Dawn of Deception

PROLOGUE

Masai Mara Game Reserve, Kenya

August 8th, 1961

Maliki grimaced as the laces holding the leather straps were pulled tight. There for protection, they covered most of his sinewy arms.

“Why can’t I go? I have every right to hate them as much as he does!” Maliki was referring to the raid that his father was planning on a British settler’s farm. The attack was set for the early hours of the following morning.

“You heard him, not until you are a man.” His younger brother shook his head, “You should be concentrating on today. If you don’t...well, you might never get the chance.” He frowned and stared into Maliki’s eyes.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be fine.” He puffed out his chest, “Nothing scares me, you know that.” Maliki avoided looking back at his brother and tried to keep his breathing regular. Both of them knew that many young warriors had failed the test with fatal consequences.

“Come on, let’s go. They’re waiting for us.” His brother pulled back the kudu hide covering the entrance and stepped outside.

The sun announced its approach by reflecting on a thin layer of stratus high in the atmosphere. The clouds glowed orange, golden, red and yellow rays bursting through their sides.

Maliki headed for the men huddled around the smouldering campfire. The group’s animated discussion ceased as he approached. They watched him closely, searching for any sign of nerves. Maliki strode confidently towards their leader.

“A good day to go hunting,” he looked up at his six foot five inch father. Maliki would probably exceed that height when he stopped growing. Even now at thirteen he was just a couple of inches short.

Chief Zuberi shook his head, “Remember, this is not a normal hunt.”

“Don’t worry, I will,” Maliki smiled. He embraced his father with the arm holding his spear and their ebony chests touched. The other held his four-foot tall shield, slightly wider than his toned body. He’d removed his brightly coloured shuka and jewellery to avoid spooking his prey. He had even taken off his most prized possession, a gold medallion with the two-headed figure of the Maasai God Engai Narok etched into the face. It was a gift from his mother, meant to bring good luck and wisdom. Maliki felt naked without it.

The older warriors scrutinising him were also dressed for battle, their hair and cheeks dyed red to give them a more fearsome appearance.

“I’m not worried about your ability. If you weren’t ready I would not have permitted it. What I worry about is your over-confidence.” The Chief put his hand on Maliki’s shoulder, “Now make me proud!”

“They will have left if we don’t hurry up. As soon as the grass is dry they’ll be gone.” His brother turned towards the gap in the bush that marked the beginning of the track. It led east, away from the clearing that the temporary settlement was built in.

They were being forced to move so often to escape the authorities’ resettlement programmes that there wasn’t enough time to build the usual defences. Normally they would surround the village in a boma, a ring of acacia bushes wound together tightly to form a sturdy fence. The steely spikes acting as a serious deterrent to predators and other intruders. As it was they only had a sentry and the fire to ward of any nightly visitors. Although laid out in the traditional way, the rondavels were hastily built. Some were hardly round at all and had patches of dung missing from the rattan frames that formed the walls.

The group were in high spirits as they filed down the track. Maliki joined in with their chatter, anticipating the celebrations that they would be enjoying later that day. As the bush grew denser the men became quiet. They picked their way through the long undergrowth with graceful strides.

He heard the sound of a warthog grunting near to them as it searched the forest for grubs. An orchestra of birds occupied the canopy above them, singing in symphony to the sunlight breaking through the leaves.

His brother’s hand went up, signalling them to stop. He beckoned Maliki to join him at the front of the line. They had reached the edge of the forest.

“Over there,” he pointed to the base of a gigantic boulder, a lump of granite fifty feet high, dumped there when the glazier carved its way through the rift valley millions of years ago.

“Where?” Maliki squinted. The crimson slither of sun was growing rapidly.

“By those two smaller rocks near the end...look, one of them’s moving now!”

His brother had found the pride’s den the previous day. There were eight of them in total. Two of them were females, four young cubs and one an adolescent male. But it was their elder leader that Maliki was interested in.

“I see them.”

The pride was sheltering under an overhang of rock that wasn’t quite deep enough to be considered a cave. He moved out from the trees, into the open field of corn-like grass that separated them from the rock. Dew covered the long stalks in large teardrops that soaked Maliki’s skin up to his waist. He welcomed the feeling. Like all cats lions hated water. They would wait for the sun to dry out the field before leaving. In the twilight hours they could often be seen using the dirt roads that crossed the park to avoid getting wet.

The men appeared from the bush behind him. Moving like silent spectres in their red war paint they formed a bullhorn shape, with Maliki at the centre. Once they were in position he started walking slowly towards the pride. They were downwind from the lions, using the light breeze to mask their scent as they approached. The other warriors followed suit, keeping their formation, treading slowly and deliberately. They gradually increased the space between them to spread the reach of their human net.

At some thirty meters away one of the lionesses heard their approach. She jumped onto a rock and let out a low rumbling growl to alert the rest of the pride.

The battle-scarred male rose up from its haunches. Shaking a dark and matted mane it let out a tremendous roar. The lion focussed on Maliki and padded towards him, making grunting noises that seemed to come from its belly. For a moment he thought it was going to charge straight away. But the giant cat stopped a few meters from him, tilted its head to one side and snarled, displaying four-inch canines to warn him off. Maliki had to admit he was a magnificent specimen, a worthy opponent for a future Chief.

The men banged the shafts of the spears against their shields and chanted. They took turns to bait and distract the lion, causing it to circle between them.

Maliki overcame the urge to turn and flee. Even though his legs and heart were telling him to run like he had never run before. The lion was pacing from left to right, blocking them from the rest of the pride. He snapped and growled at the men either side but kept his eyes fixed on Maliki. The unblinking amber globes burnt into his soul.

Maliki took a deep breath and let out a guttural scream. The beast stopped prowling. Head dipped to the ground it let out a low growl. Its haunches heaved and the lion’s claws dug into the ground as it searched for purchase. Maliki screamed again and took a step forward. He rammed the three-inch wooden spike on the bottom of his shield into the ground and prepared to spear the lion from his fixed position.

Instead of charging and leaping at him the scarred veteran wriggled backwards. Maliki pulled the spike from the ground and moved a step closer. His father shouted for him to stop. But it was too late. Sensing his opportunity the huge male rushed forward and attacked. Using one enormous paw it knocked Maliki’s leg from underneath him and sent him crashing to the ground.

The beast pounced on top of him, biting into his arm and clawing at his face. Razor sharp teeth passed through his flimsy leather armour as if it were paper and latched on to Maliki’s forearm. Canines drove through flesh and hit solid bone. He cried out as red-hot pokers of pain were messaged to his brain. Maliki let go of the shield and struggled with his attacker. He grabbed its mane with his free hand. The pain ripped through him and his primeval screams intensified as the huge cat worried at his arm, tearing flesh and muscle apart.

Suddenly the animal cried out, a short sharp yelp, and went limp, crushing him with its weight. He felt the chest deflate and with one last twitch of its legs the lion went still. Maliki tried to move but his back was pinned to the ground.

“Help me get it off!”

The carcass was dragged away and Maliki could see his younger brother looking down at him spear in hand, blood dripping from the tip.

“No!” Maliki screamed, realising that the worst shame possible for a Maasai had befallen him. By killing the lion his brother had effectively exiled Maliki from the family and tribe forever.