Two Moons by J. Raymond Ractliffe - Chapter 9

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 9

      Gileni came in through the low doorway, the moon had risen high in the stars and Old Mother had long slipped away into her sleep. She had brought fresh water and ointments to change the dressings by the warm firelight. She kneeled between the young boys and for a moment watched them both under the golden glow.

Gileni's eyes settled long on the handsome proud face of the young Masai boy. He had come silently to this place in the night on a litter carried by the villagers. Shivering hands drawn over his manhood, shy of the attention his festering initiation wound had created. He would have rather died than suffered the humiliation of flinching when the knife had come. It was like a prick of a thorn, a long sting from an angry bee. He had not moved.

Unlike the other boys, their wounds had begun to crust and heal as they sat cross-legged around their fires. Etona's blood held a burning fire that had come up between his legs and had spread, and made his skin cool to the touch.

An elder had found Etona slumped by the side of his hut. A quick word to his grandfather and the Chief had emerged from his hut and had gone straight to the outer compound where the warriors lived in their
i-manyat quarters. With his own son now gone many years, this was the grandson who was to follow him on his carved throne once the he had gone the way of his ancestors.

Either he broke with tradition and moved the young initiate or the simple son of his second wife would sit on his carved throne. Just at the thought of the grinning stupid boy, he bent and entered the hut to find his grandson.

In the darkness the Chief could see the sweat falling from Etona's face, shivering hands clenched over his small spear hiding his disgrace.

"The mightiest warriors fall from sickness. You have not failed. Come with me, we will see to your pain and fever." Etona moved forward to his grandfather and crawled to the opening.

He was angry. The fool Sampanga, his laibon or medicine man, had butchered his way through the latest age-group of boys. His knife had not cut swiftly and cleanly. Many of the boys almost failed their trial and now his grandson lay hot with the blood fever and illness.

This fool he had long suspected of having none of his ancestors abilities. He was only good enough to cure the cows of oloirobi, the foot and mouth disease that came to their precious herds. Unlike the white man, after the Masai cattle were quarantined, the sores in their mouths and feet of the cattle were covered with traditional herbs and hot salt water, ash from burned tree roots applied directly into the open wounds. Dung was then smeared on the wound not allowing the endless flies to spread the virus. The treatment had so long protected the cattle of the Masai of the foot and mouth disease, the name oloirobi is the same word they use for the common cold.

Majura was older than he, older than the sun. She alone would have the ability of bringing his grandson through this test of fire. With quick command a small litter was brought for the boy. A long procession of fire torches in the night brought the fevered boy to the compound where Majura had him brought to her fire.

Old Mother had given her strict instructions for the new ointment to sooth his wound. Majura's tight stitching straining hard against the infection, it had begun to ooze its yellow that trickled down the inside of Etona's thighs. A corner of the wound had been left open to help drain the putrid fever. Gileni gently turned the small leather apron that hid the young warrior's spear, the stench had become bold as it filled the air in the closed hut.

Gently, she wiped away the yellow smear, then dipped a new cloth in a warm bowl prepared before her coming. Wiping slowly at the base his wound she cleaned away the foul moisture. To the side and over the stitches she cleaned, wiping all traces away of his illness.

The side of the cloth touched the boy's small man spear as she worked in the golden light. Little did she know, deep within the dreams of his fever, she had changed the visions of his illness to the hotter passions of a young man. Images of budding breasts with eager nipples and welcoming hips began to form in his fevered dreams. A rush of warm and great new sensations grew where there had been pains and terror.

His spear jerked gently awake, stiffly growing away from body as blood formed and grew with in it. The spear pulsed then began to dance, the heat within it growing.

Gileni saw now that her movements around his manhood had caused the inner desires of the young boy to spring up and reveal themselves. She had seen the animals of the wild as they mated, the steers rising up behind the females with long pink spears filling the mother cows with newborns, but of man she had never seen up close the pounding of blood as it grew a maturing young boy into a man.

Looking up to see if the Old Mother was fast asleep, she stopped just for a moment to see Etona's spear twitching stiffly in the firelight. The boy's dreams now feeding it with the vision pleasures of a man. She reached forward gently to touch it. It was hot and jumped at her warm touch, like a meerkat searching the horizon. She picked up her warm cloth and continued to wipe away around the base of his now erect passion. She smiled as she wondered at his dreams and how she would tease him when he was awake.

A few more gentle wipes to complete her task, it was then she saw his body stiffen.

Deep within his dream, the blood in his veins had run like a buffalo, his chest had risen and he was breathing hard and deep, the waves of pleasure had grown to purest ecstasy.

It was at this time, of building passion and blood burning in his veins, he had turned his head and opened his blurry eyes to see long golden hair, against pale white skin.

Between the fever and the raging blood now erupting within him, his spear flinched one last time as she wiped, he felt the earth rise up within him, from the bottom of his legs, and from his heart, it roared and came up and erupted between him in pounding waves like the sound of the fiercest fires in the wind.

Whiteness erupted into the night, startling Geleni. It sprinkled her dark hand, a luminous cream in the dark and firelight. She looked at it closer for a moment, before wiping it away. It had caused her cheeks to become warm in a manner she did not know. A new glow enveloped her now against the coolness of the night.

She quickly continued to add the pungent herbs and rich ointments to the wound, noticing the young wild spear had returned to its normal size. Puffy and limp, it lay in the light against the flat skin. It felt soft to the touch, like a newborn's skin, not like the moment before when it had raged like a small storm, skin taught with desire.

Gileni finished her duties, she gathered up her wooden bowls, salves and soiled cloths and exited the warm hut into the moonlit night to return to her own fire.

Majura grinned in the darkness by the fire.

The spears were flashing at the Moon, even in their dreams.