Two Moons by J. Raymond Ractliffe - Chapter 5

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 5

     Majura had woken this morning by her fire. She slept arms crossed over her shrivelled breasts, her dream night filled with colourful images of people and places she had not seen before. She had woken once in the dark night, filled her long pipe with some tobacco and African wild dagga - marijuana, and had sat for some time peering through her Milk Eye into the smoke. Although she had travelled the vast lands in her time here with the People and the Ancestor's Spirits, these places in the smoke she did not know. Flat mountains of blue stone by the sea, forests of tall trees, great ships of steel floating in the great rivers that lived on the other side of the mountains.

Tall huts that touched the blue sky, higher than the white homes or market stores she had seen in the villages filled with the white tribes from the north. What they could not trade, they stole with their lightening sticks of smoke. Every one knew land could not be owned but all belonged to Ngai and the animals that roamed endlessly over the earth. How foolish these people were. They would drive a stick in the ground or place stones high like an ant hill and then believed the land theirs. The animals did not see these sticks in the earth nor did they see the piled stones. It was only the white man who believed in such a foolishness.

Majura's visions had remained constant. Swirling rivers of passion and pain, and of wars. The pale Sun and the Moon taunted each other from their sacred places in the heavens and waged a fierce battle across the skies, blotting out the destinies of man, beast and spirit.

She had seen in the sacred smoke, the visions of the white people coming into the compound, carrying a wounded boy between them on long sticks. They had walked far in the red sun and would come worn and blistered, dust in their eyes and fear in their hearts.

However, it was the fevered boy who had been the centre of her visions. Yellow hair covered his young head and he had the fair skin of the Red White Man from the Sea Islands.

The great horned one had died bringing him here. His long horn not finding the death mark, but wounding enough so that she may see him and find the riddle that still remained unclear to her. No matter how she studied the bones or peered deeply into the smoke, it remained a mystery for her. Rare incense placed on the golden fires as an extra offering, and still the Spirits did not make clear the Unknown.

Majura had come out of her warm dark hut at the appointed time and sat waiting under the tree and flat stones. The twins were surprised to see her as she rarely come out to see the world in the hot light of the day.

At the top of the hill before her, a head appeared suddenly from between the great burned stones that marked the place between sky and earth, and waved to her.

 "At last" she thought, "the River has come to feed the Dreams.”

Majura grinned deeply now, her face lit up and both eyes glistened with anticipation. She waved softly to the strangers who were to come. Now it was the time for Ngai to walk among the people, and play.

The head disappeared again from the tall horizon. Majura watched as a falcon rose from its perch high in the thicket, to watch the newcomers who had come to this place. It flew to the hilltop and stayed hovering on the hot winds that blew in from the lower valley. It stayed there for a time but after a while finding them uninteresting, it dropped a feathered great wing and rode the hot rippling winds out over the valley.

 Majura smiled.

Then they were there, clearly outlined on the crest. Two men. A white man, back burned hot and red from the high sun and a black man. Grey with sweat and dust and between them laying on a bloodied litter, the golden boy to whom all the dreams and visions had been directed. They limped slowly down the path by the side of the hilltop, sometimes losing their footing and stumbling through the sharp stones and long thorns that caught at them. Lower they came until the bush cleared a way for them at the edge of the compound. They seemed to pause for a moment as they adjusted the weight between, catching their breath before arriving finally at the source of their long quest.

Majura waved a hand in greeting and directed them to the one side. The sun would remain in their faces on that side and she was keen to know of the rivers of their minds that would be flashed on their faces as they spoke. At last they came to her resting place by the stones and placed the litter down on the ground between then. Chests heaving and bodies spent; there was no strength for talking or long greetings. The yellow haired boy lay motionless, lips cracked and bleeding, hair over his face. Majura thought he looked like a spirit with the light skin. Black flies hovering where hairless legs grew from his body told her of the place of his inner wound, crusted blood showed then on the dirty cloth covering the dark mark left by the great horn.

Majura cast her seeing eye on the black face before her. Grey and dusted, it was he who had led them here to this place. She did not know this man, but had heard of one who had left the carved thrones of his ancestors and walked now with the white man.

Konjaru had been watching the old woman closely now, looking for signs as to which of the languages or dialects he knew to address her. But she wore the markings of all the peoples of this land. Formal greetings led to the direct success or failure of a meeting. Not having the correct greeting of respect, and done in manner befitting her status would mean immediate failure, and possible death to Matthew.

From a carving that had been resting over Majura's heart, Konjaru recognized a simple kudu horn. The single musical instrument of the Masai, played only in their week long Eunoto ceremony, when the children, young morans, entered the beginning stages of initiation to become a junior warrior. It was this time when the young men and warriors were expected to guard the Enk'ang, the community and the cattle enclosures - the kudu horn alone gave him direction to begin his greeting.

At last Konjaru spoke.

"Great Mother, we have come from a far away place. This boy had been hunting in the open land with his father's brother and been run down by an angry rhino who had challenged them from the bush and deep stones. This rhino, he did not kill the boy with his long horn, but has cut him deeply. The string that comes from the giraffe's long tail needs to be sown into this boy to stop the red blood from coming. This boy now sleeps in the fever that comes from too much blood falling to the ground. We have come to ask you to bless us with your magic of the Spirits and Knowledge from God."

Majura sat smiling. Her face shadowed by the sun behind her. She turned her gaze now to the white man who lay on his side, head falling to his arm as he tried to coax new life into his limbs.

"This man is here with heavy heart, worried and fearful of this becoming a loss to his spirit. The boy's blood came from the same white river, but not from this man spear. He looked tired and pale, in a place unknown to him and hearing a language that had not come from his mother," Majura thought.

Jeremy looked with knotted brow at Konjaru, queering his friend in silence.

"Perhaps the old crone is deaf as well as being as old as the hills,” Jeremy thought. He was not aware of the words spoken to the woman but could only think Konjaru had been giving her the history of what had happened to them all, the wild chase that lead them here and to Matthew who was clearly wounded and bleeding in front of her and in desperate need of treatment.

Jeremy caught her long stare at him, unblinking, she seemed to be looking right through him. The minutes dragged by with no reaction at all.

"Perhaps the old woman is blind in both eyes, and deaf to boot" he thought. "Bloody useless then to Matthew, if she can't see a bloody thing. Dam it to hell! I hope this had not been a bloody waste of time."

Majura kept looking at Jeremy, mouth grinning. Without turning to Konjaru she said, "You must tell this man, his fear is loud. I can see the things he wishes me to see. Be patient, there is time. This boy is not leaving. It is not time yet for him to go to his ancestors. That time will come in its own place, but, it is not today." Her hand rose up up while she spoke, pointing to the sky and horizon as the words formed in the sky.

Konjaru's eyes darted to and fro, from Jeremy back to the old woman. As an African and deeply superstitious, this had caused his skin to prickle, his breath stopped and his heart began to beat without spaces.

"Great mother, we kneel before you as children. You are all knowing, and we are as nothing. We respectfully come to you…..”

Majura raised her hand to Konjaru who stopped in mid sentence. This talk now was unnecessary. Too many words clouded the mind and made unclear what was to be seen.

Turning to Gileni and Pathera, they were kneeling in the soft earth respectfully waiting to be summoned. She gestured to them with her hand and said, "Come, bring this boy to my fire."

Majura then leant forward and brought her old and bent frame to its full height which was little more than that of a child. She turned now to Konjaru, whose eyes were wide with superstitious awe and fear and then to Jeremy who had remained silent but peered directly at her.

Pointing at him with a bony finger but directed to Konjaru, she said, "He must wait here under this tree and place of flat stones. You can bring him water and sit with him by this place.”

Then she turned and walked with legs shuffling in the dirt, slowly to her mud hut some fifty feet away. Age and stiff unsteady legs made her journey seem forever.

Jeremy watched Konjaru carefully, the old women was now walking away and he did not have a clue as to what was happening. Fearing they had been turned away by this old woman he turned to Konjaru. "What the hell, is she...?"

"Wait Bwana, it is alright!" Konjaru said quickly.

"The Great Mother wants us to wait here by this tree. She has told her girl helpers to take Matthew to her hut where she has her fire."

Gileni and Pathera had now walked over to where Matthew had quietly lain. On either side, they bent down and grabbed hold of the long poles, and lifted him gently between them. Gileni moved in the direction of the slow walking old woman and her hut, with her sister following behind her.

"Bwana, wait here, I will go and get some fresh water" With that Konjaru got up and picked up a small gourd waiting for them by the tree and walked towards the small river that lay lower down the other side of the compound. Jeremy stood up slowly and walked over the shadow side of the tree and plopped down on a cooler stone to rest. Body still shaking from sheer exhaustion, he was amazed Konjaru still had the strength to rise and walk to the end of the compound to where the slow running water flowed by them all.

In a few minutes Konjaru was back with the gourd heavy now with the clear sparkling water. Drinking deeply, the first few drops stung his cracked lips, his tongue felt raw and thick. Jeremy stopped for a moment, swishing some water through his mouth, spitting out the foulness and red dust. He could feel the strength return to him. Jeremy slumped down further in the tree shadow and allowed the weariness to take him into a quite slumber. The gourd falling from his blistered hand, eyes not quite closed, but not seeing.

Konjaru sat by the edge of the circle. Tired and spent, his duty to his friend now complete. He tried to shake the dust and dried sweat from his arm, but they were too heavy to move. He leant against a large earth stone beside him to rest his mind and spirit and he too fell into the place that is between worlds.