Two Moons by J. Raymond Ractliffe - Chapter 30

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 30

         Chezwe shivered against the morning air, not so much from the cold of the African dawn but by the memory of his encounter with a half visible spirit of the night. His long hunting spear, destined to kill his first lion and mark his ascendancy to being a man had instead been thrust into the night air and grey soot before the sprawled unconscious body of Gileni. It brought wet hot blood where there had been only open space and frightened screams.

A single shard of light had caught his attention while he had stood watching over the compound from the hilltop. The river below carried the glittering moonlight as it moved past the silent compound, but this flash of light had come from where the moon and waters did not dance together.

Remembering the instructions from Etona, Chezwe's wild heart had raced while he waited and watched from above. The compound had remained deserted while his eyes danced from shadow to shadow, seeking the mystery of the light. A rustle could be faintly heard until Gileni emerged from her hut and had stood staring into the night. Then a warm glow had appeared at the base of the old woman's doorway of her hut and Gileni had gone quickly to it only to land up sprawled to the ground by a silent hand she and Chezwe could not see.

Chezwe had sped down the slopes and winding trail that led down to the old tree and centre stones of the old compound. A missed step over loose gravel on the winding path and he had fallen hard, ripping the skin of his knee on the edge of a sharp stone. He could feel the blood cool down his skin as he regained his sandaled footing and sped down the remaining trail, the outstretched branches clawing at his skin as he ran and stumbled past them.

Then silently, Chezwe approached the growing warm glow by the doorway that was being fed by dry thicket and thatch. Before it, the moon above made clear the outline of a wild spirit that had taken the form of a man. Kneeling before the sprawled silent form of Gileni, it made strange grunting sounds mingled with a whimpered giggle that chilled his blood and made the beating of his heart run like the wind.

With more fear than courage, Chezwe ran forward and speared the air that formed the man. He felt the long metal slide through flesh and bone, like the long haired goats he had killed for his father's feasts.

What had been a night spirit that had danced and thrust before him kneeling on the torn ground, it grunted and went stiff on his blade as it drew its last breath, then silently pitched forward to the ground as his foot pressed against it to free his spear. As the night air left its lungs for the last time and the light in its eyes became dim, the full shape of a man appeared, naked as the day it was born.

All of Africa is marked by blood. Those who bring death, man or beast, roar into the night to mark the end of a life. Chezwe drew deeply from the night air and cast his own triumph over the spirit beast to the winds.

Gileni remained silent where she lay. Arms flung wildly to her sides and her round buttocks remained raised with a single strand of glass beads still wound around her waist.. Chezwe's eyes glanced over her prone body and remained for a moment where the spirit had seemed most keen to enter. In the middle of the madness, where death and dust rose out of the nighttime, his throat caught and tightened at her private mystery. The moon cast a shadow where his eyes lingered, leaving Gileni another day in which to feed his heart and grip his mind with the swirling passions of youth and flesh.

Pathera had woken to the thud of her sisters falling and a triumphal cry of the young warrior who had walked up the winding path to the hilltop the night before with a stern seriousness, promising them all their safety through the night.

She emerged from her doorway to find her twin sister lying silent in the churned sand, the young warrior standing with glistening blade over the body of a naked man and a fire now beginning reach for the upper thatch that covered the roof of Great Mother's hut.

Pathera took in the scene and with a calmness that did not reflect the swirling fear and uncertainty that tore at her breast, she walked quickly towards Gileni's side, her eyes darting to the growing flames that were casting about bright sparks that had begun to float in the darkened night air. Her hand brushed away the soot and sand that clung to Gileni's face then stroked her forehead to calm her sleeping spirit and gently felt the neck where the heart beat could be heard. As Pathera crouched by her sister's side, she looked up into the eyes of the Chezwe.

"What has happened here? Why is Gileni laying here and who starting the fire? Where is Mother?." Her voice trembled now, revealing the mounting fear that now grew up into her heart and soul. The flames were licking at the tallest thatch and still the doorway of the hut remained closed. No sound from within, no screaming of fear from those trapped, just the even hiss of burning sap and the crackle of dried wood finding new flame to unlock to heat trapped within.

Chezwe was still gripped in the fear at having had to fight the night spirit, he shook his head as if to cast away the cobwebs that entwined the mind, the night's fears had bound his mind to an emptiness and uncertainty every warrior feared. It was not cowardice that shook a man's faith in himself it was the unexpected emptiness of mind, that courage itself could not be found that left a man shaken to his roots.

Chezwe drew a deep breath, filled his mind and body with the crisp air of the night and leapt over the still body of Gileni towards the flame. With the blood still glistening on the long blade of his spear, he brushed aside the stacked wood that burned hot and furious against the door. Large coals littered the sand as he tried to brush them away, clearing a path to the Old Woman's doorway.

Sparks had begun to rain down on his shoulders from above, like red hot mosquitoes that burned into his skin, he leapt and danced trying to avoid them while clearing the sand and wood pile from of the wooded door with his spear.

"Are you there? Mother, are you there?" he yelled into flames and smoke that had come billowing out from the sides of the door. "Wake up! There is a great fire that has come to kill you!."

Chezwe stood back and kicked the carved wooden door into the darkness of the hut. Panting now, he took a few final deep breaths, he looked back into the frightened eyes of Pathera still hunched over her sister, then he bent down and entered into the burning hut and fiery death.

Pathera watched the flames rise to the night sky, masking the bright stars in the night that had come out to watch the battles of man and death. Grey smoke was billowing skyward, carrying the sparks and fragrances of their medicines that had hung in the rafters to the heavens. The dark open doorway stared back at her in bitter silence, only the sharp crackle and hiss of burning thatch spoke of the madness that had erupted in this night.

The flames now illuminated the courtyard of an old withered tree and stone circle, it seemed to slow time itself as she watched and waited in horror for what might be.

Pathera began to cry, holding her sister in her arms, her tears falling down her cheeks as she watched the flames eat the walls that had housed her Great Mother. No sound had come from inside the hut, no voice rising above the flames that lives had been found. Time flowed away from that point of safety for those trapped. With each breath she took, they measured the oncoming grief that had begun to pool in her breast. The light of the growing flames caught her tears as they fell from her cheeks.

Pathera's silent cry rose up above the din and smoke and fell at the feet of Ngai as he entered and walked through the compound into the lives of man.

Ngai had watched this night as one had died in flames, her last dreams collected in his own silent hands and sprinkled to the stars and eternal life that lived in the heavens. There was little need for this burning path to be walked again, the burnt sacrifice of the one enough to quench life's thirst for balance. Another still form lay by the side of the hut, the madness of its own tormented passions and unfulfilled hunger had caused its own death.

Ngai reached through the doorway and found the crouched form of Chezwe who had found cloth by the side of an empty bed to cover his mouth, away from the searing flames and thick smoke.

With eyes closed against the stinging smoke, Chezwe's hands had searched the ground for life that might have been sleeping, aided by hemp or by fevers, they could have slept deep into the folded warmth of dreams and not known of the dangers that burned around them.

The beds he found were cold. One by one he found the bedrolls and cloths that marked where each had lain. While his hands searched for them, the burning embers had begun to rain down him, burning the skin on his back, small flames singing his beaded hair. His lungs were filled with smoke, spittle ran from his mouth as he tried to find new air between the raging coughs that tore at his breast. Blinded and in pain, Chezwe finally sat on the furthest bedroll, his mission done and waited for the end to come.

His name was Chezwe and he was a man of the Masai people. He had followed the ways of his ancestors, the cutting knife bringing no shame to his family as the skin of his youth was cut away. He had been charged with a man's mission, to guard them all this night by the eldest son of his chief, and he had fought and won a battle with a Spirit that had come to do them evil. The wet blood drying on his blade a testament to this victory.

Now Chezwe's hands searched the hut's darkness and found that the flames burning his skin and hair had not found his fevered friend or the Great Mother. They were somewhere safe, away from the heat and coming death that now lay all around him. His eyes were watering and streaming down his face from the smoke and ash.

His skin was blistering now. Hair singed to their roots and the back of his hands that shielded his eyes and face were losing their fight against the flames. He leant against a wall to rest one more time and set his mind and body against the coming death.

A smile came from behind his burning fingers that covered his eyes as he thought of this night. He had fought and won against an enemy unknown to man. His spear had found its mark and killed the spirit beast. More than a lion, he had killed what lived in the shadows of the land and stalked both man and beast to their deaths. He was a warrior whose name would be remembered for generations.

Through the thick smoke, strong hands came and gripped his shoulders tightly. The ash and tears had glued his eyes shut so he could not see who had come through the flames. They lifted him up and away from the hot wall and through the haze of fire and smoke and directed him to the open doorway and freedom.

Pathera watched as Chezwe stumbled out alone through the doorway, falling headfirst to the ground. Bright sparks lay on his open skin, searing holes that would mark this night on his dark body forever. His hair was smoking and the skin on the back of his hands had begun to fall away.

With a shriek, Pathera let go of her sister and jumped towards the now fallen Chezwe. Her hands beat the stinging sparks that clung to his back and shoulders and patted the smoldering flames that ringed his scalp. He was coughing now, his chest heaving as he tried to find the crisp evening air. When she was sure the last of the flames had been put out, she took his hands still covering his face and gently pried them apart.

Chezwe's eyes were tightly closed, ash and soot covered them, but they opened finally to see her and he smiled at her with a white smile that opened her heart as a woman for the first time.

The flames had done more than destroy the hut and scattered their carefully preserved herbs in their pouches to the winds. Chezwe and Pathera now bound their hearts and destinies as surely as the roots of the trees were bound to the earth. One was a healer, whose knowledge of the arts and healing draughts and ointments would care for blistered and seared skin in the months to come. Sores born from burned exposed skin would find a gentle touch to heal, a hairless scalp proudly polished and carried high to remember the night their paths had became one.

Ngai watched with a dim smile as the flames rose higher into the night to finally engulf the hut and the young dreams left living within.

Chezwe could not feel the raw stings and beating pulse of his burned flayed skin. He saw only the perfect eyes that greeted him from the death that he had escaped. The last shiver of the night caught him once more and into her arms he lay quiet and dreamt of things born of a warrior's heart.

The imprints of strong hands that had lifted him to safety still visible on his grey soot covered skin.

Ngai turned to find the One calling to Him by the waters.

And he was gone.

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.

Two Moons by J. Raymond Ractliffe - Chapter 28

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 28

        Jeremy could not tell if the crimson glow on the horizon that had quickly burned itself out had been the same place where earlier he had seen the single line of dimly lit torches file past and disappeared over the hills behind him.

The steady rhythm of his life pooling below in the sand had in its own strange way, kept his mind from disappearing to the peaceful darkness that periodically washed over him as the waves of pain bore down on him.

The nighttime air had cooled his blistered skin. The day's heat had long escaped and left him trebling in spasms and chattering teeth.

Below the yellow eyes were ever watchful, a raised eyebrow cast hopefully when he moved, rustling in the moonlit sky when it seemed he might leave the safety of the limbed tree and return down to the earth to its waiting.

Jeremy watched as the sky turned, the stars appearing on the darkened horizon, drawn as on a bow they crawled along the night sky in an arc from one side of the heavens to the other.

A lion had sounded off into the night, its long "hhmmmmppp" drawn up from deep within its belly to its throat. It rolled across the open fields as it marked the night air, as surely as if it had scented and marked his land boundary. Had he been of more sound mind, Jeremy would have noticed that with each call, it seemed closer that the previous.The lion's open mouth had caught the blood scent that had wafted over the fallen trees and dried riverbeds as it lay resting.

Jeremy could feel he was losing the battle of time. The sky had the first light brush strokes that marked the coming of the day. Cold, feverish and lightheaded from loss of blood, the life sands were running out and he had no way of stopping its flow.

From behind his eyes Jeremy could feel the stirring butterflies that marked the coming of the end. When the mind could no longer hold onto consciousness, the fluttering wings drew the curtains closed on tired and exhausted minds and filled aching hearts with dreams of loved ones and times of cheer.

Jeremy no longer undid the belt that bound his lower leg, letting in new blood so that his limb could taken in the oxygen before the tissues died.. His numbed mind and fingers could not find the release buckle, the tourniquet holding back what pain it could.

In a last desperate effort to stay awake, Jeremy straightened up one more time, his tired red eyes wide in concentration and fear, his arm wound around the tree trunk tightly. Secure and safe his last relief etched on his ebbing smile.

The butterfly wings behind his eyes beat hurriedly and drew the last curtains closed and into their fold Jeremy slipped quietly and found his rest. The smile of Claire hid his mind from the pain and from within his deepest heart, he knew he was going to go and find his way home and then rest in her arms and laughter. Jeremy's nights had long ended with her scented hair filling his heart with peace and love that kept the red blazoned skies of Europe far from his dreams.

He made no sound as he slipped forward into the night sky. Just her name was heard as the butterflies ended their flight and the cool night air carried him to his dreams.

On a cool veranda beneath a blue Brighton shawl and long blond hair streaked with , tired eyes that had searched the night and day for Jeremy's smile suddenly opened wide. Claire's hand reached out as if to grab something from the air, then it was gone.

Her hand remained closed, as if clutching some precious jewel. Holding it to her breast under the woollen blue, Claire watched the morning light come without moving. No tear rose to greet her, no heartbeat torn to mark the time.

Her eyes found the horizon point of her dreams and her silent cry, and to this, she held fast the power of her love.

A fresh steaming tea cup appeared once again by her side yet her gaze never turned away from the horizon as it cooled in the night air.

The stars slowly stretched across the dark sky to the morning, for both man and beast and the cries of hungry children.