not even looking up. The crowd was coming in close, maybe eighty paces. She stood up and looked at us, the crowd now close enough that we could see their eyes lost and faces without feeling even though they shouted. She stomped in the dirt; a gust rose and blew them down whom it did not blow away. It knocked men to the ground and women in robes up into the sky and barreled children away. The storm swept the alley all the way down to the end.
Sogolon got back on her horse and we galloped through the quarter, riding as if many were chasing us, though no one did. She gripped the reins, and I gripped her waist. I knew where we were when we came to the border road. The house was northeast, but we did not ride to the house. Instead we stayed on the border road between Nyembe and Gallunkobe/Matyube until it took us to the flooded river. Sogolon did not stop.
“Witch, you plan to drown us?”
Sogolon laughed. “This is where the river is most shallow,” she said. The buffalo ran at her side, the girl with Mossi behind her.
“We will not leave Sadogo behind.”
“He awaits us.”
I did not ask where. We crossed the river into what I knew would be Mitu. Mitu was fertile grasslands, a gathering of farmers, land lords, and owners of cattle, not a city. Sogolon led us to a dirt path lit only by moonlight. We rode under trees, the buffalo leading, the prefect quiet. He surprised me.
At the first cross paths, Sogolon said to dismount. Sadogo came out from behind a tree shorter than him and stood up.
“How is the night keeping you, Sadogo?” I asked.
He shrugged and smiled. He opened his mouth to say something but stopped. Even he knew that if he started talking it would be dawn before he stopped. He looked over at the girl and frowned when he saw Mossi dismount.
“His name is Mossi. I will tell you in the morning. Should we make a fire?”
“Who said we staying here? In a crossroad?” Sogolon said.
“I thought you witches had special love for crossroads,” I said.
“Follow me,” she said.
We stood right in the middle of the two roads. I looked over at Sadogo, helping the girl down from the horse, making sure he was between her and the prefect.
“I know I do not have to tell you of the ten and nine doors,” Sogolon said.
“That is how we came to Kongor.”
“There is one right here.”
“Old woman, that is what all old women think about where roads cross. If not a door then some other kind of night magic.”
“This look like a night for your foolishness?”
“You are afraid of him. I do not think I have ever seen fear on you. Let me gaze upon your face. Here is truth, Sogolon. I cannot tell if your mood is sour or if that is how you always look. I know who he is. The boy.”
“Aje o ma pa ita yi onyin auhe.”
“The hen doesn’t even know when she will be cooked so perhaps she should listen to the egg,” I said, and winked at Sogolon, who scowled.
“So who is he?” she asked.
“Somebody this Aesi is trying with all his might to find before you do. To kill him maybe, to steal him maybe, but he wants to find this boy as badly as you do. And it all points to the King.”
“Would you have believe it if it was me who tell you?”
“No.”
“The King want to erase the Night of the Skulls, that child—”
“That child is who he was after all along. Maybe the Aesi searches on his behalf, maybe the redhead devil acts alone. I have read Fumanguru’s writs.”
“There are no writs.”
“You’re too old for games.”
“Nobody could find them.”
“And yet I’ve read them. There are more treacherous words in the games of little girls.”
“This is not the place.”
“But it is the time. All your witchery and you never read the line on top of the lines.”
“Talk plain, fool.”
“He wrote notes on top of the words in milk. He said to take the child to the Mweru. You stare at me. So quiet you are. Walk through Mweru and let it eat your trail, that is what he said.”
“Yes. Yes. No man ever map the Mweru, and no god either. The child would be safe.”