Heart of Light Read Online Free PDF Page B

London, lost. And Nassira was not a frail Englishwoman but a Masai who, as the single daughter—the single child—of a powerful man with three wives had been trained to herd the cows. Her father had even, despite disapproval from the tribal elders, allowed her to use his cattle stick. Nassira had faced the savanna and found herself quite strong enough to defend her cattle against the wild beasts.
    But Englishwomen were frail creatures who could die of a breath, and who, in Nassira's experience, were quite capable of losing consciousness at any moment because of a shock. And Nassira, strong woman of the Masai, had once had a brother. When she was ten, her mother had given birth to a baby boy. Though small and frail, he had nonetheless been welcomed by everyone. But one night, during a long dry spell, he'd died in his sleep, next to Nassira. Though Nassira knew it was not her fault, to this day she still thought she should have been able to save him. And for the sake of his memory, she could not abandon anyone truly helpless, not even a Water Person.
    “I need my luggage put in a carriage, and I need a seat for myself in the carriage. My husband and I . . .” The woman's hand trembled. “My husband and I have reservations at the Luxor.” A small hesitation and tears trembled on thick, dark lashes. “My husband was called away on some business.”
    A look at the distant glimmering of blond hair, and Nassira thought that the Englishman would come back for his wife. Surely, he would not abandon her. Even among the Water People, such things were not done. The woman's family and people would punish him if he did.
    Nassira could find the Hyena Men and tell them to find the Oldhalls at the Luxor. So she smiled at the Englishwoman and said, “I'll call the carriage.”
    Striding past the press of debarking passengers, Nassira reached the road that circled the carpetport and that was filled with a great press of carts, carriages, and other vehicles, all so close together that it was a wonder anyone ever moved at all.
    Holding her shoulders square and herself as upright and proud as she could, she approached one of those carriages. Looking up at the man who sat in the driver's seat—a most disreputable personage, wearing a dirty caftan and head cloth, but then all of the drivers looked disreputable, even in London—she commanded, “Take the English lady over there to the Luxor Hotel with all her bags. Fast.”
    The man looked bewildered for a moment, perhaps marveling at the impeccable English issuing from the dark woman.
    “Now,” Nassira said. “The English lady to the Luxor Hotel. And get her bags.”
    He jumped from the driver's seat and hurried toward Mrs. Oldhall. He picked up her bags and salaamed, saying he would take good care of her. Nassira smiled at the Englishwoman, who smiled back tearfully.
    “Thank you,” Mrs. Oldhall said. “Thank you so much.”
    Nassira nodded, embarrassed, and turning her back on the Englishwoman, she walked toward the carpetship. She must try to find the Hyena Men. She knew they were in Cairo.
    Her cabin in the servant's quarters was very small and narrow and the walls seemed to her too smooth and straight. Sometimes she would wake in the middle of the night and not be able to believe where she was, in this place of straight walls and floors one on top of the other, in this strange ship that flew atop a magical carpet, on the currents of air.
    The Masai had no carpetships, nor did their magic allow them to make anything fly. But over time, she'd become comfortable here, with the small bed covered in its dark blanket and her trunk where she kept all her belongings.
    Slowly, she got out of her uniform, folded it, set it in the trunk. From the trunk, she removed a loose caftan she had fashioned in London for this purpose, which would allow her to blend in better in Cairo. In her heart, she longed for the wrap of her people, but it was not to be, at least not yet.
    She must find the Hyena