Chapter 3
The shaman was a short man, much shorter than Buffy. He wore a caftan of bright colors, with necklaces of bone and trinkets. His gray hair was wickedly out of control and twisted into braids. He clicked his tongue and motioned for her to follow him. From her understanding, he was the oldest member of his tribe with 17 wives and 34 children. He practiced something more than medicine, something more than magic. He felt dark and powerful to Buffy.
“So how we going to get there?” She questioned while he sat in front of the fire.
His first wife came and served him something in a hollowed gourd. He drank deep and passed it to her. She looked down and saw a thick, red liquid inside. He grunted at her and lifted his hands as if he was taking another sip. Slowly, she raised the gourd and took a sip.
“Bleah!” She quickly put the gourd down and wiped her mouth. “That's blood!”
“Life!” his gravely voice instructed her. “Around us. Must become one.”
“Look, I respect that you have to go through all that mumbo-jumbo, but I'm not drinking that again.”
“Life!” His voice became louder. “Around us. Is world. Become one before journey of enlightenment.”
“I'm just trying to get to Maiduguri and rescue my sister.”
“Patience, girl. Become one and we journey.” He reached for a satchel behind him.
“There is no time!” Buffy shook her head and added slowly. “I need to save my sister.”
“You need to become one!” He insisted. He withdrew blue powder from the satchel and threw it in the fire. “Future not written. Be changed. So the key.”
“The Key? What do you mean about the Key? She's going to be changed? I'm not going to save her?”
“No, no.” he muttered. “Patience girl. Drink,” he encouraged. “Drink and find destiny.”
“I know my destiny,” she replied coldly. “My destiny is to fight. My destiny is to die.”
“Wrong!” He took another satchel and dumped some herbs in his hand. He grabbed the gourd and dumped them into it. “Drink. Only destiny life.”
“My destiny is to live?”
“Destiny is life. Must reconcile with Father Earth.”
“I'm tired of you talking in riddles. What do you mean?”
He calmly poured the gourd over the fire, cause a blue flame to dance about two feet above the normal flames. “Fire, water, wind, earth. Life and death one. You one. Must reconcile yourself, save sister Key.”
The blue flame started to twist and turn, images appearing in it. Her mother's face morphed into her father's morphing into hers. She watched as it twisted into Dawn's innocent face and then twisting into Glory's. Faces of her friends and enemies morphed, with no rhyme or reason. With a flash, the images moved quicker. Angel morphed into Spike and then back to Angel. She watched the toggle between the two vampires before the flame grew to double its size, ending with Spike crying out in pain. His eyes glowed and his faced morphed into his demon’s. Taken aback as the flame suddenly died, she turned to the shaman.
“What was that?”
“Desitny,” he answered as if it was obvious.
“I played your games; do you think we can go find my sister now?”
Shaking his head, the shaman called for his head wife. She brought him another gourd filled with a yellow mixture. As she walked away, smiling timidly at Buffy.
“You and life, not one. Must reconcile past for future.”
Frustrated, Buffy shook her head. “There is no time. If you aren't going to help me, I should just be going.”
She stood and dusted her pants. Glancing around the small camp she watched as children clung to their mothers, their dark eyes watching her.
“Girl-y,” his gravel voice intoned. “Sit down. You not ready for journey.”
“I don't need a journey to enlightenment. I need to save my sister!”
Silence descended them, both figures appraising the other. After three minutes, the shaman nodded his head. Sighing in relief, Buffy nodded back to the shaman.
~*~*~
This is not what she had in mind.
The camel bucked once more as she fought to control the animal. The shaman kept looking back at her with laughter in his eyes. She wanted to throttle the measly man, only if she didn't need him. He turned forward once again, his head noticeably shaking. They were traveling in a caravan of six camels and riders. Most of the men didn't speak English, instead communicated with their native tribal languages and something that reminded her of French, dismissing Buffy from their conversations.
They'd been traveling for four days and something felt wrong. She felt like something was watching her, something that felt familiar, yet not. It started about 50 hours ago when the crossed the border into Nigeria. Something was stalking them, more importantly her.
The heat of the day caused the caravan to seek shelter, using tents and what little natural resources they found. They found few villages to stay during the day, a safer choice when the threat of theft and murder while everyone was resting were possible. Trips between villages and tribes were long and very boring. The tribal leaders always looked upon Buffy with a keen eye, their discussions obviously about the foreign, blonde haired woman infiltrating their families. Consequently she was stuck in a tent or hut, not allowed to talk to anyone outside the shaman.
The light of a village became visible as the caravan neared. Sunrise was in an hour, the most obvious choice was to seek shelter within the village. The caravan seemed to move faster towards the day's salvation, leaving Buffy to fight with her camel. She was sure they gave her a misogynist camel; it refused to heed her commands.
The village’s Council of Elders met them before they reached the outskirts of the village, their leader talked to the shaman, making accommodations and trades for their stay. Warriors stood behind the leader as they communicated, their eyes appraising the caravan. One licked his lips as he stared at Buffy, another winked.
Uhg, men!
A deal was reached and the council led them into the village. Food and water were freely offered, as were a bed in one of the elder's huts. Buffy thankfully dismounted her hateful camel and stretched. She felt those eyes on her once again. She quickly stepped inside the hut and away from the strange feeling.
~*~*~
Late afternoon, heat engulfed the tiny room Buffy slept in. Even the ground seemed to radiate heat to her palette. Sweat seemed to pour from her, she just could not sleep. She stretched and looked around at the tiny room, marveling that they didn't need much to survive. No MTV, no PlayStation, no high speed internet. Not even a fridge to cool soda or bottled water.
She stepped outside and looked around the village. Women hovered around fires and tended to their children as they went about their daily chores. Few women made eye contact with her, leaving Buffy alone with her thoughts.
She walked around the fire and noticed the huts were lined up like a typical American Main Street. She followed the line of huts and noticed another “street” just a few huts away. She turned and explored the village that offered them refuge. Suddenly, she felt eyes on her once again, not familiar like before. The sun’s rays were weakening as it made its journey below the horizon. The unbearable heat would soon leave and with it, she would too.
Looking around, she realized she was alone, no happy families sitting in the shade of the huts or tending to the daily chores. Pots holding dinner simmered and children whined that they were hungry. Turing back, she found her path blocked by one of the warriors that met the caravan.
Shit!
She turned to run between the huts in hopes of getting back to the main area, when she felt a warm hand on her shoulder. With a tug, it held her still as the warrior started to approach her. She looked over her shoulder and found the other warrior. His black eyes were filled with lust and his lips puckered.
“Let go of me,” she ordered. She really didn’t want to show these men her power.
The warrior holding her used his other hand to touch her hair. Gasping, she tried unsuccessfully to pull away. She muttered a curse and this time used her small stature as a weapon. Falling to the ground, she tried to break his grip. He stumbled, but did not let go.
“I’m warning you, you don’t know who I am, what I am.” She struggled as she felt the other man approach them. His hand reached out and ran down her neck to her breast. “Let me go,” she pleaded, suddenly feeling helpless.
The warrior holding her brought her body against his, rubbing against her. She cursed once again and shifted away. She no longer cared if she insulted the village; she was not going to be raped!
Calling to her inner strength, she threw her head back, hitting her captor’s nose hard. His gripped loosened before the other man realized and she bolted. With a fist and a well placed kick, she broke free of them both and started to make her way towards the shaman. They needed to leave, now.
Preoccupied with her path, she didn’t hear the two warriors recover and follow her. Without the light of the sun, she forgot how she got to the more derelict area. Twisting and turning, she lost her way, ending up at the edge of the village; the men surrounded her once more.
Stepping away, she warned them once again to stay away, but neither listened. She was grabbed once more, a thick arm wrapped around her neck, breaking her freedom of movement. The other man spoke in his native tongue and her captor grunted with agreement. She tried to kick, but she was being held too tight.
She watched as the other man approach, his arms flexing with power. He spoke to her once more, but she didn’t know what he was saying. She watched his fist form and fly towards her. She wanted to duck, wanted to prepare herself for it, but couldn’t. Another fist and then another. Her captor held her close as she struggled to fight back. The other man rubbed his crotch, his intent obvious.
“No, no!” she screamed in hopes that someone would hear her, that she wasn’t too far away. But, she knew that with the song of the wives and the playful screams of the children around the fires, no one would hear her, no one would be saving her.
Her captor put his hand around her mouth, holding her screams in as his arm tightened around her neck. The other man released his erection and started to move towards her, his hands ready to divest of her clothes. Searching for something, some way to save herself as air was quickly becoming an issue, the last thing Buffy heard was a roar.
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