Riding Ten Thunders
by Joćo-Pierre S. Ruth"Am I big enough for a spear today?" I asked, looking up to my mother as we walked along the dry shaded path beneath the interlaced branches of the Jwalwala Forest. Wide-eyed voles scurried away from our footfalls, dashing through the splinters of morning light to hide in the hollows of the trees.
My father once said only women and the lame foraged for yams in the valley. Men went to stalk snorting warthogs and snatch gold from the woodland people. Hunters etched their mark into a bone taken from each kill, a sign of mastery over the slain. Spearmen bore the wrath of the dead without worry.
Speaking openly of spears in the Jwalwala Forest where blood marked the trees invited ill-fortune, yet I could wait no longer for an answer. Boys two years my junior already slept with spears by their beds and my twelfth birthday had arrived with the morning.
My turn had long come to stand at the edge of our mountain village with the other forgotten sons of the Ivory Wars. The mountain looked down on the eastern plains where heavy skulls yellowed and crumbled into the soil. Our fathers fought in those lands years prior until their appetite for gold lured them to the march with torch and spear down into the western valley.
Mother stood tall like the mahogany trees spreading their green boughs above us. A pair of black-billed turacos fluttered after the beetles crawling on the trees' high leaves. The white-crested birds preferred eating figs and plantains, but these two had strayed away from their usual fruit trees.
Wandering too far from of one's territory often led to calamity in the forest valley. The turacos pecked after the beetles' hard shells no matter where they hid, driven by anxious hunger. The darkness under the leaves would only protect prey from hunter for so long. Mother stopped on the path and balanced her wide basket of yams on her right hip.
"Has your father taught you how to make a spear?" Mother's high brown cheeks lost the smooth curve of her smile as she spoke. A son must first learn to build a spear with his father before being allowed to carry one, according to the old ways. My father, Hossi, spent his days in the valley away from our village, teaching me to expect his absence instead of his guidance. My mother, Ayada, did not need to turn her eyes down at me to quell any further prodding on the matter.
"No," I said, my voice shrinking.
"Then you have your answer, Jagantha," she said, picking up a brisk pace as she resumed walking through the forest.
A faint coppery scent trickled through the trees, souring my mouth for a moment. I knew the smell. The Okkip tribesmen painted snarling faces of the dead with ox blood on tree trunks in the western forest, attracting mosquitoes and flies to patrol their borders.
My father brought me to the Okkip trees once to show me the sign of his enemies. The dripping scowls on the bark spoke of the torment awaiting trespassers on their lands. Hossi would not take me back to our village until I embraced one of the Okkip trees. I remembered weeping with my face pressed against the sticky bark while he left to relieve himself in the brush.
My hands gripped the rim of my basket to keep it in place on top of my freshly shaven head as I caught up to Mother. I did not fear the forest or the Okkip trees, but I did not like being left behind.
"Will you please cook the yams this time? With honey?" I asked. "When you let Kemsi do it, she pounds them down too much." My little brother's nursemaid still mashed up his food even though Mujahl would soon be four. Kemsi mashed up everyone's food when her turn came around to prepare meals for our household.
"If there is time. We must get you washed and dressed to greet our guests," Mother said, nodding at the soil dappling my hands and streaking my berry-red waistcloth. Village feasts meant rising early to pick scores of yams from the valley. We needed an ample selection to feed our kinsmen and to honor the spirits expected to gather for the celebration. Hungry ghosts did far more than just grumble when they felt forgotten.
"I am not so dirty," I protested.
"Kemsi should have your bath ready when we return."
I frowned, realizing there would be no escape for me or for the beetles in the trees. The clicking crunch repeating through the forest told me the turacos found their quarry. I imagined the surviving beetles, the best hiders among them, would plot revenge for the morning invasion of their home.
Kemsi said vengeance drove the Okkip and the other tribes in the valley to fight my father, but I knew gold drove the wars. The Okkip, for all their gloomy trees, took little interest in our yam picking on the edge of their lands. Harming us would not wound Hossi. I wished the Okkip would come for us after I learned to build myself a long spear tipped with a broad leaf-shaped blade. Then my father might remember me.
"When will Kagari and Erasto get here? Do you think they are on their way now?" The basket teetered on my head as I caught up with Mother. She walked in long sweeping strides in her yellow and white striped wrap-dress, with her hair wound up in a spiral of lavender and gold cloth. Mother carried herself with the slender grace of her Lurago forbearers. The oversized feet I inherited from my father made me prone to tripping when I tried to mimic her poised gait.
"My brother is a late riser," Mother said with her smile returning. "The sun comes to Erasto's side of the mountains long after it reaches us. Though I suppose Kagari will do his best to wake up my brother so they can set out sooner."
I felt the yams shifting in my basket as we left the dense part of the forest. We began our ascent up the green mountain toward our village. My father once said my forehead looked too round like Mother's. I tried carrying heavy baskets on my head like the washerwomen in our village to flatten its shape, but the roundness resisted my best efforts.
"But how soon? Kagari and I can come back to the forest and pick more yams if he arrives quickly. And then Erasto can tell me about my spirit-naming day."
"Late afternoon, but certainly before dusk," Mother said.
"That long? I can cross the plains much faster than that." Kagari promised to come even if it meant walking alone through the crisp tall elephant grass of the Nahali Plains. Mother's people, the Lurago, made their home on the eastern plain where dusty heat lingered only to be washed away by sudden rains.
"You do not have to race across the plains when you go for your visits," Mother said, tugging on her dress to raise the hem above her ankles as we walked up the worn mountain trail. "Erasto and I used to just stand there sometimes and listen. Lightning in the clouds, crickets in the grass, everything sounds clearer on the plains.
Mother missed the walks to the grassland, carrying her walking stick etched with the smiling faces of the Four Gods of Splendor. Up on the mountain where we lived, the gusting wind made it hard to hear anything beyond our village. Mother remained in our village after Mujahl's birth. She sent me to visit her kin in her stead after I grew as tall as her walking stick.
"Do you think Erasto and Kagari will tell stories some tonight?" I asked. "I want to hear the one about the spirit walker or the one about Shenraga, the Lightning Spear." I winced as the basket sank down on my head. It felt like the monkeys of the forest had stolen my yams and replaced them with stones.
Large white rocks jutted up through the soil and the trees thinned out further up the slope. I felt the breeze swirling up the side of the mountain, tightening and balling up into a strong wind. Looking back into the valley, I saw tethers of black smoke climb up through the trees. I neither heard the fires over the wind, nor smelled the bone char of the Okkip within the flaming huts, yet I knew a village burned.
Mother continued to walk up the mountain, turning her back to the valley. "Perhaps my brother will tell a story if you have one to share as well," she said, luring me away from the fires with her voice.
"I can tell the story of the Lost City of Umbul," I said, quickly. I loved to tell the story of the Lost City. The Black Leopard spirit, Tokumbo, and his deadly Leopard Men lurked in that tale, ready to devour anyone who dared to seek their secrets.
"You tell that one very well, but try a different story tonight," Mother said. "We don't always have to hear about haunted forests before we sleep."
"Then I can tell the tale of my father's battles. Round General told me enough to make up a story."
Mother shook her head and continued walking ahead of me. Our village lay a few moments away at the foot of a wide cleft in the mountain range.
"I do not want my brother to think Hossi is a brute," Mother said, sternly forming her words. "Erasto does not understand these gold wars."
My father and his Ubaiyu tribesmen raided villages in the valley for every scrap of gold, from the bangles on a woman's wrist to the hoops in a warrior's ear. The old gold veins under our mountain withered away years prior. Mother did not often speak of my father to her kin. If she did, she always left out the parts where he lit the torch to burn the huts or swung the axe to send a man to meet his ancestors.
"If Round General comes for our feast, he can tell a different story, then," I said. "He knows all about the spirits that are loose down in the valley."
"I do not think the general is coming today, Jagantha."
The basket pressing down on my head kept me from shrugging. My father sometimes sent his generals to look after our village. I called the fat one Round General. He let me carry his shield for him during his visits while I asked questions about the valley.
"That is fine," I said. "Round General is always telling me to grow up faster so I can become a general, too and go with him to the wars."
I paused, trying to sound old enough to carry a spear of my own. "Mama, I like Round General, but sometimes I see him looking at you the way the washerwomen watch the spearmen. I don't think he should do that."
"He must miss his own mother," Mother said with a smile. "You would too, if you were away from home for so long."
That did not feel right to me. I would never look at my Mother with Round General's needy eyes. "Does my father know he looks at you that way?"
"Your father has not forgotten that my people granted him a gift far more precious than ivory or gold," Mother said, her eyes playfully looking skyward. Frowns mixed with her smiles when she thought of Hossi.
Two short-haired brown mongrels came yipping down the trail from our village, jumping around us in circles. I shooed them away, knowing uncooked yams would make the hounds sick. I wondered if Mother would let me feed the dogs my father's share of the feast. She would prepare his portion as always, then later in the evening set it aside with the offerings to the guardian spirits. I glanced back into the valley. The smoke from the fires looked like black strips of cloth being woven in the wind.
My father rarely came to our village, Beruwacha the Cloud Gate. He kept two other households I knew of in the valley. Hossi spent his time in the beds of his Ubaiyu wives or raiding other villages. Mother never told me such things, but I heard the woodcutters talking of it.
Only men lacking the spirit or strength to fight in the gold wars lived in Beruwacha. Our village crafted tools and hide-covered shields for my father's men. The warriors came to the village just long enough to feed their muscles, replace broken weapons and satisfy themselves with women.
Any warrior who fathered a boy in Beruwacha returned to the village for a few days each month just to see how quickly his son grew. Our mothers raised us to bring peace and end the conflict between the plains and the valley. Our fathers, though absent, expected us to be raised us to grow tall enough to take up spear and shield should the peace ever fail between the Lurago and the Ubaiyu. The daughters in the village seemed of no concern to the warriors no matter how long the girls stared up at their fathers.
Before my birth, before my father's gold wars started, Hossi fought Mother's people to possess ivory. The Lurago bloodied their spears to keep the Ubaiyu from slaughtering the honored elephants of the plains. My father's people traded the tusks for steel and fine cloth in the cities on the western coast. The merchants always wanted healthy ivory from elephant bulls, not the splintery kind from old hippos.
Hossi and the other Ubaiyu men never spoke of the taking of Lurago brides or the end of the war. The men seemed content with their captive wives living on the forest mountains. At night, the warriors visiting our village leered down at the vast plains, wringing their spears in hand.
Neither Round General nor my father came to Beruwacha for my birthday. Kagari and his father, Erasto, climbed the mountains bringing the songs of the Nahali to our village. Whistling flute players led the regal procession of marching warriors. Bands of blue feathers adorned the spearmen's arms, fluttering with each step they took. The feathers came from the great blue turaco birds in the king's personal aviary. The warriors all looked like dizzy blue hens to me, circling around Mother's brother, King Erasto, and his son, Kagari.
"Where is Den Thunda? Den Thunda," Mujahl cried petulantly, looking around and gripping Mother's leg. He felt safest in her shadow. She glared at me, knowing I laid the seeds for my brother's impending tantrum.
All the Nahali Plain quaked under the footfalls of Ten Thunders, Erasto's mighty war elephant. I filled Mujahl's head with tales of Ten Thunders splitting the ground open as he tread over the land, trampling down whole armies for the king. Mujahl wailed at bedtime until I told him a new story about Ten Thunders stomping across the sky while blowing lighting from his trunk. Seeing Erasto walk into our village without the legendary beast did not please my brother.
"Ten Thunders is too big to fit between the mountains," I said to Mujahl. "We'd all be crushed under his feet if he came here." I tugged at the bright orange robes Mother forced me to wear after Kemsi scrubbed me down. Mother called the soft material silk, something from beyond the great seas. It sagged in big folds and slipped off my narrow shoulders too easily. Mother said I would grow into it by the time my spirit-naming ceremony came in another two years. I did not want to think about the blood my father spilled to acquire this silk.
Erasto stood taller than Mother, though she was four years his elder. His shoulders looked a bit too fleshy compared with the lean warriors guarding him and his son. While the spearmen all stood beardless with shaven heads, King Erasto wore his hair in a thick thatch of tight black curls. A fountain of drooping black ostrich feathers crowned his bushy head. With a zebra skin circling his waist, the king looked like one of the terrible Giants of Midnight stalking towards me. I stumbled backwards thinking for a moment he meant to gobble me up in his toothy, hirsute maw.
Erasto pushed his way through his entourage to approach us, not waiting for the high fanfare of his flutists to end or for his son Kagari to follow.
"At last I see my sister Ayada again," Erasto said. "She has been absent too long from our songs." He grinned through his thick black beard as he walked toward us.
Mujahl's plump cheeks puffed up at the very elephant-less king.
"Send him back, Mama," Mujahl said. "Send him back."
"And this is why I keep your hair cut so close," Mother whispered to me as Erasto approached, patting my smooth head. "My brother is quite the shaggy man. He looks a bit like an overgrown chimp, hm?"
I laughed before Mother tickled me, her way of setting me at ease.
"No, Mama. Chimps clean up after themselves," I said, giggling. "I think your brother is wearing his dinner on his head Ai, ai! Mama, ai!"
My mother pinched me, doing her best not to laugh openly at her approaching brother. I heard the stifled mirth in her voice as she spoke. "That man is the King of the Six Plains of the-"
"Seven Plains, Mama," I said. "He drove the Dunyareweh into the north last summer."
"Boy, Erasto can wear whatever he likes on his head. Now, calm your face and go welcome Kagari."
Released from her pinching grip, I ran first to King Erasto, pausing just long enough to let him pat me on the head. His smile retreated the more I drew near him. His face looked flat and cold when I regarded him.
Usually when Erasto saw me, he made jests about my giraffe-like feet or my ears growing in upside-down. But Erasto did not speak to me that day. He just nodded and flicked his hand in the direction of his entourage.
I plunged into the nest of the blue feathers, elbowing warriors in the hip to search for Kagari.
"Greetings to my mother's brother's son," I shouted, squirming around a spearman. "Thank you for coming to share in the day of my birth."
"Greetings back to my father's sister's son," Kagari said in an equally loud reply as he emerged smiling. We always said hello to each other that way, mocking how formal and stiff our parents could be. Kagari wore a new leopard skin and a headdress with shorter feathers than his father's crown. Kagari and I shared the same skinny frame and round forehead.
His days under the Nahali sun gave Kagari's skin a richer brown tone than mine.
Kagari's twelfth birthday would be three months after mine. Kinsmen and other peoples of the plains would come to pay homage to the king's family on that day. Kagari never wondered if his father remembered his birthday.
"I knew you would have a hard time eating your mother's honeyed yams by yourself," Kagari said.
"And who says I am going to share with you?" I asked with a smirk.
"As much as you eat when you visit us, you are lucky I bothered to bring you a gift," Kagari said, handing me a small parcel wrapped in the tanned hide of an impala.
A smile overtook my face as I unfolded the hide and revealed a section of cleanly cut ivory the size of a man's open hand. The piece felt too big, too solid to come from an old hippo tusk. My hands went cold holding it.
"You cannot bring this here. This cannot be here," I said, staring at the ivory. I tried to wrap it back up before the Blue Feather warriors turned their spears on me. The rules of the Ivory War accord rushed to my lips: The Ubaiyu shall own no ivory while they hold our daughters. My father repeated those words to Mother the last time he came to the village. His voice felt harder than the piece of contraband in my hands.
"They found a bull being killed on the western plains two days ago," Kagari said, reopening the hide for me. "The thieves ran off without the tusks as soon as our warriors spied them. The priests blessed the bull and begged for his forgiveness. Father fed the meat to the warriors to make them stronger and brought the tusks home. He said you might like to have some of it."
"Who-"
"My father says it was the Dunyareweh trying to disgrace him and to get their revenge." Kagari's response sounded too quick and practiced. His eyes darted to his left as he spoke. I told more believable lies than Kagari ever could. The piece of ivory in my hand made me think of an old saying among the Lurago about giving a thief what he desired, and he will not steal into your house. My father chided such Lurago proverbs as signs of weakness.
"My mother's brother's son is very kind to make this gift to me," I said, knowing Erasto trusted my father less than I did.
"And I give it in kindness to my father's sister's son," Kagari said, with a very proper smile.
Our village dined that night on two plump Giant Elands the Blue Feathers felled and carried up from the plains. Kemsi took charge of spicing, pounding and cooking the meat from the tall antelopes. The people in our village usually ate stringy, tough flanks of ibex from the mountain slopes.
Kagari and I devoured the honeyed yams until we both ached from the effort. Erasto's flutists played Mother's favorite song, "Wrens in Springtime," for her. They played much better than I ever could, yet she insisted I perform my rendition of the song on my own flute for all to hear.
"You are still letting your notes fall flat," Kagari said as I sat back down next to him. I wrinkled my nose at him and let Mujahl come over and unwrap my gift. The piece of ivory took on a golden hue by the firelight.
"It is a talisman from a brother of Ten Thunders," I said to Mujahl. "His spirit will watch over us when we sleep. There is enough here to carve figurines with the faces of the Gods of Splendor for both of us." While Mujahl ran his stubby fingers over the ivory, I saw Mother sitting with her arms folded next to Erasto. The king spoke rapidly, his lips wet with honey wine. Mother's eyes turned downward the more his voice rose.
"There will be no trust if he does not come with us," Erasto said too loudly. "There is blood to answer for."
"He can come to you on his spirit-naming day and sit by your hand," Mother said with the same firm voice she used whenever I got caught playing too far down in the valley.
"There will be no spirit-naming day for the son of Hossi," said Erasto.
A tingle ran down the back of my neck. I turned to Kagari who sat with his eyes wide and lips trembling for words. The Lurago spirit-naming ceremony taught a boy to listen to the voices calling to him from within. On that day, he became a man to the people of the plains. Mother clenched her teeth and started to rise. Erasto grabbed her shoulder and tried to sit her back down, but she shook free of him.
"His soul is of the Great Nahali as is his mother's," she said. "This will not serve!"
"I will not let an Ubaiyu stand before the guardian spirits and offend our forbearers," Erasto said. "I may not have the father in hand yet, but the son I will take and keep in my household."
"As part of your household." Mother's words pled for some accord with her brother.
"To serve my household!"
I looked around and saw there would be no fighting the king. No Ubaiyu warriors lingered in the village. Huts needed burning down in the valley with gold to be found in the ashes. A score of Lurago-born women sitting at the feast clutched their own children, staring at Mother and Erasto. The few gathered Ubaiyu men looked away into the dark. Lurago Blue Feathers carried the only spears around our fire.
I did not like hearing Mother's angry voice. She sounded prettier when she laughed. Everyone should have been laughing that night. I stood up not sure where my words came from.
"If King Erasto wishes me to come to the plains with him and Kagari, I would be most happy to go. They can teach me to play my flute much better and I can mind their herds. I am tall enough now I think to do that."
Mother let out a nervous laugh and shook her head at me. I wanted her to smile, but she covered her mouth and blinked back tears. She looked past me to Mujahl.
My little brother sat with Kagari all unawares, cooing over the lump of ivory. Tightness crept up my chest and stuck in my throat. I wanted a spear. I wanted my father there and all the Leopard Men of Umbul. I wanted someone strong to come protect Mujahl. I wanted to grow up then and be a general.
"My mother's brother has not yet done me a kindness for my birthday," I said, turning to Erasto.
The king chewed a few low words to himself, some curse for me I assumed, and spoke aloud. "For Ayada's hospitality in welcoming us here, I will grant you something if you have the means to keep it, boy."
"Your arrival was too late in the day for us to play. All I ask is that you stay another day so Mujahl, Kagari and I can have our time together," I said. "Just another day together."
Mother sank down next her brother with her hands in her lap. As much as I did not like her angry voice, I hated her silence more.
Erasto nodded, but did not look at me. "You may have your day."
I made my face smile, walked over to Mujahl and picked him up. I squeezed him so tightly he yelped. I let him carry the piece of ivory with him to bed and told him a new story of Ten Thunders stomping on all the crocodiles and snakes that lived along the rivers of the Nahali Plains.
Erasto kept his word and let us spend the day playing handclapping games and singing songs with the other children in the village. At least one Blue Feather warrior always kept watch on Mujahl. We tried to get the younger warriors to play with us, but stern looks from Erasto kept them from joining in.
As the day grew late, Mujahl became tired and needed to take a nap. He fell asleep on Mother's lap while I wandered down into the valley with Kagari. I promised to show him where the Lost City of Umbul lay hiddenthough Mother would surely have firm words for me after.
"Which spirit do you think will give you his name when your day comes?" I asked as we walked under the thickening trees.
"The Lion. It is always the Lion for the king," he said.
"You are not the king."
"I will be one day. And my father says that means I am the Lion Who Roars."
"That is silly. You might be the Tree Frog. That would be fun, I think."
"The King's Blood are always Lions."
"Eh? All of them?"
"Ever since Majalod taught my people the way of the spirits. That is how it has always been."
I did not like the way Kagari said "my people." The Lurago honored any child born to their daughters as one of their own. I knew the bonds of my heritage. "So my mother must be a Lion, too since she is of King's Blood. And me and Mujahl, too."
Kagari laughed sharply. "You are not going to be a king."
"I am King's Blood on both sides," I said, climbing over a mossy fallen tree.
"Not really. You are just the eleventh son of a bloody warmonger."
My head snapped around, eyes fixing on Kagari. He continued to speak carefully. "It is just what my father says. Hossi is not really a king, just a warlord. My father says Hossi has too many sons. Hossi has no legacy for any of you, and that is why he fights with the entire west."
They may have been Erasto's words, but Kagari spoke them with conviction.
"Then the Lion Who Roars will have no need to run back to his father when the sun goes down," I said.
Kagari gave me a queer look. I smirked back at him and continued. "You said you wanted to see the lost city."
"We are to feast together tonight before we-"
"Before you steal my little brother away!" My breaths felt rough and my chest hurt like the night before. I tried to squeeze down my angry voice. Kagari looked very small to me then.
"You could never find the lost city anyway. Only the real Leopard Men know where it is. You are just dressed up like one," I said pointing at Kagari's skins. "Lions have no cause to come to my forest. They just get lost here."
Kagari looked about, noticing the light of day slipping away. The trees seemed to roll and shift with the growing shadows. The panic I saw in Kagari's eyes emboldened me to taunt him further.
"Real Leopard Men would swing down from these trees and slash open your throat with their claws if they saw you wearing those skins," I said.
"And you, too," Kagari said, his face shaking.
"Not me. I can run through this forest when it is all midnight dark. I can leave you here and no Leopard Man will see me," I said. The trick of telling convincing lies was to talk down to the other person as if they said something foolish and needed to be taught a lesson. My father left me with that skill, at least.
"Jagantha, I want to go back. Let us go back."
"After you give me another gift for my birthday," I said.
"Eh?"
"You are going to take my little brother away so you owe me another gift," I said. "So when you take Mujahl with you, I want you to take him as your brother." My voice cracked as fear saturated my anger. "Promise me you will let him have a spirit-naming ceremony when he comes of age. Teach him how to play Wrens in Springtime well for my mother. And you let him ride on Ten Thunders whenever he wants."
"We cannot-"
"Mujahl wants to ride Ten Thunders!" My fists clenched up and shook at my sides. I felt hot with sweat, or maybe tears, streaming down my cheeks. "He rides Ten Thunders or I am leaving you here, Kagari."
I turned my back mostly to hide my face. I did not like what my angry voice said. I wanted Mujahl to be treated like real King's Blood if they took him away from us, not as the son of Hossi.
The forest grew darker as I waited for Kagari to reply. I heard the crickets waking up when he finally replied.
"He can ride Ten Thunders. I swear."
"Not like that. A lion would not say it like that," I said, turning around. "You swear it by the Gods of Splendor and by our ancestors back to Majalod."
Darkness dripped down from the trees making it harder to see Kagari's face, but I heard his voice clearly.
"I swear by Andanbal, the Keeper of the Sun and Kunluwa the Messenger. I swear by Odasa, the Falcon and Shenraga, the Lightning Spear. I swear by my father's line back to Majalod, the King Who Saw Heaven and became the Lion Who Roars: Mujahl will be my brother. He shall have his spirit-naming ceremony. And he shall ride Ten Thunders."
Kagari spoke with prideful clarity. Heavy would be the wrath of the spirits if he ever broke such an oath. Even Erasto would feel bound to such words. It sufficed for me, though I doubted Mother would be content with a little prince's promise.
"May we go back now, Jagantha? I do not want to see the lost city anymore," Kagari said, all humor sapped from his breath. I nodded and began to pick our way back through the forest.
Kagari and I did not speak as we walked back. He kept two strides behind me, just close enough to be certain of the path I took through the trees. Mujahl may have gained Kagari's brotherhood that day, but I knew I had lost it.
I heard a raw cracking in the trees ahead, a sound akin to dry branches being broken and twisted apart. A thirsty slurping followed the cracking. I moved closer to see what moved in the forest with us.
The slurping became thicker, mixing with a slow dull grinding. Kagari stopped moving when the sound grew louder. I pressed onward to show him roaring lions knew nothing of bravery.
Stepping around a tree, I saw the bowed back of a Blood Crone under the first rays of moonlight. Rags, heavy and wet with blood, drooped from her shoulders. She knelt down, thrashing at something I could not see. Clumps of mud and sticky red gore speckled her white matted hair. The Crone's head bobbed up and down as she tore at the flesh of some poor creature.
Round General told me shamans who ate their own tribesmen to gain power over the spirits of the dead became Blood Crones. The betrayal of their kin brought the curse of the Hag Demon upon them, disfiguring the shamans and turning them into monsters.
I crept closer and saw that the Blood Crone feasted on a pile of assorted limbs from men and beasts. Kagari moved to my shoulder to watch as well. Hoofs, long whippy tails and arms, many strong-looking arms that once held spears or axes tumbled from the slippery pile.
Blood Crones can only shamble about because of their crooked backs, but if they surprised you on the quick, they could drink your blood through barbed proboscises in their disfigured fingertips. The Crone in front of me let her fingers tear and rip at the smaller bits of her feast while her teeth clamped onto a thigh boneSo enamored with her meal, the Crone never noticed me standing there. Nor did she hear the softly padding trot of another creature who stalked the night in the Jwalwala Forest.
"Here's a welcome treat! But you left no marrow for the Bone Jackal," growled a great black shape leaping on to the Crone's back, catching her head between its jaws.
Wild high shrieks of rage and fright ripped from the Crone as the attacker thrashed her about. Her flailing sinewy arms could not claw away the talking beast. The frenzy of black fur looked too large to be a leopard, yet it moved with the nimbleness of a cheetah. It whipped the Crone from side to side against the sturdy tree trunks, her spine splintering loudly on the third lash. The beast let the Crone fall limply from its yellow teeth.
"Kipsuka's plague upon you," said the dying Crone, pulling herself up against the base of the tree her back was smashed into.
"Your demon queen has no sway over me," the beast said with the deep, clear voice of a man. "And I am not even angry about that sad pile of bones you left me. I can smell your own marrow dribbling free from your broken ribs. That will do quite nicely."
He bit off the Crone's deadly fingers, then ripped through her rags. The Crone thrashed as the beast sat on her shattered chest and sucked the marrow from each rib jutting from her flesh.
When the moonlight broke through the trees again, I saw the beast lacked a face. It possessed the shape and form of a full-grown jackal, though it stood at least thrice the normal size. Tall, pointy ears rose above the exposed skull where his face and muzzle should have been. The blood of the dead Crone streaked the beast's sharp white cheek bones. I knew the creature's name, but dared not speak it. Round General's stories could not be real. To give the name would make him real and that could not be.
I grabbed Kagari's hand ready to crawl away, but the beast spoke before we made our escape.
"Boy. You, in the saggy robes . . . come to me," he said between smacking bites, not bothering to look up at us. "I am glutting myself on this vile hag. Your scrawny bones will do nothing for my appetite. Come here."
The thought of two boys without a spear attempting to run away seemed a foolish way to die to me. I stepped from the trees still squeezing Kagari's hand. He tried to pull himself free, but my fist turned to iron. We approached.
Crunching down the bones, the beast spoke. "Why have you come to my forest?"
The beast lacked the flesh from his upper jaw to the top of his head. I did not look close enough to see if he still possessed his eyes. Round General called the beast Ghenalu Enzo, the Bone Jackal, one of the true Giants of Midnight.
"I . . . I brought Kagari . . . to find the lost city."
Ghenalu looked me over and snorted through his hollow nostrils making a shrill sound like the whistle of a poorly crafted flute. "You are in the wrong forest, boy. This Kagari had better be bigger than you if mean to make a sacrifice to me," Ghenalu said. "These offerings grow smaller and smaller. Soon I will be eating monkeys and rodents like this wretch." The Bone Jackal pawed the Crone's tattered carcass.
"You cannot eat Kagari! He is the Lion That Roars," I shouted, backing away when I remembered my own peril.
"Ah, King's Blood! I will enjoy his bones in the morning then. Leave him and you may go, boy."
I could feel Kagari shaking behind me, straining to break my hand's grip.
"This is tiring. Come out, Kagari, or be brought out," Ghenalu said. Amber light smoldered in the black sockets that once held his eyes,. The Bone Jackal's teeth scraped against each other with a strange piercing ringing. He played the music of the high spirits of the Gilded Fields, a song from the ancient days when men did not have the tongue for speech and beasts could call down the lightning.
The sound grew painfully sharp, making me clasp my hands to my ears and collapse to the ground. Kagari came stumbling forward from the trees where he hid. Ghenalu's teeth continued scratching against each other until Kagari felt to his knees next to me clutching his ears as well.
"He is not much, but I shall accept this offering," Ghenalu said, looking at Kagari.
"You cannot eat him," I shouted, my ears still ringing. Kagari sobbed but would not cry in front of me.
"Do not bother protesting, boy. I heard the words you had for your beloved Mother's Brother's son," Ghenalu said. "You meant to leave him here if you did not get your way."
"All is well now. He gave his word to me and now we shall go."
The Bone Jackal gave a whistling laugh through his hollow nose. "He made his oath true, but it is your integrity I find to be lacking, boy. And you are not very wise, either. If your Kagari ever breaks his word, should he ever fail to fulfill the promises made here, I will bring all the malice of the Gilded Fields down on him. That is the oath you forced on him."
"I will keep my word, I always do," Kagari said, regaining his composure.
"You will try, but you swore to matters you cannot hope to control. Have you thought about what will happen if your father does not agree to the terms? Kings tend not to maintain their promises unless they are under duress."
The Bone Jackal padded around in a circle, crushing the mangled body of the Crone beneath him. He sat down on his haunches facing us. Ghenalu Enzo cocked his ever-grimacing head to the his right and regarded us slowly. "Let me eat this one now and save me the effort of having to hunt him down later."
"I release him from the oath then. If there is no bond to break, there will be no need for your coming," I said.
The Bone Jackal snarled squarely at me, thumped his tail against the ground and pounced on me in one bound. He pinned my shoulders down with his forepaws and leaned into my face. The beast's rank, blood-crusted breath made my eyes water.
"This obligation is no longer yours to undo, boy! Kagari's oath extends to heights of the Gilded Fields where even I am unwelcome. He will be judged, for all his days, by his adherence to that oath," Ghenalu said. "And the Bone Jackal has been appointed to render his punishment! Am I understood?"
"Yes." I winced and squirmed under Ghenalu's great weight.
"Are you sure?" His bony snout pressed into my cheek. "I cannot stand repeating myself to stupid little boys!"
"Yes, I understand!"
Ghenalu sprang off of me and returned to the Crone. "Leave then, both of you. I will come for Kagari when he fails his word." The Bone Jackal tore more bits from the carcass, ignoring me as I slowly sat up. The sound of his teeth working the flesh twisted the food in my stomach.
Kagari stood next to me and touched my shoulder. I did not want to face him.
"Get up."
I remained sitting until Kagari yanked me up by my robes.
"I am sorry for- "
"Do not speak," Kagari said with his father's voice. "Lead us away from here."
I knew I would never be a Lion such as him.
"My father will agree to what was promised," Kagari said. "Let us go. I do not wish to be here any longer, Jagantha. Take me back."
I found our path out of the forest quickly. We started up the slopes of the mountain and saw a dozen torches moving through the trees. Blue Feathers searching for Kagari. He stepped ahead of me, shouting to them. He walked with more confidence once he saw the Blue Feathers. Kagari did not notice me slipping back into the trees, running back into the valley.
No one called after me as I fled. Not that I intended to stop. So long as I ran, I knew Mujahl slept beside our Mother, Kagari stood safely by his father and I did not have to hear anyone shouting about my misdeeds. I needed to grow up faster and learn to build a spear. Then I could fight Erasto and his Blue Feathers and chase them away. I could kill the Bone Jackal before he ate Kagari. I could show Kagari I possessed King's Blood, too. And no one in the village would need my father or his generals any more.
My burning lungs forced me to stop running long before I wanted to. I leaned against a tree, doubled over at the waist.
"Stand up straight. You are not getting enough breath like that," said Ghenalu. The Bone Jackal trotted up from behind me slipping out of the shadows. I gaped, too winded to move, at the sudden return of the beast.
Ghenalu sat himself before me and, menacing skull and all, sighed heavily.
"You really are quite troublesome," he said. "Tell me what it is you think you are doing here."
I shook my head and sank to the ground wheezing. "I have to- have to- You have to be stopped." "Yes, boy, I must be stopped," Ghenalu said. "Or the Bone Jackal shall devour your kinsman and you will not know who to blame more. Yourself, your father or Mujahl."
I stared at Ghenalu. "You are the one who is threatening Kagari. This is your fault."
"As slow-witted as you are, child, you know better than that."
I lacked strength and conviction to argue with him further. I knew I pushed my frustrations on to Kagari's shoulders. But I found it odd that the Bone Jackal still lingered, watching me. When I caught my breath, I ventured a question.
"Why have you not eaten me?"
"There are rules even I must adhere to. Oaths and obligations that govern my actions. We cannot all be boys roaming the forest searching for lost cities."
"You ate the Blood Crone freely enough. Why not me? Or Kagari?"
"Are you asking me to eat you now?" Ghenalu rose and took a step forward.
"No! I just do not understand this."
"The Crone served Kipsuka. Any servant of the Hag Demon is an affront to the Gods of Splendor and may be destroyed out of hand."
That did not agree with the stories the woodcutters, the washerwomen, or even Round General told me. The Gods of Splendor warred with the Giants of Midnight. Ghenalu's words carried the slipperiness of something in-between.
"But you are one of the Giants of Midnight, like Kipsuka and Tokumbo."
"Am I?" Ghenalu's voice became hushed, as if he meant to keep his words secret from anything else in the forest, even the trees.
"In my youth, before the souls of Men ever stood on the Gilded Fields, I had a face. A face that gleamed with all the glorious luster of the sun. My power then was much greater, and I took pleasure in confounding the other spirits with games and illusions.
"Some did not enjoy my games. They went together before Andanbal and persuaded him to humble me. Andanbal would do no harm to me himself, but he tasked Kunluwa the Messenger to give the order to another. They sent Owedo Bamdahl, the collector of the dead, to deal with me.
"I had spent an afternoon chasing baboons into the crocodile's river, just to hear their terrified shrieks. Exhausted from the merriment, I fell asleep in the crook of an acacia tree. That was where Owedo sprang on me. We fought for several days and nights, but Owedo had the upper hand from the start.
"He tore my beautiful face off with his bony fingers and fled back to his home on the moon where he holds court over the dead. Gravely hurt and shamed, I fled the Gilded Fields down to the Jwalwala Forest. Owedo fashioned my face into a golden mask, which he carries as one of his prizes."
Blinking slowly,I looked at Ghenalu. I did not know the story, though I knew the players. They called Owedo Bamdahl by many names in the valley: Taker of Life, the Walking Dead Man, and the Whisper Assassin. He ushered the spirits of the dying into the next realm. Owedo kept the souls of the wicked and cowardly to serve in his pallid court. The taking of Ghenalu's true face must have granted Owedo power over him, forcing him to be cruel.
"Then you are not a Giant of Midnight," I said at last. "You were of the Gods of Splendor."
"I have never truly recovered from the loss of my golden face, and may not walk upon the Gilded Fields. That is why you see the Bone Jackal before you."
"Then if I were to get you a new face, you would no longer be the Bone Jackal, and Kagari would be safe."
Ghenalu's dry laugh echoed through the trees. His tail swished from side to side as he shook his bony head at me. "You are a terrible little cheat! I should eat you as a favor to your poor mother. Do you always try to steal the spoils of the hunt?"
"But would that serve? Would a new face mend you?"
The Bone Jackal snarled, his teeth snapping at the air between us. "No, boy. I must have my face back, not a new one."
"How can I get the mask away from the Walking Dead Man?" I asked. "You are a spirit from the Gilded Fields. If you cannot do it, how can I?"
"Careful, boy," Ghenalu said. "One poorly chosen promise has already been made this night."
I took a moment to restate my thoughts. "If you had your face again, if you were your former self, would Kagari be free from your wrath?"
"The Bone Jackal alone has been ordained to hunt the boy should he ever fail his oath. If the Bone Jackal was no more, Kagari would have no need to fear me."
I sighed. "Then Kagari need only remain true until you are restored to your rightful place on the Gilded Fields."
"You do not see how easily, how quickly Kagari could fail."
"He will not fail. Kagari will love Mujahl as a brother and he will surely take him riding on Ten Thunders."
"And the spirit-naming, what of his spirit-naming?"
I allowed myself a grin. "Mujahl will not be ready for a spirit-naming ceremony for another ten years. That will afford me much time to sway Erasto to change his mind."
"Spirit-naming is not about a ceremony, boy. Erasto has the means to interfere, but not by denying Mujahl the foolish trappings of a ceremony. The spirit that calls to you and gives you its name has always been with you. That cannot be changed. That is how the Gilded Fields remain in the hearts of your people. But a spirit can be refuted, ignored, forgotten. A boy's spirit can be smothered."
"Erasto would do that to Mujahl?"
"Tell me. Why does every King of the Lurago take the name of the Lion Who Roars?"
I thought of Kagari, so dutifully following his father's wishes, speaking with his father's words instead of his own. Being King's Blood meant surrendering your own wants to the legacy of a crown. Erasto had already crushed Kagari's free spirit, and my brother would surely follow.
"When must Mujahl start to learn of his spirit name?" I asked.
"It comes when it is time."
"How will he know the spirit that is his?"
The Bone Jackal's tail thumped loudly against the ground as his tongue lolled out at me almost playfully. He snorted at me impatiently and bounded away into the darkness.
I pushed myself up from the ground. Night's chill drifted in the air. With Ghenalu Enzo gone, only the crickets remained in the forest to keep me company. Rather than rush back to the village, I listened to their chirping and wondered if the hoopoe birds of the plains might like to hunt insects in the valley alongside the stray turacos.
Pursuing Ghenalu's mask meant crossing out of my territory, though I did not fear going beyond the known borders of the trees to seek a prize greater than gold or ivory. I needed to be the one to tell my father of Mujahl going into Erasto's household. I could ask . . . I would tell Round General to take me to find Hossi. Mother should not have to endure my father's rage. A son took on such duties.
I started walking back up the mountain. Fewer torchbearers waited for me after Kagari's return, but I found my way by the moon's light. I looked up at its paleness and thought about Owedo Bamdahl. I needed to find a way to draw him down from his court and make Ghenalu whole. I did not think a spear would be of use to me in those tasks.
"Round General better know a few stories about you," I said to the silent white moon. I hurried up the slopes. Mother would be more anxious the longer I remained in the valley. It would be her last night to have both of her sons at her side. If I learned to play Wrens in Springtime better, she might keep some of her smile in the days to come.
© Joćo-Pierre S. Ruth
Joćo-Pierre S. Ruth is a journalist in New Jersey, writing business news for the past nine years and dreaming about talking jackals between deadlines. This is his first published work of fiction.