Africa Zero by Neal Asher Page B

hut and sat beside
him.
    “Tell
me. Tell me all of it.”
    “The
Pykani Hurricane and Spitfire came to warn of your coming and your purpose. The
Silverman . . . Silverwoman is killing the Thunderers and you seek to make her
desist. Spitfire flew back to you and Hurricane remained to watch over the
mammoth and to look for the Silverwoman.”
    I
nodded. I knew all this. He continued.
    “Last
night the Silverwoman came into the village dragging Hurricane with her. He was
unconscious. She threw him down by the water oak then began to tear our houses
apart. I came to her and asked her what she wanted. She screamed her reply,
‘Tell him to come himself. Tell him not to send his spies. Tell him I’m
waiting. Tell him. Tell him.’ It was then that Nmoko threw his assegai at her—”
    “Nmoko?”
    “He
is out there. I do not know which one he is.”
    I
had thought for a moment he was the one with Masai ancestry. He must have come
later. I could not see him avoiding a fight. The Rainman continued his
commentary.
    “The
Silver One ran to him faster than I could see—” He was obviously uncomfortable
with ‘Silverwoman’— “and tore him in half. Then ... then others attacked...
her. They shot her with many bullets, rolled a grenade at her feet . . .
Nothing touched her. She killed them. The last of them slowly so others might
learn by it. Then she took Nmoko’s assegai and broke it into pieces. With the
pieces she fixed Hurricane to the water oak. I tried to stop her and she caught
hold of me and spoke again; ‘This is my message to him’ she said, and she
pointed to Hurricane as he died. ‘He must come. It’s his and his alone. He
knows that. I will be at the waterfalls downstream.’ We call them the Iron
falls, for their colour ... She then broke my arm and pushed me to the ground.”
    I
nodded and rose to my feet.
    “There
is something else.”
    I
waited.
    “All
the time she did not speak she made a sound. It was like grieving and the
sounds Hurricane made on the tree . . . Please, Collector, help me to
understand.”
    I
considered that. This was something I had not wanted to think about for ages,
let alone discuss with a tribal shaman. Yet, it seemed that for each moment
since I had climbed down from the ice and the Atlas Mountains I had become more
human. I held out the claw of my hand for him to see. Hurricane’s blood was
drying on the ceramal.
    “A
long time ago I had a wife, and like myself she was made over into metal—given
a body to stand against time. Her mind did not. There was too much of the woman
and she could not live without flesh. She came to despise me and loathe
herself. Until her madness was such that none could draw near her, though she
harmed none. Mostly she lived far up on the ice, only venturing down every so
often on some aberrant impulse. Now it would seem she has recovered enough
sanity to ... know what she wants. You heard her speak. You are perhaps the
first to hear such in five hundred years.”
    The
Rainman looked at me for a long moment and I had to turn away from the
compassion of his expression.
    “What
is her name?” he asked me.
    “Diana,”
I said, and quickly left him, perhaps ashamed there was water enough in me for
my tear-ducts, and no urge to cry.
    The
bodies had been removed from under the water oak and the blood stirred into the
dirt. A few villagers were wandering about as if shell-shocked and the sounds
of grief could be heard, echoey, from within some of the huts. Sipana and the
tall Masai waited. He addressed me as soon as I had climbed down to the ground.
    “I
would accompany you, Collector, if you will.”
    I
looked at him and wondered if I should allow this. My companions did not seem
to do very well.
    “What
is your name?”
    “I
am called Kephis. I was not here.” Wounded pride and anger warred for
predominance in his expression.
    I
looked to Sipana. “Is he your brother?” She nodded and I turned back to him.
The question had merely been a delay