Lady Marriane Elisson

April 1898

One afternoon, William brought back the carcass of a golden jackal from his hunt. He'd seen the beautiful animal and thought the fur a perfect fit to Abbie's wheat coloured curls. The young woman was ecstatic over the gift. The locals, not so much.

William's party was met with scorn and mutterings, the natives gathering in their path. An elderly woman made her way to the front of the crowd, pointing a single bony finger at William. 'Sacrilege,' she spoke in a low, throaty voice and Mbaye interpreted her words as best as he could. The party had offending the spirit. You could not take without giving back, she said, explaining the rituals that needed to be performed to appease them.

I tried to relay it to William, but he refused to bow to pagan customs. So the locals refused to allow him into the village.

Next morning we were forced to move camp.

***

I shot up, wide awake and shaking. My shirt clung to me and my hair was matted against my face. I gulped in air, my heart pounding in my ears. Closing my eyes, I focused on my breathing and after a few minutes, my heart rate decreased.

A low electric hum came from the walls, calming me. Nightmares haunted me every night since the attack. I remembered everything about that dog. Its size, its teeth...its eyes.

I sighed, swung my legs over the edge of the bed, and stood. I wouldn't be falling asleep again any time soon. Walking over to the window, pressed my forehead to the cold glass and looked out into the night. A few moments later I noticed the darkness outside fading, becoming clearer. I rubbed my eyes, what was going on? Looking around again I realised I could now see everything as if it was late afternoon, when my room had been dark before. What the hell? My pulse quickened as I examined my room. It felt as though a snake was wrapped around my chest, crushing me. I ran to the door and fumbled with the lock, my trembling hands unable to get a grip.

When I finally got it open, I rushed out, tripping on the jam and slamming into the wall. Gasping as the air left my lungs, I pushed off the wall. The world spun and I swayed. Shaking my head, I straightened and ran towards the bathroom.

By the time I reached it, I was shaking and sweating, my breath coming out in pants. The pounding of my heart drowned out everything else. I leaned against the door, trying to catch my breath. Hesitantly, I approached the mirror, leaping back when I saw my reflection.

Stepping forward again, I stared at my eyes. They glowed bright yellow and the pupils contracted into pinpricks...they were its eyes. I shivered, falling back against the wall. Sliding down, I wrapped my arms around myself and buried my face in my knees. That reflection in the mirror wasn't me...It was a monster.

***

Mbaye, a village elder and I sat in front of the common house, talking about their many folk tales. One beast kept showing up in her stories. Why did they revere the jackal so much, I asked the old woman. She examined me for a long moment before replying. In the beginning, she said, Roog Sene was alone in the void. But a creator never remained so for long. Roog gazed into the emptiness and spoke, naming the three layers of the universe—earth, sky, and sea. Thus they appeared.

The old woman grew quiet, looking out into the Savannah. For a long time, nothing but the sky and the earth and the sea existed, she continued, and the world was pristine, yet lacking. Roog Sene looked upon it and pondered, and since the creator is all knowing, Roog Sene knew what was missing.

The world was lonely

So Roog made the canine, a jackal, creature of supreme intelligence that revered creation with its howl. This being would be the prophet, announcing the creator's wisdom for all time to come. Next Mbcor was made, and she became mother to all. Finally, Roog Sene could retire from the world, leaving the spirits to lead creation down the path of wisdom.

'What about the jackal?' I asked, and my interpreter kindly relayed.

'Ah,' the woman exclaimed. The jackal was a very smart creature, she went on, illustrating her story with exaggerated gestures that attracted the village children. But alas a very foolish one, she said. Because, you see, Roog Sene chose the jackal as the messenger, the most faithful of followers, to reveal the secrets of creation to those who listened. But the jackal, being the curious creature that he was, wasn't satisfied with the knowledge he had.

'Great one,' the creature spoke, 'why have you made the spirits equal to you in power? Great one, why did you not give man such power? Great one, why did you make the mortals to suffer and die?'

Question after question, the creature inquired and Roog Sene grew more and more agitated. 'Why do you ask me this? Did I not impart on you all that I know?'

'But if that is all that you know,' the creature replied, 'does that mean there's a limit to your knowledge?'

Roog Sene grew angry with the insolence of the prophet. 'I have not made you to disrespect me,' the creator spoke, 'if you revere man so much, you will walk among them. For an eternity you will scavenge their scraps and serve their wills. The spirits will reject you and man will fear you.'

***

I opened my eyes, and stifled a yawn. Looking around, I realised that I'd fallen asleep in the bathroom. I shifted and groaned—that explained the stiffness. Deciding it was time to get off the floor, I pulled myself up by the towel rack.

I didn't want to look in the mirror, afraid to see those eyes again, but I had to check. Taking a deep breath, I turned and sighed in relief when my usual cyan eyes greeted me. I frowned. Were the yellow eyes a hallucination? Or was I experiencing another change?

I stepped out of the bathroom, humming a low tune. Sunlight streamed into the hallway, illuminating the blue tiles. If I had to guess, I'd say it was around 7 am.

In my room, I sat on my bed and pondered over what was happening to me. Why was I changing? When would it stop? I looked at the book that lay open on the table, contemplating whether I really wanted to finish it.

Taking a deep breath, I reached for it...

***

Late one night we heard a scream. The sound had us rush out of our tents, grabbing the nearest weapon. Henry had his rifle so he was the first to run into the shrub because that scream had sounded human. William followed as soon as he retrieved his own gun, a revolver, and the quicker of the servants had gathered at the edge of camp.

Mbaye stopped me when I tried to follow them. 'We must not go into the night,' he said. I wanted to argue, but by the time I looked back, they had gone.

The minutes dragged with agonizing slowness as I watched the remaining servants kindle a fire. Abbie approached with her bible, sitting on the bench beside me. Quietly, she whispered prayers over the silence only to jerk straight when another scream broke through the night, followed by several gunshots.

It wasn't long before the party came rushing back.

Abbie stood to meet her husband, gasping when she saw the blood on his clothes.

He didn't say anything, his eyes straying to me. A moment later, the servants brought in the victim.

Henry.

Abbie must have screamed because I registered the shrill of her voice at the edge of my awareness. Wisely, William wrapped his arms around his young wife to calm her. I intercepted the party and evaluated the damage with a quick glance. Henry's white shirt was torn, the cloth now saturated with red. A similar gash stained his leg. The wounds were too torn to be made by a knife. Teeth and claws was my best guess, from a big, strong animal.

He was breathing but he was losing too much blood. Most would have written him off, I could almost hear my father whispering to me about the futility of his condition, but I wouldn't give up yet. Henry was a strong, young man with no sign of chronic disease. He had a chance.

I ordered the servants to bring him into my tent, Abbie I told to get water, William to stand guard, and Miles—the head of the servants—to light enough lanterns so I could work. Just then, I fetched my bag, preparing for my task.