Reign of the Nightmare Prince

by Mike Phillips

“Yes,” Rakam said in a kindly voice, “come in.”

  Into the room pushed Senala, blushing fiercely and averting her eyes in an effort to avoid spying anything shameful. “Happy waking, your majesties,” she said, making repeated bows, not even daring to look in the direction she guessed her visitors to be.

  “And to you also, Senala,” said the Princess brightly.

  But all was not well with Torbu’s wife. Seeing the fright in her hostess and fearing the woman was about to swoon, Negara rushed over to her. Taking Senala’s hands in her own, Negara bid her to sit at a small bench near the door. “Don’t be afraid. We’re friends. What’s wrong? If there is anything we can do, any request you need to make of us then do so. Let us be at your service.”

  Senala started to cry, collapsing into Negara’s arms. “It’s the children,” she bellowed, miserably. “They’re sick, especially the young ones. Lengara’s here, but she doesn’t know what to do, says she’s never seen anything like it before.”

  Negara gave Rakam an exasperated look. “Well? Don’t just sit there,” she snapped. “Go see what you can do.”

  Flushed with surprise and more than a little anger at the brusqueness of his wife’s rebuke, Rakam finally remembered himself and stood. “Yes, sorry, ma’am, I’ll see what I can do.”

  Taking his satchel, Rakam went in search of this Lengara. He supposed she was a local healer and midwife, a person of some talent if she had been called upon to service the Chief’s family. She might even be a female Kasisi, though women rarely received the office in the mountains. Wondering if he would have any better idea what was going on than the healer woman, Rakam gave his blessings and departed.

  Torbu’s oldest son, the young man who held the door when Rakam and Negara had come, was in the hallway waiting for him. The young man looked pale and sweaty, and he had dark circles under his eyes. He was rank with sickness and Rakam was glad they lived behind strong walls and were not in the wilderness where the boy’s scent would bring all manner of hungry beasts.

  The boy took Rakam to a room at the end of the hall and led him inside without delay. “This is Rakam, Kasisi of the Land of the Falling Lakes, great-grandson and student of Mabetu the wise,” the boy announced with a flourish of his hand.

  Unable to hide a smile at the boy’s theatrics, Rakam gave the old woman a bow and said, “Well met, good mother. May I be of some service here?”

  The old woman looked up at Rakam, returning the smile, a small girl child cradled gently in her arms. But then the old woman seemed to see something beyond Rakam, and her smiled turned down into a scowl. Shifting in her place as she sat on the bed with the child, she brought a string of beads from her pocket, making a sign to ward against evil. Rakam felt a gentle probing of his mind, not in a way to intrude or to control, but in a way that suggested the old woman was searching for something, like a blind man using a stick to bring light to the darkness of his world.

  “What’s wrong, dear mother?” asked Rakam anxiously.

  She hushed him and said, “Not now. Not here.” The probing continued for but moments longer, at the end of which the old woman closed her eyes and let out a deep sigh. “You must promise me that we will talk, soon, before the eight logs burn.”

  Rakam didn’t know what the length of time meant, but would grant the old woman her request. He nodded to her and said, “These three are all sick?”

  “Yes, a fever with chills, vomiting--a strangeness corrupts the spirit.”

  Rakam approached the bed, knelt before it, setting his satchel gently on the floor. He tried to brush the girl’s hair aside so he could get a better look at her face, but she drew back into Lengara’s arms in fright. “Do not be afraid,” he coaxed, but the girl only turned away, settling deeper into the old woman’s arms.

  It was then Betu decided to awake. With a happy squeak the river dog forced her way out of the satchel, climbing Rakam’s legs and up over his back. Hearing the noise, the little girl turned to see what was happening. She smiled with wide eyed delight upon finding this new visitor.

  “Her name is Betu,” said Rakam. “She is a very good friend of mine. In fact, she saved my life on more than one occasion.”

  “Otters are the messengers of the Almighty. They bring only goodness to the world. If one saved your life, then some great purpose is before you. There is much about you, young man, that rings of destiny. If only we had more time before you are fated to leave us,” Lengara said mysteriously.

  To the girl the old woman said, “Now, be at peace, dear child. See, he means you no harm. This is Rakam, a healer, a good man. He wishes to help you feel better.”

  As Rakam reached his hand out to touch the little girl on the forehead, Betu made use of his arm as a bridge and went scampering onto the bed. The girl squealed even louder than she had before. At the sound, Betu pricked up her ears, wrinkling her nose at the little girl, which caused a great gout of laughter. Making a kissing sound to draw the otter to her, the girl stretched out her arms. Betu obeyed, finding herself wrapped in the loving embrace that is the providence of children.

  Patting the river dog on the head, Rakam said, “Betu sleeps much in the Long Night. She must have liked your smell to come out.” So saying, he began his examination, talking about the otter, keeping the girl distracted, as he looked her over.

  “Not many people know this, but otters like to eat nuts,” he said. “They find flat rocks in riverbeds and put these rocks on their tummies while the swim on their backs. Then they break the nuts open on the rocks. Isn’t that funny?”

  The girl laughed, not at what Rakam had said but at what the river dog had done, turning over in her arms and nuzzling the girl’s nose with her whiskers. Rakam took the opportunity to ease onto the bed, holding a candle to see the girl’s face. Her complexion was worse than her brother’s had been, much more drawn and pallid. The mark of protection written on her forehead for the ceremony remained; a scrawl of inky blackness that seemed to defile such charming features.

  Wondering at what the stuff was made of, Rakam touched the tip of his finger to the mark, feeling a greasy texture like tallow. He drew his finger close to smell it, discovered nothing, and tasted it. He spat. The stuff tasted terrible, but he still had no idea what it was made from. Then, he saw it.

  Where he had wiped the girl’s forehead with his finger there was a sort of lesion. It was faintly blue and somehow familiar to him. In sudden realization he said, “Boy, call your sister to boil water. Get soap and wash up, get every last bit of that paste off your head. Then help the others, start with the youngest. Go now, hurry!”

  “You think the mark holds a poison to the spirit?” asked the old woman, making a ward against evil with the beads fisted in her hand.

  “No,” said Rakam, standing, “I think my cousin is out of his mind.”

  Reaching into his satchel, Rakam found what remained of the few mushrooms he and Mabetu had gathered while traveling in the forest, the mushrooms he hoped might save this little girl from a terrible fate. “Do you know these?” he asked the healer woman, holding it in the light. “Can you get more?”

  “Yes, I have some,” she replied, taking the dried mushroom into her hand and examining it. “Here in the mountains, life is harsh. Plants and animals bearing poison are commonplace. Our people know these troubles well enough, but often by accident or inexperience we find ourselves in need of cures. This has been a special study of mine, to find cures for these poisons. I have made use of this mushroom many a time, to good result, too, I must say.”

  “But these mushrooms carry poison also. They are deadly to eat.”

  “Yes, poison to fight poison, often it proves to be so.”

  “Do you know how much is safe to ingest, yet effective against these poisons?”

  “That is troubling, sometimes, but I start with a small amount boiled into tea. If a person shows tolerance for the medicines, then I try a bit more.”

  “And how long does that take?”

  Len
gara laughed, “Patience young man, patience. Do not be in such a hurry. It takes a while. Yes, it takes a long while. Sometimes it takes an entire season before I feel the person has been wholly cured, but that is the way of good medicine.”

  “I see there is much the MaKasisi of the Falling Lakes could learn from the good healer of the Gray Rock,” said Rakam in admiration.

  Beaming, Lengara eased herself from under the girl. Rakam helped her from the bed, finding her stronger than he imagined. When she had her feet firmly on the floor, Lengara said, “Then let us get to work. These children are getting no better as we speak and there may be others that suffer. Am I right in thinking you believe the mark Timbo of the Sacred Grove uses in his magic dance is causing this?”

  “Yes, that is what I believe.” He explained, “There is a flower that causes madness, a thing beautiful to look upon, but deadly to touch. I think, knowing full well the danger, Timbo uses that flower.” Rakam clenched his jaw, unconsciously biting his lip and balling his hands to fists. “It fills me with rage for my cousin’s stupidity”

  “Now is the time not for tempers,” Lengara said mildly, “but for a clear mind to be put to work. Come with me to my house, and we will begin. When you have helped me, you will have plenty of time to deal with Timbo.”

  On his way out of the room, Rakam called for Betu. The otter did not come, only stuck closer to the sick girl. The girl clutched the river dog tightly in her arms, tears streaming down her soft cheeks. “No, please, please, let her stay,” she begged.

  Embarrassed and wanting the girl to stop crying at any price, Rakam said, “She may stay. If she is hungry, she may eat all she likes. Don’t let her misbehave. If she does, I want you to bring her back to Negara.” The girl eagerly accepted the terms and with a fond pat on the head, Rakam said goodbye to his small companion.

  Checking on the boy, Rakam made sure his earlier instructions were being followed. He was not disappointed. A large cauldron was already half full of water and the fire was roaring. Telling the older sister what he wanted done while he and the healer woman prepared the medicine, Rakam said farewell to his bride. With a last kiss, he and Lengara left, on their way to the healer woman’s house.

  * * *

  Once they had gotten to the street, Lengara took Rakam by the arm, though she needed no aid, and she whispered to him, “Now, there are many rumors about you, some of which I believe, others I don’t. I wish someone had called me to the Council when you spoke, but there you have it, they did not. So I must ask you to tell me your tale. With what I saw in that house and what the gossip of the village has to say, I think perhaps an old woman has some advice you may find useful.”

  “What did you see, dear mother?”

  “Each in its own time. Now will you do as I ask?”

  Intrigued, Rakam told his story once again, thinking it wise to say more than what he had before the village Council. In the end he told this woman, little more than a stranger, as much about his experiences, his hopes and fears, as he told Mabetu.

  The village was alive around them as they went. Light streamed from every window. Men hustled about with carts and wagons. Women carried bundles and often wept. They were preparing to leave. It was not a joyous sight to behold, but Rakam was glad to see them making ready. He knew how terrible the MaShaitani were, and he was afraid the enemy would come upon them at any moment. Most of all, he worried that Timbo’s deceptions might prove the death of them all.

  By the time they arrived at the old woman’s cottage, Rakam finished telling his story. He thought also to add what he knew of the poison flower, relating to the healer woman what Mabetu and Kolojo had learned in treating that dreaded affliction. They set a pot to boil, collecting what mushrooms he and the old woman had into a meager pile.

  “First of all,” Lengara said, beginning to cut the mushrooms into pieces with a small knife, “about the business I know best, poison. You can put out of your mind what this Jinn said to you. The Jinn and evil spirits say nothing but lies, or truths turned to lies in their own interest. What caused you to lose your gift of sight was no sin. It was because of no treaty you signed with the evil one of the desert.”

  Lengara pointed at him with the knife, saying, “It was the snake’s poison. I have seen it many times. A man or woman or child gets stung by one of those foul worms and is forever changed. Some are made happy like children, but others turn mean or take to queer ways. Folk like us, those gifted by the Almighty, we are not immune either. Our gifts are turned into something altogether different from what they were, or sometimes, the gifts leave us all together.”

  “This all sounds very reasonable, and I believe my great-grandfather would agree with your reasoning; but tell me, why did Mabetu not know this?”

  “Because you come from a gentle land. A place not so filled with venomous plants and animals. That is how I know, from the wisdom of my mother and her mother before her. The poison kills something,” she poked a gentle finger into the side of Rakam’s head, “in here. And when something dies in there, it changes a person forever.”

  “Will it not heal?” asked Rakam, thinking of recent dreams.

  The old woman shrugged, “Perhaps, yes, but never like it was before. If you want my advice, I say don’t grieve for what has been lost, but appreciate all the more what has been left to you. I said when I met you I saw destiny in you. It may be the Almighty willed you to receive that snakebite for His Good Purposes. That I do not try to explain, for all such explanations are in vein.”

  She stopped what she was doing and went to a shelf, taking down a small, earthenware jar. She handed the jar without ceremony to Rakam, saying, “Drink it down, all of it now. It may do some good, and it may not.”

  Pausing a moment to sniff the thick liquid, not liking what he smelled, the odor was sharp and brought water to his eyes, Rakam said, “Thank you.”

  Returning to her work, Lengara said, “I make no promises.”

  After he had swallowed the contents of the jar, almost losing his gorge at first, Rakam asked, “And, so do you think all the Jinn said was deception, even the star, the one that fell from the heavens and bloomed in flowers?”

  “No, that I believe is true, a real vision of the world and not a portent of what is to come, unless it is in the truth of its occurrence. I, too, saw this thing you saw.” She smiled at his disbelief. “Yes, if I reckon the timing correct, a fiery bolt from the heavens near to mid-sun. Though I did not see it bloom with flowers, I think this thing happened as you saw it happen.”

  “What do you think it means?”

  “Listening to you speak, I think perhaps it was some sort of boat, carrying a new people to our world. It might be that more MaShaitani have come to trouble us.” Lengara put down the knife, closed her eyes. “But I think it more likely these newcomers are good. When I reach out, I can see them, feel them, but I cannot look into their minds with any clarity. They are different from us, too different to know for sure. It may be we or our children that follow us may have some business with them.”

  “If you say they’re good, then maybe I should try to find these newcomers. Maybe it is they who will be able to defeat the MaShaitani,” said Rakam excitedly. “If only I had known, they might have helped us already.”

  “Hush now, things happen as the Almighty wills. We make the best decisions we can, and then must stay the course. You have done more than your part. If you want the advice of an old woman, I will tell you to be true to your heart and your promises. Do as Pakali asks. He has wisdom. Trust in others. When we are all safe again, that is when you should follow this vision if in your heart you feel it’s the right thing to do.”

  When she finished cutting the mushrooms, Lengara collected them into a small bowl. Making an assessment of the amount, she returned some to the pile on the table and put the rest into an even larger bowl. Hanging from the rafters near the fireplace were a large number of dried herbs. Selecting just what she needed of the herbs, a pinch here, half a sprig t
here, Lengara put them also into the bowl, telling Rakam what she was doing and what the proper amounts were. With a wink she explained the secret of a last, special ingredient, working the mushrooms and herbs into as fine a mixture as she could.

  Satisfied, Lengara took the bowl to the pot, but found the water only simmering. With a frown, she asked, “Would you mind getting more wood from outside? I thought that young grandson of mine brought more in, but you know how little ones can be.”

  “I would be glad to, dear mother,” said Rakam. “Is there anything else I can do for you? Shall I help you get your things in order for the journey?”

  “No, no, we have enough to do treating the poison. My girl will be along when her own house is in order. She’s a good one, always helpful.”

  With a nod, Rakam went out the door, finding the stack of wood behind the cottage. There was a large quantity, much more than he thought necessary to last the Long Night through, but then this village was high in the mountains, and the air was growing chilly. It was colder now than Rakam had ever remembered, and he wondered if there might be snow before long.

  Returning inside with a load of wood in his arms, Rakam found Lengara busily collecting herbs from a neglected few bunches set away from the fire in a corner. The old woman turned and smiled at him, saying, “I have my secrets, what little of an inheritance I can pass on to my own, you understand. It’s just a little something to settle the stomach, make the medicine easier to take.”

  Rakam inclined his head, smiling at the mischievous gleam in the old woman’s eye. “Yes, good mother. We should not give up our best secrets. Should I leave you to your work now? I would like to have a talk with my cousin.”

  “Yes, go then, but be careful. I have my doubts about this Timbo of the Sacred Grove. His people wouldn’t let me come near him, especially after all this dancing nonsense started. Take a spear, or better yet, take that wife of yours. She sounds like my kind of woman.”

  “I will be careful. See you in a little while. There are things I would still like to talk about.”