After piling into two of the jeeps and roaring off northward into the heart of the reserve, the group had to hang on for dear life. The seatbelts in the jeeps certainly weren't there to provide safety in the event of a crash; their main function was to stop passengers from being hurled out as the vehicle raced across the bumpy plains.
"Shaman lions east," Ruanmi yelled to the convoy. "Single male with two, three females. One of the females has young, a pair of cubs. Twins, I think." He dumped himself back into his seat after delivering that announcement. Serrin, meanwhile, couldn't figure out how the man succeeded in standing up in the wobbling jeep. The idiot attempting it with his fabulously over-priced camera in the vehicle directly behind them had been lucky to fall backward into the vehicle rather than onto the rock-hard surface they were traversing.
"They create illusions?" Serrin asked anxiously to Ruanmi. He didn't know what the Awakened lions were
capable of, though he seemed to remember that detail. Ruanmi grinned and fingered the collar of teeth around his neck.
"They will not harm us," he said. Serrin had already sensed power in the man, and concentrating now, he could sense that the spell focus was powerful. Intulo, the other shaman, was always silent, and from his apparel Serrin guessed that his totem was Crocodile. He didn't want to think about that too much. He was much more comfortable with Ruanmi, whose mane of hair proclaimed him as a Lion shaman as strongly as his proud walk and the freak golden speckling in his brown eyes. The shaman seemed not to dislike Serrin, which was a relief to the elf. Maybe he knows I love cats, Serrin thought with an inward chuckle.
Despite suffering from the effects of the endless bumping, Serrin still had enough wits about him to be impressed once they reached the razorwire perimeter of their campsite. The elephants, wildebeest, and flocks of birds scattered across the plains and waterholes were a dramatic sight, not least for their sheer numbers. The blood kites had alarmed him, but, again, the shamans protected them from any harm posed by the dangerous creatures. He was irked, though, to find that he needed the help of the African man to get out of the jeep, his bad leg completely drained of any strength. Kristen had just leapt out behind him, and he felt like an elderly invalid as he struggled to get his boots down onto the dust-dry earth.
Tents had already been pitched for them, the site men surrounding the camp with their LMGs glad to see the relief column. They shook hands with their replacements, speaking animatedly in the Zulu tongue. Though Kristen could not understand every word, she bristled with barely disguised anger at what they said about her.
Ruanmi gathered them together in the center of the camp for a repeat of the standard warnings. The razorwire already spoke of the injunction not to leave the camp unaccompanied, but the guide was savoring the task of lovingly describing all the venomous insects and small reptiles of the area and which antidotes to use against the poison of each and every species.
"We know there are two nagas in Unlanga River just east of here, maybe one-quarter hour away," he said. "We make a blind nearby so we can take their pictures at dusk. Four of you only can make this trip; others interested can try again tomorrow. No guarantee nagas will be active, but we see adults more often now that young have left the territory to go out on own. And nagas not so fierce now there is no need to protect their young."
Serrin was only too happy to let the enthusiastic Americans and Japanese take Ruanmi up on the offer. It would have been a pity not to let such expensive cameras fulfill their function in life, after all. Michael sidled up to him, and to his astonishment he saw that the Englishman was carrying an HK227 submachinegun in his right hand like some veteran soldier of fortune.
"Told you we'd be better off out here with something that can't be taken for a hunting weapon," Michael said, smiling. "And you don't need a license for one of these things on an accredited safari trip. I thought Tom might feel more comfortable with it. He tells me he has an Uzi back home, but I've always thought the H amp;K a better weapon myself. Besides which, Ruanmi couldn't get us an Uzi in the time we had."
By coincidence, a couple of sharp reports not far away made Serrin jerk his head away in surprise.
"That'll be dinner," Michael said, picking at a fingernail. "They offered to take us along to go deer shooting, but I'm rather squeamish myself and you don't look in any condition for hunting right now. Tom didn't seem all that interested either."
He reached into one of the saddlebag-sized pockets in his long khaki jacket and pulled out a pistol, handing it to the elf.
"Do you have an entire armory in there?" Serrin asked.
"Not quite, old boy. But you should give that to Kristen. She's probably never used a gun, so let's hope she can at least point it in the right direction if necessary. Just tell her the most important thing might be to hold it and look like she's done it before."
"Do you think we're going to need them?" Serrin said anxiously. "I mean, this place looks pretty safe to me."
"I was rather thinking about when we leave it," Michael said without even blinking.
Serrin looked down at the pack that had replaced his habitual suitcase. Somewhere beneath the bottled water, which he carried in case the camp supply became contaminated, medicines and sprays to augment Michael's cache, tinned food for emergencies, and the other clutter he'd been forced to bring along, lurked his clothing and clean-up kit. Then he looked longingly at the improvised shower rigged up near the trees. The shade cover looked as good as the prospect of washing up felt.
"Which is my tent?" he asked, glancing around.
"We're sharing. I suppose I'd better go with Tom, even if he does snore. Crikey, what with roaring and growling animals all night it probably won't make any difference," Michael laughed.
Serrin fought his way through the tent's netting-covered flap and found Kristen inside, having already dismembered her pack over the groundsheet.
"Do you mind sharing with me?" he asked. "I could sleep outside if you want privacy."
She laughed at him, "Sure, and get eaten by mosquitoes. Don't be silly." She scooped her things into one half of the tent, leaving the rest of the area clear for Serrin. He struggled to extract his towel from the bag, then made for the shower. He passed two Zulus lugging what he took to be a small antelope through the camp gates, and saw that a fire for the roasting had already been started inside old rusted steel drums. His stomach told him antelope charred on the outside and bloody in the middle wasn't what he wanted right now or at any later time, and he turned away, grateful he could at least look forward to a shower.
Michael had to wriggle under the tent flap to wake them, since the cloth was fastened from the inside and he didn't want to make any noise. In the low light of his torch, he saw them lying together, her arm around his chest. They looked extraordinarily peaceful. He felt almost guilty having to shake the elf's shoulder.
"Huh? What?" Serrin half-yelled. Michael motioned him to be quiet, then spoke urgently.
"We're going. Ruanmi has made a contact. Shakala will see us. Ruanmi says the word is he's a very temperamental fellow. If he says yes now, you go now, because tomorrow he might feel different. Get your stuff together. As quietly as you can."
Serrin rubbed his face and was glad that he'd repacked most of his bag. "What time is it?"
"Just after four. It won't be light for a while. It's apparently about eight miles from here. Just out of Babanango. Come on, let's move it."