Two Moons by J. Raymond Ractliffe - Part Two- Chapter 7

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 Rising of the Moons
Chapter 7

     The twinkling eyes that lived in the shadows on the hilltop watched as Matthew studied the mud walled compound that had lived so long in his dreams. He had returned, as sure as the bones that had been cast showing his coming had promised. Old hands had rearranged the bones' falling in the quiet shadows of a cave, and called him back to this place.

Matthew had risen early, Christopher still wrapped in the folds of his sleep. They had stayed up late at the dinner table; their endless stories had never come to an end. Even Jeremy caught their infectious laughter. While new smiles creased his tired face, he absentarily rubbed the new bruise on his chest just before Claire reached over with her own new smile and held his hand while the young men chatted the night away. Her eyes glistening with new hope as Jeremy seemed to momentarily step away from his shadows.

The candle light on the dinner table sprinkled new rainbows around them as the overhead glass candelabra filtered their smiles and laughter.

Claire and Jeremy finally departed the late night, their whispered words and Jeremy's walking stick fading down the long corridor as eager hands helped themselves to decantered wine, fresh bread and cheese.

Young laughter continued past the long call of midnight. The following single tone struck in the hallway found them both asleep in their chairs; the long day and air trip had finally caught up to them. The candles burnt down leaving their tired snores to fill the darkness.

Matthew was unsure why he had returned, but the dreams had been clear that he was to come and walk through the dust and fire that had lived here.

The Land Rover woke with him this early morning more silently than he ever had remembered it doing so. Joshua would have been envious at his departure. He had never left the compound without the grating gears leaving all with hunched shoulders and sideways glances as he tore out of the garage in a hail of dust and flying stones and a fixed wide grin filled with happiness and sheer terror.

Matthew followed a map buried somewhere in his mind, steering the Land Rover over a trail he could not see. Twice he stopped on an open field, his eyes seeing the rolling film of the Dream Visions before turning the steering wheel in a new direction towards an unknown point on the morning horizon.

Like Claire had done years before at the end of her long journey, Matthew suddenly crashed though tall bushes, nearly driving himself into a lazy river that slumbered around a deserted compound at the base of a hill.

Matthew waded slowly through the slow moving waters, passing the fallen sun bleached trunks that had shielded them against the dark night so long ago. He paused for a moment while the voices of his memory filled his mind, the simple scenes playing out behind his eyes.

There were no footprints in the tired dust of the compound. Not even the jackals or baboons had returned to play. Scorched short walls had fallen, their stones lay discarded as hands never came to stack them to their former glory. The gentle waters that had continued to meander past the enclave, did not stop to wave or flicker their golden daylight that had come to play,

Matthew walked slowly as the memories flooded his mind, the crackling fire still raged somewhere in time, weak legs barely holding them both as Majura had led them to the safety of the waters' edge.

He could hear the proud padded footsteps as the Warriors of the Village came behind the White Haired Elder who had come to collect their young chief and speak of the falling of their Father.

Between the remaining walls, a single white bone stick out of the sand, the only reminder of a scavenged body that had died with evil dreams unfulfilled, eyes dimming as hot blood cooled, drawn out by a long blade that had found the night air filled with a dancing rutting spirit.

Sampanga's spirit had not found his place in the blinking heavens. The light that now glowed from his life watched for the living from beneath the tall stones and bushes on the hill. He had joined the twinkling eyes that had followed all their comings, his final silent scream still caught in his open eyes.

Matthew did not register the different scent that came over the water from the Land Rover. The still engine blew strong hot vapours into the air, mingling with the premix petrol scent already riding the late morning air. Behind the tall bushes and a great flat stone that had once hid a sleeping young warrior, the glittering chrome and mustard colour of a Honda scrambler had not been seen.

Many eyes had followed his coming from the slopes of the hill.

Matthew not the only soul called to this Gathering.