and dust. The man's eyes, a steely gray, darted like a predator assessing its prey as he took the dagger from the pygmy.

"Your turn," she said. "Let's see if you can beat me."

The man rose to his feet and tottered slightly as he took aim at the door jamb. Dande repeated his greeting, but they continued as though he wasn't there. The man threw the dagger at the door, narrowly missing it as the dagger smashed into the earth and cow-dung brick wall with a clatter and fell to the ground. The man tottered over, retrieved the knife, and handed it to the man in the buck skin cape.

"Your turn, Karama," the man said.

Kudu-skin took the dagger and took aim. Dande stepped towards the door jam and a bit away from it, positioning himself between the man and his target. Kudu-skin glanced at him for a moment, took aim, and hurled the knife. Dande's hand flashed out and caught the knife as it flew. He turned the knife over in his hand, feeling its weight in his hand. Then he walked back to the man and handed it to him.

"You would have missed anyway," he said. “You’d throw better with a heavier knife. It’s made for her, not you.” He sat down on the stool the man had been occupying, took up his straw, and sipped his beer.

The pygmy burst out laughing. "He's a soldier" she said, between chuckles, "but he's not Barwe. No Barwe can do that."

"What can we do for you, stranger?" the man with the dagger in his hand asked. Dande stood up to let him sit, but the man remained standing.

"I need to find a tracker," Dande said.

"What are we tracking?" the man asked.

Dande sized up this group. He could tell from their garb and their demeanor that they were most likely not on the right side of the law. In those difficult times, people tended to stick to their own kind. Judging from the ritual scarring that he could make out on the men's faces, as well as their clothing, they were not of the same tribe. One was Kalanga, and the other was Butua. The pygmy, of course, was of the Batongo race. In those difficult times, it was rare to find a group of people so varied who willingly associated with each other. These were not typical village people. It would be best not to lie to them. They would smell it a mile away.

"I am tracking a thief. He stole something that belonged to us earlier today, and we lost his track at the riverbed."

"Who is we?" the pygmy asked. Dande nodded at Chenzira. He was standing next to the door they had come in through, looking on in silence. The other three turned around and gave him the once-over.

"He looks like money," Kudu-skin said. "What did the thief steal?"

"It's something of immense value. That's all that I can tell you for now."

"How much money have you got?" Kudu-skin asked.

"I should be asking that, Jilo,” the pygmy shot back. "It's me and Zugi that will do the job."

"Zugi's not here, Luba,” Jilo said. “What do you say, Karama?”

The third man who had been watching quietly nodded. “We can speak on her behalf,” he said.

"She’ll be back soon,” Luba said. "We should wait for her."

"We are in a hurry," Dande said. "We'd like to pick the trail up before nightfall. So, if we can negotiate a price right now and set out, that would be good."

He motioned for Chenzira to join them.

"This woman and her friend are trackers," Dande said. "They want to know how much we can offer them."

"How much do you want?" Chenzira said.

"We will charge a daily fee," Luba said. "Two cowries each a day."

"That's too little, Luba," Jilo said. "Make it four.”

“Don’t be greedy, Jilo," Karama said.

"The problem with you, Karama, is you think small.”

"Two cowries a day," Luba repeated, "One for me and one for my partner."

"What about us?" Jilo said. "We are losing out on valuable income when you take our trackers away."

The man named Karama glared at Jilo. He wilted under his gaze and fell silent.

"I am happy with that," Chenzira said. "Two cowries a day until we regain the item."

"Until we find the thief," Luba said. "Regaining the item is your business, not ours."

Chenzira hesitated a moment. Then he stretched out his hand. “Agreed.”

Luba the pygmy woman shook his hand.

"When can we set out?" Dande asked.

"As soon as my partner returns," Luba said. "She went to get some herbs for me. We wanted to make a little mutumbi tea for the tavern keep's boy. He's down with fever.”

"That's kind of you," Chenzira said. "I'd offer to take a look at the boy if I wasn't in such a hurry."

"I've already nursed him back to health" Luba said, her voice edged with irritation. "The boy's almost fully recovered. Zugi just likes being by herself from the time when she gets tired of these two." She nodded at the men. "That's why I sent her. Oh, she's back already."

A young woman stalked in through the back door and almost walked straight into Dande. She wore a fitted bodice, adorned with intricate brown and green beadwork, that could blend in perfectly with the colors of the savanna. Her light brown skin, smooth and even toned, was adorned with tattoos of elephants. Polished copper bangles dangled on her wrists, and a small leather pouch hung from her neck. He took in the high cheekbones, the almond eyes, the broad forehead. She was ten harvests older, but she still had the same light brown eyes, gleaming with determination beneath arched eyebrows. Even her hair, though longer, was still the same – pulled back into thick braids to keep it out of the way. Dande pressed his eyes shut and opened them again. There she was, standing before him, just as she had done ten harvests earlier.

Luba’s words sent a shock through his spine, and he felt the strength ebb out of his knees.

“Zugudini. Meet our new clients… Sorry, I didn’t catch your names?”

But Dande wasn't listening. His ears were filled with the loud beating of his heart.

"Sorry, are you alright?" Luba asked, noticing the color draining from Dande's face.

"The deal's off," Dande stammered. He turned around and stormed out of the tavern.