Two Moons by J. Raymond Ractliffe - Chapter 33

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 33

      Kashezwe looked up into the glittering night sky as the stars slowly arced across the heavens until their flickering lights fell behind the new morning's pale horizon. Thomas lay sleeping, curled beneath an old tree where they had finally stopped for the night and built a glowing fire, warming themselves against the evening cold. They had returned to the trail of Jeremy and Matthew, this time continuing past the bloated rhino that had swollen and fallen over in the searing heat of the day.

Curled sharp beaks and yellow haired laughter had already begun their work. The new day would bring eager bellies and hungry scavengers tearing the once proud master of the open down to little more than stark white bones and a dark stain left on the African landscape. In time the sun and relentless heat would finally break down the great one and scatter the white powdered bones to the distant winds.

They were careful not to disturb the secondary tracks that led away from the tumbled scene where Konjaru had built the stretcher to carry the injured boy. Wrapped carefully to guard against sand and night moisture, the abandoned rifles were spirited away and laid under stone and loose gravel just outside the farm boundary when they had returned with their findings to the main house.

They had returned to the farm, up the long winding drive, where the blue gum trees swayed gently in the evening breeze until they came to the white washed house where a silent vigil had remained through the night. Their hands illuminated their story as they spoke, a curled palm folded, then rising in a slow arc, moving side to side describing in detail the story of the charging rhino and the desperate chase that led away to the hills to the west.

Redirected, they returned to the hunting grounds and pathways to find the men and boy who had disappeared, not to return until they had found them and come with that news.

A mile or so past the squabbling scavengers, they had finally stopped for the night to rest by a great limbed tree. The full moonlight had allowed them to continue following the deeply etched spoor signs of the mad dash through the winding trails, overgrown thickets and tall burned stones. The path was easy to follow even in the blue light of the moon but weary muscles finally drew their day's chase to a close.

They had built a low glowing fire for the night and each had taken their turn at sentry duty, allowing the other to fold his weary body and mind into dreams of rest.

An eye opened with a gentle flutter and peered over the low firelight. Thomas stared through the smoke and up at the stars. A lifetime wandering under the open stars, he could pinpoint any time of the night by the bending of the heavens.

The new day was upon them.The extinguished lights above told there was little time left before the morning would spring on them with a suddenness as unexpected as a coming night.

A stick of dried meat was drawn from their linen folds, food for the hurried where milk and millies could not be found to satisfy the grumbling morning. Water was to be found before noon, even the best runners could not go without water for more than a day. Their run slowed by muscles eager to drink and be renewed.

Kashezwe stood quickly now and brushed off the sand and leaves that had found their way to cling to him as the dawn had come. His bracelets and earrings chimed their own morning song in the crisp air. To the cattle he tended, the sounds of the tinkling metal soothed their morning jostle as they began their day leaving their enclosed compounds where thorny thickets had kept them safe from eyes that shone in the night.

A sandaled foot drew sand over the last of the fire. With gentle puffs, the flames withdrew back under the grey soot and red earth. A hiss and muffled sigh all that remained of their sudden life.

Without a sound they both turned to find the churned spoor they had followed under the blue light of the moon.

Kneeling to the side of it, Thomas read clearly the light sandaled feet that had led the mad chase and the deeper heels that had brought up the rear. They led now across an open field to the other side where they disappeared behind more gnarled trees and deep thicket. Judging from their direction, Thomas wondered out loud if perhaps they could cut across the disappearing tracks and find them again once they had rounded the small hill ahead.

Kashezwe looked out over the horizon, towards the low hills and nodded his approval. They could save valuable time crossing over between the two points. Perhaps a small stream could be found to quench their morning thirst.

The light hues of the new day were pushing back the darker night, cloaked obstacles that lay hidden by the stars were now revealed. The night's slow walk along the footpaths would be replaced, their own speed now faster than the hurried stretcher that had come past this place.

Thomas led the way, walking quickly to stretch cold muscles. Spear and shield folded to the sides of his body, he let his spirit find the heartbeat of the land until the last walking stride left his feet and padded soles found their flight in the morning air.

The rolling hills loomed ahead, marked by morning shadows cast by outstretched wooden limbs and stone. The padded feet behind him found his own rhythm, and together they sliced across the fields and trees up towards the low summit.

They found an old trail littered with small smooth stones, unused as the edges had become overgrown. Thomas watched the stones carefully as he ran, there to roll quickly once touched to do them a harm. Spirits within the stones would laugh if they were able to stumble a mindless traveller who had passed over them.

Past the summit, down the gentle slope to the base where a dry riverbed wound out away from them, towards the fields and trees beyond. Its banks were littered with the remains of old broken trees that had been washed down by fevered rains that had come over the years. Some lay half hidden by the sands that had washed over them, scrubbing them white and grey. Others lay buried at distorted angles, their limbs contorted, their roots weaving music in the sky as the winds wound around them to play.

They ran past the rainless path that led away to the right, up over the low banks that lined its way. Here the trees and underbrush gave way to more open fields, where winding trails criss-crossed as different species came from their nights' migrations to find the precious waters that had not come.

Spoors and trails seemed to blend before them as they ran but no mark of the two that had come before them. Thomas began to zigzag, from left to right every hundred yards, slowing his pace as his eyes searched for their trail. An outstretched arm and spear directed Kashezwe to broaden their search. In minutes they had fanned out, several hundred yards between them as they scoured every trail and path.

Thomas stopped dead in his tracks! An arrow sign made of stones and sticks pointed away from a path before him, to tall trees and thick underbrush that lay just a hundred yards away.

It was fresh. The light sand beneath the sticks and stones had not blown away; the dew still clung tightly under where they had been positioned.

One person had come this way. A single heeled imprint, deep in the sand that led away to the far trees. A deep round impression to the side of it, the markings of a heavy weight carried by the limb of a tree. A single line where a toe touched the ground, being carried up away from the earth that would seize it and cause it pain.

The heeled impression was of the rear stretcher carrier, but now coming from the other direction, back towards the farm, but from where? And why alone and wounded? Where was the sandaled one and the one carried on the stretcher?

Overlapping the imprints in the sand, silent padded feet had followed the desperate spoor. Wet drool marked the place that led it away from the trail and towards the trees. Sand had balled where the drool had fallen, like a string of pearls they had rolled along the new course. Its slinking intentions clear. Not too close to cause confrontation, close enough to witness its final resting place.

A single whistle to Kashezwe who looked back towards him from his own chase. Thomas's long spear turned him back towards the right of him, gesturing to follow this new course where their own paths would meet to continue.

Eyes held low, Thomas followed the trail as his legs began to find their pace again, the yards between him and the edge of trees falling away. In seconds he had crossed the open space and ran with open stride to where the first tree came into his full view, silhouetted against the beautiful morning hues of the new day.

Then the great roar came that closed his mind and filled his sandaled soles with stones. There was a blur of dust and flash of yellow fur, its laughing scream piercing his soul as the air became torn with the anguish of the hunted.

Trained since a boy to withstand the fear the that came with an attack, Thomas quickly knelt, spear held tightly, pointed to the front while his shield was held low side to side, to cover both his front and sides.

A dark mane surged past him, its roar tearing at his ears as it dove to feed its lifelong hatred. Outstretched claws catching a yellow flank, drawing first blood as the hyena darted back around behind the base of the tree, its own gaping mouth snarling, reaching back at the lion.

The hyena rolled as it has been caught by the outstretched claws, ripping away skin and opening a deep wound. The rolling and churned dust caught the lion's eyes, making him pause for just a moment, enough time for the hyena to find the quick sanctuary on the other side of the base of the tree.

Not wanting to loose him in a wild chase across open field leading to thicker underbrush, the lion stood in front of the tree, front paws clawing first one side behind the tree then the other. The hyena, clever not to loose the moment, stayed close to the opposite side but out of reach of the claws that would hold him while long fangs buried deep within and tear his life away.

The old lion seemed momentarily unsure. It paused, waiting for the hyena to dart and make his final move. Muscles rippled through his taught body, his great mane danced in the churning winds of dust and barking fear, while he stood snarling, fixed before the tree, taught and ready to spring at the moment of the hyena's last desperate dash for cover.

The hyena darted forward with its massive jaws, trying to bite through an outstretched paw with its razor sharp claws, hoping to wound the maddened lion and dash away while the lion held back a wounded limb. The gaping tear in its flank had slowed it down just enough for it snap wildly at empty air as it lunged forward in its counter attack.

The lion roared in final triumph catching the hyena by the side of the throat. With paws holding it to the ground, the lion shook the hyena wildly from side to side, its teeth ripping away flesh and blood. The hatred of this yellow scavenger filled his spirit, bringing new ferociousness to his mauling.

From beneath the lion's mouth, the hyena's feet tried to beat back the attack, smaller claws at the end of its short stocky legs leaving no mark on the underbelly of the lion as it tried in vain to fight itself away from the hot breath and bloodied teeth.

Deep within the madness of the lions furry, it registered that it had inflicted the death puncture. Beneath the yellow hair and screams of pain, the long teeth had found the main arteries and sinews. Blood loss now would hinder any escape, trembling limbs would slowly freeze as the final roar would come.

The lion let go of the hyena and stepped back to allow the raining dust to find its way back to the earth. The hyena regained its forelegs and sat helplessly watching the lion as it swayed back and forth on its haunches from the shock of the charge, knowing that the end had come. Blood ran down its fur, a flap of torn skin showed an open wound while blood mingled with the drooling whooping scream of laughter of the vanquished.

The battled had lasted less than a minute.

Thomas had remained transfixed during the battle. Not wanting to move for fear his movement would distract the lion, finding him an equal foe to charge during the blood enraged madness.

Kneeling with his spear and shield separating him from the life battle, he had looked up and over the dust that floated up from the swirling carnage. The great roar of the lion and bone chilling screams of dying laughter had reached through the milky haze of delirium, stirring the sleeping one lying wrapped in the outstretched arms of the tree limb above.

An eye opened from its midnight sleep, then an arm stirred to find a grip and steady itself from what seemed to be a bed in the morning heavens.

Below, the final lunge came swiftly and almost without sound, pinning the hyena down, long ivory teeth found the red arteries deep within. A single wrenching twist and the thick neck was broken, the clawing small feet became silent against the lions breast.

Laying flat, the lion held the dead hyena, its teeth still deeply embedded long after the light had left its eyes and its animal spirit had slipped up and through the tree limbs above. The laughing spirit glanced briefly at the three legged beast it had followed along the long winding pathways during the day, then it was gone.

To the victor, time now to find the source of this blood that had come in the night and stirred him from his riverbed.

Thomas watched the dust fell around him as the air became clear. From beneath the tree, the great yellow eyes had now found him; a long tooth buried deep within the hyena barred itself in a new snarl.

Like an orchestra that had fallen silent, the echoes of the raging bloody madness lingered in the morning air, waiting for the final score.

The song of kings was about to play.