Reign of the Nightmare Prince

by Mike Phillips

  “But what of the ceremony of the Grove, Great-Grandfather?” said Kolojo. “Cousin Timbo will be very upset if we are late.”

  “Did they say how far along the young man was, my dear?”

  “No, Pappy, the messenger is down at the river. I ran as soon as I heard.”

  “I’ll speak with him directly.” Mabetu turned away, taking the necklace and staff that were the trappings of his office. To Kolojo, he said, “Your Cousin Timbo will have to wait. I have that new remedy I’ve been working on.”

  “And, we will have to find out where he came into contact with the flowers,” Kolojo added.

  “And destroy them, yes.”

  “I’ll go back and tell them you’re on your way,” Petala said, ready to run.

  “No, no, I want you to stay here. Make sure this pot doesn’t boil over, and I don’t want you messing around with anything while I’m gone.”

  The girl asked excitedly, “Oh? Is it some sort of magic potion?”

  “No.”

  “Then, is it one of your medicines?”

  “No,” he said dryly, “it’s my lunch.”

  * * *

  Leaving Petala to mind the fire, Mabetu and Kolojo made their way from the small cluster of buildings down to the river.

  “You came very quickly,” Mabetu observed.

  “Yes, I thought it might be,” but he didn’t finish his statement.

  “Yes, Rakam has been gone a very long time, hasn’t he?”

  “Do you think he’s still alive?”

  “Yes.”

  “Really? How can you be so certain? There are so many dangers in the world, and it has been so long.”

  “I have faith.”

  “I wish my faith were as strong as yours.”

  Mabetu made a kindly smile and said, “Faith grows as we follow the path that leads to the end of our lives, but that is another matter entirely. I would have felt it if he had departed from this world.”

  “I miss him.”

  “So do I,” Mabetu said, sighing, “so do I, my dear boy.”

  “When do you think he will come back?”

  “When he’s ready. Your cousin has a special gift. He may be called to many purposes in his lifetime. Perhaps he is fulfilling such a destiny now. It’s not for us to question what sort of task is put to a Kasisi on his Jaribu. He must prove himself to the Almighty, and it is not for us to question, even if such a journey ends in death.”

  “Yes, that is how you found the cure to the sleeping sickness.”

  “Indeed, and do not forget that is also how it was revealed to me. Not all maladies are caused by spirits. Perhaps that was the greater discovery of the two.” Mabetu added, “And, you should think about making the trial of the Jaribu yourself. You are past ready. The Almighty has plans for you also.”

  “I thought to….”

  “Wait for Rakam to return? I’ll manage without your keeping an eye on me.”

  “But what about your work?”

  “There are plenty of young ones to train, Petala maybe.”

  “Petala? You think father would approve?”

  Mabetu dismissed the notion with a wave of his hand. “Oh, he won’t put up much of a fight. He has your Mother to contend with, and there’s no denying talent.”

  “Yes, but what about Mother?”

  “Your Grandmother did most of the work with her, as it is usually done, but she spent time with me. Petala has talent with fire, like you, maybe even more than you. That’s something I can help her with. So, you’re not irreplaceable, you see?”

  “I never thought I was. I just didn’t want to leave you.”

  “At my age? Am I that feeble? How insulting,” said Mabetu with feigned heat that Kolojo failed to recognize.

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “You didn’t have to.”

  “But….”

  “Only teasing,” Mabetu said, patting the young man on the hand. “But I am serious about being rid of you. No one says you have to be gone as long as Rakam. Let the Almighty decide. Timbo was back before lunch, and he had slept late. I take longer than that to pass water for goodness sakes.”

  “Now you’re just making fun.”

  “Well, maybe he slept rough once. Your cousin likes a good bed, you know.”

  Kolojo sighed, “You’re right, of course. If Rakam hasn’t returned by the first moon after the Long Night has passed, then I will face the Jaribu anyway.”

  “Good.”

  * * *

  The smell was terrible. Mabetu and Kolojo caught the scent even before they saw the cage. It was at the bottom of a canyon where there was a little creek and a shallow cave. The cage was far enough away for a man’s screams not to be heard in the village, far enough to keep the madness from infecting anyone else.

  Racesh was resting now, a fretful sleep in which he whimpered like a river dog that had been given a beating. He had cuts and bruises all over his body, and he was covered in his own excrement.

  “This is outrage!” Mabetu said before the boy’s father could explain. “You treat him worse than livestock.”

  “But Honored Kasisi, he is mad. He nearly set himself on fire,” Kimba said defensively, but his eyes were at the old man’s feet. “Believe me, we would have never done so otherwise.”

  “Of course, you had to restrain him, but to let him wallow in his own waste? It is shameful.”

  At the sound of voices, the man in the cage awoke. As the discussion continued, he became more and more agitated, pacing back and forth. At the last, he even started screaming and beating his head against the bars.

  Leaving the escort of a dozen or so village men at the top of the canyon, Mabetu climbed down to the cage. Kolojo was at his heels. The crowd gasped at this daring, telling him not to go, warning him that he would be infected. Mabetu thanked them for their concern, but continued on his way.

  “No, oh no, it’s all going to be better now,” Mabetu said over and over to Racesh as he approached, investing the words with a power beyond meaning.

  Removing a sprig of some herb from his pack, Mabetu plucked a single leaf and offered it through the bars of the cage. The wild man had calmed remarkably under the influence of the soothing voice. When the leaf was offered, thinking it food, he snatched it away and ate it. His eyes were wild and his hand was covered in mottled blue lesions. Having seen what signs he needed, Mabetu turned away, his old face grave with concern.

  “Can you cure my son?” Kimba asked Mabetu when he returned. “They say you are the one who cured the sleeping sickness.”

  “No, I can’t cure him, not yet,” the old man admitted. “Perhaps I can ease his suffering, slow the effects of the disease, but that is all. With time, if he resists long enough or if the Almighty desires it, maybe I will find a cure.”

  “What should we do now?”

  “He will sleep, a long, peaceful sleep. That will do him good. Have a frame built. Tie him to it before he wakes.”

  Mabetu handed Kimba the herb and said, “Give him one of these when he wakes. I have new medicine that will help. I will teach you how to make it.”

  “Thank you, most Honored Kasisi.”

  “No, no, I am happy to do what I can.”

  “How long, does he, well, how long will he….”

  “Live? Until the Long Night, at least. Have you seen the blue lesions?”

  “Yes.”

  “That is the first sign. The sickness comes from a particular blue flower. I need to know if he traveled the forest much, if there were anyone who accompanied him hunting. By the look of things, it would have been before the sister moon had traveled to the second house of the sun.”

  “This is not the season for flowers,” Kimba protested.

  “Yes, I remember,” Kaena interrupted. “He picked a blue flower for Nakala, and it was before the sister moon set in the second house of the sun as you say.”

  “Oh, and you were with him?”

  “Yes.”

 
“We must find all of the flowers and burn them. That is the only way to keep them from infecting others. Do you remember where these flowers were?”

  “Down at the meadow with the broken willow.”

  “Do you remember anything else? Did he eat it or smell it?”

  “Yes, he smelled it.” Kaena turned pale. “We both smelled it.”

  “And you have had no troubles?”

  He swallowed hard and his voice shook as he said, “I don’t think so.”

  “Good, but we must watch you closely. Perhaps it is sleeping within you.”

  Kimba bit his lip and looked as if he had been struck. “Not both sons?”

  “I will do what I can,” Mabetu said. “Do you remember anything else Kaena?”

  Kaena paused, thinking. “Yes, when Racesh pulled out the flower, it pricked him with many thorns and made him bleed.”

  Considering a moment, Mabetu said, “That is a valuable piece of information. Thank you. Let’s have a look, shall we?”

  * * *

  “Here’s the place,” Kaena announced after a quick search in the meadow. He pointed, keeping his distance. “The flowers are near that bush.”

  Kimba said in a hush, “It must be a powerful spirit, see how it takes the shape of the panther.”

  “Yes,” Kaena said, marveling, “we didn’t notice that before.”

  “You were thinking too much of young girls and not enough about the dangers that surround you,” Kimba added irritably. “And, you pay for your foolishness.”

  “I’m sorry, father.”

  “Let’s have a closer look. My eyes are not what they used to be,” Mabetu said. “A panther, well, yes, it does look like a panther, but that is not because of a spirit. A panther, a rabbit, a man, it doesn’t matter. The flower infects an animal and uses it like a tick does to feed upon. There is no magic, for good or evil.”

  “Forgive me, but are you certain?”

  “Yes, Kimba, I have studied this flower a long time since you were a young man.” Mabetu put enough humor into the remark to make them all laugh. “And, if I were a younger man then, I may have acted as foolishly as your sons.”

  “You are right, of course. Forgive me.”

  “A father needs no forgiveness for the love of his children. Let’s have a look.”

  “Is it safe?”

  “Wet cloth, and tie it around your mouth like the forest people do when they’re making charcoal. Afterward, we’ll all take a long swim in the river. But, this is most important, don’t touch it.”

  The preparations were made. Mabetu and Kolojo spied out the place, as was their habit, before putting it to the fire.

  Kolojo pointed to a spot in the flower patch that was in the shade of a bush. “This is interesting. See how the flowers don’t grow where this mushroom is.”

  “Interesting,” Mabetu said. “Do you think we could get some of that?”

  “It’s common enough,” Kaena replied, “though you wouldn’t want to eat it. I never heard that it ever killed anyone, but it will make you sick.”

  “You can show us where to collect more?” Kolojo asked.

  “Yes, oh yes, all you want in this season.”

  Mabetu said, “Good, then we will get started.”

  While Kolojo dug a shallow circle around the flowers, Mabetu chanted and beat a small drum. When the circle was completed, Kolojo filled it with a course powder, casting what remained of the particles into the center of the circle. Finally, wood was stacked into a heap within the circle and soaked with oil. Spreading his arms, Kolojo invoked his power. A flame leapt up, hot and fierce, burning everything within.

  Chapter 5

  Water crashed on stone, angered by the obstruction of its course, longing for an end to its seaward journey. The sound was deafening. What started as a low roar had grown until it reached a wild pitch. It was all around, the sound of the water crashing on stone. And by the sound, he thought that he should know something. All he had heard for as long as he could remember was the pounding of heavy feet on the ground and the call of mighty trumpets upon the wind.

  He felt his naked back upon something as coarse as the bark of a tree. Then, he was touched by something soft and cool on the cheek; and though he burned with fever so his skin felt scorched and lifeless, the feeling was unmistakable. It was the spray of water. The world moved under him, and the refreshing droplets hit him full-on in the face.

  Upon his clouded mind a thought arose. This was the river. He had to follow the river to find his way home. Rakam awoke from his lost sleep, and for the first time in recent memory, he felt more alive than dead.

  “But I am so tired,” he said aloud, hearing a voice much weaker than he expected.

  Rakam had been in and out of his mind so many times since he had taken the serpent’s sting that he no longer trusted what his senses told him. He wondered if it really were water on his skin or just another dream.

  Horns rang again. The servants of the Jinn were calling to each other above the complaints of the river. He had to know if this were true. He had to know if he had been saved. Rakam managed to roll himself over and peer down from the back of the great beast on which he rode. There it was. His hand could almost touch the precious liquid. The Losli must now be near the center of the river, far from the dangerous rocks of the shore.

  Not wanting to wait a moment longer for fear of losing the opportunity, Rakam pulled himself forward and dug in with his knees and pushed off with his hands until at last he fell from the beast’s back into the deep, cool waters below. But, then, he realized, he had no strength to swim. He coughed as water, sweet, delicious water, rushed into his dry mouth. The river swallowed him as a Losli passed nearby. His mind began to stir, and with the threat of drowning, he recovered some of his wits.

  Gasping for breath, he reached the surface, stretching his body out to float. He let the river have its way with him, working only to keep his head above the churning waters as he rested. He came upon another Losli and put a hand to its flank, but soon he lost his hold and was at the mercy of the river once again. He saw another massive gray shape, but could not reach it before it was gone.

  Soon the crashing of the water and the calling of the Losli was behind him, upstream where he had no strength to go. The water was not swift. By working with the current, he was able to steadily make his way toward shore. His arms and legs ached. His head felt like it would break open, but he was alive.

  Ahead came a bend in the river. Rakam knew if he could only make it a little closer to the shore, the slow current might sweep him into the shallows. As the bend grew closer, his body began failing him. Then, he felt the chaos pulling him as he was swept around the bend, far from safety.

  Rakam could barely manage to keep his head above water as the river carried him along. He was exhausted. His legs would no longer kick. His arms would no longer pull. He felt he was at the end of his life and could not stop himself from plunging into the depths, finding sweet release at last.

  Something nudged him. His body involuntarily reacted to the touch, tensing, but Rakam did nothing more as he prepared himself for a watery death, slowly sinking below the surface.

  Sharp and sudden, he felt a pain in his leg. Something had bitten him. It wasn’t the bite of a predator, a grabbing, thrashing, tearing bite. It was more like a child’s bite made in jest or an affectionate nip from a pet.

  Annoyed, somehow Rakam gained the will to kick away as the next bite came at the small of his back. Something nudged his head upward. When he broke through the surface of the water to the glorious sun and sky, he saw a broken tree branch circling within arm’s reach. He was nudged toward the branch and heard a familiar chattering. It was a river dog, an otter, he thought excitedly.

  As Rakam rolled over in the water and began to swim toward the branch, the furry little creature pushed up against his chest, guiding him. Soon his hand grasped the first substantial bits of wood, reaching for the thick trunk that he used to pull himself to saf
ety. The otter came out of the water and carefully crawled toward him, using the wood as a raft.

  “Hello there, my dear cousin,” Rakam said in a weak voice. “Thank you for saving my life.”

  Unless he was mistaken, Rakam thought he heard the river dog say he was welcome. He shook off the notion as the remains of his delirium and stared as the otter cleared the water from its face with its clever paws.

  “My name is Rakam,” he said reflexively, thinking he had answered a question and, then, wondering why he had done so.

  The otter gave a sort of nod and dove into the water, leaving Rakam alone on the branch. He wondered if it were a trained animal, if it had been someone’s hunter. He wondered, too, if it had really spoken to him. Perhaps he had died in the river.

  It was said by his people the otters were spirit guides, escorts bringing souls home to the Almighty. It might be he would ride the tree on the river down into the bowels of the world where he would be punished for the wrongs he had committed. Maybe that was why the otter had left him.

  But, then, the river dog reappeared. It brought with it a fish, very small, but to Rakam’s empty stomach it was a feast. The otter climbed down the branch and set the fish next to Rakam, seeming to nod its head as Rakam stretched out his hand to take it.

  After first making sure he wasn’t stealing a meal from his new friend, Rakam put the fish to his mouth. He ate it head, tail, bones and all, and the otter seemed to wait as if hopeful and approving. Once Rakam had swallowed the little fish, the otter dove back into the water.

  Twice more the river dog returned with fish, if smaller than the first, still gratefully received. When the fourth fish arrived, Rakam felt his guts turn. He wretched, spilling the contents of his stomach into the river.

  “I should have gone slow,” he said aloud as he gratefully accepted another fish. The otter slipped back into the river and was gone from sight.

  When he felt able, Rakam ate the fish. The otter had not come back. Rakam wondered again if it would ever return. After successfully keeping down the fish and taking a short, nervous rest in which he feared losing his raft and returning to the river, he felt some vigor returning to his body.