Ch 2
The basket slowly drifted down the seemingly endless river. The basket made it about a kilometer into its journey before it gained the attention of Gbahali.
Gbahali are crocodile-like creatures with longer legs and a T-Rex shaped head. They sleep in herds along the riverbanks. These massive reptiles are ferocious hunters with an insatiable appetite and will eat anything, dead or alive. They'll even eat each other if the conditions were right for it.
They awaken at the smell of fresh prey in the water and race to intercept the basket. With twenty centimeter long, razor-sharp teeth and strong snapping jaws, they could easily split the basket in half if they ever got a hold of it.
Not a species designed for teamwork; the Gbahali got in each other's way, and this started a brawl: headbutts, tail slaps, bites tearing chunks of flesh off one another. The fight was brutal, but it was enough of a distraction to allow the basket to flow down the river unimpeded.
The basket drifted freely another nine or ten kilometers before becoming lodged inside a bushel of elephant grass near the Mmbembe village.
The baby looked around with curiosity and wonder in his eyes. Then, the rhythmic sound of drums being violently pounded vibrated through the air. The drums clashed with the tranquil sound of the flow of water crashing against the rocks.
The Mmbembe people are a tribe of legendary warriors. Think Spartans on steroids. On its surface, the village seemed serene and filled with celebrations.
The villagers wore green and red loincloth togas, walked around barefoot, their faces and bodies painted with ceremonial designs.
The woodwind instruments hit a crescendo, signaling the village had reached the climax of the celebration. Everyone ran to make a giant circle around the log fire.
A masked dancer jumped into the center of the circle next to the fire. They danced along to the drums (similar to the Zaouli dance of the Guro people on the Ivory Coast in our world).
The dancer's feet moved quickly across the orange sand, creating a mini sandstorm around their feet. Even the fire danced along with the rhythm of the instruments. The villagers clapped along to the music.
Parents laughed as the village kids tried to imitate the dance. However, this dance was far too complicated for their small feet to do without tripping and falling flat on their faces.
Families here are tight knit: father and son, mother and daughter, grandmother and grandfather all live under the same straw roof.
Elders are of the utmost respected members of the tribe because of their experience and wisdom. They live under a gerontocracy social structure, where the oldest members oversee law and order. Even though everyone in the tribe has a right to voice their opinions in special tribal meetings, the elders grant the final say in all matters. Disrespect of any elder can bring about a serious tongue lashing dished out by any adult member of the tribe.
As the music simmered down, so did the fire.
All chatter ceased. The village children ran over and took a seat in front of a huge, smooth stone wall about fifteen meters high. Their eyes were glued to the wall, like a child watching their favorite cartoon. The village had gone silent.
The Griot hobbled toward the great stone wall with the help of her walking staff. She wears a kaftan and a matching head wrap. A warm and affable face decorated with freckles and wrinkles. A small dull colored chick napped on her shoulder, which she affectionally calls Zuri.
The Griot is the most respected member of the tribe. She is the eldest of all the elders at around one hundred years old. As a griot, her duty is to pass down the oral history and traditions of the tribe. She is a walking library, and everyone seeks her counsel in times of trouble.
Once she reached the great stone wall, she tapped her walking staff on the ground and it unfolded out into a kora, a stringed instrument. She cracked her fingers and started playing.
Her fingers gracefully plucked the strings, creating a melodic tune that could soothe the most ferocious beast. Then the melody sped up and intensified as her fingers rapidly moved across the strings so fast that you couldn't tell one finger from the other.
She was renowned for her skill on the kora, which takes years of practice to master. She slowed down once she had the attention of everyone in the village. Her rapid finger movements on the strings usually did the trick. She had them right where she wanted them. Now, she could begin her story.
"Long ago, after the gods abandoned men, a powerful shaman created the nine jinn…" she said in a soothing tone that only a grandmother could muster. Her voice sent you back to your childhood, warm in front of the fireplace as you sipped hot chocolate and Christmas music played in the background. Your only worries in life were which present you would open first, and everyone in your family was still young and alive. It felt just like those days.
As she spoke, the stone wall projected nine humanoid shadows.
"To absorb all the evils of the world. And for a time, peace fell over mankind…" she continued. The stone wall behind her projected a scene depicting villagers bowing to the great shaman.
"But there was too much evil in the hearts of men. The Jinn became unhappy and filled with anger. The shaman lost control of them and had to seal them away in a crystal. With our fearsome reputations, once feared across the continent of Alkebulan; renowned for our fighting prowess, brutality, might, and unwillingness to surrender in battle, the crystal was placed in our care. Only we had the strength and will to keep the crystal safe. And in return, the crystal's energy is used to power our barrier."
She pointed to a giant pink crystal lodged inside an old tree stump at the center of the village. A beam of pink energy emanated from the crystal and towards the sky. A barrier, one hundred and forty-five square kilometers wide, separated the Mmbembe village from the rest of the continent.
With such an immense size, the Mmbemebe village benefits from the multiple biomes captured within the barrier: a jungle, a sandscape, a savannah, mountains and a river.
Sitting close by the Griot was Patricia. Patricia, though only two, was extremely precocious. As the Griot's granddaughter, she assists by holding up the next wooden figure in front of the fire during her grandma's storytelling. The shadow the wooden figures create projects onto the wall, like a Stone Age movie projector.
"Before the imprisonment of the nine Jinn, they gave birth to the Witch Doctor..." the Griot continued her tale.
Just the name 'Witch Doctor' made the village shudder.
The children grasped each other for comfort.
"Tonight, we celebrate the banishment of this vile being and pray for the one true Mwokozi. The savior who will rid our world of the Witch Doctor, and finally free us of our isolation…"
The Griot held up a gold ankh necklace. She had a serious, intense look on her face. Her fading eyes scanned across every fragile, soft face in the village. A far cry from the intimidating glare on the hardened faces of battle tested warriors she knew in her youth. —Oh, how weak we've become, she thought to herself.
"With this necklace, my bloodline has kept the crystal in perfect balance, for if we fail, outside the barrier, the Witch Doctor has created some of the most monstrous, foul, bloodthirsty, unnatural creatures to plague mankind. And gobble up naughty children who disobey their parents. None worse than the fearsome Grootslang!"
Patricia dropped a sandbag in the fire, and the flames grew and towered. Projected on the wall, was the shadow of a monstrous creature. The Village Children ran off screaming and jumped into the arms of their parents.
The Griot laughed hysterically. She and Patricia pressed foreheads. A sign of great affection in the Mmbembe tribe.
That is when Lutalo approached her. Lutalo was a tall, strong, imposing figure, with long flowing dreads. He had a large scar sliced across his chest, and his face, by any standard, was widely considered to be quite handsome. At only twenty-eight years of age, he was the strongest warrior in the village, and the warrior chief in charge of the safety of the village, and commander of all the warriors. If they had any left, that is.
He looked down at Griot with a stern but loving look on his face.
"You are going to give the kids nightmares," he said with exasperation in his voice.
"Nonsense Lutalo. I've been told these stories at bedtime since I was a girl and look how I turned out."
The goofy smile she wore instantly deflated the confidence in her statement.
"That is what worries me," he muttered to himself.
Then, out of the darkness, the piercing, screeching cries from a baby echoed throughout the village. The villagers covered their ears, not sure where the sound was coming from. There were no babies of crying age in the village currently. A few of the women were close to birthing, but none had delivered just yet.
The cries turned into screams, and the screaming seemed to come from all directions. Everyone searched around the village for nearly an hour but could not find the source of the cries.
The elders were getting worried that it was getting close to their hour of sleep, and this shrieking would not let them rest.
They demanded the source of the screams be located at once.
Sipho, one of the village toddlers walking along the riverbank spotted the basket lodged inside of the elephant grass. He immediately alerted the rest of the village with rapid tongue clicks, and they came running over.
Lutalo grabbed his spear and raced toward the river. Close in tow behind him was Almamy, his son who just celebrated his fourth birth year. Almamy was the splitting image of his father. He even carried a mini spear in his hand that resembled his father's spear.
Lutalo trekked through the elephant grass, cutting away at it with his spear. Then he spotted it. The basket lodged between a rock and the elephant grass, just as Sipho said it would be.
Lutalo plucked out the basket and took it to the center of the village. He placed the basket on top of a sitting stone. The villagers surrounded them but stood a safe distance away.
Lutalo removed the cloth to reveal the baby. The villagers gasped. They retreated even further back. The adults were in disbelief, but the children did not seem to understand the magnitude of this discovery. In fact, they were more curious about the fear being displayed by the adults than the unknown baby in front of them.
Patricia, ever so curious, snuck in to get a closer look. She reached out and touched the baby's leg. The baby immediately stopped crying, and they locked eyes. A warm feeling rippled through her body. The iris and pupils of her eyes changed from brown to blue.
A one-armed female villager quickly yanked Patricia away, then vigorously cleaned her hands with a wet cloth.
A male villager hiding behind a pile of straw spoke out the one question running through everyone's mind.
"How did it get through the barrier?"
Lutalo did not respond. He just stared blankly at the baby, flaring his nostrils, panting. Anger flooded into his heart. Hatred flowed through his veins.
Without notice, he pulled his stone knife from his waistband.
He hovered the knife over the baby. As he was about to bring it down, the crystal in the baby's forehead shined with an intense brightness. Everyone shielded their eyes. Lutalo temporarily went blind. Then ZAP! A surge of visible pink energy exploded from the baby. The force knocked Lutalo off his feet and sent him crashing into the ground.
The villagers gasped and whispered amongst themselves. They were in collective disbelief at how the big, strong Lutalo was put on his backside by a baby.
Lutalo looked around at their faces, feeling judged, embarrassed and emasculated. Almamy rushed to his aid, grabbed his arm and tried to help him up.
Lutalo felt shamed he had to be helped up by his child.
—What he must think of me now.
Lutalo pushed Almamy away. He picked up his spear and charged at the baby.
"Stop!" a deep, booming voice echoed through the village.
Lutalo stopped in his tracks. —Him. I should have known he was behind this.
The voice was coming from Akiki, the village shaman, thirty years of age, sparsely dressed in animal skin clothing and straw, draped in beads, and a bone inserted through his nose. A long animal horn and an animal skin pouch hung from his neck.
He strutted through the crowd with such confidence, one could feel the power in just his presence alone.
"This child must not be harmed. I had a vision of his future. The Witch Doctor will return, and this child will be the one who defeats him. He is the one true Mwokozi we have prayed for."
The villagers murmured among themselves. They disagreed with Akiki, but none would dare speak out against him. None but Lutalo, who made a heartfelt plea to Griot.
"Griot! You know the kind of trouble a creature like this would bring to us. This is no coincidence that it showed up on the anniversary that our greatest foe had vanished. It is an omen."
Lutalo managed to convert the villagers to his side. With his backing, they felt confident enough to voice their concerns.
Griot stroked her chin as she considered Lutalo's plea.
"Such harsh words to speak over a newborn that has yet to learn the word hate," she said in a gentle tone, yet with a hint of admonishment layered in her speech.
"I know what the legends say. But I trust in our shaman Akiki. If anyone would like to discuss the validity of Akiki's visions, please step forward."
Akiki glanced over at the crowd. Suddenly, all the murmurs stopped. The courage they all had gathered swiftly left them. The villagers avoided eye contact with Akiki, and quickly dispersed.
It was a wise decision considering that when it came to pure power, there was no match for Akiki outside of the Witch Doctor. He was a king shaman and a master of the spiritual arts. A king shaman is capable of recalling souls from the non-living world or extracting the soul of anyone he chooses. They can manipulate the living world to heal wounds, or make you cough up your own organs.
Lutalo and Akiki were longtime rivals and would compete in everything. Though it pained Lutalo to admit it, in most matters, Akiki outranked him.
"Then our blood will be on your hands," Lutalo snarled as he stormed off.
Akiki looked down at the baby, not sure what to make of him or what to do next. He hesitantly and carefully picked him up. It's been many years since he had held a baby.
The gravity that he will be responsible for the care of this child set in and weighed on him like two bull elephants and a hippo. His stomach twisted. He could feel all the organs inside him rearranging; all the bulging muscles in his arm suddenly became weak and noodle like.
Griot touched his shoulder and a sense of calm and reassurance fell over him. He regained his arm's strength. She tickled the bottom of the baby's little white foot, that was partly exposed.
"You certainly caused quite the uproar here, little one. I hope this will not a glimpse into what your future will be like here," she laughed a big boisterous laugh.
"He'll need a name," she whispered to Akiki.
Akiki mulled it over. In their culture, names are more than what people call one another. Names have meanings and people must live up to the meaning of their names. Names are determined by the spiritual aura every living creature gives off when they are born. The wrong name can have ill effects on the future of a child. As he cycled through a list of names, one name called out to him.
"Yohana," he said softly. "We will call him Yohana."
Griot smiled, satisfied with his naming choice.
"I had a feeling it would be."