Chapter One
He cracked his eyes with the coming of the dawn and his dreams were immediately shattered. He snapped his eyelids shut in a futile attempt to reclaim the reality of the dream but it was gone. In remembrance he sighed. It had been a good dream, the likes of which he had not been blessed with in some time. Bird song floated through his open balcony doors and graced his ears. He cherished the soft and joyous melodies of the birds and took pleasure in imagining they were speaking to him alone, telling him of all the wondrous things they’d seen and the places they’d been. They told of him of the great wonders of Africa beyond the borders of his tribe. The only other sounds to fill the room were his own heartbeat and breath and the steadying inhale and exhalation of his wife snuggled against his side.
He looked down his chest to the top of his wife’s head that had made its rest there. A fond and tired smile took over his features and for a mere moment he entertained the thought of staying all day in the bed that he and his beloved shared. Put that was a moment quickly passed. It was an impossible desire, a remnant of a lingering dream. It was with this wistful thinking and the utmost care that he slid out of bed, careful not to disturb her slumber. She stirred slightly and then turned over onto her side and curled into herself, subconsciously aware of the loss of warmth that his body had provided her with. For a time, he sat peacefully on the side of their shared bed and watched her sleep. He watched how her eyes would occasionally flicker back and forth beneath her eyelids and wondered what dream had enraptured her. He hoped they were pleasant ones. He observed the steady rise and fall of her chest beneath the blankets and found himself breathing to the rhythm she’d unknowingly set. But what drew most of his attention was the slight bump of her stomach that was soon to be his child. Thus he did every morning and every morning the sight of her was just as breathtaking as the morning before. She was as dark as night and as beautiful as the dawn. She was his greatest treasure, his precious stone. She was his obsidian.
Reluctantly he rose and turned from the captivating sight of her. He dressed silently as he did every morning as not to disturb her. She tied his burgundy-dyed waist wrap about his hips as well as his leather belt to which he strapped his two bone-handled hunting knives. He slipped a golden band around each forearm, a symbol of his status. His torso stayed bare as was custom beneath the blistering African sun. A longing look back at the woman on the bed and a deep breath to savory the peace of the morning and he was gone, off to answer the call of duty his heart beat for.
Kadalo was a tribe spread out across many leagues of the great African savannah and its borders ended a good trek east from the sea. Its history was a great and long. It had thrived for so many centuries that even the sun had forgotten what the land was like devoid of its presence. There were many villages that made up Kadalo, some closer together and others many leagues apart, but what united them all was Andeo, a village large and great enough to be a city. And to lead such a magnificent and powerful tribe was a king said to have been chosen by Africa herself. His name was King Kaffir. And it was the son of this king that walked through the halls of the palace in Andeo, mind only able to focus on the precious stone that would be waiting for him when he returned to his rest that night.
His first duty was to report to his baba in the Great Hall, after which he would make his rounds around about the village to answer the rapidly growing needs of his people. His days had been busy of late. There was always something new to be done whether it be building new huts for fatherless children or going out to hunt a herd on the move. It seemed that he was given no rest between it all.
The halls widened and grew less elaborate as his long strides brought him further from the wing of the palace reserved for those of noble and royal blood and deeper into the main. In no time at all he was rounded the corner that opened up to the Great Hall in the middle of which the king was seated on a golden in deep conversation with a man who stood to his right side. The rest of the hall was devoid of anyone save from the numerous women-servants who performed the tasks that kept the palace running. Even now they busied themselves with putting out the torches that lit the hall during the night.
King Kaffir was the first to acknowledge his son’s silent entry. An amused hint of a smile graced his aged features. The man to his side had much the same reaction, so much so that one might have mistaken them for brothers.
“My son,” the king said. “I have seen you best great beasts and conjure up a way to conquer creatures as mighty as elephants, but it is a woman, ultimately, that is your downfall? You are late.”
“Your brother has already been here and even Princess Surayya rose before the sun, Prince Tenáshé. Tardiness is unbecoming of you,” the man to the king’s side said sternly, but the king waved away both of their words with a gracious smile.
“All is forgiven,” he said. “You of all people deserve a little extra rest.”
Tenáshé smiled as well and fought to hold back a face-spitting yawn. In a moment he took in the look of his baba from head to toe. Each morning he looked a bit more frail and fragile as if every sunrise stole more of his time to walk the earth. It tore the prince to know that his musings weren’t too far from the truth. Sooner or later it would be he, not his father, who sat on the golden throne. Tenáshé shuddered at the thought.
“Good morning, Baba, Warrior Ojore,” Tenáshé greeted them respectfully. That nodded to him and in return he sat in front of the throne, legs crossed and back ramrod straight, awaiting whatever orders would be given to him. He had a feeling that whatever he would be told that morning would not brighten his day in the least.
“You baba and I have spoken at length, Prince Tenáshé,” Ojore began. “And we felt it time that you were made aware of a certain situation. Many months ago a wayward child went wandering off and did not return. That was to the far western village Tambiema. When it reached our ears we perceived the events as nothing more than a terrible tragedy. That was seven whole moons ago.”
“And yet, even as we thought this we were wrong,” the king picked up. “A month later another child went missing and then two women within the next few days. Reports of the missing continue to reach us. Another was reported last night and this time a man. There are twenty-seven gone in all, Tenáshé.”
Warrior Ojore continued, “Whispers have turned to rumors and word of mouth spreads like fire on the savannah. People have heard and people fear. The western villages are in a state of barely controlled panic. They are blaming a monstrous demon or a vengeful spirit who never found rest. Silly superstition we agreed at first, and yet now such explanations do not seem so farfetched. Whatever demon, fell spirit, or evil beast that has taken them is very cunning. And even as warriors attempted to go after it there was nothing to find. You cannot track something that you cannot even trace; you cannot follow a villain that leaves no trail.
Prince Tenáshé listened attentively, taking it all in stride, yet inside he was just as terrible perplexed as the warrior and the king had been when the news reached their ears. He was no simpleton. He had heard the rumors of this unnamed evil but he had waved them off as an over-exaggerated tale of a lost child. But apparently they had been far more than that. As to what to make of this new threat, the prince wasn’t sure.
“And what has been done?” Tenáshé asked.
“All that can be done,” the king stated simply. “What is needed of you is to stay within Andeo, walk among your people, keep them strong and their morale intact. We do not want the people so frightened that they become fearful of their own home. They should feel safe within Kadalo.”
The prince was shaking his head. “Surely that is not all that you would have me do, Baba. If this matter is as serious as you have made it out to be then there must be more for me to do than reassuring people of their safety. Send me to Tambiema and the villages of the west and let me investigate.”
“Action has already been taken, thus, my eager prince. Your brother Lūtalo sets off for Tambiema this afternoon. Should his search prove fruitless then both of you will be back out and with enough warriors to ensure your safety,” Ojore explained. His eyes, through hardened through years as a warrior, gained a softer feel to them as he looked down on the one he considered a son. “I can understand your eagerness, Tenáshé, but it will be best for our people, your people, if at least one prince remains within Andeo.
Tenáshé knew that Ojore was right. Sending out one prince would be enough to quell the people’s fears. They would be satisfied knowing that one of their greatest warriors and protectors had been sent to ensure their safety. But sending out both princes would only serve to feed a flame of worry. Any threat, Tenáshé knew, that required both and his brother’s attention was a big enough threat to put Kadalo in an immense stated of uneasiness. And still the knowledge of these truths did nothing to deter his determination. He was a prince and a warrior, and though his heart was compassionate he was not meant to go out and comfort people and remain idle until Lūtalo returned. There were others far more qualified for such a thing.
“Ojore speaks truthfully,” the king agreed. “Stay here in Andeo and be at peace if only for a little while. Jahzara will be glad of your company. You have neglected her lately, though by no fault of your own.”
“Jahzara understands who I am and what is required of me,” Tenáshé argued. “And should you need someone to comfort the people and abate their fears, why not send Jahzara, their future queen, and Surayya, the princess they love. Surely they can perform such a task. Lūtalo will take six weeks to return from Tambiema. How can you ask me to stand idle that long?”
“What is required of you, Tenáshé, is to stay in Andeo,” objected Ojore. “Trust your brother in his task. He will not fail in what he has been sent to do, so do not fail in what you must do here. If there is one thing that you have failed in, though, it is allowing yourself rest and respite. You are tired, you are weary, and though I know you will never admit it, six weeks of idleness will do you much good.”
Ojore’s look was firm and Tenáshé felt as though the warrior might be able to keep him glued to the floor just with his gaze. He stared back at the man and saw not harshness, as many people would have seen, but concern. Besides being the single-most prominent warrior in Kadalo and most trusted adviser to King Kaffir, Ojore was a mentor and a friend. Their close relationship had begun with the passing of the queen. It was during that time of immense sorrow that Ojore stepped in for the royal family, taking on many of their responsibilities as his own. And when the king was too consumed by grief to be of any comfort to his lost children, Ojore had been the only shoulder to lean on. Tenáshé knew that what Ojore and his baba had decided was the best course of action. Even still he felt the urge to disobey. The only thing keeping from doing so was his love and respect for his elders before him.
Tenáshé bowed his head and rose.
“As you wish it.”
“Where are you going?” the king called to the prince’s retreating figure.
“To find my brother.”
Tenáshé heard his brother long before he came into sight. He was found in the palace’s main courtyard calling out orders left and right. It took no great amount of thinking for anyone to realize that he was preparing for a trip. It was also apparent that he had been doing so for quite some time. His usually cream-colored waist wrap had turned an interesting shade of brown and blended in with the ground in a most amusing way. Dust covered his from head to toe and his skin glistened with sweat even under the early morning sun, and even his jet black hair was an interesting reddish color that Tenáshé found strangely becoming.
Lūtalo was the tribe’s second and youngest prince and proclaimed as the best hunter the African sun had ever seen. On his first hunt he had been separated from the group of warriors due to his incurably curious nature. With a great amount of bad luck he’d stumbled upon a lion and found himself, with much came out the victor. When he was reunited with the rest of his group, he presented them with the lion’s pelt. He told his tale and it spread as wildfire. He had only seen thirteen summers.
“Brother!” Tenáshé called to his brother even as he went to close the gap between them. Lūtalo met him half way and they grasped forearms. Lūtalo had a crooked grin on his young face.
“You have finally risen, dear Tenáshé! I was beginning to worry that perhaps Jahzara had finally had enough of your infuriating attitude and smothered you in your sleep.” Lūtalo was strong and well-built, surpassing his brother in height by no more than an inch. He was extremely handsome, or so it was said, and he looked his best, regrettably, when he wore the mischievous grin he was known for.
Lūtalo was met with a mock look of hurt and offensive.
“Am I truly that terrible, brother?”
Another grin.
“Worse.”
A playful shove and many carefully aimed words later and both brothers were overcome with laughter and had those around them unable to hold in their own amused chuckles. The people of Andeo were familiar with the way the princes acted towards each other. Their banter was music for sore ears.
“Are you busy, brother?” Tenáshé said breathily as he overcame his laughter. Lūtalo looked at him incredulously. He shook his head when he realized that the inquiry was serious.
“Yes, Tenáshé, I’m busy,” he said dryly. “I have a trip to finish preparing for. Baba told you about Tambiema, no?”
“Yes, he told me and it doesn’t sit well. And that you’re going and I cannot watch over you does not sit well either.”
Lūtalo rolled his eyes and his posture dropped in extreme annoyance. For many years he had lived under his older brother’s wing. After the passing of the queen Tenáshé had become even more protective of both he and their sister Princess Surayya. While it was all done in god heart, Tenáshé’s constant worrying and bothering became tedious and Lūtalo had made a habit of telling him so.
“There are enough eagle-eyes watching me on the savannah without adding yours to the lot. I am grown now. I am a warrior like you and a baba. Don’t make the mistake of thinking that I cannot look after myself,” Lūtalo insisted forcefully. Their tones had dropped lower and those who had formally stood at a distance laughing with the brother’s now looked ill-at-ease, sensing the brisk mood shift.
Tenáshé fought the urge to purse his lips in frustration. “I know you can look after yourself and yet I worry for you still—”
“Our mzazi may be gone but it is not your place to replace her,” Lūtalo whispered fiercely and Tenáshé saw the anger and hurt in his brother’s eyes and knew that it was not solely directed at him. His voice burned with a sorrow from the past that would forever haunt him. He was the greatest hunter of Kadalo, people told him, and yet he had been unable to save his mzazi from becoming prey. His guilt was misplaced, but even so he had no intention of moving it.
Tenáshé took his brother’s arm and steered him towards the courtyard entrance having finally become aware of the gray atmosphere they had unintentionally created. Lūtalo’s warriors had become tense and that was the last thing the younger prince needed on his journey. The younger prince broke the contact with a perplexed glare and Tenáshé grabbed him again.
“Follow me,” he insisted.
“I’ve already told you, Tenáshé, I am busy preparing,” replied Lūtalo agitatedly. Tenáshé paid his attitude no heed and continued to steer him away.
“Your warriors are capable making the rest of the preparations without you. Come, the sun has just barely risen, you have time.” With that Tenáshé called to one of the warriors that would be accompanying his brother and bid him to oversee the rest of the preparations. The warrior gave a short nod and a bow and Tenáshé looked to Lūtalo smugly. Lūtalo relented, though not without a few ill-words to mark his annoyance.
Tenáshé was following the main path through the village and took his sweet time in doing so. This only served to further Lūtalo’s annoyance. Tenáshé was a great prince and would be a magnificent king when he was not busy being so intentionally flighty.
They continued on the main path for some time towards the borders of the village. It wasn’t until nearly fifteen minutes later that Tenáshé slowed to a halt. They had come to the outskirts of the training grounds. The fields went on for a few acres and were covered in the abundant savannah grass that seemed to swallow the earth. Young boys were grouped together and being instructed by the elder warriors. They held spears in their inexperienced hands and Lūtalo watched amusedly as they swung and jabbed with sloppy posture and unrefined technique. Not so long ago it had been the princes out on the field looking like the rest of them. How the time had passed and how he and his brother had grown! And as he watched he knew that one day it would be his baby boy out on the field learning how to fight. The thought made him proud, yet still a part of him was shuddered at the thought. Those who lived by their weapons would die by them.
“Come, Lūtalo, we don’t have all day!” Tenáshé called back from where he was already twenty paces ahead. The youngest prince shook himself out of his thoughts and followed behind dutifully.
After crossing the training grounds the two brothers came into a grassless, devoid of any people other than the princes. In the middle of the glade stood a giant Marula tree, towering over the brothers like a mountain. Its branches were full and wide, spreading out as leafy wings and dotted with fruit. It was the only tree in Andeo and it had grown great indeed.
“Come, Lūtalo, to the top!” Tenáshé exclaimed, already hoisting himself onto the lowest branches. Lūtalo found that he was not far behind, swinging easily into the cover of the foliage, his duty for the moment forgotten. They laughed merrily as joyous memories flooded their minds. The tree was once their own fortress; they stowed away in its branches when they were but children, desperate to escape a day’s training. The tree used to become their very own palace, and they ruled all of Africa from way up high. The Marula’s uses were as endless as the view of savannah from up in its boughs.
Tenáshé and Lūtalo climbed with sure feet. The way that they used to climb up was so familiar, even if they hadn’t used it since they were boys. Lūtalo made a rather daring leap and caught onto a branch three feet out of the reach of his arm. He swung himself over and onto the limb with a triumphant shout, the grin on his face betraying the scowl that was there early.
They reached the top after a vigorous and nonstop climb, and the view they were met with took their breath away. Stretched out before them was the entire village like few had ever seen it before. From so high up in the tree everything was visible from the palace to the borders and beyond to the horizons of Africa. Mesmerized they stared as the savannah grass swayed and rippled endlessly. Ojore had told them once that the savannah sometimes reminded him of the sea.
“It’s been far too long…” Lūtalo whispered. Tenáshé nodded from where he leaned against the tree trunk, immensely enjoying the panoramic view.
“I will show my son this tree one day,” Tenáshé mused.
“And I will show Masego when he is older.” Even as he said it Lūtalo could imagine his son shouting gaily as he climbed, conquering branch after branch until he reached the top. And to shatter that pleasant thought was the picture of his son plummeting after one false move, one wrong step. Lūtalo wrenched himself from that notion. Was the mind of a father always so ill at ease?
“How has my little nephew been? How much sleep has he stolen from you?”
Lūtalo shook his head and grinned. “More nights than I care to count. There has never been such a pair of lungs given to any creature, this I swear to you, not even a lion.”
“Masego, little Prince who shames the lions!” Tenáshé shouted to the savannah and imagined it was the strength of his voice that made the grasses bend and sway.
“Tenáshé, Prince who is terribly loud!” Lūtalo teased.
“Lūtalo, Prince who knows not what he is missing!” Tenáshé shot back smoothly.
They sat in silence for sometime as the sun began its long ascended to the sky’s clear blue summit. From the boughs of the Marula tree they watched as the village stirred and rose. There was the ringing laughter children somewhere in the distance and Lūtalo imagined they were off playing warrior with sticks and escaping a day’s chores as he and Tenáshé were once known to do. Several hunting parties were preparing to depart to track a herd of water buffalo that was spotted the day before last.
“The next party to depart needs to be mine, brother,” Lūtalo said wistfully as he made to descend. Tenáshé nodded and together they made their way down the grand tree even faster than they’d climbed it and never missing a step. When they had landed smoothly at the bottom Lūtalo took one last deep breath, taking in all the wondrous feeling of freedom his lungs could bear before letting out a sigh that would have done an elephant justice.
“You were always the one eager to go on adventures, to prove yourself a man, to be a warrior. You moved so quickly, Lūtalo, far too quickly for me to follow. That is why I worry for you. Even after all you have proven to us, I worry for you,” Tenáshé said earnestly and Lūtalo found it suddenly hard to make eye contact, a fact that he despised. He felt like a child being scolded and yet he knew that was not the case. “My intention is not to replace Mzazi; that is something no one can ever do. But her worry was well placed. You don’t care enough for yourself.”
“You sound like my wife, brother,” Lūtalo smiled.
“You flatter me. Imani is a good wife,” Tenáshé teased.
As the sun rose and their parting drew nearer, the younger prince could only agree. Not so many hours later Tenáshé saw his brother off, hoping that the rising sun would keep its eye on Lūtalo when he could not.
*mzazi – Swahili for mother.
*baba – common term in Africa for father.
Sorry for all the mistakes. I know they're in there. I can't edit my own work for my life
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