Rakam came out next. “It’s bad, be ready,” said the warrior.
It was bad. Rakam had suffered a serious head wound. His ribs were broken and not a limb was left undamaged.
“Forgive me, but I must,” said Mabetu to Ummi Astolah.
“Let it be as you wish. You ask no more of others than you do of yourself.” Ummi Astolah said to the warriors. “Come, all of you have the strength. We need your help if he is to survive.”
They joined in a circle. Each put a hand on Mabetu.
Reaching down into Rakam’s mind, Mabetu feared he was too late. His grandson was already so far gone. Perhaps he couldn’t be brought back. Perhaps he would die. Using all the strength of the others, Mabetu fed power into Rakam’s body, feeling the life return.
Finally, Rakam opened his eyes. “Grandfather, it’s you.”
“Yes, I’ve had to rescue you again. Look at that, Ummi Astolah, these young people insist they can do everything by themselves, and then they need our help all the time.”
“Did we win?”
“I’m not sure. Our fortunes have certainly changed. The reason for it I cannot say.”
“I did it. I figured out how to defeat their weapons. It was just like you said, breaking a bundle of sticks. “
“Then you have completed the task the Almighty has set before you. Your Jaribu is over. You are a true Kasisi.”
The thought seemed to please Rakam. He smiled. “I think I’ll go to sleep now. I’m very tired, exhausted.”
“Yes, dear boy, sleep. Go to sleep now. It’s all over.”
“Tell my wife I love her.”
“I will,” said Mabetu confused. “But you can tell her yourself when you are well. We’ll go look for her together.”
“Don’t bother. She’ll be here anytime. She and Torbu of the Gray Rock bring all the people of the ridge, even the Kasisi of the Falling Lakes, even Kolojo. She is crossing the river as we speak. Can’t you hear the drums?”
Mabetu listened intently, “No.”
“Maybe it’s all in my mind.”
“Maybe so, rest now. Be in peace.”
Chapter 34
Rakam awoke, the pain of his wounds stealing away the perfect bliss of herb-induced sleep, the escape only such sweet oblivion can bring. While he slept, any shift in his body, any nerve-induced spasm, would conjure the most acute of pains and the strangest of dreams. Often he would come nearly awake, finding the misery anxiously awaiting his return.
Among too many contusions and lacerations to count, the crumbling of the great manor house had broken Rakam’s collarbone and cracked five of his ribs. Thankfully, his left arm only suffered a dislocation and had not been permanently damaged. Such events usually ended much worse, as Mabetu pointed out when he had made his examination. It was hard to feel lucky when he ached so terribly, but Rakam knew that he should be thankful. Since that time, he had said a few prayers each time he arose from sleep.
Feeling better, restless now that his body was healing, Rakam opened his eyes. The wind was cold as it gusted through the windows of Negara’s bedroom. Snow blew in around the shutters, thin wisps of purest white that seemed to dance upon the sill. The dying fire in the hearth did little to fend off the cold, but the bed was warm, piled thick with blankets and skins, the heat of Negara lying close to him.
Winter had come while he recovered. A small blessing from the sharp southern wind and the mountain peaks, the cold had stifled the overpowering smell of rot and death left over from the battle. Insects and beasts of all kinds had been drawn by the smell, a plague upon the grieving multitudes as they buried family and friends.
“The cold is death,” Mabetu had insisted, speaking to Negara in hushed tones outside the room while Rakam listened in when he was first recovering. “Rakam is yet weak. Keep him warm or he’ll die.”
“Must stay warm,” Rakam said softly now, getting an idea.
With that thought playing upon his mind, Rakam remembered he and Negara had not had a proper reunion. Newlyweds such as they had a right to feel themselves cheated for the trails they had faced. Thinking he was strong enough for some modicum of affection, Rakam let his fingers travel the bedclothes, searching for the warmth of his wife’s body.
Negara was lying beside him, motionless, the slight drone of a snore escaping her lips. Rakam reached out to stroke her hair, finding it softer than he remembered. Though he thought every part of his wife beautiful, her hair tended to be coarse, but perhaps some good wife had made for her a tonic to soften it, or maybe she was with child. Such things happened when women began having children. The thought of Negara being pregnant thrilled him. Now that the MaShaitani were gone, they could truly begin living the rest of their lives.
Wanting to take his wife in his arms, wanting to hold her and caress the softness of her skin, Rakam let his hand trail through her softening hair, down to the nape of her neck. She wore an unusual garment, close to her skin and unyielding to the touch. Rakam moved his hand lower, finding a place underneath at the waist where his hand found flesh, moving up and around her stomach.
“You had better be delusional,” said Mabetu gruffly. “Or does your wife feel like a hairy old man?”
“Where’s Negara?” Rakam asked, pulling away in shock.
“To wash,” was Mabetu’s reply. “I said you must stay warm or die, and I meant it. A servant is coming with more wood for the fire.”
“Uh, good,” said Rakam, shifting in the bed.
“What do you think you’re doing? I told you not to move. Now at the critical time you would risk becoming a cripple for a few moments of pleasure? Your travels must have addled your mind. You’re not well enough for that.”
Thankfully, the door opened and in walked Negara. “I’ve brought food,” she announced, setting a tray onto a table near the bed as Mabetu roused himself. “How do you feel? You seemed better.”
“He’s feeling frisky,” Mabetu said. “Let me make it clear that there must be none of that. He needs his strength to heal, and he needs to be still for the bones to knit properly.”
“Why doesn’t that surprise me,” Negara said severely, but when Mabetu had turned to put his feet on the floor, she shot Rakam a devilish smile.
“Are we decent?” asked Kolojo, coming through the door with a broad grin, having heard the exchange from outside.
“Well, look who’s here, the salamander himself,” Rakam said, much cheered by the appearance of the unexpected visitor. “They say you put on quite the show.”
“Salamander, indeed,” said Mabetu, “what utter nonsense.”
Blushing at the honor of his new nickname, given to him by the warriors of Pakali’s personal guard upon their witness of his power, Kolojo said, “I am here only for the present. Now that the security of the city has been settled, King Pakali has charged me with a band of warriors and will have me pursue the escapees.”
“Surely not in the snow,” Negara said.
“Our enemies will feel the bite of the cold as sharply as we will. The scouts have returned with sign of their passing, but the trail has grown old in our labors. The snow will aid us in tracking them.”
“Burn yourself out in the process,” Mabetu huffed. “You and Rakam are determined to ruin yourselves before your lives have even begun. You’ll be seated in the courtyard with a cup in your hands, each of you, drooling at the mouth and laughing at rich people’s stupid jokes.”
Kolojo said respectfully, “And it would be worth it to ensure the safety of our people, would it not?”
“Do not abuse the gifts of the Almighty. That was what I was taught when I was young.”
“But you also teach self-sacrifice.”
“It’s not polite to use an old man’s words against him, especially when taken out of context as they most definitely are.”
Kolojo said, “If these warriors never return to their homeland, then perhaps their king will think twice before sending others.”
“Yes, perhaps,” Mabetu conc
eded with his arms folded over his chest. “But be careful; there are more hazards in the world than MaShaitani.”
“That I will make as a promise, my honored great-grandfather.”
“A honeyed tongue won’t sweeten my disposition toward the business.”
“If only I could go with you. Negara, too, of course,” Rakam said, nodding deferentially to his wife. “Will Bantu be going? Such a journey would be to his liking.”
“Bantu is staying here to look after you,” Mabetu said to the surprise of everyone. “Now that the city is secure, he is going to assist me in making you well again. You will get well again if only you will do as you are told.”
Rakam answered sardonically, “I guess I have my future all planned out for me.”
“More than you know,” Mabetu said, eyeing Negara.
Kolojo turned away, finding something of interest in the light of the fire.
“What does he mean?” asked Rakam, looking from one to the next.
Negara was uneasy for a long moment, then explained, “Now that the Shaitani threat of our time is over, my father is abdicating the throne. As heroes of the war and rightful heirs, we are to take up our authority with the unanimous support of the remaining Council Members.”
“But I don’t know how to be a king.”
“Already getting above himself,” Negara said with a laugh. “That’s what you have me for, dear. Don’t worry yourself over much about that.”
“The world is, indeed, changing,” Mabetu said. “The great trial of your lives has come to an end. Now is the time for sorrow and joy, to weep for lost friends and to bring forth the next generation. We are safe. Peace has returned.”
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