The Spirit Quest cotpl-2

by John H. Burkitt

  “I am willing to spill my blood for the love of Aiheu. Without his love, life is not worth living.”

  “Still don’t count your life worthless. Don’t discard it lightly. Remember that some of us love you.”

  He hugs her around the shoulder. “Some of us love you too.”

  Asumini was looking at the paintings. “There is my Auntie," she said tearfully. "She loved us, but she was always my father's. I will miss her."

  “She told me she would not leave until her work was done.” He thought a moment. “Besides, I will always be there for you.” Metutu took Asumini in his arms. “As your father gave up his life to pass the truth to me, I will make sure you have what you need even if I must do without! I will be another son to Kima, and a husband to you.”

  “Metutu, we do not want your pity. That is not the kind of love we feel for you.”

  “Not pity! I have always felt for you. You were always so wise and as beautiful as I am plain.”

  “Your face is not plain.”

  “Only because you are beautiful enough for both of us.” He kissed her first on one cheek then the other. “Don't blame me for feeling attracted to you. What son of Chako could look at you and not think guilty thoughts."

  She gave him a chaste kiss. “Someday there will be a time for guilty thoughts when grief has run its course. And they will be of you. If you love me, give me time.”

  “I give you my whole lifetime. When you need me, I won’t be far behind.”

  CHAPTER 19: THE NEXUS

  Metutu could not get out of his mind what the lioness Asumini had said. “Have courage.” What did she mean? Courage about the death of Busara? About his new faith? Secretly he had fantasies about calling her up, opening his arms, and saying, “Come to me, Asumini!” And she would make him her brother and tell him wonderful things about life and beauty.

  His father wanted him to be the next chief. But he felt the call to do the will of Aiheu. He longed for a life of sincerity. Of course, he had hopes that one day mandrill society would change. But change must come from other sources. Is that the courage he must have?

  Kinara's ongoing feud with Old Maloki was coming to a head. Finally the privilege of getting water from the creek on their lands was going to start costing them more. That was it. Old Maloki had been holding on to his lands with great tenacity, but some of his people were ripe for a change. And Kinara thought the best change for all concerned was a greater village, and a united council.

  But how best to go about it? Certainly not by military force, at least not the forces of Kinara. Rather, it must be done subtly from the inside with a few well-placed rumors. After all, the chief felt, there was nothing he could say about the old greedy gut that was worse than the truth.

  As he was working on his plans, Neema brought him his favorite dinner, a mixture of several different fruits mashed together with a bowl and antelope bone with an egg. The three children used to love it, not so much for the taste or texture, but the way she fixed it, describing the elephant stomping through the village. She called it "Elephant Stew."

  "Neema, is that you?"

  She startled and dropped the plate, spilling the contents all over him.

  "What is wrong with you, Missy??"

  She grasped her head. "Oh gods, I'm so sorry."

  "What's wrong?"

  "I've been a little clumsy lately. Maybe it's this headache."

  "Headache? Oh." He brushed himself off as best he could, but the mixture was a little sticky. "Don't bother with it--I'll clean it up. Besides, I need a break."

  Usually she would insist on cleaning it up anyhow. As Kinara headed to the creek to bathe, he began to wonder if maybe her headache was worse than she'd been telling him. And come to think about it, she'd had that headache for a number of days that he can remember.

  Makedde was humming to himself softly as he cleaned out the little wooden bowl he used for mixing his medicines. Wiping it clean, he discarded the handful of leaves and set the bowl gently in a corner. Rising, he turned around and nearly collided with Neema. Startled, the mandrill tumbled backwards, upsetting the stack of crockery and sending it tumbling to the floor.

  "Merciful Lord! You nearly frightened me out of my wits!" He held his chest and exhaled strongly.

  "I'm sorry, son, I didn't mean to frighten you."

  "Of course, Mother. It's just-unexpected, to see you here."

  Neema wrung her hands nervously, a small tic twitching at her cheek. "I know, and I wouldn't bother you, but...."

  "Mother," Makedde said, slightly chiding. "You are no bother; you are welcome any time. What is it?" He looked at her curiously. "Are you all right?"

  She smiled thinly. "Actually, no. My head hurts."

  "Again?" He kissed her. "If I had to live with dad and his schemes I'd have headaches too. So what is it now, Old Maloki again?

  "Yes. Always." She moaned. "I was wondering if you could help me with it. I need something stronger."

  He chuckled softly and led her over to his sleeping mat where they sat down. "Oh, the day I can't fix a little headache is the day I give up my work." He cocked his head, studying her face. "Did you fall or did it just start hurting?" He began to feel her head ever so gently.

  "No, I didn't fall, it just started hurting one day, and it's been getting worse ever since."

  His fingers massaged her temples and she wailed in pain. Makedde jerked his hands back as though he had been burned. He looked at her, astonished. "How long ago was this 'one day'?"

  She looked at him miserably, tears glinting at the corners of her eyes. "Only since the last time you came to eat dinner with us at home; on Metutu's birthday, remember?"

  He gaped at her. "Your head has been hurting for two moons?? My gods, why didn't you tell me!"

  She began to weep openly. "Please don't get mad at me. You know how your father gets; if he knew I was coming to you for help it would upset him terribly. He wouldn't understand."

  "Why didn't you go to another healer, then?"

  "They aren't good like my son. I don't know about this Aiheu you worship, but you have a light that shines in the darkness. I'm not sure if I believe in him, but I believe in you."

  Makedde felt tears sting his own eyes as he gathered her into his arms. He sat back and looked at her, wiping her tears away with a trembling hand. "I will be as gentle as I can."

  Hating himself for the pain he knew he was inflicting, he placed his fingers softly on her temples. Neema hissed in pain but kept still. Makedde was alarmed at the thready pulse he felt in her temples; her heart was racing like a panicked zebra. He felt the glands underneath her jaw and felt his own pulse race with fear; they were swollen and hard, and was hot as a rock at high sun. He seized a stick used for stirring his medicines and held it in front of her eyes. "Mother, I want you to look at the stick. Follow it with your eyes."

  She looked at him curiously, but nodded.

  Makedde moved the small stick slowly to the left, watching her eyes carefully as they tracked it smoothly. He moved it back the other way, with the same result. His panic receded somewhat; she was not showing the signs he had feared. He stopped moving the stick, still watching her.

  Her eyes stayed steady on the twig, but began to twitch uncontrollably. Suddenly her pupils dilated and she fainted.

  "Oh great Aiheu, please, no!" Leaping forward, he cradled her in his arms gently, rocking her back and forth and weeping.

  There was a huge commotion at the entranceway as Kinara came bustling in, ringing wet from his bath and out of breath. "Have you seen your mother? I've looked all over and...." He broke off, staring at her prone form. "What have you done! What's wrong with her??"

  Makedde looked up at him, his eyes wild. "She’s very sick. Please, help me carry her. We've got to get her home--now."

  Wordlessly, his father helped him carry the unconscious Neema down to the ground. Amidst a growing crowd, they bore her off to the small tree where the chief made his home. Carrying her up, the
y laid her gently upon the mat of leaves she used for a bed. Makedde lay a hand upon her forehead and groaned; the fever was already building rapidly. He could have asked for no surer sign.

  "Makedde?" Kinara looked at him nervously, the confident tone missing from his voice for the first time Makedde could remember. "Son? What's wrong with her?"

  Makedde was unable to speak for a moment; he sat staring at the ceiling of branches overhead, blinking back tears. Finally, he spoke in a trembling voice. "Walk with me." He looked over at Metutu, who sat in the corner, watching him with wide eyes and trembling. "Metutu, keep an eye on Mother for me. Let me know if she wakes up."

  Makedde rose and led his father outside. "She is ill, Father."

  "How ill?"

  "She has Bhe'to."

  His father looked at him silently. He shook his head in disbelief, backing away from Makedde. "People have died from that. Tell me what I have to do, and I'll do it."

  "Make her comfortable till the end comes."

  "Is that it?" The look in Makedde's eyes was unyieldingly grim. "Can't you do something? Isn't there even a small chance?"

  "No. You know as well as I do there is only a matter of time. All we can do, we are doing."

  "Please, Makedde, help her. Of all the shamans, you are the most skilled. This Aifor--or whatever his name is--doesn't he know how to heal this thing?"

  "I'm sure he does. Aiheu is all-knowing, but shamans are not. Busara might have laid hands on her. Of course, that will not happen now."

  "That’s it, isn’t it?" His father looked at him, anguished. "Am I the reason? Don't be afraid--you can tell me. I'll gladly do whatever you want. I'll debase myself in front of the whole council, Makedde, if that's what you want, but for the love of your mother, DO something!"

  "There is nothing I can do."

  Kinara grabbed him by the shoulders and looked wildly into his eyes. "My life for hers. All right, I thought he was ruining our way of life and I killed him! I admit it! My life for hers! Kill me--sacrifice my blood to your Aiheu! He’s only killing her to punish me!"

  "Tell no one about Busara," Makedde told him sternly. "It will destroy you but it won’t save her. Aiheu does not want your blood. He does not destroy the innocent to punish the guilty. Pray for forgiveness for your own sake."

  "I will walk in the light, I swear." Tears sprang to his eyes. "How long does she have?"

  Makedde embraced his father, feeling the sobs wracking his frame. "Days. Hours. Perhaps minutes. Make each one count."

  The two froze as a blood-curdling scream reached them.

  "Makedde! Come quick!"

  "Brother?" Makedde leapt from the limb like a shot arrow, scrambling across the heavy limbs as fast as he could go. Kinara struggled to keep up.

  Makedde swung down from the upper branches and froze in horror. Before him Metutu tugged at their mother ineffectually, screaming for help. The mandrill had seized hold of a thickly knotted branch and was smashing her head repeatedly into it, blood running down her face in rivulets as she howled in agony. Her unearthly chant of, "Make it stop! Make it stop!" chilled Metutu's blood. Leaping forward, he laid hold of her arms and tried to pull her away, and was nearly pitched out of the tree for his efforts.

  "Father, help me!"

  "Oh gods!" Kinara joined his son, and together the three of them barely managed to pull Neema away from the limb. She convulsed violently for a moment, then lay still.

  "What do we do now?" the chief asked Makedde. "What do we do?"

  "I cannot forbid death, but I could prolong her life for a day or two with Mechoti. You would need to keep her from the poisons and she would have to be restrained, for in her pain she would try to end it any way she could. On the other hand, I could give her Dakim Bark. Her last moments would be free of pain, and she could say her farewells with a clear head."

  "That is not a decision. It is a test of my love." He bit his fist. "I love her enough to choose Dakim bark. For the gods', if she must die, at least stop the pain."

  Makedde drew close and hissed, “Don’t you dare try to lighten your conscience by confessing to her. You let mother die in peace, you hear me??”

  Kinara’s jaw began to tremble. “Don’t be angry, son. I don’t think I could bear it now. Please?”

  Makedde hugged his father for the first time in a long time. He then went for his supply of Dakim Bark which he soaked in water. The tea he gave to his mother, who responded soon enough. As Makedde and Metutu looked on, Kinara knelt beside Neema and held her hand.

  “I’m not a fool,” Neema said. “I know I’m dying. I have no choice but to let go. Kinara, my love, you must also let go of your sons. They must find their path to happiness, and to their God. Promise me you will give them their freedom. Never do to another what you did to Busara.”

  “Oh gods!” Kinara fell across her. “Oh gods, Neema! How sorry I am! How many times I would have brought him back!”

  “Even with your own life,” she said. “I heard all.” She reached up and brushed his cheek with her hand. “Learn from it, my love. There is forgiveness in Aiheu, if you will only ask him.”

  She glanced around. “Where is Makoko?”

  “I don’t know,” Kinara said, kissing her brow. “I’d get him, but I’m afraid to leave you!”

  “No time,” she said, falling back exhausted. “I love you all. Tell Makoko that I know he loves me. He didn’t have to say it--I could tell. I’ve been very lucky in love. I will wait for you all, and pray.”

  The chief lifted her and held her close to his breast. "Son, give us a moment alone."

  Makedde went outside and began to pack his materials. His hands shook so badly that it took him twice as long. Nervously, he began to unwrap and rewrap the grass cord that served as a handgrip on his walking staff. He struggled to get the winding even and firm, the way he liked it. Soon enough, he would have to braid some new cord out of the supple river grass. It was not easy to obtain or prepare, and it took quite a length to wind a good handgrip.

  "Oh gods!"

  Makedde dropped the staff and the cord unwound like a clock spring. He and Metutu ran into their father's quarters. The chief was bent over her still body sobbing brokenly. "Neema! My precious Neema!"

  Makedde, Metutu and their father huddled together and wept. Makoko came in. "What's going on here?"

  He came to the bed and stared with horror. Her face was cut and bloody, but on it rested a final look of peace. He fell to his knees and took her hand. “Mother!”

  Metutu put his arm around Makoko. “She said she loved you. She said she knew you loved her. We couldn’t leave her to get you.”

  The memory came back to Metutu. “Have courage,” Asumini had said. He knew now what she meant. Indeed, he could feel her silent presence like a cool wind, giving him strength when he needed it most.

  He reached out and grasped Kinara's shoulder. "Father."

  "Yes?"

  Metutu swallowed heavily. "It pains me to say this, but I must. I cannot take your place as Chief of the council. Aiheu has given me a gift of healing which I cannot ignore. He has called me to be a shaman, and that is what I must do."

  His father looked at him wordlessly, and Metutu's jaw began to tremble. "I am sorry, Father. It was a bad time to tell you."

  "Do not apologize, son." Kinara drew Metutu close and embraced him. "Metutu, she was very proud of you. I am very proud of you.”

  “Really, Dad?”

  “I don’t say it unless I mean it. The hand that heals blessed by God." Metutu took his hand and gave it a little squeeze. "Makoko will one day take my staff and follow in my path. But you, my son, will bear a staff made in Heaven, and all who see you will know you are a child of the stars. Brightly they will shine for you. Be the best you can be. And wherever you go, or whatever you do, remember that my heart goes with you."

  CHAPTER 20: IN WITH THE NEW

  "Oh lazy Pishtim, how long must we pray for rain!? Your chosen people are made foolish in the sight of th
em who say you are not the god of gods! They mock us and say, 'who is their god that cannot make the rains fall in due season!' Rise up and make the rain come down! Put an end to their foolishness, that you might be known as god of gods, light of lights, and strength of strengths, even among the heathen."

  -- Traditional Mandrill Prayer for Rain

  That evening, High Priest Kasisi came to console Kinara after the manner of his faith. “There is a large thorn in my heart,” Kasisi said. “I suffer with you. But Pishtim is merciful. To his chosen ones, he brings pain in this life that in the next we face him with our debts paid and our souls free.”

  Kinara immediately took exception to this. “I have never known my Neema to sin. In fact, she has spent her lifetime giving, giving, giving and getting very little in return.”

  “Yes, but my brother, I only meant....”

  “I know what you meant. But if anything, Pishtim owed her something. She had no debts--she was cheated out of her old age. Cheated! She is dead because I killed an innocent friend!”

  “You don’t know what you’re saying,” the priest said. “I will come back later when you have settled your mind.”

  “Don’t bother, all right? Just go pray for your own sins and leave me alone!”

  Kinara was surrounded by too many painful memories in his home. Kasisi’s visit only pushed him faster toward Makedde’s tree.

  “Son! Are you home??”

  “Father?”

  “Oh thank the gods!” Kinara struggled up the side of the tree to where Makedde sat grinding herbs.

  “The backache again?”

  Kinara’s jaw trembled. “My heart this time,” he said.

  “Dad!” Makedde embraced him tightly. “Thank you for coming. You honor my house.”

  Kinara wept on his shoulder. “The priest was by. He had the nerve to suggest Neema’s suffering was earned. Earned! I ask you son, do you think it was earned?”

  “Oh gods no!” Makedde frowned. “I hope you straightened the old fool out!”