Two Moons by J. Raymond Ractliffe - Chapter 29

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 29

The low hills and pathways had clawed at Whahnu the Elder as he came finally to the ringed compound beneath the hilltop of burnt stones that touched the skies. Sandaled feet behind him had been his silent companions in this midnight odyssey to find the ailing son of their dead chief and his old friend.

Aged feet easily found the soft pathways he had briskly walked as a boy. His memory guiding him through the fallen logs and sharp stones that lurked to bring misfortune to the unwary. Old smiles passing over his tired face as friends long gone came to play with him on this journey. Budding maidens, who had drawn them to the side fields with their open smiles, young warriors' returning to their mother's huts and chores delayed by the scented excitements of youth.added feet behind him had not fared as well. Curses in the night had told of ankles and shins torn by thorns and sharp stones left before them by the laughing eyes in the shadows. Tall bold eyes do not watch the ground behind the bent shoulders of a proud old Elder. They seek rather night eyes that reflect the light of the moon or to hear the rustle of spirits hidden in the darkness. Had they watched the Whahnu and timed the pauses of his journey on this night path, they would have found the trek uneventful and less painful.

The light had come over the horizon and burned the stars from the dark skies and made the last leg of their journey easier and swifter. Only the brightest stars remained to guide them before they too found their sleep in the fresh hues of the morning.

Whahnu took the arm of his eldest son as he walked through the quiet waters that ringed the compound. Their feet found the other side of the embankment and the churned prints of one who had walked before them in the night.

A momentary pause as a lowered hand caressed the print and felt the water left by the heel of the stranger. The rolls of smaller mud balls to the side showed that whoever had passed here, carried something to the side. It had left the tell tale mark of dribbled water away from the body as he left the waters edge. A walking stick leaves the imprint of a third leg in the sand, a spear or club leaves no mark in the wind.

The heel in the sand still bore the wetness of the stream behind them. This stranger had passed through this place when the stars were bold and the moon high over the hill. One does not stalk in the darkness where there is a man, unless there is an evil to be done. To the side a smaller set of footprints turned away to the right, away from the compound to the side of the river. But these markings he did not consider.

"We follow the leopard's path of a man," Whahnu spoke over his shoulder. Sandaled feet came past him on either side and became the spearhead of their group as they approached the compound in single file, spears held ready with shields held high as eyes danced searching for dangers in the shadows of the fallen huts and walls.

The strong scent of dark soot from a great burning made more than one cough to clear a dry ash tickled throat. The fire must have been fierce as no smoke rose to greet the morning sky, it had burned with great heat and fury, consuming all and filled the night with its darkness.

The low walls to the left side had long fallen as had the thatched covering of the first huts. These looked deserted as they pressed on to the centre area where a withered old tree lived ringed by sitting stones. Whahnu could now see the two remaining huts that showed the presence of a human hand and at the end, here they found the source of the sooted air that filled the morning.

The burned mud walls formed the remainder of a circle that had been a home. Searing blackness ringed the site and had marked the stones of the cooking fires many feet away with its fury. Light grey ash lay everywhere where thatch had exploded in flames. The winds had not yet come to scatter the dreams and sounds of its destruction and tell the tale of the nighttime drama that had unfolded under the stars and moon.

In front of the burnt out shell, a still figure lay quietly face down in the sand. The soot and sand had covered the body giving it a blue tint over the natural dark African skin. The eyes had remained open in death, staring at lost dreams as life had drained away in the night. A small pink slit between his shoulder blades the mark where long steel had entered the fire driven madness and saved a young girl her prize. That which should only be given with her smile, love and with her blessing.

The sand around this scene was churned and folded, long furrows where hands and feet had torn in rage against the attacker. A pair of kneed imprints marking where lust was rooted to the earth behind its intended victim, but left unfulfilled in the sand.

Death brings its own silence and here in the compound, the soot and ash left by the nighttime drama muted out all of life's morning sounds. A lone falcon above remained silent watching the amphitheatre and the death in the middle of it all.

Whahnu stood by the withered tree, raised his hand and spoke to the sky and hills.

"We have come to see the son of the chief who was brought here to the healing medicines of the Milk Eyed Woman." Those around him waited in silence while his voice echoed back from the hilltop, until the last notes were carried away to silence.

"There is death here, death that came in the night with fire and long spear. We pray that no harm has come to this son of the chief and that the one who is here cold from death, is the danger that came and was unsuccessful in his evil to man."

They all stood waiting until the sounds had faded from the hills, and the gentle morning winds had found its first plaything, a small piece of faded cloth used to heal fevered skin. It had caught itself in the thicket that now waved to the day.

Whahnu stood quietly as only the old can know and understand of time and its rivers. What is finally revealed does so in its own time and pleasure. Sons and other sandaled warriors shifted their restless weight from side to side as impatience burned muscles and strained minds to ease their haste. Long painted shields groaned as spear shafts were pressed against them, anxious for the danger they sought.

Only Whahnu stood silent, unmoved by the fevers of the youth surrounding him. His eyes remained fixed before him, to the darkened circle and body before him. The mystery of all this and his quest would be revealed in time.

The minutes dragged on by, the cloth gently waving to the sky, the ash and black soot silent against the day. Even the lone falcon above lost interest in this frozen scene by the hill and river, it dipped its wing to the warming currents, and soared to the hills on the horizon.