Spirit King: Return of the Crown

by Dashiel Douglas

  A light blinked from the brush on the Malungan side of the bridge. D’Melo quickened his step toward it. Just as he passed the patrol booth, loud bangs and shrieks of terror resounded in his jarred ears. A searing pain ripped through his chest, forcing him to a knee. His head swiveled as he heard bullets whizzing by and his mother screaming. He yelled, “Mama! Mama!”

  He looked back and saw Chipo gaping at him with horror. She darted onto the bridge.

  “Hey,” she said, softly but urgently. “You have to be quiet. The guards will return any minute.”

  D’Melo felt like he was at the epicenter of the chest pains he had been experiencing his whole life. He took a moment to gather himself. “I’m sorry,” he panted. “I don’t know what happened.”

  Chipo helped him to his feet, her eyes sweeping the area. “You have to go. Quickly!”

  D’Melo scuttled hastily across the bridge, as Chipo scampered back to Nanjier. Just as he reached Kipaji soil, a high-pitched ululation full of deep emotion rang from within the dark brush like a beacon of joy. A woman materialized from the untamed thicket. Her smile gleamed almost as brightly as her elegant white Kipaji dress. She absorbed D’Melo into her arms.

  “Welcome home, son of Kipaji. I am Bamidele. I have been bestowed the great honor of greeting you.” Bamidele led D’Melo along a path worn from centuries of use. It wound up the north face of Amanzi Mountain. It was surprisingly well lit by peculiar illuminated stones perched atop bamboo poles. As they neared the summit, the cool mist of a double waterfall made him think of whooshing through the Pocono Mountains on Zara’s birthday, which now felt like a lifetime ago.

  As they ventured under the falls, the water gushed overhead and splashed heavily into a pool fifty feet below. The pool, glistening in the moonlight, jutted out flat from the mountainside. The overflow spilled down into the river.

  Suddenly, D’Melo felt wonderful. A rush of tranquility, which had been elusive in his life, cascaded through him. It was as if the water was purging the disquiet in his mind and invigorating his spirit. At the edge of his consciousness, he sensed that there were intrinsic natural forces at work in Kipaji.

  As they descended the south side of the mountain, the soft prattle of crystal water gurgled along stony brooks. Its placidity ran in juxtaposition with the clicking and screeching of wild animals all around—not exactly noises D’Melo had come across in the big city. The sounds harmonized like a perfectly conducted orchestra, wafting nature’s melodies through the sweet woodland air.

  They reached a small clearing. Here D’Melo was greeted by the chief of the Amanzi clan. “It’s an honor to meet you, son of Kipaji.”

  D’Melo lowered his eyes humbly.

  “Bamidele, I’ll take it from here,” the chief said.

  Bamidele’s smiling eyes lingered on D’Melo as she slipped off into the forest. Her ululation echoed from deep in the woods.

  The chief escorted D’Melo to a large cottage-like hut—a circular structure made of mud, with a conical thatched roof. They climbed sturdy wooden steps to a charmingly furnished porch. D’Melo ducked through the doorway, clearly not made for someone of his height. It was pitch black inside. D’Melo searched along the wall for a light switch.

  The chief chuckled. “Nuru,” he said. The darkness was chased from the room by the soft light of exquisite indigenous lamps. D’Melo was surprised at the sophistication.

  “We put you in Rondeval Ukuu. A rondeval is what we call this traditional kind of dwelling. And ‘Ukuu’ means ‘Majesty.’

  “I think you’ll find your quarters suitable. You have a busy day tomorrow. By midday, Milpisi will collect you for a special luncheon. If you have any questions about Kipaji, Milpisi knows more than the rest of us combined. And then tomorrow evening is the Festival of Lights. There, you will meet the other three clan chiefs.”

  Before leaving, the chief took a long, doting look at D’Melo. “Amani ndoto. That just means I’m wishing you peaceful dreams.”

  D’Melo dropped onto the cozy, rustic living room sofa. “Yo! This is most definitely suitable.” Intricately hand-carved wooden side tables sat at either end. Exotic flowers decked the plentiful space and colorful vines draped the walls, bringing the jungle into the ambience. An overhead fan broadcasted the fragrance of the flowers. The floral scents were familiar and conjured sweet nostalgia; his mother had always made sure fresh jasmine graced their house. D’Melo toured the rest of the exquisite earth-toned rondeval, discovering that the dining area, two bedrooms, two bathrooms, and kitchen were equally divine.

  He headed to the master bedroom and familiarized himself with his new digs. Before long, the rhythmic sounds of a babbling spring sent D’Melo into an exhausted trance. He tossed himself onto a bed fit for a king. His mind slipped between consciousness and semiconsciousness. The deluge of thoughts that typically overwhelmed him at night were whittled down to just one: Kipaji is nothing like I had imagined. Within moments, he drifted into deep slumber.

  D’Melo’s dream was much tamer that night. His mother still wore the emerald on her forehead, but no sinister SUV screamed toward them. His mother simply smiled at him and mused, “You’re home now, Yabo.” She playfully brushed the tip of his nose. When D’Melo wiped away the tickle, uproarious laughter startled him from his sleep. He lifted his heavy eyelids to see Zara doubled over, enjoying a red-faced guffaw. To his amazement, Jeylan, Kazim, and Marley were there too. He did a doubletake at Marley, who was wearing new, odd-looking glasses. The boyz were howling and clapping each other like they had just won the NBA championship.

  D’Melo, still foggy, wondered if this was just another sweet twist in his dream. He tried to blink the haze from his mind. His vision still clouded, he rubbed his eyes, only to realize he had just lathered a palmful of shaving cream onto his face.

  Zara sidled onto the bed next to him. “Aww, poor baby,” she chortled, wiping him clean with a towel.

  “That’s funny, huh?” he responded playfully. He smeared shaving cream onto her face. She pulled away, laughing.

  “What are you guys doing here?” he marveled. “Is this for real?”

  Jeylan chimed, “Did you think there was any chance we wouldn’t pay our last respects to Baba?”

  “But it’s so expensive to—.” D’Melo then realized that the boyz had used their grad money. “Ohhh . . . you guys,” he said warmly. “I love y’all, man.”

  “We can always go to Jamaica,” Kazim said. “This is Baba we’re talkin’ about.”

  The room fell silent while they acknowledged the heartbreaking reason that brought them back together.

  Jeylan ogled the room, then broke the somber mood. “Dang, dawg. They hooked you up! This is lit!”

  “Ohhh, check this out!” D’Melo depressed a button on the technology control panel above the nightstand. The wall across from the bed became translucent.

  “Oh, snap!” Marley cooed. “That wall’s a window!”

  The wall tint faded, revealing the sun blossoming over the alpine horizon. The reflection of a rainbow shimmered on a pond at the foot of a pristine waterfall.

  “Hey, look at that funky looking horse,” Kazim observed. “It has zebra stripes across its behind! It looks like Marley’s butt that time his mom caught him turning her water heater into a rocket. She whupped that fool up and down the street.”

  “Come on, dawg,” Jeylan said. “Please don’t embarrass us like this. You’ve never heard of an okapi?”

  “Yeah, man. But I didn’t know it was real. I thought it was a myth.”

  “Kaz,” Marley couldn’t resist a comeback. “I think your brain’s a myth.”

  “You think the wall’s dope?” D’Melo warbled. “Peep this!” He pushed another button on the panel. The roar of the waterfall poured into the room.

  Marley leapt into the air wildly. “This is too much!”

  “You need to
chill, dawg,” Jeylan said. “You gonna hurt yourself.”

  “You don’t understand, man. This is futuristic! It’s called ANC—Active Noise Control. I’ve read about scientists working on it, but I didn’t know it existed!”

  “I knew we should have left this nerd at home,” Jeylan jested.

  Marley prowled the room. “Ahh, here it is.” He approached the ANC device delicately, as if he had discovered some rare endangered species. “The speaker emits a sound with the same amplitude but with an inverted phase, which neutralizes the original sound.”

  “Yo Einstein,” Kazim exhorted. “How about some English?”

  Jeylan tried. “Kaz, it’s simple. There’s something positive and then something negative comes and cancels it out. You should be able to understand this. It happens to you every day.” Jeylan paused for effect. “It’s like when there’s a hottie doin’ her thing, then you come and try to throw some game at her, she ignores you and then walks away.”

  “Oooh, scorched,” Zara reveled, cupping her mouth.

  “Man, y’all just haters,” Kazim said, pushing down a smile.

  D’Melo got around to asking Marley about his new glasses.

  “Oh, these ain’t just any old glasses,” Marley puffed proudly. From his phone, he replayed D’Melo slathering the shaving cream over his face. They howled with laughter all over again, even harder this time.

  “Everyone back home wanted to be here,” Jeylan explained. “But, you know, folks is broke. So we gonna make a video for them.”

  “But so far this fool’s only been recording silly stuff with his glasses,” Kazim grunted. “He even recorded me going to the bathroom on the plane. Now why would folks back home wanna see that!”

  “I told you,” Marley defended himself. “That was for my blog.”

  “Why you gonna blog about me using the bathroom?”

  “My blog’s about daily life. By the way, I’m up to eighty-three followers!” Marley said proudly. “And guess what? They all use the bathroom. So they can relate.”

  “Then why didn’t you video yourself using the bathroom?”

  “What! Why would I do that? That’s embarrassing.”

  Kazim pursed his lips at D’Melo, “You see what we’ve been dealing with? It’s gonna be a long trip.”

  D’Melo washed up for the day, then sauntered into the living room. His eyes fell upon a familiar and warming site. Marley was tinkering with all the new technology, trying to figure out how it worked; Kazim was leering in the mirror, fluffing his Jheri curl; Jeylan was reading a book about the Shuja struggle for independence; and Zara was in the corner doing her morning stretches and calisthenics.

  A rapid clacking snatched their attention. Their eyes combed the rondeval for where it might have been coming from. Clack, clack, clack. Zara identified it. “That’s a woodpecker.”

  “Good morning,” an angelic voice called from behind the front door. A glowing young lady let herself in. “Sorry to intrude, but you didn’t respond to the doorbell. I’m Jua,” she said, balancing a heaping breakfast tray on her head. She rested the tray on a circular board hovering over the dining table.

  Marley investigated. He slid his hand leerily under the board. “How’s it floating?”

  “Oh, it’s just magnets. It makes it easy to pass the tray of food to each other.” Jua demonstrated. She spun the board, then slid it effortlessly over the table. Observing the dumbfounded faces of the guests, she enquired, “How do you do it in America?”

  Kazim piped, “We just say, ‘Yo dawg, pass the jammy-jam!’”

  “Oh,” Jua recoiled. “That’s a little, um—” she clearly was trying not to offend, “coarse.”

  As she started for the door, Kazim pranced over to walk her out. From the dining room, they heard him say, “Girrrl, you must be tired—”

  “Kaz, no!” D’Melo shouted.

  Kazim proceeded, “cuz you been running through my mind all day.” They heard Jua giggle. Kazim returned bearing a toothy grin.

  After a delectable breakfast, D’Melo suggested a dip in the hot mineral pool in the master bathroom. The boyz grabbed their shorts from their suitcases. They slid into the revitalizing water, hooting with delight. Zara sashayed in wearing a white two-piece, crop top, with a thin purple crochet cover around her waist, knotted on the side. Not even its modest style could hide Zara’s physical attributes.

  Kazim squeezed D’Melo’s arm. “Oh. My. God.” He averted his eyes, then said without moving his lips, “I can’t do this. I gotta get out of here, dawg.” He pretended to remember something. “Ohhh, yeah,” he said dramatically. “I gotta text my moms to let her know I got here okay. She worries.” He sloshed hurriedly out of the pool, dousing the tiled floor.

  Jeylan lowered his gaze and shaded his eyes. “Oh snap,” he feigned, blinking rapidly. “I think I got something in my eye.” He excused himself and hopped out.

  D’Melo glanced over at Marley, whose mouth was locked half-open. Liquid gathered at the corner of his lips. D’Melo hoped that it was water and not drool. He slid his hand under Marley’s chin and closed his gaping mouth.

  “Marley, are you okay?” Zara said. “Your face looks like when you saw that CEO’s Tesla.”

  “I’m uh—” Marley jutted his lips and sort of twitched. Failing to finish his sentence, he rose to leave. As he stepped on the rocky edge of the pool, his foot slipped back inside, splashing water onto D’Melo. “My bad, dawg.” He tried again. This time he planted his foot firmly on the tiles. When he shifted his weight, his foot slid out from under him. His leg stretched across the floor into a semi-split. His crotch smacked down on the rocky edge. “Oooh,” he squealed, “right in my naughty bits.”

  “You all right, Marls?” D’Melo winced.

  Marley blew out his cheeks, waiting for the throbbing pain to become bearable.

  Zara crinkled her nose empathetically. “You need some help, dude?”

  “Nah, I’m good,” he peeped from quivering lips. “This happens all the time.”

  Zara shot D’Melo a dubious glance.

  “I fall in the bathroom a lot,” Marley said in a very high pitch. “Dang nearly every day.”

  D’Melo tightened his lips, trying not to burst into laughter.

  “My mom says it’s because I’m special. My feet are stiff and smooth, like marble. She said I’m like a superhero. That’s why she calls me Marbleman.”

  D’Melo raised his eyebrows. “I thought that was because you got that marble stuck in your nose and had to go to the emergency room.”

  “Nah, man,” Marley objected, grimacing, still riding the pain. “I just didn’t want to tell y’all the truth; you know, and make y’all all jealous and what not.”

  D’Melo chuckled through his nostrils at Marley’s delusions of grandeur.

  Marley lifted his other leg from the pool and up righted himself. For balance, he waved his arms at his sides like a high-wire artist. He took a cautious step toward the towel rack behind the door. He slipped, then managed to latch onto the granite counter, but not before slamming his knee thunderously against its thick wooden base. He yelped in agony. He gingerly hobbled along the counter, using it as a crutch all the way to the door.

  Zara squinted an eye at D’Melo and tilted her head, WHAT in the world is going on here? She untied her crochet waist cover and slid her long, creamy-skinned legs into the steaming pool. D’Melo tried desperately not to look, but found himself stealing glances out of the corner of his eye. Zara dipped her hands into the toasty water and ran them through her silky hair. Her red strands shone brilliantly in the golden morning sun. Matted tightly to her head, the longest strands flowed between her shoulder blades. D’Melo swallowed hard. Then she did it again, this time beads of water rolled down her taut, round forehead. A few settled on her lashes over her glistening emerald eyes. She let the droplets dangle for
a tantalizing moment, then blinked them off.

  “Okay, that’s it,” D’Melo murmured abruptly. “I’m done.” He practically leapt from the pool, causing a small tidal wave to overflow onto the floor. He took one glance back as he shuffled out of the room. Zara was staring at him, completely bewildered.

  Just before lunch, the woodpecker clacked again. An elderly man poked his head around the door. His shiny dark skin contrasted splendidly with his white goat-like beard and the white-rimmed glasses resting toward the tip of his nose. He was surprisingly virile for a man of his years.

  “Lady and gentlemen, it gives me great pleasure to make your acquaintance,” he greeted them, his eyes lowering with the utmost humility. “But first let me offer my deepest apologies for my tardiness.” He laid a gentle hand on his chest and bowed, a gesture to beg forgiveness. “I was called to attend to a young boy with a high fever. As the guests of the Umoja, the Unity Council of Kipaji, you are welcome to whatever we can humbly provide. Your very whims are our command.”

  Everyone looked at D’Melo, obviously thinking the same thing. Who’s this dude?

  “My apologies,” he said. “I’ve been remiss. I am Upendo Akachi, but everyone calls me Milpisi. And I am here to escort you to a banquet. In the master bedroom closet, you will find several outfits that are fitting for this occasion. D’Melo, yours is on the top shelf. For Madam, an outfit will arrive shortly.”

  Zara raised her brows at D’Melo, Did you hear him? He called me Madam.

  Just then, the woodpecker doorbell sounded. “Oh, it has arrived in a timely manner . . . unlike me.” Milpisi chuckled.

  Jua came in and handed Zara a rectangular box made of intricately woven palm fronds. The box was sealed with banana leaves tied in a bow.

  “For me?” Zara’s face beamed. She snatched the box as politely as her excitement would allow and bounced off into the guest bedroom. Jua followed.