Two Moons by J. Raymond Ractliffe - Chapter 4

Two Moons is a new novel by J. Raymond Ractliffe that explores the inner spirit life of Africa, her people and their powerful faith in the world of the Unseen.

The Mark of the Two Moons
Chapter 4

    “Konjaru!" At last they were close enough. A hundred yards from the hilltop of tall stones sitting burning in the high sun.  "Let's stop here and see to Matthew." Jeremy was blowing hard and his hands were stiff from caked blood. His arms were covered with dust and sweat, his eyes glazed with effort and back muscles felt torn and wrenched. Konjaru had not fared any better. His elbows had become crazed with fatigue, sinews stretched beyond their norm.

They gently placed Matthew on the ground between them. Jeremy bent down, feeling for a pulse that was now irregular, then touched the boy's face which had become pale and drawn.

"Can you go up and see if she is in, hopefully we have not wasted out time in not checking ahead before we had stated this madness" Jeremy expressed out loud what both had been clearly thinking.

"Bwana, I will go to see if she is here. Rest for a while, you blow hard like a hippo. Wait here with Matthew, I will come back to this place when I know she is there for us.”

With that Konjaru raised his weary body to stand. Turning to the hill, he began his walk and climb up to the higher elevation, to the top stones so he could look down into the compound below.

Jeremy sat by the side of Matthew, hoping this mad dash across the African landscape had not been for naught. He also knew this was their only hope. Without a doctor, Matthew did not have a chance. He was out of options. Africa rarely provided you with more than one choice.

He watched Konjaru scale the brown stones, picking his way through the impassable, finding the slim path long discovered by the small buck and game of the . Suddenly Konjaru was near the summit, between two stone outcrops that had dominated the hilltop's outline. He turned to wave briefly, the sun drowning out his details and tired smile and then was gone.

Matthew stirred, trying to move on the makeshift stretcher. The arid smell of his bowls had now become fierce and an attraction to the seemingly endless supply of black flies. Jeremy stretched his a hand over him, brushing away their free flight for just a moment before they regrouped as a swarm.

Jeremy laid back and mopped his brow. Chest still heaving slightly, filling his blood with air. His legs were now becoming cramped. Jeremy leaned over, and removed the bandanna momentarily to see the wound. Some of the old blood had crusted, but it still trickled down his fingers.

"God - he lost a lot of blood. Damn it to hell!"

Jeremy placed the other side of the cloth over the wound, once again applying pressure to stem the trickling blood. Fear and panic gripped him. If they didn't get to stitch this wound and replace his lost blood with water and food, the boy would sink into a light coma. Matthew lay on his side now, arms covering his lower body trying in vain to protect what had already been shattered.

Jeremy looked up into the sky, peering in vain for sign of Konjaru on the hill.

"The other side must not be where the compound is?" he thought. "he must be scrounging around looking for a way down.”

Suddenly, Konjaru bounced up between the two great stones, waving with great determination and joy. He could not hear him, but the excitement could be easily read that they had been successful.

"OK, Matthew, we made it. Just hang on a little while longer, and we will get you well. A bit of a climb down and we can get you fresh water and fix the wound and get you all cleaned up. Not to worry! Good chap.” Jeremy was speaking softly and patting him on the upper arm as if to his own son.

Embarrassed at his own sudden sentimentality, Jeremy stood up and brushed himself off. Konjaru had come down most of the trail now. He could see that he was as severely worn out as he and yet he knew he had burned the last of his reserves in scaling this last mound to find what he had suggested would save the boy. Jeremy knew his path up the hill had been filled with cold dread. To have returned with bitter news that the fires were cold and still, the compound empty, without so much as the cry of baboons jeering would have condemned Matthew to certain death.

Konjaru walked up to the litter's side. Jeremy placed a weary hand on his friend's shoulder and with gentle squeeze, tired nod and wide grin, Konjaru understood the fullness of his friends smile, and heart. He smiled back now, white teeth blazing in the sun.

"Come Bwana, she is there in the compound. I was very surprised to see her out in the full sun by the old tree and flat stones. This old woman never leaves her hut and fire. She was sitting there, waiting for us. She waved the moment I came over the crest to see her." Konjaru said with a smile.

"OK - good. Then, let's go. Let's get Matthew down to her as soon as we can. I have not come all this way to bury my brother's son."

With that, Jeremy bent down and grasped the poles, wincing at the open wounds now cracked and bleeding. At a slower pace, they made their way up the hill path. Finding steady footing was difficult, the litter causing them to lose their balance now more often than on the open plains. With a final heave and thrust from weary legs, they suddenly burst into full view of the open compound beneath them.

In the center, several large stones acted as seats under a withered tree that offered little protection from the burning sun but to the stones and lizards and the occasional baboon it was cooler than the open sky.

On both sides, the remains of several huts lay spilling out from broken walls and black straw roofs that had long blown away. These had not heard a human voice within their walls for many years. Their fire pits swept clean by the winds, not even the stones carried the black markings of smoke. The wind had come with endless grains of sand and had worn them free of colour and time.

Three huts on the right bore witness of human presence. A fire burned before the one hut, a potjie - a three legged black pot, stood in its center, a meal cooking within it. A young girl kneeled before it, without looking up, she continued her duties, stirring and adding leaves and other local herbs to the sweet mixture. She wore the light skin protecting her honour, but otherwise was without clothing. Her breasts sprouting eagerly under colourful beads and brass rings signifying her status. ear lobes hung full with adornments of every colour and length, slightly clinking as stones struck each other like wind chimes hanging from a tree.

To the side of this, another hut and fire. A girl sat before the doorway on a craved stool holding a pot between he knees as she stripped whatever she was preparing of its husks or shell. She also did not look up at the strangers approaching as they made their way down a winding dusty path.

"Damn!" Jeremy thought as he walked now with the litter, "…if I wasn't half blind with thirst and tired as a crapped out buffalo, I would have sworn I was looking at the same girl." He was too tired to visually inspect further and continued to the centre of the enclosure.

Here he looked at the oldest woman he had ever seen. Her head was covered with long locks of African hair, sprawled and cascading over her withered bare shoulders. White carved bones of every description at the end of each beaded and platted hair length. A worn cow hide around the waist and a leopard skin draped over her shoulders her only attire. Leather sandals with riempie or fine leather strips winding up her calves protected her feet from the small stones and thorns.

Her back was curved from severe osteoporosis. She looked like the fabled Tokoloshe, the diminutive mythological spirit who stalked the black nights with a gleaming great battle-axe slung over a hunched back and broad shoulders. A toothless grin revealed empty gums, a bony hand waved gently in the sun and dust, a sure open greeting and directing them to a place beside her.

She sat regal, this ancient mother. The most startling feature of this ageless creature was the cataract eye she peered directly at and through you. Pure white as mother's milk, she sat looking more with this single glazed eye than with the dark and smoke rimed eye that remained her link to the seeing world.

With flies buzzing and sweat dripping from brows thick with dust they were finally to rest at the end of their mad journey. Matthew was placed to the side of this inner circle by the stones. Both men wearily slumped to the ground in total exhaustion. They did not bother to move, but lay panting in the dirt.

Still she had not said a word. Majura had been told they were coming. The smoke and the casting of bones had been clear. The boy who now lay in her hut dreaming in fever was somehow connected to this arrival from above the hill of burned stones, that touched the skies.