He put his arms around her neck and hugged her.
She told him, “Busara prays for you and asks me to help you. So does your wife Neema and your parents. In fact, you have a lot of good friends for such an unprincipled, irritating little monkey.”
“Thanks, I think. I’m sure I deserve worse.”
“I see the good in you. I see it striving to come out. Once I found good in an unexpected place. Perhaps I will again.”
“In me, perhaps?”
“I will take care of you whenever you go out to help my lady. I will be your companion, and when you need it I will even give you some mothering.”
“Bless you! Bless you!”
She touched him with her warm tongue. “We will be good friends, Kinara. And this will be a bond between us that as long as the goodness in you prevails, I will watch over you. And my repentant friend, the minute you put the moves on Mrs. K, I’ll slowly skin you alive.”
He smiled sheepishly. “Agreed, my dear. But I wouldn’t worry. You’re much more my type.” He reached out and kissed her cheek.
“You still have that old charm, I see.” She licked her paw and purred softly.
That evening Kima was taking her walk when she saw Kinara by Busara’s funeral effigy--a small clay figure that represented him for grieving purposes. She stood silently in the concealing brush and listened.
Kinara was sobbing like a baby. Taking a large thorn, he jabbed it deeply into his palm and let the blood drip on the clay figurine. “I love you, Busara! Rest peacefully, old friend! Remember me.”
He looked up and saw the first bright star of night. “Kinara,” it whispered, “Remember the admonition.”
“Daima pendana,” he stammered. “Love one another.” Suddenly it became clear to him. It was not a mistake he must regret, but a sin he must repent for. It did not matter what Busara’s faith was, for he knew better. He had always known better, and so had the high priest! “God forgive me! Forgive me, God! Forgive me!” He wept, but a great weight was lifted from him. “I’ll never forget the admonition again! I swear!”
That night, Kinara went to his usual bed outside of the cave mouth. He stared at the sky, hoping to see a friendly star looking down on him. But the stars were quickly swallowed up by clouds from the west. The cool wind brought the smell of moisture, and it would have been great sleeping weather if he had been in a shelter. Instead he braced himself for what he knew was coming.
A cool drop fell and hit his nose. It was followed by its sister that wet his ear. Several more came, tapping lightly on the leaves of the tree where he huddled for shelter. Unfortunately, the tree was not very full, and as the drops increased in tempo, he felt the lucky ones pelt his fur. The wind strengthened, and as the storm matured, the rain bypassed the tree entirely, soaking him.
Lightning silvered the drops for an instant. A few seconds later, thunder roared its mighty challenge that no one dared oppose. “No sleep tonight,” Kinara thought to himself. His musing was punctuated by a second bright flash and underscored by another roll of thunder.
Kima came to the entrance. “Come in, Kinara.”
Without arguing his unworthiness, he came at once. She showed him to some dry bedding.
“Bless you.”
She saw blood on his hand. Pretending surprise, she asked, “What happened to you?”
“Oh this?” He timidly shrank from the question, but tears began to flow. It was some time before he could regain his composure.
“You did this to yourself, didn’t you?”
“The blood of my guilt,” he said. “No God craves the blood of the gentle and kind. Not Pishtim, and not Aiheu. I said there were circumstances when anyone would do what I did. Maybe so, but that still does not make it right.”
She looked at him with pity. “Now you truly understand. You cannot kill for God, and you cannot heal for the Makei. The only way to know God is to know love. That is the only real mystery of our faith.”
Kinara smiled. It was such a warm smile that Kima had to smile back. “You’re chilled. Let me fix you some hot tea.”
CHAPTER 24: THE VISION QUEST
Kinara’s scandal was the talk of the village, though most people were discrete about it because his son Makoko was now chief.
As proud as Metutu was of his father for standing up for his beliefs, he bitterly resented the timing. The situation could affect his petition to make a vision quest, and Metutu needed the chance to come to terms with his grief and prepare for his future.
Metutu was determined to follow his dream, regardless of what the council decided. Yet he knew it would be almost impossible for him to trade for herbs and to spend the kind of time with Makedde he needed to complete his training if he did not get their blessing.
Custom forbade him to lobby directly with the chief, though they were brothers. Instead he turned to Makedde.
Makedde could go to the chief on behalf of another, and he used all of his influence for Metutu’s petition. That involved making a deal with the kindly but shrewd Makoko. Makoko loved his brothers, but he had a request from the Lion King Ahadi that he was agonizing over, and he smelled an opportunity. So to push Metutu’s petition through, Makedde must agree to become Metutu’s sponsor--no small responsibility--and also return to the Pride Lands for another two-year term as healer to the Lion King.
It would be difficult living in a hollow baobab tree far from the forest rim, and Makoko expected his brother to be upset. Makedde did his best to look outraged, but to graciously give in “for the boy’s sake.”
In fact, he had longed to immerse Metutu in the culture and religion of the lions, his adopted people. He dared not show his enthusiasm to the chief, even if it was his own brother.
“Brother, I give you my word before the gods,” Makedde said with a carefully staged sigh. “Let it be even as you have said.”
It was also the perfect excuse to leave before rumors began to leak out about the death of Busara, and it was sure to happen soon enough. He quickly went to his residence and took all of his medicines and charms with him. His patients would be referred to Andara, and with barely suppressed excitement, he took a gourd and hung it near his entrance. The moon painted on it said “I am away,” and from it he hung five small bundles of grass. One would mean “back momentarily.” Two would mean “returning later today.” Three meant, “try again tomorrow.” The message of five was unmistakable. “I will return someday, God willing.”
Metutu had reached the next step in his spirit quest. For to be accepted as a shaman, the petitioner must go apart from the others for a time of prayer and self denial. He may be gone for a few days, a few weeks, or he might not return at all. And he would seek a mystic vision that would guide his future training and map out the course of his life of service. It would point out his strengths and weaknesses. Until he had that vision, he would not return.
After bidding farewell to Kima and Asumini, Metutu left on his journey with far less preparation than his brother Makedde. Taking nothing but a charm which he wore around his neck on a grass rope thong, Metutu left the village where he had spent his whole life.
He knew to look for a sign, and he would journey until that sign was reached. An eagle will alight on a kopje. While he would otherwise have given up hope, he knew the vision was from the gods, and he would see it when the time was right.
As he walked the tedium began to play on him. He asked for relief, and the gods sent him a song. He didn’t know if the words were ancient, brand new, or just meaningless sounds, but they lightened his heart. Part of it went something like this:
Be’ha, me’ha, topi ko hiha
Menego muta kohoki! (Clap twice)
Do’ka, mo’ka, lopi mo gopa
Menego muta aloki! (Clap twice)
The verse seemed to have magical properties. When he continued to sing it, he was not as weary and hungry, and he didn’t mind the reduced rations as much. When he would pause for a moment, the fatigue and hunger would sap at his resolv
e.
Of course there were times he had to stop and rest. For he kept going all day, and of course he could not walk all night. Under the stars. Fascinated by how they shined. Wondered who they were in their stately beauty. Though he had remembered many star stories, he had only seen them a couple of times before and he could not place the proper names to the right constellations. This is not an uncommon fate for those who live in the deep forest where the night sky is filtered by the fingers of countless leaves. The sounds were strange. Frogs. Though he had grown weary from a long day’s march, he had trouble sleeping. One of the stars seemed to call to him. The more he looked at it, the more he felt compelled by it. He remembered what Busara had said about the great kings of the past. Could that be a friend? The star seemed to twinkle with special brilliance. How could it not be calling to him? Seeking to comfort him?
There was a dancing blue light and laughter. Asumini’s laughter. Busara’s laughter. As he stared, the light resolved into two figures. The lioness squatted down, her tail lashing. The mandrill began to dance about, taunting her. “You can’t catch me!”
“Oh yeah?” Asumini came up, her back legs tensed to spring. She launched after him and he sprang straight up to let her pass underneath. He fell with a plop on her back and laughed. She wheeled about, scooping him in the crook of her arm. Then playfully but gently she tossed him into the air and caught him in her powerful forearms.
Busara’s arms went around her neck and he kissed her around the face. “I love you so much, I could just eat you up!”
Delighted, Metutu came running. “Wait for me! Hey, it’s me, Metutu!”
They looked at him, a calm smile on their faces. Asumini ran to meet him, stopping just short of a collision. She said not a word, but took in a deep breath, then blew a puff of wind in Metutu’s face. It smelled like wild honey. It intoxicated him.
“Asumini,” he said, drunk with the fragrance of the blessed. “My girl!”
She breathed on him again. “Sleep. Dream. Be happy.”
He collapsed to the earth, looking up while his heavy lids would remain open. Asumini and Busara looked down and smiled.
CHAPTER 25: THE SIGN
His rest was disturbed by the early morning singing of birds. He looked about. The sun was up, and in the early morning light the field looked almost magical. Where had the night gone!
He was hungry, and for once no one had prepared breakfast. His stomach was ready to mutiny and he had to eat something! He took a few supplementary bits of dried fruit from his basket and managed to locate a few ripe fruits on Mafutu bush. This would have to do. Taking a little of his precious water supply, he ate slowly to make the meal more filling, then relied on his morning meditation to take his mind off his mean diet. He prayed for each of the friends he left behind, and for a few that recently went to join Aiheu in the heavens. Finally, he remembered Asumini. How his mother had wanted to see them marry before she died! But far removed from the sights and people he associated with his duty and his griefs, he could contemplate Asumini on her own merits. And what his cleared head and purged heart were telling him was unmistakable: he loved her! Beneath the plans of others and the call of duty was a real love. He missed her terribly, and hoped she felt the same way about him.
He traveled far that day. There was a change of scenery, and he seriously worried that he could get lost if he did not watch for landmarks, and perhaps leave a few. The path was looking more and more like a simple scratch in the earth, and he worried that this game trail may disappear completely.
It did worse than that. It was joined and criss-crossed by many others. Now he knew that without God’s guidance he may never find his home. But still he kept his faith in the fore and continued.
Finally, he had made it to the savanna. It was a land of windswept beauty, but it was also a land that had never known the Peace of Asumini. Here he was not corban. “Aiheu abamami!” he cried. Surely he would not be attacked with the holy name of God on his lips! “Aiheu abamami!” He saw the eagle on the kopje, and his heart danced! The eagle looked at him, said, “Aiheu abamami!” and vanished. So he knew that was his place, and he sat on the rise to pray. Though it was a very exposed spot, he was no longer afraid.
He ate certain plants he found there, but only at sunrise and sunset. His Spartan regimen was enough to frighten most young bucks away. There was very little sleep, much prayer and chanting, and bedding on the bare ground at the mercy of the gods to keep him safe.
The first two days yielded no visions. But the simple living he endured opened his spirit to the small voices inside more than days of talking to others could have. At times, he could feel the presence of Asumini and Busara, giving him subtle nudges in the right direction. His prayers flowed naturally from the heart--they were not forced or contrived. The light-headed sensation that came from minimal food and much water cleared out all of the spiritual impurities of his past. He felt like a gourd ready to be filled. Somehow, he knew he would not wait much longer. Somehow, he was certain that the gods were with him.
By the third day, he passed a very important stage. He felt glad that he had come, whether or not he saw a spectacle. For his heart knew a peace it had never felt since his mother’s illness. Once again he felt like a fresh young student listening to Busara’s stories in the cave.
Finally on the fourth day, he saw a sign. From the jungle came a spirit leopardess. He knew her the moment his eyes caught sight of her. He could feel her strength, but he could not feel fear. “I greet you, Mother of Death.”
“Mother of life now,” she purred. Indeed, in her soft hazel eyes was warmth and approval. “I spared you for a reason that even I did not know. It was perhaps the greatest thing I ever did.”
“You taught me that other people have feelings too.” He held out his arm. “Asumini is not here now. I would apologize for my own behavior, from the heart.”
She came to him and smiled. “Yes, you are changed.” She purred and quickly touched his hand with her tongue. “I tell you this day you will find answers.” Before Metutu could answer her, she had vanished.
It was a puzzling saying. Did she mean, “Today I tell you that you will find answers,” or “I tell you that you will find answers today?” One way or another, it gave him hope, and he renewed his efforts, praying to Aiheu with arms outstretched. He looked into the golden sun, then bowed his head to the ground. By concentrating on the phrase “Aiheu abamami,” he could block out all other things. His excitement made it difficult to achieve the state of openness he desired, but eventually even his excitement was set aside and in the purity of his fasted body and open mind came the realization that he was being tugged in the spirit. He closed his eyes, then bowed his head to the ground once more.
Suddenly he felt himself yanked upright, though he didn’t feel any hands on him. He opened his eyes and saw that he was in a very bleak place, no trees, no grass, no birds in the sky. All is dead.
Then he saw was a pure white lioness. He had seen a leopard close up before, staring at him from tree to tree. He’d been terrified of encountering such a thing again, but she was bigger--much bigger--and still he was not frightened. She spoke to him of strange and wonderful things that in the barren world were like an oasis of joy:
Silver swans fan the moon with misty praying wings
Night shadows gather over every living thing
Silent shining dewdrops are caressing fragrant flowers
Follow me beloved, for the mystery is ours!
Her voice, like a siren, pulled him onward and upward.
Soft fur cushioning your gentle, weary face
Senses are filled with joy, heart is filled with grace
Time has no meaning here, heaven knows no bound
Follow me beloved, and tread on holy ground!
She nearly led him to walk off a cliff, but at the last minute she prevented it. He pursued her and she ran from him, but no faster than he could follow. At the top of the sacred mountain, before a cave, she c
ame to him. “Metutu,” she half whispered. “Have you ever heard the sun rise? Have you ever tasted the wind?”
“No, my lady.”
“Neither have I.” Her laughter was merry and infectious. “Yet stranger things shall you hear and taste. Now let us make life.” Rather surprisingly, a pure white lion came over the ridge. Quiet as a snowflake, he padded toward the white lioness. “Stay here,” she said to Metutu, nuzzling the white lion passionately and following him into the cave.
Metutu saw nothing, but moments later there was a cry of ecstasy. Brilliant golden light streamed from the mouth of the cave. Almost at the same moment under his feet grass sprouted and spread. Flowers pushed up through the earth and budded into rapturous bloom. Forests raised branches in worship toward the gods, and in the boughs birds emoted their woodnotes wild. In the dry creek bed, water rushed with passionate intensity toward the distant lake. The leaden sky turned deep blue, and the sun with golden intensity painted everything in vivid colors.
From the cave, the white lion staggered. Then he glanced briefly at Metutu.
“Are you a god?” Metutu asked.
“Are you?” the lion asked. Then he collapsed and his breath rushed out in a prolonged sigh.
Metutu ran to the lion. Felt of his heart. He was quite dead. Metutu did something he’d always wanted to do, but under happier circumstances. He ran his fingers through the soft white mane. With a flint from his pouch, he took a small lock of the mane and cut it, putting the fur lovingly away. “Poor thing, poor beautiful thing. Pray for me when you sit among the stars.”
“Do not mourn the living,” Busara said. “His power, his life, are all around you.”
Busara’s sudden appearance startled him. “What does this mean?” Metutu asked.
“Does it have to mean something?” Busara smiled beguilingly and embraced him. “Perhaps there is a great light inside of you. Perhaps it is in everyone just waiting for love to release it. And when you give up that love, sooner or later it comes back to you.”
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