Two Moons by J. Raymond Ractliffe - Chapter 25

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 25

       Whahnu the Elder looked up into the brilliant night sky. The round moon had illuminated the quiet land, allowing the ancestors to come and walk among the people. They had much to say on such a night as this.

Dark clouds rising on the horizon heralded the rainy season and the life giving waters that brought resurrection to the parched and withered land. For a day and night, he had sat outside his hut, his wives ministering to his needs as he waited patiently for news of the chief. He had quietly spoken of the fears that lay hidden in the breasts of men, that the chief lay dying.

The spirits surly had pointed their gnarled fingers at this royal compound and decreed his coming death. His while hair shone against the night, illuminated by the very light that had been the gateway for the Spirit Walkers that had come and struck down his chief.

He had watched as Zizi had gone back and forth to the chiefs hut. Fresh herbs and broths supplied to her by Sampanga, had made no difference to the chief's illness. In the end, he had lain like a wounded child, the putrid life draining from his body as the final convulsions tore at his soul.

It was not the death of a great wise chief and old friend.

The other elders had come to him. All night, silently standing by his entrance, hoping for some new word of hope until the low wailing of the first mournful woman, spread the news from hut to hut within the compound, that the Great One had risen unto the night sky and become one of those blinking stars that looked out over the people.

Whahnu's thoughts turned to a young boy now healing with the Milk Eyed Woman. The wounds from his becoming a man had burned his blood to a fever that had come to end his life. No matter what had caused the fever, enough was known and highly respected of the Old Woman, the son of the chief would be healed and return a strong warrior to climb the carved throne of his ancestors.

The Elders would help direct the new man to become a great chief, like his father had been before him.

Whahnu's eyes became misty as he thought of his departed friend now blinking above. From the days when they both had played as children in the dust and pathways in the hills that lay on the horizon, their childhood antics and youthful playfulness had caused many a stone to be thrown at them as they passed huts with sleeping tots. Beating drums and the chorus of unbroken voices filled the air with songs of young warriors beating their breasts with pride and imagined glory. Cows scattered as they came, long hours herding them back to their owners where they returned home to rebuke and curses from their parents for their lack of discipline and rowdiness.

Who could have guessed that he would become a respected Elder of his People, known for many miles for his quiet meditative spirit and knowledge born from countless journeys inward to where the Spirit lived, linked to God and the Ancestors.

His boyhood friend would become the chief of his people. Many would come for his wise council and hear in respectful silence his rulings as he laid down the Law of the Masai. No one had ever challenged him or his law.

Whahnu sighed now, long and deep as only the old can do. Born from the long years of knowledge gleaned from trials that were the fabric of life. The news that the chief was no more, had to be carried to the son. As the eldest of the White Haired Elders and wisest of them all, this responsibility of this clouded task fell on his old and not so steady shoulders.

The first wailing had started the mourning time of the people. Ashes covered those grieving, tears flowed down hot cheeks and babies cried as they joined their mothers in this night of the dead.

Whahnu looked up into the night sky to the stars as they lay before him. Even the full moon in the second might of her passing shone brighter than before. The rising path that was carrying the chief's soul as he made his way to the stars was to be illuminated brightly, as was befitting his high status and deep love of his people.

He raised his old hand to the night sky and waving it slightly from side to side as if to brush away his deep grief like cobwebs strung across a pathway leading to the open fields.

"Goodbye my friend, may Ngai bless you and keep you warm as you dance in the firelight of the moon. May your life be filled with the life giving rains and your fields filled with strong cows as far as you can see." His hand stopped in mid air and fell back to his side.

"Goodbye my friend, I shall watch over your son that he bless your name and bring honour to his people.

A tear now rose in his old eyes, it hovered for just a brief instant before it fell down his quivering face that was strained in grief. Now he spoke softly, whispering the intimate emotions that had risen from his heart and tore at his soul.

"Goodbye my friend - we were as children once, and shall be again"

With a deep sigh, Whahnu rose slowly, his heart heavy carrying the memories that stretched over a lifetime to fulfil the task before him. The night would be long as he trekked to find the son of the fallen chief. This passage made heavier with the news of death and grief.

He called to his own grown children to prepare for his journey. The padded sandaled feet of coming warriors filled the night air, dust rose and mingled with the wailing sounds that were carried on the shifting winds that swept out in the night.

From the thickets surrounding the herd of cows and the outer ring of the village, twinkling eyes watched in silence as men made hurry to their midnight chores. They would wait there watching until the sun cast them back into the recessed shadows. Their silent smiles echoing against the wind as their eyes dimmed to sleep.