Two Moons by J. Raymond Ractliffe - Chapter 16

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 16

      The sun was moving now towards the orange horizon, the simmering heat on the land fading and cooling, bringing final relief from the scorching day. Jeremy could see the rolling hills where the Blue Barn stood far off in the distance, beautifully surrounded by the tall blue gum trees they had planted when he had laid the corner stone on the house. Now they were tall and magnificent and reason for great pride as they brought shelter and cover to their fine colonial house. Jeremy was still many miles away from their security and shade and the warm embrace of Claire and her smiles.

Jeremy had made good time during the day, he had found his land markings which he knew would direct him home and had with new strength focused on the trail before him. The stiffness of the cold night had left him early after he left the compound and he walked with long confident stride towards home.

The hot jagged stones had caught at him, the endless bushes and thorns had cut his thighs and arms. There were times in the day he felt he was being trailed but when he looked behind him, he could never see the reason for his growing fears. Walking through Africa was never something to do when unarmed, it was no wonder he was cautious. His own instincts were over stimulated, causing this nervousness.

When the sun was high and angry in the sky, Jeremy squinted into its searing light, not seeing for a moment a loose rock by the side of the buck path.

A stumbled missed step and suddenly, he was cursing like a sailor. A stone spirit smiled with devilish eyes as it withdrew away under a dark bush and shadow. It had been a long time since it had found someone to play with.

Jeremy's eyes teared up in disbelief as he sat by the side of the sand path, clutching his foot and ankle. He watched as ithe ankle became swollen and hot to the touch, the deep blue growing in minutes that left him an ankle that refused any weight.

Each step now brought searing pain that rose up through his muscled leg and left him panting and shaking. He was not going to make the farm before nightfall. He would have to stop somewhere, light a fire and try and hold out until sunrise.

Jeremy leaned heavily now on his walking stick, each forward step measured against the pain that followed. Limping slowly he made his way along the bush path, the walking stick digging deeply into the sand under his weight.

By mid afternoon, he had fallen several times and made little progress as his stick slid out from underneath him when it touched down on polished stone instead of deep sand. His ankle skin now drawn tight and deep blue, the pain searing up like sharp spears at the slightest jolt or movement.

Stopping by a large boulder by the side of the path, Jeremy slid the water skin from his tired drooping shoulder, he took out the stopper and brought it up to his moth to drink. There was little left and he had not found any new stream or river to refill the skin. Better to leave the rest now until nightfall and the morning when he would set out again in the final stage of his now limping return.

A sound suddenly from the deep thicket behind him, his blood suddenly beating hard through his body, filled with adrenaline and fear. A snorting intake of air, a light rustle and giggle as the tell tale sound of a hyena made its way out from the winding path behind him and into the clearing where he stood with his water skin held in mid air.

It slowly lowered it head, bobbing up and down as it stood shoulder square to him. It had finally found this three-legged creature that had walked strangely along this path. It could see one leg held up in pain, wounded, useless for a hasty retreat or run. It looked directly into this creature's tired eyes and saw the signs of fear that always led to a successful hunt.

The African hyena, not one of God's beautiful creatures, but millions of years of careful evolution had turned this laughing scavenger with its broad shoulders and massive jaws into a deadly and very patient hunter. It could bring a thousand pounds of pressure per square inch to a buffalo or hippo bone and make nothing of it as it fought its way to the white marrow full of protein that was a delight on the plains of Africa.

The hyena sat suddenly on its small hindquarters in the sand and watched Jeremy as he fought deep and gripping fear that had stopped him breathing. Now Jeremy faced the unrelenting and cowardly stalking of a hyena, out in the wild, withnothing but a walking stick holding him up on a twisted blue ankle. The blood from his torn hands, although covered with the torn cloth from Konjaru's shirt, now filled the animal's senses and hunger lust, whooping and calling out as the hyena rocked side to side, ever watchful of his quarries reaction to his prying maneuvers to get ever closer.

Jeremy had no illusions as to his situation. The hyena rarely fought a stand up battle, preferring scavenging from the kills of others. Pitched battle between lions and hungry hyena's sometimes had the lions retreating if there were enough hyena males to encircle and harass its rear until it retreated into the bush. Older and more experience male lions would attack and kill these female leaders of the pack, causing the rest to fall back and return to their lairs, hungers unfulfilled and the count of their yellow pack reduced and bloodied.

Jeremy was no lion and wounded as he was, without a spear or rifle, he was no fool. This was serious and if he was to live through this nightmare his mind was to remain clear and calm.

Africa had come now to play with him. From the tops of trees and inside the darkened bush, hidden smiles and keen eyed spirits watched the play of man and yellow beast. Lost in the giggles of the stalking yellow beast their own laughter mingled and danced.

Only one would walk away.

Two Moons by J. Raymond Ractliffe - Chapter 15

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 15

       Sampanga had been called urgently to the chief's royal hut by the mid morning. The old chief had complained of a great pain in his belly that had been increasing as the sun rose. He had given him a strong broth to sooth the pains. Strong enough, the elders present had smelt it for themselves. Potent it must be if their own noses from the other side of the large royal hut could make out their bold strength.

The sun had rolled its way to the afternoon sky and no relief of the pains had come. The panting chief now lay up against the side wall, droplets of perspiration running from his furrowed brow and back, clenched hands pressed over his swollen belly and knees brought up to ease his cramping stomach.

Twice he had gone to his toilet bowl and relieved his bowls. The interior darkness hid the new blood from his stool. The bowl had gone, traditionally covered, to be emptied beyond the compound walls, where the rubbish and the waste of the village was collected. Scavenging vultures and other birds of flight, pecked through the foul remains. Dung beetles scurrying away with smiles.

Sampanga had brought another hot brew. Steam rising, prayers offered and crushed herbs still floating to be seen, the elders nodding their silent approval at this new medicinal offering.

Zizi held the dark bowl to the chief's tired and burning lips. She was the model of concern and duty to her lord. She never left his royal side, stealing away only briefly to see to her own toilet.

When the sun had removed itself from the sky and the second night of the full moon had come to bring light for man and beast, the chief lay in terrible pain in the dark recesses of his royal hut, away from the bewildered and worried eyes of the elders.

The warmth of his fire and ministrations from his dutiful wife had done nothing to stop the terrible cramps and blood rumbling from within him His stools had become watery, the chief unable to direct the timing of their release. He had twice soiled himself as he lay to the shame-faced elders who now openly showed their deep concerns.

Outside his hut, the singing could be heard of warriors chanting for their chief as they lifted their voices and bodies by jumping high into the night sky . Of war songs, sung to boost his strength and fire his blood. Their songs made only of their voices and a single kudu horn that rose deep from within their souls.

"…I am the warrior of the long thin spear
Am not all that arrogant
But a humble being whose neck is weighed down by poverty
Poverty of a herd that falls below fifty
A herd that is despised by the girl who milks
As well s the boy who herds
A herd that does not finish a mere foot of a tree
When it is lush with vegetation
I the warrior of the black cloak
Now require those of the weak owner
From foreign lands to boost my herd"

The morani warriors stood together as the song moved their own spirits and those of the other warriors, each singer took their turn to jump into the night air as high as they could while others swayed back and fro.

They sang and danced into the night, women adding their voices in the background while the men leapt into the sky, imploring their ancestors and Ngai to hear their prayers, to heal their wise chief who lay wounded by this evil spirits

All the while Zizi, the second wife of the chief, brought the strong brews and healing draughts from their laibon - Sampanga, their Medicine Man.

The elders met outside the royal compound at the outer edge of the cattle enclosure, hoping the nighttime lowing of the cows in for the night would cover the fear in their voices.

"The chief is wasting away, his bowls run like a red river now and he squirms in pain like a birthing mother." they whispered. "His blood beating in his heart runs low and he is dying. There is an evil in this royal house that cannot be covered with words or new magic potions."

Whahnu, the eldest and most revered with the snow colour on his head as befitting such a man of years, spoke softly now to the others assembled. Speaking of things they had dared not share with one another, but now it was clear, the Evil Ones roaming the land had picked their Chief as a playground for their endless mischief. The Chief it seemed might return to the sky and the ancestors who blinked in the night.

Now, that which should never have been uttered was to be spoken out aloud.

"The Chief is dying, his royal hut is marked with blood by the Gods.

Two Moons by J. Raymond Ractliffe - Chapter 14

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 14

     Konjaru had sat by the withered tree, waiting for the Old Mother to reappear. The twins had long retrieved their morning bowls and had come and gone into the rondavel or round thatched mud hut several times during the morning.

His mind had run with the news Etona was here, either wounded or very sick. Judging by the amount of times the twins came back and forth with bowls, cloths and ground herbs, it was difficult to imagine to whom these salves where directed. Wood was brought to heat the room, fresh leaves burning on the low blaze to add to the healing draughts and prayers into the sacrecd smoke.

There was nothing more he could do since neither of the twins ventured to this side of the compound. Protocol dictated he not interfere with his chatter and voice full of concern.

He got up and walked towards the slow moving stream where he had earlier washed the blood and soiled remains from Jeremy's shirt. His own shirt washed and ripped to cover Jeremy's head for his journey home, the remainder of his shirt now wound over his blistered palms.

By the waters edge, he looked out over the rolling land now shimmering with the heat from the growing sun. Away from him, a small troupe of tri- coloured springbok had gathered at waters edge to refresh themselves. Eyes darting to and fro, each one lowering their heads to drink quickly, ever ready to spring back and dash to the cover of dense bush and thorn at any sign of a stalking enemy hidden in the shadows and folds of the land and trees.

His eyes caught a red plume behind a stone on the far side, then it was gone. He waited for a time, listening to the birds dance between the tree tops, calling to each other. Patience finally won out, for a second it danced in the air before falling back once more behind the stone. Someone had fallen asleep in the sun and a head tilting to the side had given themselves away.

Watching to see if it moved further, when he had deduced the owner of it was fast and deeply asleep, the breathing rhythms of the owner clearly showing by its gentle sway to and for in the wind, Konjaru walked out and began to wade through the water. One eye glued to watch for any movement behind the stone and an eye cast onto the water in case some new danger approached from beneath its glittering surface.

The river water came no more than chest deep, Konjaru's footing felt strong on the sandy bottom. He quickly found his way to the other side where he paused for a moment by a long tree log jammed into the river bank's side from a previous flash flood.

Konjaru reached down and removed his leather sandals, they had become wet and would squelch as he moved over hot stone and sand. Better the heat and light burn than to give away his silent approach.

Crouching low, crab walking towards the larger stone, Konjaru made it over the last few feet, then listened to dream breaths flowing gently on the other side. He drew a blade silently from his side, pausing for just a moment then he burst over the stone screaming with all his might.

Konjaru'ss loud cry and sudden lunge had woken the morning sleeper, his eyes now wide and a wild scream stuck in his throat. He could do little more than raise his hands as a gesture of his total defeat. The knife blade at his throat had stifled any thought of a fight, chest heaving with adrenaline, he remained seated, his proud plumed headgear now falling from his head.

"What monkey sleeps in the sun while watching his prey," a smiling Konjaru asked mocking this young Masai warrior. He had noticed the markings of this moran - young warrior as he approached the stone where he had hidden.

"I have come to see if my friend was healing while the Milk Eyed Old Woman saw to his blood fever." The young warrior's courage slowly returning as he looked back in defiance.

"I saw you this morning as you lay by the tree by the stones. The young girls had brought you food and then the white man climbed to the top of the hill and waved to you" his voice calming and the smile on Konjaru's face relieving him of any thought of his immediate death.

"Why are you here and who sent you?" Konjaru asked, the blade closer now to the skin, focusing the young man to reveal more quickly the purpose of his being here.

"No one sent me here, I left the i-manyat - warrior compound, where we are recovering from the knife cuts that took away our skins. I followed the litter that brought my friend Etona here and after they left to go back t the village, I stayed here to watch over him."

"He is my friend." he said finally. "I alone watch over him"

Tired and hungry, he had finally slept as the morning had not revealed anything new. The compound silent as all found their own duties to fulfill.

"Your friend is laying within the round hut of the Old Woman with a white boy. Both have been given medicine and their wounds have been given strong leaves and prayers. The old woman said they are sleeping well," here he lied, knowing only that Matthew was sleeping and recovering. "Do not worry, they are well.”

The young boy sighed deeply now, the fatigue and worry clearly catching up with him. His body sagged against the stone, hungry and sleepless from his adventures.

What is your name young warrior?" Konjaru asked, both now dusting the sand from their bodies, stretching sore limbs.

"My name is Chezwe of the New Blood Rivers, and I am a full warrior of the Masai" he spoke boldly now with his new name and status. This was the first time he had introduced himself as a man. He was smiling now as he heard his own name linger in the air. He liked the sound of it all and it made him glow like the sun.

"So come mighty Chezwe, I will find you food and you can tell me all about your village and your people." Konjaru turned, hiding his smile and walked towards the river behind them.

Chezwe was too tired and had not realized this man had not introduced himself in return as was custom, nor did he notice the man was speaking the tongue perfectly of the Masai People. He picked up his plumed red headdress that had fallen to the sand, gathered up his long bladed spear and his buffalo shield, red, black and white design as befitting his new warrior status. Brushing it off, he followed Konjaru to the waters edge and to the mystery that still lay within the mud walled compound of the Old Woman.