great continental divide the grasses waved, an immense green carpet dotted with animals the likes of which I had seen only in picture books and travelogues. A tiny herd of elephants looked infinitesimal from our lofty height, and when Ryder stilled the engine, I heard nothing but the long rush of wind up from the valley floor. It carried with it every promise of Africa, that wind. It smelled of green water and red earth and the animals that roamed it. And there was something more, something old as the rocks. It might have been the smell of the Almighty himself, and I knew there were no words for this place. It was sacred, as no place I had ever been before.
“My God,” I breathed. “How big is it?”
“Four thousand miles from the upper reaches of Syria to the depths of Mozambique. The width varies, sixty miles wide in some places, but here it narrows. Just about twenty miles across.”
“It’s the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen.” I shoved Dodo, who roused herself to look, blinking hard.
“How high are we?” she croaked.
“About six thousand feet.”
Dodo whimpered and clutched at the seat. “Best close your eyes until we’re down,” Ryder told her kindly. She nodded and pressed her handkerchief to her eyes, leaning as far back as she could. He turned to me, his expression challenging.
“What about you, princess? Man enough to watch?”
“Drive,” I told him, gritting my teeth.
He laughed and crashed the gears into second to start the descent. I missed the Hispano-Suiza’s suspension desperately as we bounced and jounced our way down the twisting slope. The smell of overheated metal filled the air, and by the time we descended, the brakes were so hot and slick they were barely catching at all. We skidded to a stop at a stream and Ryder parked the vehicle, turning off the engine to let it rest. The only sounds were the ticking of the hot metal and the rushing of the stream and Dora’s faint wheezing.
Ryder glanced down pointedly, and I saw that I had been clutching at his leg. I moved my hand instantly, but he merely smiled.
“It’s over, Dora,” I snapped. She roused herself as Ryder jumped from the vehicle.
“Where are you going?” I demanded.
He reached into the back and lifted a can. “Water. After a ride that hot, you have to fill the radiator. Remember that if you ever do the drive by yourself.”
He stepped around the vehicle and I made to follow. “Stay inside,” he ordered. “There’s wildlife around here and you don’t know what you’re doing.”
I opened my mouth to argue when he raised a hand, silencing me with a gesture as imperious as a Caesar’s.
There was a low snuffling sound, and then a crash as something enormous moved in the bushes beside the stream. Ryder stepped carefully backward, his eyes never leaving the shivering bushes.
“Hand me my gun.”
I twisted, reaching into the gun rack behind me. “Which one?”
“The biggest. It’s already loaded and the safety is on. Just pass it over.”
I did exactly as he told me. “Good girl,” he murmured. “Don’t make any noise or any sudden movements. You can’t make it back up that hill, the engine’s too hot. If anything happens to me, drive like hell straight down the road until you come to a duka. The storekeeper will know what to do.”
“If anything happens to you?” I hadn’t known it was possible to shriek in a whisper, but I managed it. Dora was cowered against the seat, peeping over her handkerchief and pulling so hard on the flask I thought she was going to suck the finish off the metal.
“It’s probably a buffalo,” Ryder explained. “They don’t much like people, and if I have to take him, I’ll have one shot. He’ll be out of that cover too late for a second. If I miss, don’t stay to watch. It won’t be pretty.”
His tone was so calm, so matter-of-fact, we might have been discussing what he wanted for dinner rather than whether he would live or die. He hadn’t looked at me once. His whole attention was directed toward the coming reckoning. He was on the far side of the vehicle, and with his gaze fixed firmly on the bushes, it was easy to slip into the back and retrieve the Rigby. The ammunition was close at hand, and I took out two rounds, my fingers slick with sweat against the cool metal. There was no point to taking more. I wouldn’t have time to reload. I slid the cartridges into the rifle and closed the breach. I moved soundlessly to stand behind Ryder. He never moved his head, but he must have seen the shift in the shadows. His own rifle was lifted to his shoulder, one eye closed as the other sighted down the gun.
“Get back on the other side of the car. I want you to shoot from cover. Wait until you have a clear shot,” he instructed softly. “He’s coming head-on. Aim between the eyes. I’m taking the heart.”
There were a dozen things wrong with that, but I didn’t argue. I moved back to put the vehicle between us, using the hood to brace my arm. I cocked both barrels of the rifle and waited. It felt like the end of time and back again before the branches shivered hard and parted. What came through was the size of a small house, big and black and relentless. He was solid as the earth, and his eyes were narrow and mean. He paused for a moment, and I saw the sweat gathering on Ryder’s shoulders, soaking his shirt as he held the gun steady, waiting, waiting for a chance not to shoot.
But the buff didn’t oblige. It put its head down and gathered its strength, pushing off to run straight at us.
Ryder was wrong. He did have time for a second shot. His first was fast and hot and straight through the thick shoulder of the buff into its heart. I put one round into its forehead, and before I could recover from the punch of the recoil to sight the next shot, Ryder had put a second bullet into the same spot. The buffalo sat down heavily on its haunches and flopped forward, coming to rest inches from Ryder’s boot. I crept around the car, one round still in the chamber. I held the gun out to Ryder.
He didn’t take it. “No need. He’s finished,” he told me. We stood watching as the mean, piggy eyes went blank and soft and glassy. I was panting hard, and a trickle of sweat ran down the hollow of my spine, puddling in the curve of my bottom. I put a hand to my forehead and pushed away my fringe, letting the air cool my face. Little beads of perspiration rolled off my neck. I was damp and trembling all over, and my legs had second thoughts about holding me up.
Ryder looked at me closely. “You all right?”
“Yes.” The lie was easy.
He glanced at the stillness of the buffalo. “Damned good shot, princess.” He reached down and dipped a finger into the buffalo’s blood. He pressed the finger to my brow, marking me.
“First African blood,” he said gently. “It’s a hunter’s custom out here.”
He unloaded my Rigby and put the guns away. Dora was weeping quietly into her handkerchief in the car, and he said something consoling to her in soothing tones. Then he came to where I still stood, staring down at the vast emptiness of the buffalo’s corpse.
He took me by the hand and led me to the stream. He took a handkerchief from his pocket, and the sight of that small square of plain linen brought hot tears to my eyes. It ought to have been a Gypsy bandana, filthy and smelling of cheap perfume. But it
