Child of Storm

Child of Storm by H. R. HaggardFor a while I contemplated the roof and sides of the hut by the lightwhich entered it through the smoke-vent and the door-hole, wonderingwhose it might be and how I came there.Then I tried to sit up, and instantly was seized with agony in theregion of the ribs, which I found were bound about with broad strips ofsoft tanned hide. Clearly they, or some of them, were broken.What had broken them? I asked myself, and in a flash everythingcame back to me. So I had escaped with my life, as the old dwarf,"Opener-of-Roads," had told me that I should. Certainly he was anexcellent prophet; and if he spoke truth in this matter, why not inothers? What was I to make of it all? How could a black savage, howeverancient, foresee the future?By induction from the past, I supposed; and yet what amount of inductionwould suffice to show him the details of a forthcoming accident thatwas to happen to me through the agency of a wild beast with a peculiarlyshaped horn? I gave it up, as before and since that day I have found itnecessary to do in the case of many other events in life. Indeed,the question is one that I often have had cause to ask where Kafir"witch-doctors" or prophets are concerned, notably in the instance of acertain Mavovo, of whom I hope to tell one day, whose predictions savedmy life and those of my companions.Just then I heard the sound of someone creeping through the bee-holeof the hut, and half-closed my eyes, as I did not feel inclined forconversation. The person came and stood over me, and somehow--byinstinct, I suppose--I became aware that my visitor was a woman. Veryslowly I lifted my eyelids, just enough to enable me to see her.There, standing in a beam of golden light that, passing through thesmoke-hole, pierced the soft gloom of the hut, stood the most beautifulcreature that I had ever seen--that is, if it be admitted that a personwho is black, or rather copper-coloured, can be beautiful.She was a little above the medium height, not more, with a figure that,so far as I am a judge of such matters, was absolutely perfect--that ofa Greek statue indeed. On this point I had an opportunity of forming anopinion, since, except for her little bead apron and a single stringof large blue beads about her throat, her costume was--well, that ofa Greek statue. Her features showed no trace of the negro type; on thecontrary, they were singularly well cut, the nose being straight andfine and the pouting mouth that just showed the ivory teeth between,very small. Then the eyes, large, dark and liquid, like those of abuck, set beneath a smooth, broad forehead on which the curling, but notwoolly, hair grew low. This hair, by the way, was not dressed up in anyof the eccentric native fashions, but simply parted in the middle andtied in a big knot over the nape of the neck, the little ears peepingout through its tresses. The hands, like the feet, were very small anddelicate, and the curves of the bust soft and full without being coarse,or even showing the promise of coarseness.Read more...