Two Moons by J. Raymond Ractliffe - Chapter 20

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 20

      Majura sat by the side of her fire, propped up against the back wall with her favorite skins and smoking pipe. The warmth of the low flames keeping the night chill at bay. As she moved slightly to settle into her evening comfort from the long day, the sculptured bones and artworks tied to her long platted hair clinked slightly, adding a musical moment to this time. Her breathing was slow, puffing and drawing gently on her pipe, blue smoke rising silently to the dark thatched ceiling above her, filled with the medicinal pouches she had long mixed and dried.

With her Milk Eye staring at the fire, the mind saw clearly the Unseen, her Spirit now quiet, having walked the River Path of the ancestors long into the star filled night.

The white bones had been clear as they were rolled onto her mat, revealing what could not be seen in her sacred fire.

Konjaru had left earlier, his arms moving in quiet unison to his long striding legs as they ate at the ground between his son here with her and the village compound that housed his childhood memories, his father and the coming storm around his bloodline and the carved throne.

The white bones spoke of Konjaru walking into the long dark place, where the ancestors and Ngai himself walked and touched the souls of men.

Konjaru would wait there until the appointed hour, his final destiny to come as he spilled red blood to the sand, those of his enemy and his own blood, by his own choice.

He had left a young warrior, Chezwe, to be his eyes behind him as he returned like the wind to his father's house. Chezwe, as a new warrior, was now charged with his first mission. To protect his friend, his olaiguenami, Age-Group leader, which was a great thing. But more honourable and significant, the real first born of the chief had singled him out to protect the bloodline of the chief and honour of the village.

Chezwe had remained out of the compound parameter, keeping his white eyes to the horizon, searching for any first clues or hints of danger . Majura had sent out one Twin with an evening meal to his self appointed outpost. Chezwe had not spoken a word as it was delivered, he nodded his thanks, stern eyes continuing his long stare to the blazing horizon as the sun crept to its sleeping place.

Both young boys now lay on the other side of the fire. They had broken their fevers late in the afternoon. They lay now in the healing sleep, the cold sweat droplets gone from their fevered skins, their breathing slow and even, even the raging dreams that had tormented them, making them cry out in the night, had gone. Sweeter dreams from the night skies had come, a small token from the Unseen to these two who were locked together by their Twin Signs of the Moons.

By tomorrow's first light, the first eyes would open, small slits like cheetah cubs that would welcome in their new life. When fevers such as theirs came, old lives and paths were burned to ashes, replaced by the fresh flowing waters of new rivers and destinies.

The twins had retired to their own huts, chores completed and their studies with Majura done. Herb pouches had gone back up into the black-sooted ceilings, each one in its proper place.

Later, Marjua had peered out with her single eye through her low doorway and had found them each by their own doorways, stoking their fires, tending to their own evening meals. Silent as clouds on the horizon, their minds just as far away. Neither one spoke, lost as they were in their own new dreams, the fire's flames warming their hearts to paths suited to young budding women.

The muscled bodies of these young proud men, naked as new children but strong in their yearning to be warriors, had woken the woman rivers in their hearts. They were touched now by what the Unseen hand had promised them as they had emerged from their own mother's wombs. A cleft between their legs the tell-tale sign from Ngai himself that they in their own turn would work with Him in renewing the Land and the People. Through this marking, they were as bound to Him and the stars in creating new life as a tree root is bound to the ancient earth.

A woman is born touching the face of God, a man spends his lifetime searching for that face revealed to him while within his mother.

Of the Twins, each heart was now torn. Only one would remain with her, one would leave this compound, and the life as a healer.

The bones were unclear as to which one would choose the path of love, the other, the single path where the trail left behind you in the sand is only of your own passing.

There were others in this storm, faces known and unknown, man and beast, they were all lined up to play their parts in this storm time and of the times to come.

Much blood would come in this night time and the new day heralded in by the sun rising. Dreams destroyed, bodies disfigured by hunger, greed, love and hate. Beds gone cold from those missing and forever gone. Lives touched by the hand of Ngai and the Ancients, fulfilling each man's destiny.

Her Milk Eye focused on a small single flame and quietly dimmed.

Those watching high up on the hill between the burned stones, bowed their heads and closed their own night eyes.

Ngai was about to walk the earth.

Two Moons by J. Raymond Ractliffe - Chapter 19

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 19

      Zizi stoked the fire in her hut, pushing the low coals back to life as she considered the next moments to come. She had taken off her clothing to cool herself from the heat of the day, only an apron and her ornaments remaining. This moment stolen under the pretext of her need for her own toilet, Zizi had left the side of the chief and returned to her hut. For a night and now a day and evening, she had watched the Chief begin the lower cramping, then the severe pain and retching as the poison brought by Sampanga had filled his belly.

The elders had nodded their approval of her comings and goings. Tirelessly, she had shown her devotion, not sleeping at all but seeing to her Lord through night and day.

Although deeply tired, the adrenaline coursing through her veins kept her mind clear and focused to the final culmination of years of careful planning. Sampanga had come with the powder of the crushed beans which she had diluted in the special broths prepared to ease the abdominal pains.

The Chief now lay feverish and unable to control the emptying of his bloodied bowls. Zizi had had to wipe and clean him like a child after he has missed his chamber pot. His stools raining like water to the ground. Now he lay unable to move, his bloody stools streaming from his body where he lay. She had not told the Elders of the colour changing in his stools, to bright red as blood poured from him. The darkened hut kept the severity of the illness away from prying eyes, the low fire bringing only warmth. Special herbs smoldering on the coals filled the air with pungent aromas designed to cover the tell tale signs of approaching death.

Zizi considered the previous night when she had finally given Sampanga the seal of her commitment to their schemes. She had held his firm desire in her hand, stroking him until his seed had spilled to the ground before her. At the swift climax he had almost cried out, tears streaming down his face at the delirium and sexual opiate finally filled his spirit. The covenant between them now sealed, Sampanga could now allow himself to dream of the coming nights when he would no longer be alone on his mat. His long spear spent by the heat of Zizi's body beneath him

She had been sickened at the stuttering fool. He had whimpered like a child as she held him. Ngai might have given him a great spear but he would never be able to satisfy her as a woman. His spear she knew would always flow quickly with his seed. No time for her own fires to be stoked until her own blood fire satisfied and released. Like a monkey after the act, he had stuttered for a while, pouring out his heart and rapture of the moment. Tumbling words rolling over themselves, he spoke like a young girl, all words and simple thoughts.

For now, this a small price to pay for her son and her becoming the mother of the chief. Time still for her own plans to be put into play, releasing her of this pact until her own life be fulfilled.

A rustle behind her, she turned swiftly from the rising fire. Sampanga had come in low through the doorway, his cloak folded high over his lower face, eager eyes finding her.

"What are you doing here? Are you mad? Do you want us to be caught?" she hissed at him.

"If any one sees us I will say only I brought fresh herbs to be given to the chief" Sampanga said, the light dimming briefly from his yes.

"You fool, we said we would see as little as possible of each other until the chief was dead, even then, we would be careful not to be seen too closely for fear any one would consider our closeness as being more than dutiful."

"I could not wait, I watched from the outer compound until you had had come from the chief. No one has watched me in the darkness. All are waiting outside the chief's hut or tending to their own families needs." Sampanga eyes now brimmed again, hopeful of his next request as he feasted himself on her exposed body in the firelight.

"All day I have relived the moment of our coming together. Now the chief is truly dying, there is nothing to stop it." Here Sampanga paused, unsure of himself. The fire had raged all day in his veins,and like the coming of a storm it held him, caught like a child in the winds. The fire lust that burned brightly now, directed his every thought.

"I want you, calling my name while I am a man in you" he said finally. She could see his eyes wide in hope, darting to and fro over her. "I have waited too long. I need it. Now! I cannot wait any longer"

His tongue licked his lips, spittle drooling off his lower lip. Crouched as he was before her, she was in no doubt, the stuttering fool could now destroy their plans with his cocked spear that seemed to burn without end.

She peered into his eyes seeing for the first time his crazed blood lust that had truly long tormented him, pushing him now to the edge of real danger. Like a raging river during the rainy season, this force would not be calmed by words or threats. Better to release him of it all and have him continue the night, finishing their schemes.

"Then come here. Just do it quickly and be off, you fool, before any one comes!,” she said. No time to do anything else except feed his lust before it undid all of their plans.

"Tthththth-thank you. This is wa-wa-wa-wonderful. Finally!" Sampanga pulled at the thong from his waist to release his apron. It was not needed as his spear was already peering out from beneath, pointing at her.

On her knees, she reached over to her son's sleeping mat. A tug at a raised corner and brushing her hand to smooth the folds, this gave her time to prepare her mind for what was to come. This was the price she had agreed to pay.

From behind, Sampanga had come closer. With his hand directing his spear, he had not waited for her. She could feel it on her buttocks, probing, looking for her opening, searching for her. She could hear him whimpering like a child again and it sickened her. He rose too high and tried to spear her hard.

"Wait!" she shrieked as she leaned yet more forward to escape his probing. She used her hand to swat him away and felt him hard behind her. "Wait a moment - it is lower!"

The stinging pain of her hand swatting him brought him to levels unknown to him. Coupled with the danger of their schemes, the sudden pain and ecstasy merging in his mind brought him to delirious open fields of almost unlimited pleasure.

"Don't fight me, I know you like it" Sampanga said, pulling her roughly back. He had grabbed her hips on either side and pulled her hard to him. Like the animals he had seen all his life, Sampanga reared up behind her and mounted her. Cleanly driving himself deeply into her, he felt as is he had fallen into an endless sensuous well of the most indescribable pleasure. Still he slid deeper and deeper into her softness until his own stomach slapped against her bare skin.

With a gasp, Zizi caught his hand on her hip and held tightly. Unable to catch her breath, she held tightly as the spasm of pain slowly drained from her. One arm before her, holding herself up off the ground, the other holding his hand on her hip.

Zizi could hear him whimpering now, thrusting himself into her while on her knees. A few more strokes and already she could feel the coming trembling.

As the fire raged in Sampanga, his one hand slipped from her tightly held hip and he tumbled to the side of her. She had just moved to adjust to his pressure and thrusts, when he slid out of her with a wail. She could feel it now hot and wet on her thigh.

"Oh - oh - oh no" he said. "No!" he whimpered with a cry of a child. She looked back over her shoulder. He was reaching down now, trying to redirect himself back into her. She reached back again, this time taking careful aim and slapped him hard across his long spear.

Like a snake fighting off the advances of a mongoose, Sampanga held it back away from her in his hand. The pain of her slap mingling with the coming of his rush and while he held it there in his own hand, his eyes rolled back and in the fire that had consumed him for the day, it let forth all the pressures and ecstasies of his day dreams. His white seed rained from him onto her dark thigh and buttocks. There seem to end to it, in the firelight it came without end.

Zizi's own anger now rose up, she had by now turned around on her haunches and crouching low she hissed at him. "You stuttering fool, you are not even a man, don't ever do that to me again, ever!"

Sampanga was still in the throes of his rapture, hand on his spear, riding what seemed to be unending waves of sexual bliss when a knife blade found its way across his neck and he was held fast. Struggling to find his mind through the mists of his sexual delirium, enough of the adrenaline from the sudden danger made him pause without flinching.

"If you move, I will slit your worthless throat like a goat" came the voice behind him. Sampanga could feel the hand as someone pressed a cold blade against his neck. The moment of final sexual triumph has exploded into fear and desperation at the unknown intruder. Zizi's own eyes were wide and fixed behind him. Whoever it was, she held their gaze unblinking, afraid herself to move.

"What kind of monkey is it, who spears his woman, yet completes this task of a man with his own hand? Is he not enough of a man, or is she not enough of a woman?" The mocking voice asked behind him, the hand on his neck moved tighter, the blade drawing its first drop of blood as a measure of his threat.

"Who are you and what do you want" Sampanga croaked, afraid to move. Zizi moved slightly to the side, hoping the firelight from the side would allow her to see who had come into her hut.

Sampanga looked the idiot that he was. Frozen on his knees, his spear in his hand now shriveled and lifeless. He did not release it to slip down between his legs, he held it like a stick ready for the fire.

"I came to find the one responsible for poisoning my son."

Now Sampanga steadied his own gaze and looked to Zizi for direction. Could she see who was behind him and what son was this, that he had poisoned?

"Do not move Zizi, I know the crawling snake that you are. My father mistrusted you and left you outside of his royal house. You and that stupid boy of yours must somehow be connected with this worthless piece of cow dung."

Zizi had looked closely over the fire, the slow voice prickling her memory of the distant past. Her heart was beating faster than she could have remembered. Here before her was the one piece of their schemes she had not considered. Here before her, the one person who could thwart the ascension of her son to the carved throne. The one who had brought his own son and placed him in the chiefs arms to be the future chief of the people. Here stood absolute failure of all their plans and dreams. Her heart sunk and the spirit seemed to leave her body in a rush.

"Konjaru!" Zizi spat at him. Sampanga eyes flew wide, a cry held in his throat.

"Konjaru! What? How can that be?" Sampanga asked now, fear gripping his heart.

"I do not know what ancestors or spirits drove me to a compound to the east. But while there, I brought a sick white boy to the Milk Eyed Woman , there I find my own son delivered, by the orders of my own father the chief, dying of a fever, which you Sampanga had delivered to him with the blade of a knife!"

Now Sampanga's eyes grew wide with horror. No one except Zizi, knew of the method the poison had been administered to the child and the plans for the killing of the chief. How as all this possible?

Zizi glared at Konjaru over the firelight, the anger and loathing clear in her eyes.. "If your son is sick with the fever from him becoming a man, when his skin was cut away from him, how do you think we had anything to do with it" Zizi groped to find how he had come to know of their plot. If she could stall for time she could think of something to do.

"I did not say that the poison knife had come from his becoming a man. How did you know this?" Konjaru whispered.

At this, Sampanga let out a simpering whine, his neck straining at the knife held tightly, drawing yet another dark blood offering that ran down to his chest.

"Your own worthless mouth condemns you. How stupid you are. You were useless as the wife of a chief. Your belly empty of a healthy child of royal blood, only breeding with a simpleton could have caused the birth of that idiot child you call your son. The people and elders know of this, but do not speak for the sake of the old chief. Even now as you are faced with your own evil, you are too stupid to cover your own trail of lies."

Konjaru had now passed the absurdity of their sexual encounter and his anger now filled his low voice as he spoke.

"You have tried to poison my son and with him gone, you thought the path to my fathers throne was open. You have underestimated the healing power of the Old Milk Eyed Woman." He looked directly into Zizi's eyes, and held it there as he struck her plans with the death blow.

"My son is well, his fever is broken and he rests by her fire. Whatever your plans Zizi, they have come to nothing."

"I am going to take this worthless piece of cow droppings before me and take him to my father. This worthless stuttering fool will no doubt explain all this in his own words. Then he will be taken to the fields where his his arms and legs will be crushed with knop-kerries - war clubs, and then left on the open fields to die. You he would have been betrayed long before the first clubs broke his bones. Your stupid son will never sit on the carved throne."

"You will once again be known for the nothing that you are."

Gripping him close now, Konjaru began to move Sampanga up, holding the knife closely as he knew given any chance, Sampanga would dart away like a snake in the tall grass.

"Come, we will go and speak to the chief. Now!" he said.

Zizi reached down to the fire in front of her and with her open palm scooped a handful of hot red coals and threw them up at the smiling determined face behind the terrified Sampanga.

The coals flew into his wide eyes, searing them, causing him to flinch and pull back his arms. As he did so, the blade drew across the stretched neck of Sampanga drawing deep blood.

With one hand trying desperately to sooth and hold his burning and blind eyes, the other held the knife, Konjaru kept slashing at the air back in forth, calling both their names as the pain gripped him. Sampanga now rolled away under the arc of the probing knife to the sidewall of the hut.

"Get him! Get him" Sampanga squealed like a frightened child. He had by now rolled himself into a ball, covering his head with his arms..

Zizi stood now out of harms way, her one hand blistered, taking in this scene. Her co-conspirator to their schemes all but useless, now huddled by the side of the dark hut. Her arch enemy before her, momentary blind and slashing at the air hoping to find her blood. She must move in and change the course and direction of their earlier plans and schemes, or she would be fleeing the compound by morning with her son, or worse, her body thrown on the garbage heap behind the compound, to the delight of the whooping and laughing scavengers and large dark birds that lived there.

She reached down once more to the fire, grasped a log as thick as her wrist from the flames. She stood there, waiting for an opening while Konjaru continued blindly slashing at the open air with his knife. Measuring the time between his thrusts, Zizi suddenly held the log with both hands and lunged at Konjaru, striking him hard on the side of his head.

Sparks flew in all directions as the last and final arc of the blade came back and split her skin over her ribs down to the bone as she had lunged forward. It caught her under the armpit and ribs, and drew down across to her hip.

The blood came instantly, glistening dark against her skin. Zizi sat down with the log falling from her hand. There was no pain, just a numbness that came as a surprise.

"Get up! You little man, help me, I am cut and bleeding. Get up you stuttering fool." Zizi hissed at Sampanga in an attempt to reach him through the fog of his cowardice and fear.

Konjaru had fallen as he was struck, the glancing blow had knocked him out. No time to feel the layers of his mind dissolve, only the sudden darkness that had ended the pain in his eyes.

Here in the deep darkness, Konjaru could not protect his son or find the source of the poison sent to kill him. Outside the darkness of his mind the conspirators went about their business, no one to hold them in check.

He could feel the presence of his ancestors here in this dark world. They had watched, eyes winked at each other here in the darkness, hidden smiles and nodding approval.

Konjaru could only wait until the dark mists had ended. That he could still draw breath and have time to protect his father and son, once out of this place, was unknown.

Silently he prayed while they all watched here in the silent darkness. Then Konjaru waited for the light to return here between the worlds.

Two Moons by J. Raymond Ractliffe - Chapter 18

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 18

      Jeremy had limped and struggled for another mile or so, slipping on his walking stick which sent the mad rushing pain coursing up his leg and left him gagging for breath when he stumbled or slipped sideways. He was nearing the end of his day both physically and mentally. The blisters now on his right hand holding his weight away from his blue and swollen ankle had become torn and bloody. The scent from it now firmly in the wet nostrils blowing hard behind him. The hyena had watched him all afternoon as he tried to be limp down the path, becoming weaker and weaker as the sun bore down on him.

Never far from his vision, the stalking hyena skulked to and fro as it watched its wounded prey. Its giggling whooping laughter bearing into him, Jeremy could feel the fear rising now in his blood. The farm could now be seen on the horizon about six or seven miles away. Had it not been for the ankle he would have been home by now. He could only imagine what Claire was going through.

Knowing her, Claire would have sent out a scouting party at first light or at least a few of her trusted help, to track down and find their hunting party. He felt sad, helpless to change or alleviate her pain that he knew she was suffering. She was a strong and courages woman and she would know, until there was a body to mourn there was always hope out here in the out back of Africa.

Claire would be sitting on the veranda now. She would not have moved, watching for any sign of their coming up the long treed driveway, hats wearily waved in the air by the returning young men. Time for tears and laughter, followed by sharp rebuke and condemnation over the hell the selfish men and young boy had brought to her.

A night then ending with loose cotton night clothes, endless kisses amid long talks, her blond and grey long curls tucked closely on a tired sun burned shoulder, a final tear to welcome the days end.

Now Jeremy was limping home in terrible pain with a stalking hyena watching his every move. Poor Matthew, gored by a rhino now in a deep fever, trapped beyond the very end of the estate at the bottom compound below some God-forsaken stone outcrop, tended to by the oldest woman he had ever seen who had one good eye, the other filmed over with white cataract. Whatever the gods of Africa, they must have surly been laughing their britches off at this bloody mess.

Time to start looking for a place to spend the night. He could not imagine a night without sleep, tending to a fire to keep the laughing stalking bastard at bay. The hyena would not sleep, but wait all night until it saw Jeremy's head droop by the glowing fire. Then it would come in slowly without a sound, crawling on its paws and by the time he had realized it had crept close enough to harm him, it would be too late.

He was tired, more tired than he could ever remember. His hands hurt. The ankle had crippled him beyond belief.

Jeremy paused now, resting near a fallen log that had come to rest beside an abandoned ant hill, he slid the water skin off his shoulder and raised it to his mouth. He could feel its weight had gone down, judging the angle of the water flowing into his mouth, he knew he had drunk too much in the hot day. Unless he found new water to drink, it was going to be tough if he was going to make it the last few miles to home and Claire.

He looked around and at the far end of the field of tall grass, he saw a tall twisted tree with a fork in it, wide enough to hold a man where he could sleep through the night. He would be about a hundred yards away from the buck trail so he marked the ground with an arrow sign with his sticks and stones, just in case he nodded off and did not se anyone trying to follow his trail to find him.

Jeremy turned now, then after a pause leaning on his walking stick, he struck out towards the tree and the safety of the night with the hyena skulking in tow behind him.

The full warm sun was falling, skimming the highest blue and violet hills behind the distant farm. It took him a few minutes to reach the tree, slowly making his three legged journey panting and in pain. He turned as he reached the forked tree and slumped into the shadow its narrow trunk had created, little enough but better than being out in the last scorching rays of the sun. Jeremy looked at his stalking nemesis. It had paused, sensing his journey for the day had come to an end. Looking directly into it's eyes he was under no illusion, as patient as it was during the day, the hyena would not leave it's quarry unless forced to and since no other predator had come to challemnge Jeremy as its own, he was the one marked by the now very hungry beast.

The sun was falling now, quicker than he had realized. It always caught him, this sudden African night. It could catch you as you left the house to see to something quickly before nightfall, and leave you stranded without light by an out building no more than a hundred yards away, If it wasn't for the home lights, some nights he could have sworn he could have walked out into the moonless night and never have returned and none would have been the wiser as to what had happened to him.

He rose now in the slow dimming light and looked closer up into the thorn tree. He would have liked it a little taller but it was tall enough to keep him out of harms wary, as long as he stayed in the tree. He stuck the walking stick now in his belt and with his wounded leg, tried to wrap it around the back of the trunk and use his strong upper body and long forearms to pull himself up. He had no choice as it was out of the question to use his good leg to climb and use the wounded limb to stand on.

Jeremy's first attempt failed miserably, he had not enough leverage. It caused a moment of severe gripping pain again as he had to rest from almost falling back to the ground. Grimacing, the lines in his face etched with weariness. This time, he raised his wounded leg as far up as it could go and then, when he felt he was at his absolute limit, Jeremy jumped up and grabbed hold as hard as he could.

Once his panting evened out and feeling secure to move, he carefully reached up, hand trembling with fatigue, Jeremy managed to touch the lower single branch that offered him a ledge to hoist himself up into the fork or "Y" of the tree. Grunting and sweating from pain, exertion and the cumbersome leg that just could not offer him any help, he finally managed to haul himself up and then sit cumbersomely of the lower branch.

Jeremy paused for a moment to catch his breath, his body trembling. He could not go much further, he needed to rest. The low whinny and giggle below reminded him of the necessity of this high home for the night. Finding the last reserves of strength, he reached forward, found his grip and pulled himself up and into the fork. He finally took a deep breath and now had the time to survey the field and burned stones around him.

The sun had now slipped behind the purple hills, the evening glow surrounded with the last of the pastel and gentle hues of coming night. In minutes the indigo and soft yellows had merged with the outer edges of new night, the dark blues hiding the coming stars and night dreams.

Suddenly, it was dark, all was dimly illuminated and outlined with the blue light of the full moon's second night. Jeremy's skin cooled rapidly, and the sunburn adding to his inability to hold body heat, his teeth began to chatter. He loosened his belt with his one hand. Realizing he had to tie himself to the tree in the event he fell asleep. Better to be awake half way up a tree, that to land, stunned and in the dark with an eager predator waiting below.

Jeremy had forgotten he had put his walking stick in his belt. A he loosened it, he heard it fall, strike the lower limb and spin in the air and land in a thump as it hit the soft sand below.

"Shit to hell and back! Damn! Of all the bloody useless…" Jeremy paused for a moment, realizing his tiredness had caused the mental error. "OK, OK!, just take a deep breath and hold on, it's not a train smash. Just get the bloody thing in the morning when you get back down."

It wasn't the walking stick that had troubled him. It left him no mallet or hand weapon if anything else crawled up this high in the night. A lion, leopard or any other creature of such, all known to climb when the need was great. He could only hope that all of God's creatures had fed well today and the small meal he would make not being enough for one to choose to climb up for well burned English dinner.

He was afraid. Not like the war when he sat with comrades-in-arms in the middle of a blown out battle field. This was man and beast alone and the fight for survival. Not because of geo-political boundaries or fighting to stop the spread of either a religious or economic culture. Nor was it a fight for grain, winter storage of the harvest or for slaves to work at the mines and fields.

This fight was of opposing animals, one who walked with four legs, the other two. One was wounded and desperate. One was a hunter of men and beast.

The stars winked at him below. From far away, he heard the roar of a lion rise up and roll over the land. It held in the nighttime air and lingered. The African night cloaked him and hid him from preying eyes and danger.

Below, sat one who did know. Patient, hungry, thirsty.

Paws straight ahead, the hyena rested its head staring intently forward and waited. What went up in the night, came down in the new day for water.

It was just a mater of time. The night moon illuminated the light tree against the darker sky and glittering stars.

Closing one eye, the hyena rested.

A long night for man and beast.

Two Moons by J. Raymond Ractliffe - Chapter 17

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 17

Konjaru watched Chezwe as he sat by the outer mud wall in the shallow shade, eating the last of his meal. He ate without breathing, hungry as young men are, the long outdoor stay and walk from the village had certainly increased his hunger. Scooping it with his fingers out of the bowl, the small meal quickly disappeared, wet fingers all that remained as he came to its end.

"Chezwe, it is time for you to return to the village and let them know you are well. They will need to know the reason for your leaving the Age-Group."

"They will be worried." Konjaru spoke quietly now, his own brow furrowed as he considered the ramifications of this new warriors absence from his other initiates. "The Elders, and Chief will have to consider your actions, whether it speaks of a grown warrior and his courage or if you left the Age-Group for friend as a boy."

"I came for my friend, I did not think it mattered, we had already gone through the cutting ceremony and had finished with the initiation as done by my ancestors. I was not bleeding as the others, and I had watched Etona get very sick" Chezwe replied as he finished his bowl, lowering it to his side and looking suddenly up at Konjaru, he said in a strong even voice, "Etona is my first friend and he needed me to watch over him."

Konjaru paused, unsure if Chezwe had spoken as young warriors do, with serious intent on all matters or that his words really contained some truth that he was not aware of.

"Why do you think he needed protecting Chezwe?"

"I do not know about such things, only, of all the boys who had the cutting with Sampanga, only Etona got the fire sickness in his blood that brought the high fever. He was the only one." Chezwe now looked down at the ground, feeling uncomfortable at exposing his fears of unseen things, for he was now a man.

"There were many who went under the knife, many; all who knew Etona knew he was the strongest. He did not move when he was cut, he led the way for all of us." Chezwe paused for a moment, his eyes looking into the sand, searching for courage to continue his words. He was unsure, he had thought many times on this as Etona lay under the fever in the hut.

"I did not understand why, after Etona was cut, the laibon, who is Sampanga, he changed the cutting knives. For the rest of the boys and me, who was the third boy to become a man, I watched him, he did not change knives again" Chezwe now looked up into the burning eyes of Konjaru who sat rigid as he listened.

"Can the blade of a knife bring a fever?" Chezwe now asked openly, voicing the mystery that had laid with him since he had become a man.

Konjaru had now gone quiet. He raised a palm to Chezwe. The curled black hair on his neck rose and he could feel the leopards growl grow deep within his soul. H could feel the darkness lurking now, a great danger to his only son, now laying possibly mortally wounded.

Konjaru understood, both the reason his son had been brought here, the Chief sending him here to the Old Woman, the only laiboni he could trust, and why he was here. The knife used for his circumcision had been dipped in poison.

All storms come in their own time. Beginning as clouds forming on the horizon, they roll over on one another until one begins to move away, higher and stronger than the others. They are the great clouds that bring the sacred rain, they also come with the light spears that bring holy fire, the same light spears that can bring death.

His son was caught in the middle of a deadly storm, the enemy unknown, and the reason for his danger was unknown.

He could not see though the veils of this mystery but what was for certain, a challenge to the blood line of the carved throne was underway and was coming from deep within the compound of the village, and at its center, there could be no other person to whom the danger did not focus itself more.

The Chief, his father.

"Chezwe, I need you now to listen to me. I am returning to the village to see what is going on with your Age Group. I will tell the elders of your bravery, coming to Etona's support, following his litter that brought him here like a lion. I need you to stay here and watch over the compound for me."

"But in this, I want you to allow no-one to come close to the Old Woman's hut where Etona lays healing from the sickness, and here I know you will not understand but you must stop anyone, anyone, from going in, for any reason, no matter what they say." Konjaru now lowered his voice and let his baritone voice fill Chezwe with the needed solemnity and seriousness that would strike at the heart of the young warrior.

"Etona has an enemy stalking him like an animal in the dark, so we cannot see the trail that would lead us to him. I cannot tell you any reason why, but you must trust me. Etona's life will depend on your protecting him until I return. Do you understand?

Chezwe now looked at Konjaru, his heart beating now, the deep voice had touched him where young courage lives and the power entrusted to him made him bold.

"You must use your long spear if you must to do this thing I ask, there is no other way. No one is to come inside, no one!." Konjaru stood up sternly, letting the anger now rise in his body and fill their presence. Chezwe looked up into the eyes of Konjaru, the danger of the moment locked into him causing his heartbeat to rise and blood to run.

"Why do you know of this danger to my friend, because the laibon changed the knife for the cutting? Who are you that you know of these things?

"I am the son of the great Chief, the one called Konjaru, who left many rain seasons ago, before you were a boy on your mothers breast. The boy laying in the dark hut with the Twin Girls and Old Woman, is my son, the grandson of the chief."

Chezwe's eyes now grew white and round and filled with awe at the spirits walking now up and down his spine, stealing his breath.

"My son somehow is with great danger. The only safe place now, is here. Ngai has brought him here away from the danger, and you also have been brought here, to protect him. This is a great and wondrous thing. You have been selected by Ngai himself, to stand over him with your life and give him the sacrifice of your own blood if it is needed. The lions are roaring young warrior, can you touch the lions tail and walk like a man?" Konjaru touched the very soul now of this young Masai warrior, using the exact icons and imagery to invoke the burning fires within him.

Chezwe rose slowly until he stood before the true father of his friend, the son of the old Chief. "I will protect him with my life until you return. I will not take a step away from him as he lays by his fire"

Konjaru smiled at him to encourage his strength and determination.

"Stand here out of the sight of those who might come. Watch the entrance over the river area, where I found you sleeping," Konjaru teased him now.

He paused suddenly, looking directly into the boy's heart. He could feel the presence of the Ancestors suddenly and saw the Visions as they appeared to his mind and spirit.

"Go to the hilltop where I came with the white man and the boy. In the night, with the moon at your back, look for reflections of the moon appearing over the water, this will tell you of the danger that is coming. Look for the light of the moon dancing on the waters."

Konjaru clasped the young man on his shoulder. This young boy stood between his son and possible death. Until he had gone back to the village and watched to see from which fire the poison smoke was rising, he was at a loss to know where the danger was.

He did know at least where to start. The monkey and stuttering fool Sampanga was going to know his blade on his throat. Before the night stars rose to their full height he was going to know who the conspirators were and end their plans before they could be completed in blood.

Konjaru turned now and without looking back at the young boy just initiated a man walked towards the slow river that only this morning he had crossed chest deep to awaken a sleeping boy behind a tall stone.

The sun was setting, changing colours as it fell. The air was becoming cool, Konjaru could feel the coming of the night stars on his skin.

The ancestors were not allowing him to walk away from the carved throne. It was a time to take his rightful place and walk with the Spirits of his People.

It was a time now to shed blood and stand fast for those he loved.