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 gentle rolling blue hills seemed to emerge out of the slumbering sky as the sun brought faint new colours to blend into the awaking landscape. Early morning mists rose to greet the warmth of the new day as birds spread their wings out over the open escarpment to shake off the morning dew. Here on the land, those who have survived the night greet each day with a shuffle and gentle twitch of ears cocked stiffly to hear when the stalkers have begun their new quests. The dead lay where they drew their last breath, the night time darkness offering no sanctuary to the hunted. Roars and rippled laughter in the night marking the time when one of their own had fallen giving them each another day in which to live. The price for life in A bloody scent had come down from the nights rolling winds and settled by the stump of an old tree that lay in the aftermath of last season's swollen river. By its side, yellow eyes had opened in the night, as the scent wrapped itself over the nose of Two failed hunting attempts had left him tired and hungry and careful to choose his next quarry. With each failure he had become weaker and the selection of his next hunt would have to be smaller and much slower. This rich scent was of fresh blood, red blood alive with oxygen as the animal bled, not a decaying carcass left by another or one who had fallen by disease or broken bone. The lion rose from the riverbed and stood still as he breathed in the scent of the wounded. His head gently moving from side to side, taking in the direction and paths it had taken to reach him. The scent became the map for him to follow, of limbed trees and green, yellow and black coarse hair that had its own blood mingled in it, sand wet from the night and fear of the hunted lying up in the wind. He turned and walking into the wind, head high and straight holding the scent as he went. From time to time as he moved around a stone or tree, down into another ravine and up, he would stand quietly again until the scent found him. The minutes would go by as he lived inside the smells and read the stories of how it had come to him. Each scent records its journey, and in the lion's eye and mind, as he walked along the scent's own riverbed, he found the points where it had touched the land. Walking backwards along its trail, it became stronger as the winds came in new waves from the open fields of trees and tall grasses. He came along a walking path where the scent was older from the previous day. The marks left in the sand spoke of two who had come this way. The last mark made by one of the laughing ones who came to each kill to steal away what they could. They came as cowards with heads down, darting in and out, fighting for the scraps that lay bloody in the grass, afraid to challenge alone. He had killed many of these over the years who had challenged him. Pouncing on those who had come too close at a kill, they were left ripped and torn as a warning to the rest as they retreated into the night. The lion was older now and the days of his patrolling his territory had gone. Two young brothers, full sized and confident of their prowess and with manes rippling in the wind had come and taken over his pride. The lionesses were quick, changing their allegiances to these younger males. Curling tails and the gentle nuzzle against their manes, their acceptance of their new lords. The initial bloody challenge had lasted a few minutes but the outcome was never in doubt. Two of The rainy seasons had come twice while he lived alone. Careful not to wonder over a younger lion's territory, he had found this area unclaimed and settled here where the herds had over the years migrated further away, to the remaining water areas that had survived the long dry seasons. This made successful hunting more difficult and at times he had to settle for what he could from another's kill. His padded feet carried him in the night as he walked behind the scent of the yellow haired one. A long memory fueling a dark instinct that had begun to grow inside his hunger. Almost lost now in this quest was the blood scent that had woken him from his sleep. Gentle winds blew over the tall sharp grasses, this time, mingled with the blood scents, came the first whispers of sound and rustling of the hunted. A twitch of an ear listening intently and the gentle rhythms of breathing close to the ground echoed louder with each minute. The old lion followed the trail until he came to the point where the scent veered off and into the trees and bushes. He paused for just a minute, turned slowly and crouching slightly he moved forward with his ears turned directly to the front. The gentle panting of the yellow haired one could be heard now as it lay waiting. Low to the ground, he listened until his ears then his eyes could find their mark. He saw clearly the hyena below a forked tree. His oversized head resting on it paws, its eyes never leaving the space around the lower trunk of the tree. Behind the tree, the first colours of the new day were being painted along the horizon. The lion looked up and saw a drooping shadow hanging on the last lower branch, silhouetted against the rising sun and blue hills. This was the source of the blood that had brought him to this place. It was to the yellow haired one that his anger and hatred would be directed. These carrion eaters had stolen many smaller kills when he had gone for an evening drink, only to return to bloodstained sand and a newly killed carcass gone. The lion hid in the tall grass, his yellow eyes settled on the hyena and tree and waited for the daylight to come. The mischievous eyes in the long shadows glistened with smiles as they faded into the sunlight of the morning.
Chapter 31
Posts
No comments:
Post a Comment