Reign of the Nightmare Prince

by Mike Phillips

  Bantu didn’t seem to hear the comment, but Negara did. She shot Rakam a second look he did not appreciate. “But this is a marvel. I stand in awe of you, fine lady, for you are as fierce as you are beautiful. These MaShaitani can be as nothing compared to the katabo. With you to lead us, we cannot possibly fail.”

  Feeling the compliment inappropriate, Rakam said, “The MaShaitani have powers and abilities far beyond the katabo.”

  Bantu nodded to Rakam, saying, “We have much to discuss. Timbo has come to us also with much the same errand, but with no mandate from the King himself. He has already engaged the enemy in his own lands and fearing that so small a band of warriors, burdened with good wives and children as they are, would soon be conquered, he came seeking our aid.”

  “And have you spread word to the other villages?” Negara asked, requiring the Chieftain to remain prostrate before her. “Is a plan already set in motion?”

  Looking up, Bantu flashed his teeth, making a brilliant smile. “Yes, your majesty, the lands are calling up a defense. As your majesty knows, we are at the edge of the outlying villages of your father’s empire. The people of the Gray Rock are making preparations to depart. Word has been sent by many messengers for the people of all villages to meet in the land of the Falling Lakes, for Timbo tells us this is a very secret place, and few but the wandering MaKasisi know the way there; and of those, only who share in some part the line of Mabetu the Old.”

  “Don’t let him hear you call him that,” said Rakam, grumbling. He didn’t like the way that this man, this Warrior Chieftain of Timbo’s army, was looking at his wife, and he wanted to wipe that smile off his face. Using a coarse euphemism for diarrhea, he said, “He’ll have you soiling the bushes till the moons rise.”

  Bantu was aghast. He looked up at Rakam. It was obvious he had taken offense, but he did not reply, only gaped stupidly.

  Negara was irritated by the comment also, but holding her temper, she said, “What Rakam, Kasisi of the Falling Lakes, great-grandson of Mabetu, means is that the great spiritual leader and healer finds little honor in titles, but great honor in deeds.”

  Feeling positively impudent, Rakam added offhandedly, “And, what’s this about my idiot cousin leading an army? He always did think a lot of himself. I hope he’s confined to making speeches and lets you, what did you say? Oh, yes, lets you ‘Warrior Chieftains’ make the real decisions.”

  “We, uh, think him a most excellent leader and feel by his hand a special blessing is upon us,” Bantu said hesitatingly, looking to the Princess for guidance. “He has brought us the spirit dance which foils the weapons of our enemy.”

  “What nonsense is this?” bellowed Rakam in disbelief.

  Keeping her temper, behaving every bit the Princess she was, Negara ignored Rakam’s comments and said, “These times are troubling for us all. If we are to survive, we must all work together.”

  Not waiting for the others, Rakam gathered his things and proceeded down the road, calling out behind him as he went, “Right, let’s go see that leader of yours. We have much to discuss with this foolishness of my Cousin Timbo.”

  Clenching her teeth, Negara collected her belongings from behind the well and followed. Bantu gave orders to continue the patrol, and selecting four guards from amongst the ranks, he followed Rakam and Negara back the way he had come.

  * * *

  The path was well-made and despite the darkness, Rakam was able to make good speed, walking as quickly as his anger would carry him. He did not like this Bantu at all, and he did not like the way Negara was treating the man like some hero out of old tales.

  It was some time before Rakam felt weariness begin to trouble his progress, the slow ache in his thighs and calves growing to insistence with every step. Soon he knew he must stop for food and rest. He could not walk the Long Night away, but he could go a good deal farther, by force of will, determined to show these warriors a thing or two about distance and speed.

  Often Rakam was tempted to look back, to see where Negara was, to see if Bantu and his people were somewhere close behind, but though his anger had cooled, his pride had not. It was Negara, he decided, that must make the first offering of peace. She must apologize to him if things would ever be right between them again, so on he went.

  Dead on his feet, muscles aching, Rakam finally could not take another step. The rain that threatened had held off; and though it was dark and the ground was damp from previous rains, he was able to find a comfortable spot beside the road under a tree to serve as his camp. There was no well in this place, but he had passed two along the way, stopping long enough to replenish his water skin at each. Finding dried meat from the katabo in his pack, Rakam fed little Betu and himself.

  Just as he finished his meal and was curling up in his blanket, Rakam heard someone coming down the road. He could tell by the sound that it was Negara and that she was alone. She walked slowly, much slower than her usual pace, and she often kicked clods of dirt or stones in the road as she went. She was tired. She was looking for him.

  Feeling suddenly stupid for what he had done, Rakam stood and went to her. Without a word he handed her his water bottle and some meat, lifting her into his arms and carrying her over to his make shift camp.

  “I’m mad at you,” she insisted, but made no objection to being carried.

  “Where’s your new friend?” asked Rakam scornfully. “Couldn’t he keep up? Or did he find more important things to do, like finding a katabo to battle?”

  “Bantu?” Negara said sleepily. “I left that pompous ass back at the first well. I would have done it sooner if I could. Now I see why he gets along with Timbo so well.” She took a long drink of water and added, “We showed him and his buddies a thing or two, didn’t we? They were whining like babies before a hundred steps.”

  Rakam laughed. “I love you,” he said, cradling her in his arms.

  “Good, and since you had the sense to remember, I’m not mad at you anymore.”

  “I didn’t like the way he was looking at you,” Rakam admitted, remembering his anger. He set Negara gently down, removed the boots from her feet and wrapped them in the corners of the blanket to keep them from getting cold.

  “Don’t be jealous. Bantu may be able to turn a lady’s eye; but you, my dear, are the man I love, and no one will ever come between us.”

  “Me? Jealous? I’m not jealous of him.”

  “Yes, of course not, but I love you for it.” She took the neck of his tunic in hand, pulling him toward her for a kiss. “But next time we have a fight, we will have to solve our differences by talking rather than walking. I couldn’t take another step. All this way you really were conserving your strength. In fact, I think you are just going to have to carry me the rest of the way to the Village of the Gray Rock.”

  Rakam said, “I thought you were a warrior not a diplomat.”

  “The best leaders are a little of both.”

  * * *

  Despite her claims of fatigue, Negara was the first to rise from sleep, sensing trouble but no immediate threat. Drums were beating in the distance, rolling like thunder over the silent hilltops. If the drums were coming from the Gray Rock Village, and it seemed to be so, then something was happening. It was strange, for they were not the drums of war. Wondering if this was some part of Timbo’s dance to fend off the weapons of the MaShaitani, Negara decided to wake Rakam and get on their way as quickly as possible.

  Another long march, the drumbeats carrying their feet along the road with surprising speed and ease, found them within sight of the village. Its famous gray rock loomed high above, standing perilously on a cliff overlooking the settlement like some carrion beast awaiting the last breath of its prey.

  There were as many buildings here as the Sacred Grove, a place of considerable standing. The structures were made of stone, built low because the mountain winds were often severe. There was a squat wall built for defense, but Negara spied many flaws in its configuration that could be exploited by any
experienced warrior.

  But these people were miners, not warriors. Their mines produced a soft metal of orange hue that was useful for tools that didn’t need to endure hard labor and were sometimes used for the adornment of peoples of ordinary means. But the metal was not so uncommon as to have a quarter the worth of silver, so the people of the village were prosperous if not wealthy.

  The citizens cultivated mountain herbs that were as widely sought as the products of their mines, but otherwise the farming was poor due to the mostly rocky landscape. Seeing the plainness of the village, Rakam knew the people would be hard working and dependable, speaking truth and expecting the same. Prudence would rule and politics would have a more honest bent. Disagreements would be settled with fisticuffs rather than intrigues, which he appreciated since his latest visit to the first city of the land.

  The drums came to a stop as Rakam and Negara arrived within a stone’s throw of the wall. Requesting to be brought before the village Elders, Rakam and Negara were allowed inside and given an escort.

  The muddy streets were still filled with people, purposefully making their way from the village circle. They all bore a mark on their foreheads; and though Rakam could not see this mark clearly, the sign seemed to prick his memory as a sign of protection, though he could not remember why.

  They were taken to a meetinghouse at the edge of the village circle. Here Rakam and Negara waited, talking about how good it was to have the luxury of a roof once again, knowing how little time they could expect to spend in this place.

  Chapter 21

  At the meetinghouse of the Gray Rock Village, it seemed Rakam and Negara had come just in time. The Elders had been at the festival, or whatever had been the cause of the drums, and were heading off to take sleep.

  Slowly they returned, each bearing the same sign of protection upon their forehead. They all had the same weary, furtive look, as if they had the strength wrung out of them. The sign on their foreheads seemed to be made from some paste with ashes, about which Rakam was very curious, but thought it inopportune to inquire about.

  Timbo came before long, making his greetings. He too wore the mark, displaying the sign proudly. He was introduced as an honored guest and Kasisi though he needed no such introduction. Timbo exchanged pleasantries with his cousins, but he eyed them suspiciously even as he spoke. Soon the last of the Elders arrived, and the meeting began.

  “My name is Princess Negara of the Marsh City, daughter of King Pakali and Champion of his warriors. With me travels my husband, Rakam, Kasisi of the Falling Lakes, a man of certain fame and reputation as a prophet and counselor. He is the great-grandson and protégé of Mabetu of the Falling Lakes, greatest healer of our time.”

  “We thank you for your visit and bid you welcome,” said Chief Torbu from his high seat. The sign on the Chief’s forehead had been smeared. He touched the area self-consciously, and Rakam thought with some distaste. The Chief was a middle-aged man with a cheerful face and arms thickened through years of working the mines. Unlike Bantu, he wore only simple clothing, a helm that looked similar to a crown adorned his head, but he bore the mark with humility. Rakam liked the burly man at an instant; and as the Chief spoke, the feeling only grew.

  “You honor us. Please be at peace here for as long as our service is of need to you. Forgive my haste and ill manners, but all of us here are weary.” Torbu shot a sidelong glance toward Timbo by way of explanation. For his part, the once Keeper of the Sacred Grove sat stiffly in his place at the left hand of the Chief. “Is your business such that it can wait or will you not talk before us now? I mean only to invite you to speak as you feel the need. You may be tired from your long journey. Do me the honor of deciding this course of our meeting, if you will, majesty.”

  “Great Chief of the Gray Rock, Council of Elders, I bring to you a message from King Pakali which is of the utmost urgency and importance. I have already spoken to your Warrior Chieftain Bantu,” Rakam would have sworn Torbu rolled his eyes at Negara’s mention of the name, “and understand actions in some way to our purpose are already underway.”

  “Speak then.” Torbu clapped his hands, commanding, “Let refreshments for all be brought, and bring pillows for our weary guests to sit upon.”

  “Thank you for your kindness and hospitality,” said Negara, “but I would bid my husband to begin. He has news you all must be made aware of, and he is the one who has called us to action, having met and survived the MaShaitani in their full strength. Please, Rakam, tell them all about your journey from the Purple Fern.”

  Smiling, Torbu said, “Yes, if you please then, Rakam, tell us your story.”

  As the refreshments were brought before them, Rakam began, telling the Council and a few other guests about the village he had visited in the low mountains on the other side of the world, and after leaving the Purple Fern, what visions he had there. Then he spoke of his journey home, the serpent’s sting that sent him into delirium, including the encounter with the desert Jinn and the strange vision of the falling star, blooming in flowers of white. Finally he spoke of his encounters with the MaShaitani, telling of the utter destruction of the people and their villages, the fierce weapons the Shaintani’s used, the strange magiks he suspected were at their command.

  Torbu was stunned to silence. As Rakam spoke, the big man’s happy face fell into care and worry. The lines joy had etched in his lifetime now made him look old. He said, “You bring evil news, young man. I know it fills you with no joy to say these things to me,” again he gave a sidelong glance to Timbo as if trying to tell Rakam something, “but I thank you. Tell me, Princess Negara, what is the will of our King? The Long Night is upon us, and evil is close. What would Pakali, the wise, have us do?”

  Rising, handing Chief Torbu a cylinder wrapped in fine cloth and sealed with the King’s mark, Negara said, “Pakali believes the Shaintani’s plans are to destroy all the outlying villages and, then, to proceed to the Marsh City. This has been what the MaShaitani have done so far, attacking small settlements alone in the wild by stealth rather than marching to open war as they have done in our histories. Therefore, the King’s command is for all of our remaining peoples to gather to him at the Marsh City. Bring with you all the food and weapons you are able. There are but a few villages on this side of the valley, the furthest being the Falling Lakes. We are commanded by the King to collect every last person and, then, return to the Marsh City.”

  Torbu saw the insignia of the King and opened the cylinder. He read the rude pictures that were carved into the Yenaba wood that their people held sacred. “So says this message and so shall we do.”

  “But this cannot be!” said Timbo, rising in anger. “If the King but knew I and my people have destroyed much of the Shaintani’s army, he would decide differently. They are not the terrible, undefeatable army Rakam makes them out to be.”

  “What is this?” asked Negara.

  “My spirit dance gives us protection from their weapons. Leading the warriors of my village, I killed ten of their number in the wilderness. They are fools, easily led into an ambush and easily killed. Their armor has its chinks. Their weapons do not always find their mark, not if we use our own magic, not if we dance like spirits and wear the sign of protection upon our foreheads.”

  Timbo looked at Rakam with scorn. Walking before the seated members of the Council, he went on, saying, “The Almighty has allowed these MaShaitani to come, to judge whether we are worthy of the gifts He has given us. Heretics, wild peoples of the plains, these heathens who do not follow His Teachings are destroyed. What is His, He will gather unto Himself. What is not His, He shall cast into the deepest pit.”

  “Is the Will of the Almighty so clear to you?” said Rakam in a low voice.

  “You dare question me?” Timbo sneered. “The great prophet, the seer and counselor has lost his gift. Consorting with evil spirits in the desert, living with the heathen barbarians in the plains, does that give you the right to question me? I think the Almighty is punishi
ng you for your sins. What do you say to that, dear cousin, if you are, indeed, Rakam and not some evil pretender in the form of a man?”

  “A bundle of twigs,” said Rakam, in such a quiet voice that none but those nearest heard him say it.

  The roof exploded. The large timbers broke into splinters, thrusting from their pinions up through the ceiling darkened by ages of smoke. With the timbers, the wooden planks of the roof were broken and flung high in the sky, disappearing into the darkness. In an instant the structure above was gone, peeled away, exposing them to the night.

  The people of the Council hurried from their chairs, covering their heads and hiding, or protecting others as they thought necessary. Timbo cried out in fear, cowering on the ground, holding his tall hat protectively in his hands.

  Heedless of danger, Torbu stood. He looked upon the deed in wonder, for not the slightest stick of wood fell back upon them. When at last the fury subsided, no cries of injury were made. The roof was gone, but they were all whole and unhurt.

  Scornfully, Rakam said, “I have been given another gift in this time of need, a gift your own father once used to save the children of his village from a terrible landslide. He was a great man, your father, and he would be ashamed of you.”

  “But this is some trick of the Jinn, I’d warrant,” Timbo said, standing, putting the tall, white hat back upon his head.

  “No,” said Torbu. “Rakam is right. I remember that story. And what’s more, if Mabetu says this man is Rakam and so says the King, then I will follow the King and his rule and so will you, Timbo of the Sacred Grove, and all of your people. That is your duty. No man knows the Will of the Almighty, but I can see the will of those who would speak in His place for their own purposes.”

  “How dare you,” Timbo spat. “I bring you a chance to save your people, and this is how you repay me? You take the side of this thing that killed my cousin in the wilderness and now sullies his good name.”