The Scarlet Crane: Transition Magic Book One (The Transition Magic Series 1)

by J. E. Hopkins

  And on with the remaining verses:

  “That I make my request with respect and humility …

  “That my heart is pure …

  “That my request is worthy …

  “That no request like mine has been uttered since time began …

  “That this is my own true wish …

  “That I willingly surrender my life if I am found unworthy or my request is found wanting …”

  The girls followed Rong’s direction with perfection. The lavender aura bloomed, grew, and merged. The cold deepened. They moved into the final three verses of the deadly rite, never stumbling, never hesitating.

  “Hear me: This is for Major Bingweng who is found in the Crane Program camp near Hoeryong, The People’s Republic of Korea. Open a quarter-inch split in Bingweng’s left anterior descending artery.”

  “Hear me: This is for Major Bingweng who is found in the Crane Program camp near Hoeryong, The People’s Republic of Korea. Open a quarter-inch split in Bingweng’s left anterior descending artery, extending the existing split.”

  “Hear me: This is for Major Bingweng who is found in the Crane Program camp near Hoeryong, The People’s Republic of Korea. Reduce Bingweng’s fibrinogen level to zero.”

  “So thus I beseech—So thus I beseech—So thus I beseech.”

  The lavender lights around each child flared and died. There was no brilliant flash. The young girls were slumped in their chairs, staring but not seeing.

  Zhi, stunned, watched blood leak from the eyes of the girl on Rong’s left, trace a scarlet trail across her cheeks, and drip onto her chest.

  Rong leaped from his seat and checked each of them for a pulse. He turned and faced the mirror. “Dead. I’ll join you in your office after I’ve arranged for disposal.”

  Zhi stumbled from the room and returned to the Admin building. He noticed that his aide’s desk was unoccupied as he entered his office and closed the door.

  * * *

  It didn’t take Zhi long to rebound from the shock of the girls’ deaths. He stood before the windows in his office, watching snow swirl across the North Korean plains.

  It has been a remarkable week.

  The Enterprise was now a hundred-thousand-ton radioactive coffin. He’d simply pushed too fast. The children needed more time to absorb what was asked of them.

  An inconvenience, that’s all. He would revert to the original training period for the next group’s use of magic. Then he’d use them again six days later, following this progression with each new group until he discovered the minimum training required.

  Zhi heard voices yelling outside the building and the sound of a heavy truck engine. Rong entered without knocking. “The repatriation staff are taking care of the bodies.”

  His abrupt entry reminded Zhi of Rong’s peremptory behavior at the end of the Transition session. “You become too familiar, Colonel. Remember your place.”

  Rong grimaced. “I never forget it, Senior Colonel. My loyalty is to the People’s Republic and Comrade Wu.”

  “What are you talking about?” Zhi asked.

  “I report to Comrade Wu, Senior Colonel. I just finished speaking with him. I’m to call upon arrival in your office.” Rong marched to Zhi’s desk and dialed Comrade Wu on the secure line.

  Wu answered on the first ring. “Rong, have you—”

  Zhi interrupted, “I must protest. What’s the meaning of this? Comrade Wu, I have great news to—”

  “Enough of your bullshit, Zhi Peng. I ordered Colonel Rong to inform you that he is my agent within Crane. I presume he’s done that.”

  “He did. But that is irrelevant. I’ve had a major breakthrough. Success at—”

  Wu’s voice sliced through the air like a saber. “Success? Colonel Rong, perhaps you should update the Senior Colonel on the status of Crane’s precious children.”

  Zhi said, “The three died, yes, but not before—”

  Wu cut him off again. “I’m not just talking about the three! Rong?”

  “Principal Li and Major Bingweng must have learned about the deaths of the girls. I suspect they also heard that Zhi was planning to use magic to kill the major. A half hour ago they took the remaining children and escaped in a van. Most likely headed to the river crossing in Hoeryong. If they make it into China, they may be able to disappear in the countryside.”

  The news and Rong’s accompanying glare knocked the wind from Zhi as if he’d been beaten.

  Wu asked, “Any update?”

  “No Comrade Wu,” Rong said. “I ordered a helicopter from our base in Hoeryong to assist with the pursuit, but the weather is preventing its departure.”

  Zhi struggled to recover control. “I’m confident that security will—”

  Wu screamed so loudly that the phone’s speakers struggled to cope. “Confident? Your security is non-existent! We’re faced with starting over! This is what you call success?”

  Zhi didn’t try to respond. The lapse in security and the loss of all the other children meant everything.

  How can I survive this?

  “You are relieved of command. I’ve placed Colonel Rong in charge of the Crane program. He will hold you in custody and conduct you to a military transport that will leave Hoeryong early tomorrow morning. A security team will accompany you from there to Beijing.”

  Ituri Forest

  The Democratic Republic of the Congo

  The morning following Elder Ballo’s instruction in the nkumbi ritual, Isa and his age mates clustered before the camp’s central fire, eating the rice and sweet potatoes remaining from the previous evening’s meal. Overnight rain left the air damp and smelling like mud. Swollen drops leaked from the canopy to the forest floor. Their little group was quiet.

  Thoughts of samawati magic, the pain of circumcision, and the possibility of dying swirled in Isa’s mind. He’d expected his friends to press him for details of his conversation with the Elder, but they said nothing.

  Isa stared into the sputtering flames, half-listening to the noise of Mothers taking children to the bopi. The enclosure, surrounded by liana vine ropes, held the children who were old enough to crawl. Adults and youths were expected to stay away from the bopi so the camp’s young would learn how to depend on each other. Sometimes Mothers and Fathers would come and take children from the compound to teach them how to climb trees, how to hold a small spear.

  Isa felt warm and safe when he thought about the bopi. He remembered the joy of learning to climb. He and Zaire had been taught together, scooting up the smooth bark of the figs; sliding, crying, falling, laughing, starting again, until they’d discovered how to grip the tree with their feet and legs. Like many Bambuti children, he climbed before he walked. He and his age-mates began their lives together in the bopi. Their silence now was as unsettling as the nkumbi.

  Mother Toure strode over to the fire and stood by Isa, placing a warm and comforting hand on his shoulder.

  “Elder Ballo has said we’ll welcome three youths and their parents from other bands to join Isa in the nkumbi ritual. The celebration will last many days. You must gather additional food. Take extra baskets with you and work quickly.”

  More nodding, a chorus of “Yes, Mother.”

  She slapped Isa on his back. “Go on with you. You’ve eaten enough.”

  Isa and the others abandoned the comfort of the fire, took empty woven baskets from around the camp, and entered the Forest.

  “Isa,” Mother Toure called.

  “Yes, Mother?”

  “Spend the day gathering food. Elder Ballo will work with you after the light ends.”

  “Yes, Mother.”

  In unspoken agreement, the youths headed to the river to get a drink before beginning their work. Isa glanced at Zaire and asked, “Why are you quiet?”

  The group gathered leaves and splashed knee-deep into the water, squishing the silky, black mud between their toes. They rolled the leaves and drank.

  Zaire said. “Our hearts are sad. We will
miss you.”

  “Miss me? I’m here. Why would I be elsewhere?”

  Another of the group said, “You’ll be an Adult, not one of us.” The rest nodded agreement. Tears streamed down Zaire’s cheeks and dripped from his chin, falling like a light rain into the river.

  Isa choked on tears of his own. “I’ll always be one of you. Nkumbi changes nothing.”

  Zaire said, “But you will be different, going on hunts, visiting other camps by yourself.”

  “Won’t we be age-mates after my nkumbi, just like we are now? That won’t change,” Isa said, wiping his face. “Soon you will wake with samawati eyes and have your nkumbi. Then we will hunt together.”

  They had gathered around Isa, listening to his words.

  “We are age-mates forever,” Isa said. “Nothing can change that.”

  A smile wrinkled the corners of Zaire’s eyes. “Did Elder Ballo tell you that they sometimes make a mistake and cut off a boy’s dhakari instead of his ngovi?”

  Isa jumped on Zaire, shoving his head under water. Others piled on Isa’s back to free Zaire, causing the laughing knot of legs and arms to tumble into the river. They all stood, sputtering, and climbed to the bank, shaking water from their bodies like wet antelope, poking and pushing each other.

  Zaire wasn’t finished. “Isa’s going to piss like a girl!”

  Isa squawked and chased after his friend. The group ran deep into the rainforest, hooting and dancing until out of breath. They labored until the sun left the sky, returning to the camp three times to empty their baskets. After he finished the day’s work, Isa returned to Elder Ballo and learned the words for samawati magic.

  * * *

  The days before the nkumbi ritual passed in a haze of preparation. Isa and his friends ranged farther from camp than ever to gather the needed food, working as long as there was light. When dark descended, they collapsed around the fire while Isa visited Elder Ballo to practice the spells required for samawati magic.

  Isa woke early the day of the ritual, too excited to sleep, and discovered a camp transformed.

  All work had ceased; no hunting, no trips to the Forest for nuts and mushrooms, no bopi for the young children, no bartering with the Bantu. Thin curls of smoke rose, bumped into the overhead canopy, and slipped into the clear blue sky. The funk of burning wood blended with the savory aroma of stews and cooking vegetables.

  He was rubbing sleep from his face when three youths with samawati eyes came into camp. They were accompanied by several men carrying large bundles who called for Elder Ballo. The Elder joined them and they talked for a moment before the elder turned and waved for Isa. He galloped to the group, too excited to restrain himself like an Adult.

  After they shared names, Elder Ballo said, “Isa, help our guests get settled. Once that’s done, the four of you should go to the river and prepare.”

  It was mid-morning before Isa and the three boys went to the river, bathed, and reapplied the wood ash to their faces. His age-mates watched from the shore, solemn and silent. When he and the neighboring youths climbed onto the riverbank, his friends gathered in a circle around them.

  Zaire said, “We wish to go with you to the camp. So the adults know that we are together even if we are not part of the nkumbi.” This surprised and pleased Isa. It was something the Forest would approve.

  They returned to the camp with their age-mate escort, who led them to a large fig tree just outside the perimeter of the band’s huts. The adults nodded at them as they passed.

  They sat and waited as the day crawled by, fidgeting and softly chattering.

  Isa was startled by the crash of two pots banging together, followed by a call from Elder Ballo for everyone to come to the central campfire. Isa stood and led the youths to the center of the camp.

  The Elder stood in front of the fire. He separated the four nkumbi boys into a group to his left. The members of the band and their visitors sat in a semi-circle facing them.

  Isa felt like his heart was going to leap from his chest.

  “Isa Njikali and his band welcome you and ask that you stay as long as you wish,” Elder Ballo said to their guests and paused. “The nkumbi has begun.”

  He nodded and the boys stood. “The four samawati youths have shaved their heads to signal their readiness for nkumbi and passage from youth.” He nodded again and the boys’ birth mothers stood, faces painted in broad stripes of ochre and white. “Their mothers mourn the loss of their boys and celebrate their Adult children.”

  The Elder nodded a final time. The mothers sat, smiling, their faces glowing with pride for their sons, eyes glistening. Three Elders from the other bands rose and joined Ballo, who turned and slipped into the Forest. Isa and the other nkumbi youth hurried to follow.

  * * *

  Isa had thought nkumbi would never come. Now events unfolded so quickly he felt he was being swept away by the river during the rains.

  The Elders led them to a clearing where a tree had fallen several moons ago. The ground glowed with a golden light through the hole in the canopy. Isa lifted his arms and held out his hands, dazzled by the dancing bronze light on his red-brown skin. A fire crackled in the center of the clearing. Knives were stacked next to a basket, a pile of leaves, and several branches stripped of their leaves.

  Elder Ballo positioned the youths in a line about five paces from the fire, facing it. “Remove your loincloths.”

  Isa dropped his bark and liana garment. He was used to being naked, but this was different, scary.

  “You must learn to sing nkumbi songs and sing them properly.” They were taught the first song and instructed to sing it as a group. Isa couldn’t recall all the words, nor could the others.

  “Your song is not worthy of the Forest,” Elder Ballo said.

  One of the other Elders picked up one of the branches, moved behind the boys, and whipped their backs, three times each. Isa winced. The blows were sharp, stinging.

  The youths were taught the words again. They sang. “Good,” Elder Ballo said.

  They learned another song. They failed twice and were whipped before they satisfied the Elders.

  Isa’s back stung as though flaming sticks had been drawn from his shoulders to his waist. The boy next to him, Nkuri, began whimpering.

  Elder Ballo said, “One final song, the most difficult.” The song was long, but they pleased the Elders after only one lashing.

  There was no room in Isa’s mind for anything other than the fire on his back.

  Elder Ballo said, “Just as your songs honor the Forest and signal your readiness to complete the nkumbi, circumcision marks you as having passed beyond youth, into the life of an Adult.”

  The Elders picked up the knives. Each took a position opposite one of the youths.

  Elder Ballo, opposite Isa, commanded them all, “Look to the Forest above, do not look down. Do not move.”

  Isa felt Elder Ballo lift his dhakari, rub something cold and wet on it. Then sharp, searing pain. His breath caught and his legs wobbled. The Forest dimmed, as if night had come early.

  “Be calm. It is done.”

  He heard the rustle of leaves and glanced down in spite of the warning. A mongongo leaf filled with a paste of herbs was wrapped around his dhakari and tied with a piece of liana vine. The pain ebbed, replaced by the burning on his back.

  The Elders stood, smiling.

  “Not as bad as you thought, eh?” one of them asked.

  “No,” Isa said. “Worse.”

  Eight Adults laughed.

  Elder Ballo said, “Follow me, and I will show you where to rest. You will wait there until we come for you for the samawati magic.”

  * * *

  Isa and the other three boys rested on mats of leaves. He lay on his side staring into the Forest, listening to the faint crying of one of the boys behind him and the soft songs of wind blowing in the canopy.

  A burst of wind rattled the leaves as one of the Elders approached. Isa and the others sat up. Isa squinted f
rom the sharp streaks of pain on his back. His heart raced as if he’d been running through the trees.

  “Nkuri, come with me.”

  Nkuri rose, wiping his eyes. He and the Elder quickly disappeared into the Forest.

  “Wish he’d taken me,” Isa told the Forest. “Waiting scares me.” He, like all Bambuti, spoke his feelings without embarrassment. The other youths nodded agreement and lay down to await their turn.

  The Forest yielded no hint of Nkuri’s passage. The canopy rustled in the breeze while monkeys shrieked and leaped from tree to tree.

  Isa noticed a large black ant carrying a blade of grass. The ant dropped its burden many times, but always resumed its journey, finally arriving at a hole in the ground. It struggled and failed to get the grass into the opening. Isa grabbed the small blade, tore it in half, and laid it back next to the nest. The ant grabbed one of the smaller pieces and disappeared into the hole. A moment later, it emerged for the second piece, and returned to the tiny burrow.

  Isa sat up again and gazed up at the sun’s light as it dodged around the branches at the top of his world. A sudden rustling from the direction of the ceremony announced Elder Ballo’s arrival.

  “Isa, come with me.”

  Isa leaped to his feet and gasped. It felt like his dhakari was being cut a second time. Elder Ballo waited while Isa stood for a minute, eyes watering. Then he turned and led him away from the remaining boys.

  Isa wondered why Nkuri had not returned with Elder Ballo. They arrived at the clearing. Nkuri was not there, either.

  Where is he? Did he die?

  The other Elders were gathered in a half circle around the ceremonial fire. Elder Ballo joined them and directed Isa to stand before them, with his back to the fire. Fern leaves as long as a man’s arm lay on the ground next to each of the men.

  One of the Elders approached Isa and knelt in front of him. He untied the liana vine around Isa’s dhakari and removed the small mongongo leaf. He tied a new leaf in place, and the fresh paste it contained dulled Isa’s pain. The Elder returned to the half circle.

  Elder Ballo gathered up the ferns and handed one to each of the other Elders. He turned and faced Isa. “Isa Njikali, stand before each of us and say why you are here.”