by K. P. Kojo
Although the stranger was tied up, Marimba felt a little less safe when he regained consciousness. He stood almost a head taller than her biggest guard and he looked as determined as ever in spite of his captivity.
‘Who are you?’ Marimba asked in a gentle voice.
The stranger dug his toes into the ground before him, unwilling to meet her eyes.
Marimba moved a step closer to him. His hair was arranged in thick cords wrapped into bundles linked by a single cord and he wore copper earrings that stretched his ears.
‘I know you are not a Life Eater; you seem to be a type of man we have never met before. Where are your people?’
The man ignored Marimba’s question, grunting like a foraging hog. However, the witch Namuwiza, a senior member of Marimba’s council, came forward with a sigh of realization.
‘He’s a scout,’ she shouted. ‘Why else would he be on his own so far from his land?’
Namuwiza turned to Kahawa and Marimba. ‘He’s clearly a scout – and that can only mean one thing. The army he was with must be only a third or a quarter of a day away. We must be on guard.’
Before Namuwiza had finished speaking, Kahawa bolted out of the room, full of the energy and rage of his youth. He commanded his town criers to grab their horn bugles and spread to all corners of the Wakambi lands. They called back everyone who was out hunting game or foraging for herbs and spices in the depths of the forest or the lovegrass-infested plains.
Before long the men and women of Wakambi were trooping into the hilltop settlement, where together they were safest. They gathered their bone-tipped spears, tightened the heads of their axes and sharpened their swords. The lookouts climbed to their posts and faded from view.
Meanwhile, Marimba’s council studied the tall prisoner, noting his necklace of bones and claws, trophies of his prowess at hunting and war. His spear was longer than Wakambi spears, but the tip was made of rock and was brittle. It cracked as Mpushu squeezed it in his fist. However, his other weapon was unlike any the Wakambi had, an arch of cane tied at both ends with string and an impala skin holding a quiver of arrows.
Marimba picked up the curious weapon as Mpushu walked up to the prisoner, still holding the spear by its tip.
‘You call yourself a warrior and you can’t even make a proper spear!’ he taunted. ‘I bet you’re terrified of real battle. Were you sent out to scout because you can’t fight? Are you a coward?’
‘Remove these cuffs and I will put you in your place. I will defeat you before you can blink,’ growled the prisoner, surprising everyone by speaking the Wakambi language. ‘I am Masai. We fear no one, we fear no fire, we fear no battle. I, Koma-Tembo, son of Fesi the Wolf, will not be spoken to in this manner.’ He drew himself to his full height, towering over the squat Mpushu.
Mpushu stepped back, sneering. ‘You say you are a great warrior, but you are our captive.’
‘Not for long,’ retorted Koma-Tembo. ‘My father’s armies are coming to destroy your people. If you set me free, I might show you some mercy.’
Mpushu wanted to strike the impudent prisoner, but Marimba put an arm on Mpushu’s shoulder and addressed the prisoner.
‘Why are your armies coming to attack us? We have done you no harm.’
‘We are Masai,’ said Koma-Tembo. ‘We need no reason to fight. We conquer other people because we can. We are more than human. We are invincible and we only answer to Ngai. Where Ngai asks us to strike, we strike.’
The prisoner stamped but Marimba did not move. ‘Who is Ngai?’ she asked.
‘How dare you question Ngai!’ Koma-Tembo shouted. ‘How dare you!’
He struggled to free himself from the strips binding his arms behind him, but failed.
As he fell silent, the witch Namuwiza, who had knowledge of the immortals and the gods, and could read the minds of angry men, stepped forward. ‘He is speaking of the exiled god who lives in the mists of the Kilima-Njaro – Ngai of the mountains. He has taken control of the Masai and he makes them do his bidding. What I see is not good …’ she said, as the noise made by the Wakambi returning to their huts reached the council room.
With all the Wakambi counted, the settlement’s gates were closed. The warriors – men and women – were instructed by Kahawa and his deputies and took their positions for war. The atmosphere was charged with nervous energy. The elder warriors remembered the battles of their youth and itched to fight and defend their homeland again. The new warriors breathed with difficulty, their palms sweating, wondering if they would survive the coming battle and live to tell tales of it. The lookouts shivered with the leaves of the trees they hid in, silent and watchful. They saw shadows moving about three spear-throws’ distance away, and turned to alert their runners to go and sound the alarm.
But, before they could pass the information on, a hypnotic sound came from the heart of the Wakambi settlement, freezing the lookouts and the assembled army as well as the advancing soldiers of the Masai.
The sound came from Marimba, who had turned Koma-Tembo’s weapon of bent cane into a musical instrument by attaching a hollowed gourd to the centre of the cane. She called it a makhoyana.
By striking the string of stretched intestine, with the open part of the gourd against her bare shoulder, she made a series of heavenly notes that she arranged into a song. It was a song of love and a song of farewell:
‘This land I love I won’t desert.
The finest corner of the earth
where sunrise comes to wake me to
a sky that’s high and clear and blue.
The brightest corner of the earth –
Wakambi girls and boys play here;
Marimba, mother of them all,
to save my home I’d gladly fall.’
The advancing Masai warriors, hearing the song and finding themselves unable to move forward, were confused. They shouted for Ngai of the mountains, their god and warrior guide, to come and save them.
‘Ngai, what is that sound? What is happening to us?’
Some of them burst into tears at the beauty of Marimba’s melody and tried to hide their tears by sitting on the ground and hunching forward as though they were thinking.
All the while, Marimba walked around the Wakambi settlement with her assistants, handing out to the warriors hundreds of another of her inventions. She had made it at the same time as the makhoyana. It was a sling of kudu hide, which was made to hold the kind of rough stones that could be found near the caves in the Wakambi settlement. The slings could be spun with great speed and skill and the stones released to strike advancing enemies.
As Marimba approached Kahawa’s hut she stopped playing the makhoyana, handed it to one of her assistants and went inside.
Kahawa was deep in thought and was startled by the sound of footsteps. He swivelled round, a club in his hand. He was relieved to see his mother.
‘I heard the music,’ Kahawa said, smiling. ‘Why are you here?’
Marimba handed him three slings and showed him how to use them. When he had mastered the spinning of the weapons, she placed a hand on his arm.
‘My son,’ she said, ‘I’m a warrior too. I have fought many battles and I can be of help against the Masai.’
‘No, Mother.’ Kahawa banged a fist against the wall closest to him. He felt that he was old and skilled enough to handle the coming battle by himself. Besides, his mother was in mourning and he didn’t want her life endangered. He knew that, loving the Wakambi people the way she did, she would probably put herself in extreme danger just to save the people she loved.
‘But, son, I am the reason they are here,’ she insisted. ‘I must fight.’
Kahawa frowned. ‘What do you mean, you’re the reason they are here?’
‘Koma-Tembo, the prisoner, says that the Masai have always known about our settlement. They never bothered us before because they had enough battles to fight in Masai land and they don’t like to travel far to fight. However, whatever Ngai of the mountains asks them to
do, they do – and he’s asked them to destroy our settlement and take me to him alive.’
Kahawa pulled a stool close and leaned on it. ‘But why? I don’t understand the prisoner and I don’t understand their god, Ngai. Why?’
‘Namuwiza says it’s because of an injury Ngai got when he was driven out of the high valley of the gods. The father of light, Mulungu, shot him with an arrow that makes even immortals bleed. Over the years he has lost so much of his vitality that he now needs to drink a daily cup of the blood of an immortal, otherwise he will lose his immortality and his powers, and die. He is desperate, and I am the only immortal he can reach. It might even be wise for me to surrender to stop his vicious army from destroying our people. After all, he’s only going to drink some of my blood. I won’t die.’
‘No, mother,’ shouted Kahawa. ‘You will have no freedom. You’ll be like a lion or a parrot in a cage. You will not be able to roam as you love to, or make new things as you love to. It’s not right for anyone to spend their lifetime serving another.’
‘Then let me fight.’ Marimba framed her son’s face with her palms. ‘Let me fight, my son. I trained you. I am one of Wakambi’s best warriors.’
Kahawa didn’t want his mother to fight, but he could not argue with her. She was right; she was one of the Wakambi’s best warriors. Still, he worried that Marimba would take wild risks because she was the mother of the Wakambi.
‘All right, Mother,’ said Kahawa. ‘You can fight.’
As he spoke, his fingers tightened round the club he had been holding when Marimba came into his hut.
In a tremulous voice, she sang:
‘Where sunrise comes to wake me to
a sky that’s high and clear and blue.
The brightest corner of the earth …’
She waved at Kahawa, still singing, and turned to leave.
Marimba hadn’t taken two steps when Kahawa leapt and struck her hard at the back of her head with the club. He caught her before she fell to the floor and tied her hands with one of the slings she had made for him.
He carried her to a cave in the direction where the sun set on the settlement, placed her in it and rolled a large boulder to cover the entrance. She would be safe there.
As Kahawa walked back to his hut he heard the long-awaited alarm, followed swiftly by a shower of arrows that came whistling in the wind as a band of Masai warriors advanced.
Kahawa ducked into his hut and emerged fully armed. Wakambi warriors moved into their positions across the settlement as Masai arrows struck a few Wakambi who had not retreated to their huts as ordered. The warriors in the front line spun their slings and let loose a volley of rough stones that took the Masai completely by surprise. They had no defence for slingstones flying directly at their heads as they had never encountered slings in battle before. They fell like stunned bees; many from strikes to the head, but many also from crushed knees, shattered ankles and broken fingers and wrists where they tried to protect their faces. The Masai who made it as far as the Wakambi settlement’s borders fought the Wakambi front-line warriors, including Mpushu the Cunning, who battered them with spears and clubs. A few, like Mpushu, used the massive jaws of dead hippopotamuses as clubs, knocking their enemies off their feet with the back teeth of the extraordinary animals.
An angry storm brewed above the Masai and Wakambi warriors as their battle raged past midnight into the early hours of morning. As more and more fighters got hurt and fell back to treat their wounds, lightning bolts split the sky and the sound of thunder grew louder. Then a fearful bolt of lightning split a giant mopani tree in two, right in front of the two armies. It burst into flame. The fire spread fast through the lovegrass and burned the feet of the Masai, who ran screaming from the flames. Wakambi lookouts fled from their trees for fear of being struck by another bolt of lightning. By the time rain and hail followed the fierce assault of thunder and lightning, the battleground was deserted. Fear and fire had escorted the boastful Masai warriors halfway home. They had no desire to die on a rain-soaked battlefield so far from their family burial grounds.
Kahawa was in his hut with his war council – Mpushu, an old warrior called Sekuru, and Somojo the Diviner – treating the wounds he had sustained in hand-to-hand combat at the front lines.
‘Did you hear that?’ asked Somojo the Diviner.
‘Did I hear what?’ replied Kahawa. ‘All I hear are the winds that come after a storm. Sekuru, Mpushu, do you hear anything?’
Both men shook their heads.
‘That’s exactly what I mean,’ said Somojo. ‘Think about it. Ngai wants to capture your mother alive and his human warriors have run away. We all know gods never give up, so what comes next?’
Kahawa nodded, slowly grasping the severity of the situation. ‘He will send his super creatures, his fantastic beasts, or he might come himself.’
‘Yes. So we must stay alert,’ said Somojo. ‘I sense the presence of night beasts.’
Kahawa immediately thought of his mother, tied up and alone in the cave. He made for the entrance of the hut just as a giant arm struck the walls of the hut down.
Kahawa looked up into the giant orange eyes of a Night Howler, a gigantic creature with talons like a vulture, green and black skin tougher than rhinoceros hide, and hoofed feet the size of a goat’s. Kahawa was frozen to the spot, the Night Howler’s breath making the air around him hot. Then Somojo the Diviner shouted his war name and he came to life, hurling his club directly into the Night Howler’s left eye.
The eye burst with a sickening sound and leaked a foul-smelling yellow pus as the wounded creature’s ear-splitting scream echoed through the night.
Three other Night Howlers appeared from nowhere, but they did not attack Kahawa and his council. Instead, they gobbled up the injured Night Howler, giving Kahawa, Sekuru, Mpushu and Somojo time to rearm themselves.
Sekuru and Somojo ran to help the warriors protecting the children, leaving Mpushu the Cunning with his friend Kahawa.
Having found the Night Howlers’ weakness, they put their slings to good use, targeting the eyes of the monsters and letting their own companions eat the wounded ones.
By now, the other Wakambi warriors, with the guidance of Sekuru and Somojo, had moved all the children and the wounded warriors into caves, but the settlement’s huts had almost all been destroyed by the vicious Night Howlers. All around, warriors continued to fight a seemingly endless battle. Even Kahawa and Mpushu, the two strongest warriors, were tiring.
Suddenly, they heard a deep voice behind them. ‘My friends, may I fight beside you?’
It was the prisoner Koma-Tembo. His prison hut must have been broken down by the Night Howlers, but he had also been untied.
‘Namuwiza,’ said Koma-Tembo, as though he had read the question in their eyes. ‘She freed my mind. I know of Ngai’s evil now.’
With that, he took arms and all three of them fought with renewed energy until it seemed that they would soon overcome the Night Howlers.
Suddenly the temperature dropped, and an unworldly voice rang through the night.
‘Put your weapons down, mortals. Ngai of the mountains speaks. When I speak I am obeyed. You are at my mercy.’
Kahawa, Mpushu and Koma-Tembo dropped their slings and turned towards the voice. A cloud of cold air hovered in the space above them. Kahawa knew what Ngai wanted before he spoke.
‘Where is Marimba the immortal?’
The Night Howlers were suddenly still, awaiting instructions from Ngai. A tense silence hung over the gathered warriors where they stood beneath Ngai’s cloud.
‘I asked you a question, weakling,’ Ngai insisted, throwing his unearthly voice directly at Kahawa’s chest.
Kahawa, son of Marimba, looked above Ngai’s cloud as though he could see the invisible god. ‘The woman you are looking for is my mother,’ he said defiantly. ‘I cannot tell you where she is.’
‘This is no time for sentiment, mortal fool,’ bellowed Ngai. ‘You have no business i
n the affairs of gods. I am giving you a last chance to speak, then I will have to kill you.’
Kahawa knew from the stories of Namuwiza and Somojo and his mother that the gods showed no mercy. They could be brutal to those who opposed them. His heart was beating faster than a fleeing antelope’s hooves, his hands shook like a hummingbird’s wings, but he could not bring himself to give up his mother.
In spite of his wounds, Kahawa rose to his full height and pushed his chest out. His love made him defiant.
‘Do what you wish,’ he said. ‘I will not give up my mother.’
‘You impudent human,’ raged Ngai. ‘You have twelve heartbeats to tell me or you die.’
Mpushu the Cunning wept. He and Koma-Tembo lay on the ground and begged Ngai for mercy, for more time for their friend. But the god of the Kilima-Njaro mountains ignored them.
Mpushu pleaded with his best friend to surrender, but a determined look had come into Kahawa’s eyes and there was no way of changing his mind.
‘Why don’t you kill me now?’ Kahawa taunted, throwing a stone in the direction of Ngai’s cloud. ‘Why should I fear a god too scared to show himself?’
With a roar of pure rage, Ngai revealed his handsome human form: a high forehead, large eyes, clear skin and the physique of a wrestler. He signalled the Night Howler closest to him, who picked up Kahawa in his enormous vulture talons, yelping with pleasure.
‘Now tell me what I need to know or my beast will devour you whole.’
But Kahawa had lost his fear after his thirteenth heartbeat. He realized that Ngai could not kill him because the so-called god of the Masai needed him to tell him where his mother was. Also, if what his mother had learned from Namuwiza was true, then without his mother Ngai had very little power.
Kahawa burst out laughing, drawing shocked looks from everyone. Ngai’s face turned pale and the Night Howlers shook with uncertainty.
‘Do you defy me, you fool?’