Spirit King
Return of the Crown
Copyright © Dashiel Douglas, 2021
First Print Edition
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ISBN: 9798728841791 (paperback)
Cover Design by Jelena Gajic
[email protected]
For Pamela, my wife.
I am among the lucky souls who is married to
the best human being they have ever met.
Contents
Prologue: The Legend of the Spirit King
Part I: King of the Court
Chapter One
Sunday Dinner
Chapter Two
“I’m Zara. Zara Zanič.”
Chapter Three
Deee… Melll… OHHHH
Chapter Four
Taji Anaru!
Chapter Five
The Nightmare
Chapter Six
The Third Guy
Chapter Seven
The Hooded Stranger
Chapter Eight
Zara’s Secret
Chapter Nine
Haki Inakuja Kwako
Part II: King of Kipaji
Chapter Ten
Haya – The Tree of Life
Chapter Eleven
The Assassination of President Amani
Chapter Twelve
The Zodiac
Chapter Thirteen
Kavu – The Golden Boy
Chapter Fourteen
A Change of Plans
Chapter Fifteen
The Darksome Night
Chapter Sixteen
Follow the Light
Chapter Seventeen
Rise!
Chapter Eighteen
A New Dawn
Chapter Nineteen
Destiny
Epilogue: The Fire of Justice
About the Author
Prologue
The Legend of the Spirit King
Two millennia ago, barbarism reigned supreme in many areas of the world. Africa was no exception. Bloodthirsty tribes systematically ravaged their vulnerable, less warlike neighbors. Some of these more benevolent but unfortunate peoples were able to flee before being slaughtered or enslaved by their conquerors. They wandered harsh deserts and suffocating jungles, often only to succumb to nature’s unforgiving elements.
But legend has it that four tribes survived their journeys and, together, became the guardians of the world’s most treasured secret.
From far-flung regions of the continent, each of these fugitive groups found their way to the same mountainous haven in Central Africa. Within days of each other, the four tribes converged in a new land that held the promise of a peaceful future: the Amanzi (Water) tribe from North Africa; the Choma (Fire) tribe from East Africa; the Joto (Mineral) tribe from Southern Africa; and the Upepo (Air) tribe from West Africa. They settled on this mountain range, which offered a peak for each tribe and encircled a central valley, like a most formidable natural rampart. Some say the tribes were chosen, guided there through promptings of the Great Spirit.
But before long, these neighboring tribes devolved back into the very savagery from which they had once fled for their lives. For many ensuing years, they brutalized one another for the right to rule over the lush land they had at first peacefully shared. Tens of thousands of lives were lost in the massacres.
Then, on a stormy summer day, a miraculous event forever changed the fate of the tribes, and, in turn, the world.
It all started with an unassuming Amanzi woman named Leda. On the morning of that fateful day, Leda awoke to the soft gurgle of the brook rippling next to the hut she shared with her husband, Kulani. Like almost every morning on Amanzi Mountain, the sun bloomed above the mountain peak in persimmon-colored glory, its golden petals gracing the rich azure sky. Leda had no idea that these moments of serene normality would be the last she would ever enjoy in this cherished place.
As the first amber rays caressed Kulani’s countenance, Leda saw with anguish copper-hued lumps covering much of his face. They had begun to appear weeks before but were small and less conspicuous. Now, nary a spot on his body had been spared the advancing growths. Horrified by Kulani’s appearance, their fellow tribespeople surmised that the devil had taken over his spirit and demanded that he be put to death.
Before the villagers could execute their intention, Leda and Kulani stole away, navigating the long climb through untamed forest to the summit of Amanzi Mountain. Reaching the peak just before sundown, they sought shelter for the night. They found a natural cavernous alcove on the north face, tucked under the split in the Mapacha (Twin) Waterfall. The falls reunited in the Ukuqala (Genesis) Pool on the mountainside fifty feet below.
Just then, a storm gathered and darkened the skies outside their refuge. Kulani slouched on the damp floor. “My love,” he said soberly. “Fleeing is futile. Death is nipping at my heels. Even if I escape the spear, I will surely soon succumb to this disease ravaging my body.” Kulani wiped the tears now dripping down Leda’s cheeks. “Please rest assured, my heart is at peace. My only regret is not having left behind children to carry forth our family.” Leda and Kulani had tried to conceive a child for years, with no success.
As Kulani slept that night, Leda wept agonizingly through the dark hours. With gnawing desperation bellowing from the innermost recesses of her heart, she implored the Great Spirit for help.
The storm rumbled on, but just before dawn, a delicate gold fringe shined through on the horizon. In that dim glow, the silhouette of a wiry man took shape in the arched entrance of the cave. Oddly, Leda didn’t feel threatened. On the contrary, a rush of tranquility cascaded through her. She squeezed the tears from her eyes to make sure this glorious figure wasn’t a figment of her imagination. The man lifted an open palm. “Come, my child,” he urged gently in a strange tongue. His foreign words bypassed her ears and wafted straight into her heart. “Follow the dawning sun. You will find me there,” he directed, then vanished as mysteriously as he had appeared.
By the time Kulani awoke, Leda had gathered at least a few weeks’ worth of food, arranging it by his side. She tenderly informed him that she must leave but would return with the cure for his ailment. She chose not to mention the mysterious man, knowing that Kulani didn’t share the depth of faith that she had.
Her eyes moist with heartbreak, Leda assured him, “You will be safe here until I return.” Her hand reluctantly slippe
d from his cheek.
“I wish you wouldn’t go. But I know there is nothing I can say that will change your mind.” Kulani pushed a smile onto his face. “I will see you again, my love. May the strength of your faith bring you back to me.”
And then, with dispatch, Leda set out on the journey—to where, she had no idea.
For long days, Leda weathered nature’s most extreme expressions and traversed alien lands, some thick with obstacles, some bare of vegetation, always skirting the spears of savage tribes. Desolation of all kinds, it seemed, stretched eastward to the horizon, where she hoped to find her savior “under the dawning sun.”
Two months into her grueling trek, exhausted and dehydrated, and under a punishing sun, Leda collapsed upon a dusty hill. “I’m sorry,” she muttered hoarsely—to her husband, to her unknown guide, to the universe, she wasn’t sure, no more than she knew where she was meant to go. “I’m just not strong enough to make it.” She cried a tearless cry, too parched to produce a single drop. Directing her anguish to the mysterious man, she whimpered, “I’m afraid you chose the wrong person. Please, watch over my husband.” Leda closed her eyes, hoping it would be for the final time. In that moment of perfect stillness and surrender, a familiar sweet voice again penetrated her heart.
“My choices are infallible,” he assured her. “You are stronger than you know. Rise, my child, and embrace your destiny.”
Feeling a stirring of her strength, Leda mustered every ounce of vitality remaining in her frail body. She stood up and staggered to the top of the sandy hill. There, her eyes fell upon a most welcome sight: a beautiful deep-running stream. Living on Amanzi Mountain, she had never before known the desperate hardship of having no water. She stumbled to the stream, knelt down, and cupped her quivering hands in the crystal liquid. Her chapped lips stung gratefully as she gulped handful after handful.
“Slowly, my child,” she heard the mysterious man say. “The river is not going anywhere; you can partake as often as your heart desires.” Leda turned her gaze upward and glimpsed him through squinted eyes. The midday sun shone bright behind his head, rays emanating from his shaded face.
He extended a hospitable hand. “Come. We have been awaiting your arrival.” Her legs wobbled as he helped her stand upright. “You are the last of the Akhtiar, the chosen handmaidens.” He led her along the riverbank, and she tottered wearily behind him. He glided with the omnipotence and grace of a king but, in equal measure, with the meekness and humility of a servant. His tunic, remarkably white for such a dusty region, swung hypnotically with each step.
Seemingly out of nowhere, a shady tree appeared, oddly out of place in the otherwise barren expanse. A group of women, perhaps a dozen or more, with varying hues of skin, were reveling in its leafy shadow. The hair crowning their heads was various, as well—light and dark, long and short, curly, waved, and straight.
The mysterious man addressed the Akhtiar with great power and tenderness. He spoke at length, but for how long, Leda wasn’t sure. It was as if time had no purpose there.
He bemoaned the lamentable condition of the world. “The children of the Great Spirit are roaming as a lost tribe in the wilderness of hedonism, falling fast prey to the ravenous predator of self-serving passion. This spiritual disease is leading to ruinous wars, unbounded greed alongside unbearable poverty, and the shredding of the communal fabric that binds humanity. Through the Great Spirit’s supreme animating power, you, the Akhtiar, have been summoned here from every region of the globe to heal your ailing brethren and sistren as an initial step toward the rehabilitation of all humankind.”
The mysterious man dipped a wooden bowl into the lucid river. He then pricked his finger with a cactus spine, drawing a bead of blood. While chanting, he methodically stirred the scarlet bead into the water, as if lulling it into a trance. He then touched a fingertip to each woman’s forehead, applying a droplet of the pinkish solution. Upon being dabbed, Leda’s senses were stunned, as if a lightning bolt had surged through her body.
“Now,” he said to each, “you are a Milpisi, a healer. Your purified blood has been endowed with extraordinary healing powers.”
The mysterious man then bestowed upon each Milpisi a seed to plant in their homelands. “Within this seed lies Haya—the Tree of Life,” he said. He instructed them on how to administer the mighty tree’s nectar, the elixir of the ills of the world. “Haya will ensure that, long after the sun of your life has set, the healing power of the Great Spirit will continue to grace humanity. And with those final words, he left. A twisting wind kicked up a sand cloud behind him. When it settled, he was gone.
Strengthened with renewed spirit, Leda undertook the long and treacherous journey home. When she finally arrived at Amanzi Mountain, a heavy weight settled in her gut. She was afraid that she would be too late to save her husband. She peered into the alcove. Kulani wasn’t there. She searched frantically for him, praying that an empty stomach urged him to the forest to forage for fruits and nuts. Finding no trace of him, she returned to the alcove, sobbing mournfully. Then, the most melodious sound wafted into her cheered ears.
“Why do you cry, my love? Are you not happy to see me?” Leda’s tears turned joyful. She rushed over to hug him but stopped short. She was momentarily taken aback by Kulani’s deteriorated condition. The sores had overwhelmed his body. One eye was covered completely under a large growth, and the other wasn’t more than a slit between lumps. Endowed with her new healing abilities, Leda immediately took to curing him. She retrieved a loose vine from the forest. Then she pierced a finger to draw blood. Kulani’s expression turned petrified.
“Trust me,” she said. She squeezed a drop of blood onto the vine and lowered it into the Ukuqala Pool. The water vibrated and electric currents sizzled brilliantly like a lightning storm. She chanted, “A iilhi, al’akthar nqa’an,” as she raised the vine and gathered a droplet of the blessed water on her finger.
“What are these strange words you speak?”
“These strange words, as you call them, will soon welcome you back to health.” She brushed the water across Kulani’s forehead. He shuddered, his eyes rolling back in his head. Leda scrutinized him up and down. Nothing. Her heart raced, worried that she was not pure enough to be a Milpisi. Then the mysterious man’s voice solaced her heart.
“My child, have you so swiftly lost faith in me? Remember, my choices are infallible.”
Leda turned her attention back to Kulani. “Oh, oh!” His deformities were healing before her eyes. The effect of the purified water was as rapid as it was remarkable. She ululated her profound gratitude from the depths of her soul. Her trill reverberated mightily from the alcove like a clarion call announcing to the world that a new day had dawned.
That same night, as if their reunion and Kulani’s returned health wasn’t bounty enough, they were blessed with an even more magnificent miracle: a pearl formed in her womb.
The next morning at dawn, Leda made haste to fulfill the promise of the Akhtiar. She planted the seed of the Tree of Life at the base of Amanzi Mountain. She and Kulani then warily set out to rejoin their tribe, unsure of what welcome they would receive. But it turned out to be a fortuitous moment in time for someone possessing the gift of healing. The fierce and relentless attacks of the Choma people were taking a deadly toll on the Amanzi. The tribe was teetering on the edge of extermination.
When they entered the village, the Amanzi chief rebuffed them at first, as he attributed Kulani’s extraordinary recovery to the handiwork of the Evil One. Unable to convince the chief that her healing abilities had been bestowed upon her by the Great Spirit, Leda realized that action would be her best proof. She sought out the wounded Amanzi warriors and, one by one, healed them, even those presumed mortally injured.
After this miraculous display, the chief no longer concerned himself with where Leda might have received her healing powers. He immediately commanded her to go to the fron
t line of the battle. There she rehabilitated warriors before they succumbed to their wounds.
Needless to say, with warriors that don’t die, within months, the tide of the war shifted in favor of the Amanzi. The Choma chief was enraged as well as baffled by the sudden turn. But he would soon discover the secret of how the Amanzi ranks had suddenly become so formidable.
In the midst of a furious battle, Leda stumbled upon a mortally wounded Choma warrior. He looked no older than fifteen years. As she gazed into his childlike frightened eyes, she remembered the counsels of the mysterious man. The power to heal was entrusted to the Akhtiar for the rehabilitation of all humankind. Fulfilling her bounden duty, she saved the life of the enemy warrior, not realizing the peril it would put her and her tribe in.
Infinitely power-hungry, the Choma chief, upon hearing about this supernatural act, became obsessed with bringing Leda under his command. With her abilities, he thought, nothing could stop him from conquering all of Central Africa.
With empty promises, he coaxed the Joto tribe into joining forces with him. Soon after, during the worst storm to hit the region for as long as anyone could remember, the two tribes initiated a savage assault on the Amanzi in the middle of the night, catching their warriors off guard. While the storm raged, the Choma slaughtered their way up Amanzi Mountain.
Leda and Kulani fled, battling the deluge to the mountain summit and to their earlier hiding place. Leda’s now bulging belly hindered her climb. Every few minutes, she bent over and winced with harrowing pain. She clasped her tremulous hands, wet with rain and sweat, over her mouth to muffle screams of agony, as her labor pains set in. Kulani scooped her in his arms and trudged to their protective alcove.
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