ARIKANA BOOK 1: Son Of Akanga

Chapter 5: The Reaper

LOUD SCREAMS WOKE him up. He could feel that something harrowing was coming. The noises grew louder, as thuds rattled their roof. It was the same week his daughter was born. The same week the women stopped by his work station in the market and hurled insults at him, calling his wife a witch. Had he not seen how the people would look at him when they walked together? He knew he loved her, and even though his friends warned him against her, his kindness was all it took to bring a stranger into his life. He turned to his side and felt the warmth of her body. She didn't go tonight, probably because she had just given birth. It was odd that she slept through the third watch. Normally, she would have already left to make her prayers at the river. A little light remained, salvaged by the dying flame on the wick burning on his side. He looked at her arms, embracing their newborn, cuddled in with her mother. She was perfect for the part.
Again, he was startled by the ruckus. He got off the bed to go see. 'Could it be another lynching?' he thought. The people here did not take any wrongdoing lightly. One of his former friends had resolved to become a thief, moons ago. It started with rings and bracelets, and soon, kangas and shukas. When they caught him trying to steal a bull from the market pens, he was taken to the local elder, who from the look of things, had little to decide over the young man's fate. His punishment for his sticky hands was to roll down the hill of punishment, in a beehive, enclosed on both sides. If the stinging didn't kill him, then the broken bones and haemorrhages would have had him before he reached the bottom of this gruesome rise, so high, no one could even dare walk its slopes.
From the window, he saw multiple tongues of flames approaching from afar. His heart started beating fast. He then saw a few shady figures moving in the dark, past his gate. The cry had gotten loud enough for him to make sense of it. They were shouting,
'BURN THE WITCH!'
He was certain; they were coming for his wife!
He quickly put out the wick. "Wake up! You need to get away from here," he whispered loudly to the pitch of the darkness, as he felt around for anything that he could use as a weapon. "WAKE UP!" he called again. She finally turned, "What is the matter?" He rushed to her and spoke in a hush, "They are coming for us. I cannot protect you now. They will not relent this time. You have to take our little girl and run to the magician's den, this instance!" On hearing this, her senses were fully alert, "And you...shall we wait for you?" he did not respond.
He felt for the little woven bag that carried the few clothes they owned, hanging on the bedpost. He rushed her from the bed, bundling the baby to her chest with a rag. He then pushed her frantically towards the hip-high window at the opposite end of the hut, and then paced back to the door of the hut, "Go Now! I will come and find you...."
A loud 'bang!' like a heavy stone, was heard hitting the wooden door, almost breaking it. The baby started crying. She felt a familiar fear in her spine. Daunting and callous. He was the only one holding that door from what was imminent death. Their eyes saw the last of each other that night. For the sake of their child, she turned her back on him, something she had promised to never do to someone she loved, ever again. She struggled to climb out through the small window. Right then, another 'THUD!' was heard, and this time the wood gave out.
"There is a WITCH in there!"
The chants had gotten bolder and their intent was being felt rocking the small hut. Women and men, with torches, stood outside, ready to lynch the scum of their society.
There was no time. She fell to the other side, still holding her baby close to her chest. Just when she stepped into the clearing, the people were beginning to surround the hut. One of them saw her move about the back, "There she is!! Get her!" She ran across their small field into the thickets and headed for the river. Closely behind her, a mob of people with blades and torches, all trying to catch her and kill her. She had never harmed any of them, but they believed that if she didn't, her little Purple-haired child would.
Lions are born without claws and their roar, but when the cub is grown, it tears through the toughest flesh!
Two men breached into the hut, ridding it of a part of the wall as they broke down the door. Zua was on the floor, begging for dear life.
"We warned you to stay away from that WITCH. Now see, she has turned you against your people!"
"...We have done nothing wrong..."
"You've spawned with her spirits and magic!" another came from behind the two, breaking the dark with a torch. A familiar voice raged, "Tonight, all this wickedness shall burn."
As he lifted the torch to set the ends of the thatch roof ablaze, Zua saw the face of his assailants. One of whom he had known as a friend even before meeting the woman. A friend had turned into a foe. They quickly tied up his hands and feet. Leaving him there to burn in the ruins. As the fire engulfed that little hut, in Zua's heart, he prayed for his wife and daughter. The Midwife had asked them to take the girl to the magicians once she was old enough. He wept because this would never be for him to partake. He just hoped that they made it.
The shingles began to crackle, and his skin seared in the heat. The pain was unsettling. He rolled on the earthen floor trying to get relief, but it couldn't help. His voice was fading, as was his breath. He had nothing left, but memories of what brought him joy. He closed his eyes, and took his last breath...
She was lost, hiding behind the barrels of the brewers in the market. He had just purchased his first instalment of iron for his work. He had brought with him two of his friends, and when they saw her torn dress, murky at the bottom, and damp from sweat, they taunted her. The clothes bore resemblance to people from far away.
"She probably escaped the Arab ships and came here on foot," they guessed. Her head had been shaven clean. His friends talked him out of helping her, saying that she would only mean trouble for him to help an outsider, but he insisted. He gave her water, and she drank. After a guard and a half of water, they left her. Later on in the evening, he sneaked back to where they had left her, and she had not moved. It was as if she knew he would return. He came with a robe that she wore, and he took her back to his small homestead.
Sheba regained her strength under his care. When she was well enough, he asked her to go back to her country, but she refused. She asked him to stay, as she was no longer wanted there and was banished never to return. She continued to weave up a story about a King from the north, who made pyramids and sandcastles, and a people with great powers even rivalling gods. She told him of her sisters, who escaped from the country with her, but never made it quite to freedom, and that she feared for her life. He failed to see reason in her stories, but how could he? He was just a mere commoner, dreaming of starting a small blacksmith station.
He let her stay, and they became inseparable. It was as if a spell bound them. She loved him as he did her. To his friends, he had changed. He even defended her practices. Those who saw her at the river during the third watch had confessed that she prayed to water spirits!
At last, the fruit of their love was born. She named her Neveh, to mean 'the joy that cometh at daybreak'. She knew that the day would come when she would continue the long bloodline of powerful mystical women before her. She never told him why their daughter's hair was purple. Over time, her power became useless over him. The spell that bound them was far much greater than any one that magic could conjure.'
Sheba ran till she got to the river, then she stopped. Those chasing after her saw this and slowed in their tracks, saying, "Beware! She could be summoning her water spirits and they could harm us."
Others said, "They cannot! We will remain here on dry land, The spirits cannot harm us here."
The crowd was fattening. She became very afraid.
She pleaded with them, reversing into the river.
On one hand, she held her crying baby, swaddled on her chest; On the other, she warded them off. The closer they came, the more desperate she became. Her knees sank into the water. When they realised that there were no spirits to protect her, they began charging at her. She knew she had to protect herself and her daughter.
She bent down to the water and began to chant under her breath, then the water began to rise. The crowd was at the edge of the river and they did not notice the tide. She increased the intensity of it, controlling the river with her hand. As twigs and stones were hurled, she lifted the rocks from beneath the river and set them hoarding against the crowd. When they saw this, some started rushing out of the water screaming;
"Stand back! Her spirits are rising!"
The crowd was so large, that from the back they never heard the warnings.
As the rocks descended on the first line of the crowd, the next started throwing torches and any projectiles they had at her. She then raised a wall of water from the river, building it with the overflowing tides, swaying them from side to side, freeing her other arm from her child who remained bundled to her chest. Still to this point, she was being remorseful to them. Her hands were tiring from holding up the water. She then ascended over it, and as the people saw her elevated, they all sank in fear and utter confusion.
Some said, "That is no WITCH. Not even our finest magicians can do this. She must be a goddess!" With this sight in the last half of the moonlight that night, she propelled her body away into the hills, never to be seen again.
After her escape, she knew she would not dwell in the same land again. Her Zua was dead in the hut, burnt with the little possession they had. She only knew of one place to take her young one. That morning as the news spread, Olu woke to the crying of a baby outside the magician's den. Along with it, was a small woven bag of clothing. He looked into her eyes. He felt her spirit burn. It was so strong, there was no denying her power. He tested her with the four objects of power; the rod for leadership, gold for wealth, myrrh for wisdom, and silver for spirit. She chose Myrrh and Silver; the symbols of the most powerful magicians in Akanga.
Determining her as a 'child of magic' he named her Seseka. She grew up learning their ways, hidden from the people. He too never let her grow her hair, not once. He feared that the people could reject her and her giftings. He had known of her birth, but very little of her parents. When she became of age, he only told her what he had heard. At times, she would try to use her gifts to find her lost mother, but with no memory of her, she would hit dead ends. She had been taught that magic is not self-serving. Her full strength would never be realised. Her blood had proved great sorcery, an easy task. This is how she became the lead magician.