“...the shadow of god Hanuman on Mena Ngai, the Great Mound known as Mount Bashenga, the source of Wakanda’s wealth and power….and the spiritual representation of all of Wakanda and her people.”
Surprisingly, Imfazwe, the most outspoken of the Jabari Council against trusting a warning given by a six-year-old Spiritualist and was the one who was the least interested in matters not of the physical plane, broke the silence. “Khuselwa!” He barked, banging his fist on his armrest. “Stop dramatizing everything like a young maiden and tell us what it means already!”
The High Priest’s head snapped up. “Hoh. Fine!” He spat. Looking each one of the councilmembers’ eyes in turn, he spoke. “You all know that before I was made High Priest, I ventured to the northern continent, the former home of god Hanuman.” There were slight nods all around confirming this. While it was not unheard of for those of rank in the faith to go on a spiritual journey, his in particular had taken longer than most. It’d taken him a full 10 years to return, but when he did, he was a much changed man.
“I didn’t stay only in Jambudvipa, but I wandered. From deserts, to forests, to the icy mountains and beyond, I went wherever they spoke of Hanuman. And one of the places I found myself in was the land of Zhongguo.” He glared at Imfazwe, daring him to interrupt him one more time. “As Shaman of the Jabari at the time, I learned all that I could of the ancient legends and myths, regardless of who told me or what they were of. And one of those myths, was the story of Goddess Nuwa, who turned the 7 primary states of soil into a wondrous creation that she used to patch the holes in the heavens.”
He paused, before continuing.
“While I do not know why M’Khokeli feels that snow and ice falling from the sky is one of the signs when it happens almost every day, I am sure of the other two.” He looked at M’Baku, Chief of the Jabari. “Everything will start from where M’Khokeli’s vision ended. The heavens will be torn open once more, and god Hanuman, who lifted a mountain to save his friend, is telling us that not only can we do something about it, but that the fate of Wakanda hangs in the balance.”
“Preposterous!” As soon as the last word left the High Priest’s lips, Imfazwe immediately spoke out against him, all but leaping out of his chair. “Are you really telling us to believe in a prophecy from a six year old boy who-”
“Elder Imfazwe!” The shout rang out, startling all of them. Elder Fundiswa had stood up, and these days she rarely, if ever, spoke let alone shout. She’d said more this day than she had in the past month.
Today was a day full of surprises.
Imfazwe reluctantly nodded and gave her the floor, sitting back down.
The woman who’d been the midwife to deliver many who were in the room at that moment, looked around her before turning towards Khuselwa. Gesturing towards the young Spiritualist that had been brave enough to come and do his duty, despite the fact that he most likely knew he’d be ridiculed and wouldn’t be taken seriously, she spoke.
“Wake the boy up.”
“Hoh.” Khuselwa nodded, before tapping his staff onto the ground. “Vuka.”
In an instant, the silvery mist which had been a medium to display M’Khokeli’s memories, rapidly shrank and compressed itself until it was a small sphere roughly the size of an eye.
It spun itself quickly, more and more of itself flying back towards its Spiritualist, who breathed it all in, until there was nothing left.
M’Khokeli’s eyes flew open, quickly taking note of the situation around him. Before he could say anything though, he saw Grandmother Fundiswa walk towards him.
“M’Khokeli.” She spoke, softly. “Much has been said about what you’ve seen. What do you think we should do?”
The young Spiritualist bit his lip. He looked to his father, Chief M’Baku, but the warrior’s face was utterly impassive. He’d seen his father make that face to others many times before, but this was the first that he’d been on the receiving end of it.
“Now, now, none of that.” Grandmother Fundiswa said, grabbing his attention once more. “Your father will have time to say what he thinks we should do. Right now, I’m asking what your opinion is, as our Spiritualist.”
“I...I,” M’Khokeli didn’t know what to think. He’d come thinking that the council wouldn’t even believe him, let alone think about what to do with his prophecy. Now, they were asking him what he thought they should do?
It was unbelievable…but it was happening anyway.
His mind was aflame, thinking as fast as it possibly could.
Should he say that they should do something big?
No, Grandmother Fundiswa was just asking what he thinks they should do. She didn’t say they’d do it. He knew that nobody, not even his own father, would start big preparations for a prophecy that was given by him. Sad as it was, M’Khokeli was too young to be taken seriously.
Especially when he remembered that his friend Lonwabo got caught lying about eating his sister’s mebos just yesterday.
If that’s what the adults were comparing him to, then there was already no hope that they’d start preparing just because he said so.
What about something small?
If he asked them to do something too small, then maybe they’d think he was lying about the whole thing. ‘Or maybe not lying.’ He thought to himself. They’d probably think he was just a kid who’d gotten the prophecy wrong, or didn’t really understand something the way it was supposed to be. After all, if this big, huuuge, problem could be stopped by, say, sending one of the warriors to stand guard at the river, then it probably wasn’t all that big of a problem in the first place, right?
Suddenly, like an ember that had suddenly sparked a fire, M’Khokeli had an idea. Maybe, just maybe, they’d agree to…
“Send me.”
Elder Fundiswa blinked. “I’m sorry, child, what did you say?”
“Send me.” M’Khokeli repeated, this time with emphasis. “This can’t be a problem that appears out of nowhere. Someone, somewhere knows something about it. And if anyone knows something about a threat to Wakanda, it would be the other tribes.”
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Someone in the room snorted, desperately trying to stifle their laughter. When he looked though, he couldn’t find whoever had made the sound.
He bit his lip. He’d known they probably wouldn’t take his suggestion seriously, but still…
“I don’t want you to take this wrong way, M’Khokeli, but what makes you think that you can do what another, more…” Grandmother Fundiswa struggled to think of a kind way of phrasing what had come to her mind. “..mature, experienced person of the tribe could not?”
The young Spiritualist shook his head. “It’s not that there’s someone that can’t do it. It’s that you can’t send them.” He looked around at the councilmembers. “Even if you really believed me, everyone would make fun of you for listening to me. I’m only six.” He shrugged. “Plus, it’s not like the other tribes would really think I’m...un-der-cover,” M’Khokeli struggled to say the full word correctly. “-for us. After all, I’m just a kid, right?” He gave them a wink.
There were murmurs of agreement coming from all around the room. At the very least, M’Khokeli didn’t hear anyone say anything against it, yet.
The elderly woman looked stunned. “Well, that’s, but…” She struggled to deny anything that he’d just said, but he was right on all accounts. Although he’d put it in a childish way, they really couldn’t be seen as listening to the whims of a boy who wasn’t even old enough for his first hunt yet.
She furtively glanced around her and judged how the other councilmembers were about to react. Fundiswa knew that she had some respect from the others, some of it because she was old and had seen them all in diapers and some of it because the sight of her angry face still subconsciously haunted them even until now, but she wouldn’t be able to stand against their combined will.
With High Priest Khuselwa having made his stance on the matter clear and standing behind the young Spiritualist, child or not the council couldn’t be seen to do nothing. Possible doomsday and the wrath of the gods aside, their own people would not stand for it.
This was a way for them to be seen doing something, while at the same time not being such a drastic measure. A token gesture that would placate everyone involved, and one that apparently everyone in the tent was fine with making.
Steeling her resolve, she nodded her assent to M’Khokeli. She would just have to add a few protective measures first so that he wouldn’t be in too much danger. “Alright, child. But first, we have to talk about-”
“I FORBID IT!”
M’Khokeli slowly turned at the source of the shout, a betrayed look on his face. There, face darkened with fury, was his father.
M’Baku.
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‘This is getting out of hand.’ Fundiswa thought to herself. Trying to calm him down, she gently spoke. “Chief M’Baku, perhaps we should-”
“You are right.” M’Baku interrupted, his face dark with fury. “I am Chief!” He pointed at himself. “Not you. And M’Khokeli is MY SON. Not YOURS!” He shouted, jabbing his finger at her. “It is my decision, and mine alone. I will not have it, I say. I WILL NOT HAVE IT!”
Elder Fundiswa bowed her head, acquiescing and acknowledging his declaration. Even Imfazwe, who would normally be contrary just to give M’Baku another headache, kept silent. There was a line that he knew not to cross, and the Chief’s family was on the other side of it. Besides, even he had a foul taste in his mouth when he realized that he’d considered using a child as a spy.
M’Khokeli clenched his fist. He looked down for a moment, before looking back up and steeling his resolve. “Father,” He said, looking him in the eye. Slowly, he walked over until he stood in front of the throne. “How old were you when grandfather let you stalk and kill the white gorilla?”
“I was far older than you are now.”
M’Khokeli didn’t let up. “How much older?” He pressed.
There was a pause. “I turned fourteen before my father allowed it.” The grizzled leader of the Jabari tribe wanted to scowl. If this weren’t his son in front of him, but instead someone else, he would already have challenged him to trial combat for even daring to continue this conversation.
His family was a line that all knew not to cross.
...but it was his son, and he couldn’t bear it to himself to even so much as scowl in his direction. Especially when it was just the week before when his son had said that he wished to be a man like his father.
There were many pleasures in life, but few had ever compared to the feeling that came across him that night. To have your child look up to you as if you were invincible, to see the best in you, to say that they wanted to be just like you….
That was a pure joy few in the world could ever experience. He’d never told anyone how much it’d affected him, not even when his own wife had asked why he’d walked around with a smile for three days straight.
But right now, it felt like one of the Border tribe’s battle rhinos had smashed his head in. That’s how much of a headache his own son was giving him at the moment. ‘Is this how utata felt when I told him I wanted the white gorilla to be my first hunt?’ He asked himself. If so, then M’Khokeli was already becoming more like his father than he realized.
“How old were you when you first asked?”
The question brought him back to the present….and immediately sent his thoughts back into the past. It’d been a long time since he’d thought of his first hunt, and even longer since he’d thought of the first time he’d asked his own father for permission to do it. If he recalled, he was actually…
The fiery warrior and chief took a deep breath, before he sighed. “Yes, M’Khokeli, I was your age when I first asked. But!” He said, holding up a finger to stifle any interruptions. “I only started the actual hunt itself 8 years later! My utata, your grandfather, only let me study it and prepare myself until then.”
“That’s what I want.”
The blunt statement took M’Baku by surprise. “What?” He asked, his eyebrows furrowed.
“Let me go to the Golden City. I will study them like you studied the white gorilla. I will learn from them like you learned from it, stalk them like you stalked it, and then years from now, I will ask your permission like you asked utamkhulu.” M’Khokeli paused and took a deep breath. “I want to do this.”
I want to be just like you.
Those words might not have been said at this moment, but they were all that M’Baku could hear from what his son was saying. He closed his eyes to think. Unknown to him, he was clenching his teeth so hard that veins were popping out of his forehead. His hands clenched his armrests so hard that cracking sounds could be heard from them.
The rest of the council shared worried looks between themselves. After all, if the chief was angry enough that even the wood which had been blessed by Hanuman himself to be as strong and durable as metal started to break, then things were looking dire indeed.
Without warning, Chief M’Baku’s eyes flew wide open. “Imfaze!”
“Yes, Chief.” Imfazwe called back. There was a time for animosity and then there was a time to let things lie.
“Assist my son. Give him a way into the city, and at least 5 ways to escape from it.”
Imfazwe nodded. That was an easy enough order, and he’d do it to the best of his ability. Rivals or not, he knew if anything happened to him, M’Baku would treat his family like his own. So out of respect for the danger his son was putting himself in, Imfazwe would give the support that M’Baku couldn’t. “Yes, Chief.”
“Don’t get too excited, M’Khokeli.” M’Baku said, seeing the wide grin on his son’s face. He held up a finger. “One person. If even one person starts to suspect you, then you will come home! No more talks of prophecies, no more ‘learning from the enemy’. You will come straight back and spend the next few years training to be a warrior like the others your age. And you will anoint someone else to be the Spiritualist. Do you understand?”
Despite the stern look on his father’s face, or the harsh bite in his voice, M’Khokeli’s smile only grew brighter. “Yes, father!”
“Then why are you still here? Go home and get ready!” M’Baku waved towards the entrance to the tent, and his son ran off, practically skipping with happiness.
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Seeing that Khuselwa, the High Priest, was about to speak, the furious Man-Ape’s fist crashed down onto the head of his armrest, completely snapping it off. “Not. A. Word.” He said, holding up a finger. “Not ONE word from any of you.”
M’Baku was not just a warrior. He was raised his whole life to be Chief by his father before him, who’d been taught by his grandfather. Generations of teachings passed down made sure that although he had a warrior’s anger and brute, he also had the mind of a chieftain. The politics of what had just happened in the room did not escape him and nor did the small looks of relief that had flickered through the faces of his councilmen when he agreed to his son’s request.
“You should all be ashamed. Placing your hopes on a boy instead of doing something yourselves.” He spat.
If it would’ve saved his son from this task, he would’ve raised an army. He would’ve assembled every shaman, sorcerer, priest, and priestess from the faith and ordered them to utilize their magic to divine the threat facing the Jabari and rain down the wrath of every element known to man on its head. He would’ve….
But it wasn’t up to just him. As chief, he had sway over the people of their tribe and much say over any and all matters involving the Jabari.
But so, too, did the rest of the council. Grandmother Fundiswa had the ear of every mother and elder in the tribe, High Priest Khuselwa held sway over those with power in the faith, and Imfazwe knew the names and faces of every single man in the tribe that was dissatisfied with his rule. As for the others, some had minor influence and some had major.
And when they all saw an easy way out, a token gesture for a prophecy that almost none of them believed in? They were more than happy to take it, even if it meant that it was his son, their Spiritualist, that was shoved into the path of a white rhinoceros.
No, they would have done anything and everything in their power to stop him from doing what needed to be done in order to save his son. This way, at least, there was a way to protect him and call him back at a moment’s notice.
“Yomelele!” He called out.
The tent’s flap was pushed aside as one of the warriors standing guard outside walked in. “Yes, Chief?”
M’Baku gestured to his rival. “Elder Imfazwe will be leading my son into the Golden City tomorrow. From that point on, until he returns, you will guard him from the shadows. Protect him from anything that is beyond his capabilities. If he is suspected or in danger, you will drag him back here if need be. Do you understand?”
The warrior nodded. “Yes, Chief!”