Page 24

O jore blinked as he tried to keep his eyes open. Dizziness accompanied by severe headaches had plagued him since he left the camp for the Keseve Market. For the hundredth time, he cursed the potency of Sholei’s poison. He hadn’t collapsed in the middle of the fight by sheer luck.

After securing the Keseve Market, the Dembe charged into Mukuru City and headed for the palace. Beneath him, Radi raced toward the open gates of King Gusiwaju’s palace. As they neared the palace, he knocked down the orange and brown banner of the Mukuru Kingdom, and the men behind him cheered. The streets of Mukuru were deserted as people hid behind closed doors. Horse hooves thundered, and war cries rent the air as the Dembe army charged forward .

Bodies of dead alliance soldiers lay over the open gates as Ojore made his way to the palace. Black smoke from fallen torches billowed in the air and added to the dark ambiance. Palace servants, retainers, and other officials huddled together under the watch of his men. They avoided his gaze as he passed.

“Akima,” Ojore called for his second in command. “Gather all the royal women and send them to the north. You know what to do with the males.”

Akima nodded grimly and turned toward the inner quarters of King Gusiwaju’s courts. They knew what came next after they occupied a new kingdom. The males of the ruling king didn’t survive. The females were sent to be nobles’ servants around the Dembe Kingdom and her states.

Before the court, a handful of city guards drew their weapons on Ojore.

“You won’t stop me from breaking that door and getting to King Gusiwaju,” Ojore said as he dismounted Radi. He sheathed his weapon and glared at the men before him. “Unfortunately, I have no time to fight you. Something else requires my urgency.”

”We shall protect the sovereign of Mukuru from Dembe invaders to the last man standing!” shouted a palace guard, his voice loud against the cloudy morning. The rains pounded the entire night and only let up that morning, but the dark clouds didn’t go away. Up in the skies, the ever-present eagle shrieked and swooped low to land on one of the bas-relief pillars before the court.

“There is no more Mukuru,” Ojore sneered at the men as he stepped forward up the stone stairs. “King Gusiwaju, will you hide behind your men or come out and face me?” he shouted as he took another step.

“Soldiers, charge!” a guard shouted, and the palace guards raised their weapons and rushed forward.

“Archers!” Ojore shouted, and his men behind him trained their arrows on the guards before the court doors. Ojore lowered his hand, and a volley of poisoned arrows swished through the air and knocked down the men before the palace door. They groaned out in pain as they tried to avoid the blows, but the number of hits was too many. Ojore didn’t move until they crumpled to the floor and lay still. Their dark blood pooled where he stood.

Ojore walked ahead and pushed the heavy wood doors open. The eagle swooped in after him.

Inside, it was quiet and dark. The lanterns were dimmed and Ojore observed one lone figure before the throne. The meager light from the high windows couldn’t reach the floor as the statue of Lord Keita swallowed most of the natural light and created a huge shadow where King Gusiwaju stood. The King gazed at him from his throne. The eagle landed on the head of the statue, its golden eyes on the lone king.

“Long ago, a priest told me about this day,” King Gusiwaju said, not turning toward Ojore. “I had ascended the throne and was eager to establish my rule. The priest prophesied I would die in the shadow of High Lord Keita. I spent years being a devout follower, but still he failed to redeem my fate. It’s said he’s a vicious god.”

“The priest was correct. You will cross to the land of the living dead today.” Ojore stopped his advance and kept his gaze on the old king .

“Kaza must be a proud father to have a son who brings such prestige to Dembe Kingdom.” King Gusiwaju didn’t turn to face Ojore.

“It’s King Kaza to you,” Ojore corrected him. “But that doesn’t matter because you will not leave this throne room alive.”

“You are indeed your father’s son. Down to the condescending way you speak.” King Gusiwaju chuckled, lowered his head from the statue to Ojore, and offered him a weak smile. “Men rarely change their fate, but I want that chance.”

“You wish to change your fate?” Ojore arched an eyebrow at him.

“My people have enjoyed peace for a long time. I sent my court officials to spend time with their families in case all of us perished today. My wish is for them to continue living in peace even after I am gone. I should be the last person to die in this city under your sword.”

“Your army has fallen. I do not quarrel with your people unless they oppose Dembe’s rule.” Since the kingdom came under the rule of Dembe, Ojore saw no reason to continue the carnage. His trusted generals were sent to take charge of the other cities under the alliance.

“Tell me Gane died an honorable death.” King Gusiwaju’s voice broke.

“He fought with courage,” Ojore said. What he didn’t mention was that the prince’s body had disappeared from the battlefield in the chaos of fire and hailstorms. Someone sneaked in and took Gane away—a certain notorious bandit. Gane would grow to be more of a pain the longer he lived. Ojore sent his men after them, but the rain washed away their tracks.

“Gane was my heir. He tried to protect this kingdom in his way,.” the old king said and collapsed on his throne. Ojore wondered if King Gusiwaju knew about his son’s dealings with the bandit or if he lived in oblivion like everyone else. Ojore’s father, King Kaza was prone to sweep things under the covers. Anything that threatened his throne was ignored.

“How do you wish to change your fate?” Ojore took a step forward.

Can a man go against the plans of the gods? Ojore wanted to add, but held back.

Could the ending between him and Sholei be different? Ojore received information Sholei had escaped the capital several days before. She was broken out of the prison cells by her mentor, Musembi. Ojore cursed his luck. He was too slow again to capture her.

“I guess I am not the only one who is troubled this morning.” King Gusiwaju’s voice brought him back.

“Can men go against predestined fate?” Ojore asked no one in particular when he stopped at the base of the stairs to the throne and gazed up at the towering statue. The eagle perched on top shrieked at him and Ojore scowled at the sharp noise.

“If that were possible, I wouldn’t cross to the land of the living dead today.” King Gusiwaju sighed. “I don’t want to die by your sword, son of Kaza. These walls shouldn’t be sprayed with my blood. Rather, allow me to have a final drink.” He picked up a golden goblet from a small sculptured table beside him and swirled the contents inside.

“You want to die by poison.” The bitter smell of poison mixed with the sweet scent of wine hit Ojore’s nose. King Gusiwaju chose to decide how he died, a master in his ending. Wouldn’t it be more honorable to fight like his men, Ojore thought? But what was honorable in death?

“You aren’t going to fight me for your people?” Ojore continued up the steps.

“Do I stand a chance to win against you? Then what is the point? If my death can spare the lives of Mukuru residents, I would rather die.” King Gusiwaju chuckled and took a deep swig of the wine. “Keep my body intact for burial.”

“No one is left to perform your burial rites,” Ojore said. King Gusiwaju’s body would be hanged outside the northern gate of Mukuru to deter any rebelliousness. The tactic, though cruel, worked to keep people under control.

“You’re cruel, just like your father.” King Gusiwaju laughed and gulped down more of his poisoned drink. “Kaza called me a coward because I avoided confrontation with him.”

“You seem to know a lot about my father.” Ojore’s eyes followed a trail of drink that spilled out of the king’s mouth and soaked into his white beard.

“I do know some things about the Lion of Dembe and you.” King Gusiwaju wiped the wine with the back of his hand. He folded a hand over his chest and squeezed, his breaths labored.

”Do you have something to say, old man?” Ojore leaned over him, his voice barely a whisper .

“Your tattoos move.” King Gusiwaju slurred in his speech, and his eyes grew hazy.

“You know about my tattoos?” Ojore’s voice was barely a whisper.

“You should ask your father who you are.” King Gusiwaju gave him a weak grin before his gaze turned to the great eagle’s statue. “The prophecy has come to pass. I, Gusiwaju Ndlovu, perished under the shadow of Lord Keita. May Lord Ashe accept me as I cross the three doors of rebirth.” With that, the King of Mukuru took his last breath, and his head fell on his chest. His crown fell and rolled toward Ojore’s feet. Ojore placed two fingers underneath the king’s nose. He wasn’t breathing anymore.

Ojore raised his head and met the sharp eyes of the eagle perched on Lord Keita’s statue.

“No man can change his fate,” Ojore shouted in the empty hall. “Is that why you keep following me? To make sure I don’t divert from the set path?”

The large head of the statue moved and gazed down upon Ojore. Its golden eyes burned bright like coals of fire. Ojore concluded he was tired, for the vision didn’t seem real. He rubbed his eyes and turned back to the statue, but the golden head was back to its original position.

He picked up the crown of King Gusiwaju and walked out of the court. An applause of cheers filled the air as he waved the crown in the air.

“King Gusiwaju has fallen. Mukuru Kingdom is now under the command of Dembe!” he shouted to his men, amidst loud cheers. Horns were blown, and more Mukuru banners toppled as the soldiers of Dembe celebrated victory. Soldiers ran inside and dragged the limp body of King Gusiwaju outside to hang it on the city gates.

“General, it’s done.” Akima appeared at Ojore’s side with a dark look on his face. His sword dripped fresh blood, and some had splashed on his face. “King Gusiwaju’s male descendants in the palace have ceased to exist.” He wiped his hand across his face and painted it with more blood. The deep crimson color contrasted with his dark skin.

“It’s necessary for the stability of the state.” Ojore closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Sharp pain attacked his head.

“You don’t look so good. Why don’t we get Litonde to check on you?” Akima held onto Ojore’s forearm to stabilize him.

“Get men and ride to Lake Alokove. Get Sholei back here,” Ojore said before his legs gave out and he crumpled forward.

“Ojore.” Akima released his sword and held Ojore up. The metal clanged against the stone of the palace stairs.

“Do everything you can to bring her back.” Ojore clasped Akima’s arm and tried his best to remain conscious, but his world went dark.

Murmurs floated to Tula’s ears, but she struggled to open her eyes. The voices sounded like the buzz of bees droning in and out. Her eyelids felt heavy, but she forced them open. She was greeted by a blinding light as she winced and groaned. Tula adjusted to the brightness and squinted through the pain that shooting through the back of her head.

“Be careful. Your wound is still fresh,” a deep male voice warned.

Her vision cleared to reveal a tall, lithe man before her. The man was dressed in the distinctive rustler’s long red tunic. A lengthy spear was strapped to his back, and he held a small wood bowl with steaming liquid. A lone gold stud was in his right ear, and it glinted in the light.

”Who are you? Where am I?” Tula clutched her head.

“You are in the Vipingo Gorge with other alliance soldiers,” the man said. “My name is Leikun, and I saved your life.” He placed the bowl on a small table beside her bed.

Tula tried to remember where she had heard that name, but her thoughts were muddled.

Her vision cleared, and she focused on the strange man before her. Good looks, a sly smile, and bright red curls bounced off his head. She lay on fur bedding covered with dark, warm covers. The bed was positioned by the window, hence the bright light. She peeked outside to see similar tents lining the gorge.

“Better cover yourself before everyone around here notices a female in their midst,” Leikun said and threw the covers around her shoulders. Tula grasped them and stared daggers at him.

“How dare you?” she hissed, her tone hushed, conscious they weren’t the only ones around. She looked around to see if anyone had overheard Leikun’s words. The men in the room lay on makeshift beds with various wounds .

Her memories flooded back—the battle at Keseve, the alliance’s stampede, and the relentless onslaught by the Dembe army. Tula couldn’t forget the acrid smell of burning flesh or the agonized cries of both men and beasts trying to escape the wildfire. General Ojore had cut through fire and smoke in the middle and struck down his enemies. A huge eagle had screeched above him.

Tula shuddered. How did she survive?

“The alliance lost the war, with most soldiers dead. The few survivors gathered here to recuperate,” Leikun explained as he placed the medicine beside her. His red braided locks bounced with every step. His knee-length robes were dyed the same red as his hair, giving him a boyish, youthful look.

“Where is Prince Gane?” she dreaded to ask.

“He is heavily wounded and fighting for his life. It will be a miracle if he survives,” Leikun said as a shadow crossed his eyes.

“Why is a woman parading around like a man and fighting in wars?” Leikun arched his red-painted straight eyebrow at her. Tula scooted back, cautious of the question in his eyes. His clothes shifted, and she saw the dagger strapped to his waist. Thick copper armlets hugged his sinewy biceps.

“You don’t have to worry about that.” Tula held the covers tight to her chest, glad that the heavy band she used to flatten her breasts was still intact.

“You are either brave or foolish for pretending under these circumstances.” Leikun stood up. “Check the largest tent outside. Gane is resting there.” He walked away as he mumbled under his breath .

Tula dressed quickly and managed to stagger outside the tent. It was midday, and she couldn’t tell how long she was unconscious. She passed tents filled with injured men. Some lay on the beds, and others attended to them. Several horses were tied together at one end of the gorge, saddled and ready to leave. She spotted more red-clad cattle rustlers in their midst. They were a scourge of enemies with capital guards. How did they come to their rescue in the battle?

Before she reached Prince Gane’s tent, she walked into one tent with men in a heated discussion. Alliance soldiers filled the room and talked above each other. They were dressed in their war armor and sported burn wounds and battle scars. Tula glanced around and hoped to catch her brothers, but none of their faces appeared. Where were Kweku and Anasi? She sent a prayer to the skies for their safety.

“We have to go back and fight,” one soldier said. He stood in their midst with his right arm in a white sling.

“You and what army?” another soldier asked, white bandages wrapped around his head. Part of his armor was torn and burned.

“We can’t be cowardly and hide here as we await an unknown fate. We must go back and protect our people.” the man in the sling waved his arm in the air and flinched.

“By now, our cities must have fallen into the hands of the Dembe. It’s over. This war is done,” another soldier with a swollen eye said.

“So we are giving up without fighting? ”

“Look around you. We can’t fight. Communication with our cities has been cut off.” He shook his head. “Who knew we could lose to those animals like that?”

“I believe they are the uthwezini , spirits who escaped the world of the living dead. They came through the fire to drag us down with them,” another soldier with a glassy look in his eyes said. “They charged through the fire and slaughtered us.” The room went silent for a few moments. The mention of the uthwezini was enough to make a grown man’s blood run cold.

“We can’t fight now. Let’s recuperate first,” the man with one arm in a sling arm said.

“We must wait for Prince Gane to wake up. He is the only general who didn’t perish in the war,” another soldier supported him.

A harsh laugh emitted from behind her, and Leikun sauntered in. His tall frame bypassed her at the tent’s opening. The midday sun burned through the strands of his flaming hair.

“All of you better count your losses. You can’t take the Dembe army in such a state.” Leikun glared at them.

Then it hit her. Leikun was a household name in Mukuru’s capital. The cattle raider’s story was told many times. He attacked in the dead of night without a sound and left with numerous heads of cattle. Prince Gane was the only one who had managed to stop him and occasionally bring back the loot.

“This has nothing to do with you, bandit,” the one-armed soldier sneered at him, disdain in his voice. Soldiers and bandits didn’t mix well .

“I’m your host and the man who saved your lives.” Leikun threw his arms in the air before he settled on a stool. He seemed at ease before the men who looked down on him. With his fierce reputation, they were prudent not to attack. If Leikun was correct about saving their lives, he had managed to get the survivors away from Ojore and his vengeful army. How and why did he do it? Tula scratched her head.

“You are nothing but a petty thief,” another soldier spat, venom in his words. They might not attack him physically, but they didn’t hold back their words. The relationship between soldiers and raiders was bitter. The soldiers believed the raiders were thieves who took advantage of hardworking men. Tula agreed with those sentiments. Her family once fell victim to the bandits, and they didn’t receive their cattle back even after Gane went after them.

“If it weren’t for my men risking their lives to get you out of the fire, you wouldn’t be standing in front of me.” A dark glint appeared in Leikun’s eyes. At a glance, nothing was threatening about Leikun’s looks. Tula assumed the bandit was a rough older man, not someone so young. Leikun appeared like a carefree man who spent his days lounging in pleasure houses and not making a career stealing cattle.

“No one asked you to save us…” another soldier began.

“Don’t think I did this out of the goodness of my heart. I wish for nothing more than to see all of you dead.” Leikun walked up to the man and stopped inches from his face. The soldier’s forehead veins popped .

The room went silent as everybody watched the interaction. The other soldiers inched for their weapons, ready for a showdown. The rest of the bandits closed in outside the tent, prepared to attack when their leader gave an order.

“Enough, Leikun,” Prince Gane’s voice called behind Tula. Prince Gane leaned against a crude cane. His wide chest was bare, and a white bandage was wrapped around his waist. He had survived the battle, but deep wounds and blood stained the bandage.

Gane’s eyes registered surprise when he saw her. Questions reflected in his gaze, but he didn’t say anything.

“Your dear Prince Gane is still breathing.” Leikun pointed to Gane at the entrance. “Maybe now you can all leave my camp and plan your suicide missions away from my camp.”

“Do you two know each other?” one of the soldiers asked. Gane didn’t say anything but glowered at Leikun.

“We are quite acquainted, wouldn’t you say, Gane?” Leikun trained his eyes on Gane. He walked towards the hurt prince and stopped a breath away. They were almost the same height, with Prince Gane slightly taller and heftier than Leikun.

Prince Gane led many raids against Leikun whenever a raid occurred in the capital. Sometimes, Gane returned empty-handed, but he often reclaimed some of the stolen cattle. Leikun evaded him inside the caves, never to be seen again until the next raid, according to what Tula’s brothers told her.

“Hold your tongue, Leikun.” Gane’s eyes glinted .

“The secrets I could bring out would destroy the illusion you’ve tried so hard to build.” Leikun refused to back down.

“Last warning,” Gane declared. He grimaced and grabbed his bandaged wound. Tula rushed to his side to help him sit on a wood stool placed in the middle of the room. The men looked over with concern, the tension in the room diffused.

“Someone get the physician!” she shouted as someone passed Prince Gane a water flask.

“You should have stayed in bed if you can’t walk. Are you still trying to play a hero even though you’re still on your last leg?” Leikun frowned at Gane as he took a seat next to him.

“Everybody leaves the room,” Gane instructed his men, and they reluctantly left, one after the other one.

“You should lay down,” Tula said. Gane breathed heavily after drinking the water.

“Get me the physician.” Gane gave her a weak smile and urged her to leave. Tula threw a side glance at Leikun before she left the room.

“If I came a moment later, you would have crossed the line.” Gane glared at Leikun as he leaned against the staff and tried to get up. His forehead was coated with sweat. His head swam, and black spots appeared behind his eyes. His wound had reopened, and blood soaked through the thick white bandages.

“I lost several men trying to drag you out of the inferno. You forced me to enter the war with the Dembe army. Don’t talk to me about crossing lines. You did it first.” Leikun shook his head.

“We had an agreement…” Gane started.

“And I did my part. I rescued you, and now I want you out. I can’t afford to have this camp discovered by the Dembe army.” Leikun frowned and gazed out the window to the rough edges of the gorge. “That is, if they haven’t found us already.”

“We have nowhere to go. You must host us for some time. I will send a message back home and find out what is happening.”

“Mukuru and its cities have fallen, and I can’t express my joy enough. Ojore did something I failed to do.” Dry humor laced Leikun’s voice. His grudge against Mukuru Kingdom hadn’t diminished even after years. He stood up and paced before Gane.

“Remember, it’s also your home.” Gane attempted to stand up again and failed, sweat covering his forehead. “You can deny it all you want, but my loss is yours.”

“Mukuru turned its back on me and the grassland welcomed me with open arms. I don’t need the capital to sustain my source of living anymore. With its fall, our deal has come to an end.” Leikun said, the last statement in a low tone and Gane clenched his teeth.

“The alliance still stands. We might not be strong like before, but as long as we stand together, we shall defeat the Dembe,” Gane said as he stood up with a lot of effort.

“I failed to tell you this, but all the males in the royal family have been killed.” Leikun lowered his voice. “King Gusiwaju, your father, lost his life in the great hall. Ojore hanged his dead body outside the city gates. None of your brothers survived. ”

Leikun’s words took Gane aback. He stumbled back, and Leikun grabbed his arms. His supporting cane hit the ground with a silent thud. Dust swirled in the air as time stood still.

“The king is dead?” Gane’s voice cracked. “When was that? What about my mother?”

“Several days ago. You were still unconscious.” Leikun’s voice softened. “Queen Kajala, together with the other females from the royal household, were sent to Dembe. I’m still trying to determine their whereabouts.”

Gane closed his eyes as tears ran down his cheeks. He hung his head on his chest and curled his hands into fists.

“The cities under the alliance have fallen to the same fate. It’s hopeless to plan for revenge now. You must focus on your recovery,” Leikun went on as he helped Gane to his seat. He crouched before the sobbing prince and patted his clenched fists.

“I know you are hurting, but we can’t stay here. It won’t be long before Ojore discovers this hideout. I don’t know when they will attack, but we can’t wait long.”

“Everything happened so fast. I was sure of winning this war. How did it get to this? Losing my father? My mother taken into servitude?” Gane choked on his words. His hands tightened around Leikun’s arms.

“It’s going to be hard, but you must recuperate if you want revenge,” Leikun said. Gane began to say something but couldn’t find the words as emotions clogged his throat.

”Losing one’s parents is never easy.” Leikun leaned in and pulled Gane’s head onto his shoulder.

Leikun’s family had been killed by cattle raiders when he was a boy, and Gane recalled how devastated his friend had been. King Gusiwaju refused to send guards after the cutthroat rustlers, and it forced Leikun to seek revenge alone. He left Mukuru and swore to burn it down one day. As a boy of ten, Gane didn’t have the power to help his friend yet. Almost ten years later, they met again, with Leikun leading the bandits to conduct raids in the capital. Gane’s gentle childhood friend turned out to be a cutthroat rustler. Leikun’s hatred for Mukuru Kingdom wasn’t a secret, and he felt no remorse for King Gusiwaju’s death. Yet he managed to console Gane, who had lost everything.

Tula watched the exchange from the tent’s entrance. The physician beside her tried to go in, but she stopped him at the tearful interaction between Leikun and Gane. They seemed to be friends and enemies at the same time—one minute biting each other’s heads off and the next comforting each other.

Thoughts of Sholei occupied Tula’s mind as she considered her best friend’s fate. She wondered if Sholei had escaped the prison cell. How would Ojore treat her if he recaptured her? Tula searched the entire camp for her brothers but couldn’t trace them. Other soldiers informed her that Anasi and Kweku might have perished in the second battle. Tula couldn’t trust his words and held on to hope. Until she saw their bodies, she wouldn’t believe their demise. Her mother would be devastated, and she would think the worst in Tula’s absence. Her family had crumbled in days. She felt for her aging father, a Senior Elder of King Gusiwaju’s court. Would anyone survive Ojore’s onslaught?