Madunia. Today, on planet Earth, in a language called, Swahili, it means world. I mention Earth because in many ways Madunia was just like it. The hearts of the people were filled with hopes and dreams, and it is these fundamental virtues that have often carried them through times of despair and chaos.

The known world of Madunia consisted mostly of one large continent and a few small islands off its coast. To the north were the endless sands; hot, brutal, and only inhabited by a few small groups of people. The rest of this large land mass was surrounded by oceans; also assumed to be endless.

The Madunians knew nothing of the distant places in the galaxy. And as for the stars, well, to them, those magnificent points of light were the windows through which the gods could look down and observe the world which they had created, Madunia.

Our story takes place during a time when much of Madunia was in turmoil, filled with war and destruction. It started with a man named Montok and continued through his children. After his death, those siblings fought to control all regions of the world and split the lands amongst themselves.

Montok’s children were fueled by nothing less than absolute greed, a need to rule, and an undying hunger to conquer. They built armies, conquered villages and kingdoms, and sought to destroy the very fabric of humanity. This, of course, resulted in any number of uprisings and resistance. The people tried their best to thwart Montok’s insatiable brood, but the armies of the siblings, the terrible five, were too large, too brutal, and too well equipped for the people to prevail.

Besides, these evil ones took every advantage of the supernatural powers they had at their disposal. They channeled into the energies of the dead with an uncanny understanding of the fluidic connection of the power between the laws of nature, the power of the spirit, and the life force. And when it fit their needs, they even twisted the gifts that were handed down from the gods for their own selfish purposes.

For this story, only one of the siblings needs introduction, Hatari. While his sister and his brothers waged war in the northern regions of Madunia, Hatari was held in place at the region furthest south, often called The Forbidden Expanse.

At the northern border of the Forbidden Expanse lay the Kingdom of Ufalme. This was the last of the great Kingdom’s of Madunia that had yet to be conquered; the last that still stood strong. Hatari had laid claim to Ufalme and the Forbidden Expanse, and it was his job, among his siblings, to rule over those territories. Unfortunately for him, King Jumbe and his army of warriors had proved to be unconquerable, time and time again. In fact, Hatari’s dignity had taken so many blows from defeat that he no longer had any humans under his command. His army now consisted entirely of ogres, which we will touch upon later in our story.

For now, we won’t focus so much on Hatari either, for this story is not about him at all. For now, we will focus on the Kingdom of Ufalme. —The kingdom that raised a boy who would change the fate of an empire and eventually the fate of the known world of Madunia, altogether. This is a story about a boy named Bomani.

Now, don’t ask how I have come to know about any of the stories of The Ancient Lands, particularly this one. How I have come to know anything about this planet is quite a story in itself. Let’s just say that I am a modern day griot, but nowhere near a real griot, in the real sense of the word. I keep my data stored on computers like everyone else. When I need information, I send it to my brain and sift through it as I need.

A real griot, on the other hand, works quite differently. For instance, a griot of The Ancient Lands would commit all history to memory, and would then tell the story as it was passed down to him from previous griots. I am more of a historian and archeologist. If you require any sort of credentials for proof of validity, keep in mind that I do hold several high-ranking educational degrees.

To learn and understand a civilization is both my job and my passion. My only regret is that there are far too many stories in the universe or even in this one simple galaxy, for that matter, to learn them all. I study them, not only to entertain myself, but also to teach others. There are always great lessons to be learned. There are millions of stories about millions of things that have happened in a million different places in The Ancient Lands. This is one of them.

I UFALME

High-pitched screams echoed across the Kingdom of Ufalme. Only the sun itself could rival the energy of those participating, which were virtually all those that lived within the kingdom. A circle of women danced in unison around a fire that flickered in the night, giving life to their accommodating and oversized shadows, which danced along the stone walls that surrounded the encampment — embellishing the effect by mimicking the dancers precisely. The spectators cheered them on with tribal yelps and cries that put them in a self-induced, drunken state. It was a celebratory dance. This manner of singing and dancing would go on and off and on, until morning and then through the night again.

King Jumbe sat next to his Queen, Najila. Both of them were warmed by the light of the fires that blazed in revelry. He grabbed her hand, smiled, and nodded as she returned the gesture. He was, at least for the moment, confident and happy, but his Queen was burdened. During the Night of the Circle everyone took the time to be consumed with happiness, even those whose sons participated in the games. The purpose of the games was two-fold. First it was to allow the greatest warriors of the village to prove their readiness to serve their king and be awarded and praised for their strength and wit. Secondly, it was to celebrate the community: the families, and the culture of the largest and strongest kingdom in all of The Ancient Lands, Ufalme.

The women spent weeks before the festivities began, collecting cassava roots, nuts, beans, and peas. They dried and ground spices to use in the preparation of the spiced butter they would use to season the delicious dishes for the feast they would prepare. Children and elders prepared decorative masks adorned with gold, quartz, shells and feathers. They wove extra baskets and mats to accommodate the villagers. Men worked together to catch fish, and other various types of seafood. In spite of the sacrifice during a time when there was a dwindling supply of food, even a few chickens were prepared for the occasion.

On the first night of the games, the villagers partook in a ritualistic jubilee. On the second night prayers for the warriors were chanted, and the village’s oldest griot reinforced stories passed down through the generations, tales of the triumphs and tragedies of warriors past.

This was the third and final night of the games and suddenly the dancers paused. A battered warrior entered their circle, and although his body bore fresh scars and wounds, he stood among the spectators majestically. For a moment a long silence hung in the air until the villagers welcoming admiration rose to an almost unbearable cry as cheers and praises turned to Mongo. Mongo was the eldest of the King’s two sons, and his 24-year-old hardened body was just right for the games.

Yes, Mongo was the favorite of the crowd and the favorite of all the people of Ufalme. He was strong, handsome! Though he was as proud as the son of a king should be, he was also modest and never boasted or made anyone feel like they were beneath him. He was admired and also well liked for his wit and humor, and the villagers felt proud that he might be their king some day.

His stature and prowess caught the eyes of all the women, and when he walked, they watched him adoringly and imagined being his chosen queen. It was sometimes quite heart wrenching, really — the way the women threw themselves at him, but Mongo could not help it. He was just being himself — the son of a king. All he ever wanted was to be the best that he could be. Even the men secretly watched him with envy, wondering what it was like to walk in his sandals. Some of them were brave enough to even challenge him in the games. Mongo usually prevailed, but competition was kept alive by those, who on occasion, could overtake him. He was, in every way, a great warrior!

He had won the track, the high jump, and the challenge of balance. He performed formidably in every event except in the boulder toss, in which Bogo had beaten him.

Only two years younger than Mongo, Bogo was his greatest adversary. It was he that often tore the crowed from a unison of Mongo following. More often than not, Bogo would finish just seconds, or inches behind Mongo. In the boulder toss, his large frame, and greater arm strength had given him the advantage of inches ahead.

Mongo had lost this event, and now in what seemed to be mere coincidence, he faced Bogo again in the wrestling ring. Mongo looked at Bogo on the other side of the ochre drawn circle. Both contenders nodded and acknowledged each other respectfully and fearlessly. Bogo was determined to beat Mongo for the second time tonight.

As they engaged, everyone’s eyes widened with excitement. Mongo and Bogo’s bodies clashed together. The king sat up in his seat keenly, but withheld all emotion. The villagers on the other hand cheered wildly as the two warriors interlocked. Their muscles flexed with raw strength as they grabbed one another, each vehemently trying to pin his foe. With one quick move, Mongo tossed Bogo onto the ground, but Bogo was on his feet quickly and attacked once again. He charged at Mongo and they twisted into each other until somehow Bogo gained the upper hand, holding Mongo in a headlock that seemed unbreakable. The spectators roared louder than ever, and none of them knew whose side they were on. It finally seemed that Mongo might lose this fight, and then the tone of the crowd suddenly changed. What was initially cheers and praise, quickly shifted to screams of fear and panic. Then, a loud terrifying shriek was heard, “Lion!”

The night had cloaked the great cat enabling a stealthy approach past the village’s outer guards. It seemed that Bogo would have to try his hand at beating Mongo another time, for now both warriors had a much direr problem.

The lion ran towards the crowd and it pounced upon whoever lagged behind. His first target, a small boy. He struck the boy across his back with his razor like claws, and pinned the whimpering lad down with its massive paws.

An old man sat perched on a stone setting on the other side of the circle. He took no time to run as the others did. He stood up putting most of his weight into his crooked staff. At the top of it, an amethyst crystal began to glow. This staff was a weapon, wielded only by sorcerers. Wielded only by him, yet it had been quite some time since he had to use it as such. Nowadays, he used it as a crutch to aid in supporting his failing right knee.

With the wave of his staff, he took control of the main bonfire and lifted it from the wood. He suspended it in the night air, and with another motion sent it flying forward.

Had the fiery blaze hit the lion a second later, the hungry beast would have finished the boy off. His teeth were inches from sinking into his neck. For now, the boy was injured, but he would live. The old man sat back down tired and drained. He had neither the power to attack again, nor the energy to run.

Startled and singed, the lion relented as three of the king’s guardsmen approached and cornered the large animal. Just when they were certain that they had the great cat at a disadvantage, it changed its tactic. Before anyone had a chance to think, it assaulted one of the guards. It happened so fast that the other two guards never had a chance to react before their man went down. The guard was mortally wounded, and Bogo and Mongo immediately ran over to take on the powerful cat.

Most of the villagers had left the area by that time. A few curious onlookers kept their distance and watched trembling from afar. The king and queen watched the battle and called for more guards.

The king’s youngest son, Bomani, looked on intently and stood poised and ready to fight at his brother’s side. As Mongo and Bogo approached the ferocious lion, Bomani grabbed his spear, his heart wanted to ignore the fact that his father had forbidden him to go near the turmoil. All that he could do was watch.

The battle between the two men and the lion seemed to take an eternity. It was a rumble of beast and man until finally all movement stopped. Mongo sat atop the dead animal, his blade plunged directly into the lion’s heart. Injured men scrambled to their feet and made clumsy attempts to contain their wounds with nervous hands; including Bogo, who suddenly fell to the ground.

Mongo left the dying lion only to help a dying man. More guards entered the compound where moments before villagers had gathered in celebration. Too late to be warriors, they now assisted the injured and hailed the medicine man, but it was too late for Bogo. He lay shivering in Mongo’s arms as his life slipped away.

“You are going to be alright.” Mongo attempted to console him, but he knew that it was a lie. There is a moment in a warrior’s life when he knows that he won’t make it, a moment when he can feel his existence ebbing away, although he has fought a good fight, death lurks around the corner. Bogo had this feeling for the first and last time. He looked into Mongo’s eyes and was grateful for the compassion being bestowed upon him. He found a slight comfort in the fact that he was dying in the arms of a young prince who he had served with in a battle to help protect his kingdom.

He could not think of anything more honorable, and with his last breath he asked the prince, “Do you think I would have beaten you? It would have been twice in one night.” Mongo smiled as he looked at him, and then replied, “Yes, Bogo, I know that you would have.”

II THE BOY

family crest

The festivities ended early that night, and the villagers had altogether dispersed except for those who watched the killing of the lion. Mongo’s name echoed throughout the kingdom. The news of his triumph spread quickly. Maidens gasped, “He is so wonderful. He killed the lion!”

One maiden even approached the youngest son, “Oh Bomani, did you hear what your brother did tonight?”

“Yes, I saw the whole thing.”

“You were there? Tell us what happened. Oh you must tell us!”

“I would, but I have somewhere to be and I must not waste time.”

“Perhaps, tomorrow then. Good night Bomani. Your brother is the greatest.”

At 15 years old, Bomani was at the age where a young man would envy his older brother greatly. As he walked away from the commotion on the fairgrounds, headed toward his father’s quarters, a love-struck trio of swooning young women walked past Bomani, worshipping Mongo.

“He’s so wonderful. He’s so great,” Bomani mimicked them, “Yeah, great! Everything that he does is so great! I could win at the games if they’d let me play,” he said to himself, “I could have taken that lion.”

Three boys walked nearby, and instead of passing Bomani, they made it a point to stop. One of the boys stood out among them, Anan. His skin was dark brown; he was slightly larger than the rest of the boys and he swaggered toward Bomani as if he was trying to intimidate the young prince.

“Too bad we’re not old enough,” said Anan, catching Bomani’s attention, “I would have challenged you in the games. I would have shown you how a warrior is supposed to be.”

Bomani was neither afraid nor impressed by Anan’s stance. It was something that he had come to expect from Anan and the other boys. Bomani had made many enemies of the boys his age a long time ago, and his arrogance had kept him separate from them since they had been much younger. There was no ordinance that stated that royalty could not interact with the common people of the kingdom. This was only Bomani’s law.

Bomani’s biggest problem was himself. He didn’t quite know where his place was. It’s an awful feeling to not know where you stand among people. And no matter how hard he tried to figure it out, he always felt awkward. He was too young to be thought of as the great warrior that his brother was, even though he too was royalty. And yet, it was his royal lineage that made him set himself apart from everyone else.

“Why wait for the games?” Bomani responded, “I’m here now.”

“Yeah,” said Anan, “and just like last time, someone will stop the fight before I get a chance to do you in. Just like last time, your brother Mongo will come around the corner and save you.”

“I didn’t need saving. I would have taken all three of you, and I can do it now, if you wish.”

“You hide under your blanket of royalty Bomani. There are punishments for tussling with King Jumbe’s son. If you did not have that on your side, you would be nothing.”

Bomani boiled inside. Anan’s taunting was beginning to get to him. Part of him wanted to run up to Anan and knock him down on his back, but he didn’t move. As he stood his ground the fierceness boiled inside of him. He had struck Anan before and his father made it clear that he was not to take advantage of his position again — especially inside the grounds of the compound. His actions could reflect badly on the character of the throne. So, out of respect for his father, Bomani held his temper; this time.

“Don’t be fooled Anan,” Bomani said, coolly. It is royalty that is saving you right now. Saving you from me,” Bomani threatened.

“Humph, we’ll see,” Anan said as he and his two friends walked away chuckling. Anan knew that he could not take Bomani alone, and that Bomani was right. He knew that Bomani would not fight him inside the walls of the compound.

After Anan and his companions walked away, Bomani tried to release some of the fury steaming inside, but he could not. His anger stayed with him and he knew that he had to do something with this energy. Bomani grabbed his spear and prepared for a fight. His opponent —his shadow. He wrestled theatrically with his spear and hopped along his path, impersonating a warrior. He jabbed at the air and triumphed over an invisible foe. “Ugh, ugh, take that! I will be a great warrior some day — better than all in the land. It’ll be my name that the people will call and shout into the night. They will remember my deeds, and the stories told by the elders will be about me. “Oh, great warrior Bomani, protect us from harm,” they’ll pray. I will be king!”

Bomani leapt up, and landed on a large boulder in the garden. He jabbed his spear in the air again puncturing another imaginary assailant. “Take that beast! Ugh! Feel my strength! Fear my wrath! Arrggh! Ugh…take that!”

Bomani was unaware that he had an audience, and when he heard his mother’s voice, it startled him.

“Bomani, what are you doing, and to whom do you speak?”

“Um, to no one Mother, I was just….”

“And just who is it that should fear your wrath? Is it me?” she teased.

“No, Mother,” Bomani said.

The Queen sat upon a smooth granite bench, located in front of a large boabab tree that stood in the middle of the garden. She beckoned Bomani to sit next to her.

“Mongo did quite well today. I would expect that you would want to join your brother and congratulate him on his triumph.”

“Mongo doesn’t need me to tell him how great he is. There are enough people to do that.”

The queen heard her son’s cry of envy. She had never directly talked to him about it, but she had known for a while that something was wrong. It hurt her to see him separate himself from his older brother. Of course from a mother’s perspective, she wanted more than anything to see her sons bond. She was even more concerned because Bomani seemed to prefer to be alone most of the time, and this worried her.

“And so, on a night of festivity, danger, loss and triumph, you choose to be out here alone?”

“What’s wrong with being alone?”

“It’s not just tonight, Bomani. You rarely ever play with any of the boys your age. It worries me.”

“I don’t get along with the other boys.” Bomani said.

“Could it be that you think you are better than them?” his mother asked. Her accuracy and ability to read him was beginning to make him feel small and vulnerable. This trait usually made him feel safe and protected by his mother, but now it irritated him.

“I AM better than they are, Mother, I am the son of a king,” Bomani replied, “I could be king someday.”

“Maybe, but you know that your brother is most likely to be crowned.” His mother gently reminded him.

“I hope not.” Bomani said.

“Still, a king must understand that he is no better than any of his people.” The queen looked up into the sky as if she searched for the answers in the stars. “The moon shines on all of us the same, Bomani, and even kings must be thankful for her light.”

“The moon will go, and it will be back again, and it will go, and it will come back.” Bomani made light of the message his mother attempted to express.

“My son, the moon has great power,” she continued, “and if we are fortunate, we may get just a hint of that power from her. Why, you yourself were born under a full moon.”

“At every full moon,” his mother continued, “I think of you, my youngest child, and I give thanks to her.

“You mean small one,” Bomani replied — unwilling to allow his mother’s sentiment and warmth to change his mood.

“You will grow,” she said.

“I don’t want to grow. I want to be big now.”

“Don’t be so anxious to grow up. When you are a child, you are free of responsibility and duty. Once childhood is gone, you will never see it again, aside from watching children play, and then you will understand how free you are now in childhood. Why do you think your father indulges you so? He looks at you and he remembers his childhood. He also knows what you will be faced with when you are a man, and he wants you to enjoy this time in your life while you can,”

“But, I’m ready now! I’m ready to show Father how great I can be now, and that I am just as great as Mongo!” Just as he said this, two villagers danced by in masks, singing, “Mongo, Mongo, Mongo.” Their festive chants and unintentional mocking snatched Bomani’s breath away. He lowered his head as if he’d been defeated and sighed. The Queen placed her arms around his slender shoulders, and this time he didn’t pull away. He sat next to his mother for a moment and released his anger.

“Don’t worry so much about being king. If your happiness only resides in the highest of goals, the rest of your life will be empty. Sometimes, it’s the littlest things. Every man, just as every tree in the land, and every hawk that flies above, and even the great Madunia herself, blossoms in its own time. You will blossom in your own time, but for now, it is your bedtime,” said the queen. She wanted to kiss him and feel his familiar forehead against her lips, as she used to when he was younger, but out of respect for his need to be seen as a man she did not. Bomani looked into his mother’s eyes, torn between being the little boy who found comfort in her arms, and his need to prove himself a man.

“Girls blossom mother.”

Her response was a smile, and then she realized that perhaps there was yet another topic that they needed to discuss, girls. But she would save that one for another day.

“Before you go to sleep,” she said, “You should say good night to your father, and congratulate your brother on his victory. He could have lost his life tonight.”

“Yes, Mother.”

Despite both of their reservations, she leaned over to his forehead and pressed her lips against his ebony skin. “Good night, my son.”

III EAVESDROPPING

Mongo entered his father’s quarters with the lion stretched across his shoulders. His father applauded him and stepped forward as his son approached him. “A fine prize for you, my son, but you need to take it easy, until you have healed,” said the king.

“A gift for you, Father,” said Mongo laying the lion on the ground.

“You have once again proven yourself to be a great warrior. I’m proud of you.”

“It came at a price, Bogo’s life.”

“Bogo’s life ended earlier than one might expect, still he died the way that a warrior would wish to, in battle. Don’t forget that.”

“No Father, I don’t think that I will.”

“Now,” said the king. “If you are ever to be king, you must learn the meaning of all things. What of this lion? What does it mean?”

“It worries me father. The lion should not have come into Ufalme. It must have been desperate and hungry. Look at how skinny his body is. This animal was starving to death.”

“Yes,” said the king, “it would seem that he didn’t have a choice, did he? It doesn’t seem that he was in any shape to catch much of anything.”

“Our land is dying father,” Mongo said.

The king sighed. He stood silent for a moment. Then he looked at the gifts his people had given to him. The jewels, the precious metals, the animal hides, the vegetables, all this at a time when food had become more and more scarce. The king felt uneasy about receiving these things from the people during a time of near famine, but offerings given to a king from his subjects were tradition. The people lived by it and he too always followed the old ways. It was their way.

“And what do I do with all of this?” asked the king. “The people give too generously.”

“They love you, Father. They give to you because you give to them.”

“Soon I will be able to give them nothing, and they will have nothing to give.”

The king contemplated what his son suggested and tried to conceal his concern about the true state of things in his kingdom, since the drought began. Suddenly, in the corner of the king’s quarters, there was movement and both father and son’s attention averted to the sound. Mongo readied his hand on his knife as he met the eyes of the king. Mongo nodded and motioned toward something off to the right of them. The king nodded in agreement. Then Mongo noticed the shadow on the floor outlining a familiar shape. He whispered into his father’s ear. “I think it is the young one.”

The king smiled and nodded his head. “Guards,” he said. There is an intruder in here. Find him.”

“Yes sire,” the guards shouted.

“And when you find him,” the king added. “Kill him! Bring me his heart on a stick! We will feed him to the pigs!”

“No!” It was Bomani. He stepped out from the large, wood-carved totem that he had been hiding behind, He felt disappointed in himself because he had betrayed his own hiding place.

Mongo laughed. “Bomani, come out where I can see you!” demanded the King.

Bomani stood behind a carefully pruned sweet thorn.

“Why are you hiding? Were you eavesdropping again? What have I told you about that?” demanded the king.

“Shall we kill him, and feed him to the pigs my king?” asked one of the guards who had realized that this was all a game.

“What do you think Mongo?”

“Well, I suppose, that if he comes out and gives himself up, we will only jail him for the rest of his life.”

“Very funny,” Bomani mocked cynically then approached King Jumbe and his brother haughtily.

“I’m sorry, Father, I just came to say goodnight.”

Bomani greeted his father informally, and stood opposite them. It seemed Bomani’s mind never tired from measuring himself against his brother. He took pleasurable notice of the possibility that at the rate he was growing, some day he might stand taller than both his brother and his father. However, this small measure of satisfaction was instantly cancelled by the fact that this matter didn’t seem to bother Mongo in the slightest.

Mongo was not only the older brother, he was also bigger and stronger; he didn’t even realize that they were in competition. Mongo doted on his brother, and was proud of the man Bomani was becoming. Mongo was just being himself, noble and gallant. He was so fond of his brother and father that his efforts in excellence were to please his family, and represent them with honor, not because he sought after the throne. Still, Bomani constantly measured himself against his brother. He constantly made comparisons although there really were none.

While Bomani was still learning how to master his strengths and abilities, Mongo had already acquired the full deft and strength of a man, and perfected his skills. Mongo’s agility was not only swift, and his blows powerful, but his aim was always precise. When Mongo wrestled him, Bomani knew that his brother did not exert his full strength against him, by the ease with which he tossed him about when they played and tussled. This angered Bomani, for he wanted no favors. Yet, Mongo could already see that Bomani was well past the skill level that he had when he was the same age. He took great pride in helping his brother become stronger. In his eyes, the master is truly content when the student has surpassed him. And Mongo, though well qualified for the task, did not seek the throne.

Still, in Bomani’s eyes, Mongo was his competition and it was this feeling of competition that inspired Bomani to physically excel in all tasks. He was indeed better than the rest of the boys his age. He had worked very hard to become so. Bomani knew that in time, and with age, he would be an equal match for his brother. He studied his brother’s attributes profusely. He studied Mongo’s precision, speed, and panther-like agility. Secretly, he admired Mongo more than he did anyone in the kingdom, aside from King Jumbe himself. Though, he would rather be swallowed by crocodiles, than admit it.

Mongo patted Bomani on the back affectionately. “How are you little brother? Did you enjoy the games this evening?” Mongo asked.

Bomani answered sarcastically, “Yes, and you were, as usual, amazing.” He looked away, pretending to be uninterested, and then he challenged his brother again proudly.

“I may soon join you and the others in the games.” Bomani said.

“Someday soon, yes,” Mongo said, favorably, “You should be preparing yourself formally if you want to compete. Perhaps one day you will even beat me.”

“Yes, some day I will!” Bomani said.

Mongo and King Jumbe looked up at Bomani and then at each other. They were both amused and yet concerned that he was so solemn.

“Are you not proud of your brother?” asked the king.

“Yes Father, but when do I get to compete in the games?” Bomani asked.

“In time my son,” said the king.

“In the meantime, little brother, I will continue to help you prepare,” said Mongo.

“No, I will train on my own,” Bomani said.

Mongo and the king chuckled. “A young boy who does not want help,” said the king.

“Excuse me Father. I will leave you two alone. Good night, Bomani,” Mongo said.

“Good night, Son,” the king said to Mongo.

“Good night, Mongo,” Bomani said.

The king began to remove his accessories and jewels. “Bomani,” the king began, “what is bothering you?” Bomani brooded over the question for a moment.

“I guess tonight Mongo has again proven himself to be king; killing a lion and all.”

“You should not worry yourself over these matters, son. Being king is both an honor and a burden. For now focus your attention on the small tasks that I give to you.”

“Small tasks? In two days I have to travel to Grun village. Anyone can do that. I can do much more!”

“Bomani, I need you to assess the effects of the drought there. That small village is still my responsibility. You want to be king so badly, then, you should understand that what is important to me, your King, should also be important to you.”

“You’re right.”

A few more villagers could be heard in the distance and Mongo’s name trailed them as they walked past. Bomani looked away; he looked miserable. The king caught sight of this and asked sympathetically, “And what would you do if you were king?”

“Why, I would rule the land, and I would keep my people happy.” Bomani answered.

He looked earnestly to his father for a reply.

“Happy? And, how would you do that? How would you make the crops fertile again to feed the people? How would you make the rain come to end this terrible drought? How would you feed the cattle so that they might be strong again?”

“I don’t know, Father, but, I would try.”

“Yes,” the king said, “I’m sure you would.”

IV A NEW DIRECTION

Before the sun rose the next morning, the king rose prematurely. The long drought that plagued his kingdom troubled him deeply. He worried over the kingdom so much that it was becoming more and more difficult for him to sleep at all. So while most of Ufalme rested from the festivities from the night before, the king and his advisor, Anu, walked through the queen’s garden. There were many sections within the confines of the king’s compound. It sat on the top of a hill in the center of the kingdom. In the center of the compound there were the king’s quarters, the main hall, the family’s quarters, and surrounding these stood the royal temple and the houses of the king’s closest and most important advisors. Among those advisors was Anu, the wisest astrologer in the land. Anu was short and scrawny. He hobbled when he walked, as a man does who is well beyond his years.

They walked beyond the compounds of the kingdom and made their way to the farmland that provided for the people. These days, it was barely sufficient. King Jumbe couldn’t help but reflect upon the queen’s garden, and how it prospered inside the walls of Ufalme. He spent an enormous amount of the kingdom’s resources to keep it that way.

“Najila’s garden requires too much of our water,” King Jumbe said to Anu, “To continue to maintain it is an absurd vanity, while my people can barely put food in their bowls,” he concluded. “Instruct Mjome to reduce the garden’s water ration and give it to the people. Some of her arrangements must go. Of course, someone will have to tell her. I give this responsibility to you, Anu.”

At times, Anu’s job had its advantages, and at others it seemed that he was given the most enduring tasks. Telling the queen that she had to reduce her garden would be one of them. “May I suggest that you keep the garden strong and flourishing, sire? The garden represents the queen. The queen represents the kingdom. And the kingdom represents the people. If the garden wilts, so will the people’s spirits.”

Just as Anu had squirmed his way out of giving Queen Najila bad news, the king’s chief cultivator, Mjome approached. Mjome was a lean, wiry, little man who seemed not to have an ounce of fat on him. From years and years of supervising the planters in the fields, and working with the land, his skin was darker than mahogany and as smooth as satin. He looked much younger than the king, who had finished at least fifty years — although he was ten years older. The king knelt and picked up a hand full of lifeless, brown dirt. The light, arid soil poured between his fingers like powder, and the dehydrated particles blew into the already hot morning air.

“Dust!” The king barked. “My kingdom, my land, all of it is turning to dust, before my eyes.”

“It is steadily getting worse, Sire,” the lead farmer replied.

The king walked over to a nearby tree whose scarce and withered fruit hung feebly from its bare twigs.

“How am I supposed to feed my kingdom with this?” King Jumbe demanded. “I fear that soon, the entire kingdom will be as barren as the Forbidden Expanse,” he said.

“It is not my fault, Sire,” Mjome proclaimed. “My farmers are all saying the same thing; all of the wells are drying up. We now have been sending water fetchers to the south near the village of Animen. Salinization has occurred, Sire, due to high evaporation resulting from the drought. The water holding capacity of the soil has become so poor that the nutrients in the soil are almost depleted!”

“You will not address the king in that manner!” exclaimed Anu.

“Relax Anu,” said the king, “Mjome, I do hold you responsible for the crops.”

“But, sire…," blurted Mjome.

“Do not interrupt. I do hold you responsible, but I do not blame you. No matter, I want the same yield as last year.”

“But, sire…”

“I said the same yield!” The king insisted as his voice echoed with strength. He dusted the rest of the soil from his palms. “Yes, Sire,” Mjome responded in deference to the authority of the king. The king glared at him, and without another word, he walked away and Anu followed.

****

Bomani had been riding his rhino for about an hour. These rhinos were larger than regular rhinoceroses and they were domesticated enough to be controlled. Often, they were used for battle because of their tough skin and the mighty horns on their snouts, which in battle were used as weapons. Bomani had his favorite, a bull he named Nassir. Nassir had both speed and strength on his side. Bomani handpicked him from the other calves when he was just a few weeks old. By this time, he and Nassir had a somewhat symbiotic relationship. Nassir knew the meaning of every twitch, turn, pull, kick, and noise that came from Bomani’s mouth, sometimes even before he initiated a command.

They rode north across the dusty land as fast as they could. He snapped the reins harder and harder to push the beast to its limit. They ran their normal route, passed the huge leaning boulder and up along the riverside. It was the same route Bomani’s father had taken him on many times when he was younger.

The King would point out the level of the river and tell him how high it used to be back before he was born. Over the years, Bomani witnessed the level getting lower and lower, until now, it was lucky to be muddy at high tide.

He rode the rhino away from the river and up the incline of the land to a cliff, back toward the direction of Ufalme. It was here amongst the large rocks and boulders scattered about that he practiced his skills as a warrior. He dismounted the heaving bull and set it free. Nassir went off running, but made it a point to stay within an ear’s range of his master’s call. With one yell, “oooooooo, ooooooooh”, the bull would head back to his master’s side.

Bomani grabbed his spear firmly and ran as hard as he could. Then he plunged his spear into the ground, vaulting himself atop a large rock. He performed a quick summersault backwards landing in a readied battle stance. He bowed humbly to an imaginary crowd, and then waved appreciatively to the invisible subjects conjured by his imagination. This is what Bomani did with most of his time. He escaped from the boundaries of his father’s compound, and worked on sharpening his skills.

He imagined himself in battle with an imaginary foe and swung his spear, blocked make-believe blows with his shield, and jumped back and forth across the rocks adding as many summersaults, backwards and forwards, that his endurance could muster. He practiced for so long that he had exhausted himself, soon he sat against a nearby tree to rest. He closed his eyes and focused on the energy of his body, listening to his heavy breathing and the strong thumping of his heart. He felt powerful after he practiced, and felt himself getting better and stronger with the conquering of each faux adversary. And then, just as he had focused all of his attention on himself, something grabbed him from behind!

“Who will save you now?” he heard an awfully familiar voice say. It was Anan. Bomani acted quickly and threw his weight forward. He grabbed Anan by the head and tossed him over onto the ground. Just as Bomani started to stand, three other boys attacked him from behind. They wrestled him to the ground, and now there were three of them on top of him using their weight to keep him from moving. He lay face down on the ground and then looked up to see Anan walking over to him.

When they were younger, they all played together daily, but as Bomani grew and developed a superiority complex, he no longer wanted to play with the others. His arrogance was apparent. He didn’t hesitate to make the others feel as if they were inferior to him, because of this, they lashed back at him. This began a vicious cycle of Bomani having to prove himself time and time again. Bomani didn’t realize it, but he had only himself to blame.

This concept holds true to many of us. Often, we dismiss the effect that our actions have on others. You would be surprised at how many of our problems are our own fault.

“I told you that soon I would beat you,” said Anan grimacing in the glare of the sunlight.

Bomani laughed. “Hah! You haven’t beaten me. It has taken four of you to surprise me from behind to get this far.”

“Hey, those are big words from the boy on the ground,” Anan replied.

“I said the same yield!” They all heard the voice of King Jumbe. Anan walked over to the edge of the cliff and saw the king and Anu approaching from below. They stopped just below the cliff where the four boys stood over Bomani.

“The king is coming! Let him up!” Anan said to his minions.

“Once again Anan, it is you that is saved,” said Bomani as the boys let him loose. He walked over to Anan and stared him straight in the eyes with authority, and then turned toward the sound of his father and Anu below.

“I can hear them,” said one of the boys. “What are they talking about,” said another. All of them, Bomani included, lay on their stomachs and leaned over the cliff to hear the discussion. No one made a sound.

“He will not be able to produce the same yield,” Anu continued.

“I know that, Anu, but I must provoke him to do his best. Still, now that it is once again just you and I, I would like to hear more of the scepter. We will keep it between us for now. I don’t want to give my people false hopes until I am sure of a plan.”

“It is man’s relationship with the gods that has always helped us to prosper, Sire,” said Anu.

“Go on…”

“We as a people have fallen from their grace. The people have lost touch with the gods, and they feel as if they have been forgotten.”

“And you know what the gods think and want?”

“It is my job, Sire.”

“Hmmm…”

“In the past, man strengthened his bonds with the gods with the Ifa Scepter. It is through the Ifa Scepter that we can embrace the Ifa divination.”

“Yes, my grandfather spoke to me of this scepter — that through it, the people and the gods were one. My father did not condone such mysteries. He was strictly a man of evidence.”

“Yes, yes! Precisely, Sire, and if your Excellence will forgive me for saying so, the lands have suffered for his sacrilege and impudent ways. You have been wise to remember the old ways, Sire. Man cannot prosper without the help of the gods.”

The king’s annoyance at Anu’s candor was eclipsed by the fact that he agreed whole-heartedly. He respected his father’s love of nature, his quest for reason, and his use of logic and mathematics, but there was something undeniable about man’s relationship with the earth and the heavens, and the king would not rule them out.

“Yes Anu, but it has been lost,” said King Jumbe regretfully.

“Not lost Sire, stolen! And for almost twenty years we have been slipping further and further away from the gods; and further and further away from our prosperity.” Anu’s tone became very solemn and intent. “But, I now know of where it resides. I know where it can be found again,” Anu declared.

From a long, leather tube that hung at his side, across his body—where he carried his blade, his writing utensils and a few important scrolls, he pulled out a map. He unrolled the map and laid it before the king. The king placed a rock upon each of the four corners of the map and looked at it intently, awaiting Anu’s summation.

“We have scouted the region. It seems that Ufalme is the center of the drought. After seventy miles in any direction there is no sign of a drought at all. But it has been steadily growing larger, year after year. I fear that even if we moved the people, it would only be a matter of time before the drought followed. I am certain that without the Ifa Scepter the land can never be restored.”

“That would prove to be a hard task to overcome in itself, moving an entire kingdom,” said the king. He continued to study the map and Anu looked on keenly.

“What does it mean, one child of the moon, and one born under it?” the king asked.

“I’m not sure,” Anu replied.

“I thought it was your job to know,” the king reminded Anu.

“Many words of the gods are subject to vast interpretations. I can only guess that it describes two individuals that are to fulfill a prophecy.”

Anan looked at Bomani and smiled, “Bomani, I am willing to put an end to our quarreling. After all, we are of the same people and in the same kingdom. With all that is happening to the North, all the kingdoms and villages divided by war, we should be as brothers.”

Bomani looked at Anan with contempt and distrust, “Still, brother, I know you all too well.”

“The map,” Anan responded, “You should get it, and fetch this scepter.”

“That’s my father’s business. I won’t interfere with that.”

“Ah, but you are the king’s son. Who better to retrieve it? If you do this, then I will never doubt you. I will praise you. Even more than that, I will stand up to anyone that doubts you.”

“I find it hard to believe that you would ever praise me, Anan. I assume you think that I will fail. That is the real reason you want me to do it. You want to gloat in my failure,” Bomani said.

“Hey, don’t do it just for me. I know you want to be king. If you do this, then surely people will see your strength above Mongo’s. Just think of the admiration that the people will have for you. Everyone will speak of how you saved the kingdom!”

Bomani really didn’t need to be convinced. In his heart, he wanted to do it the moment that Anan proposed the idea. He didn’t need any encouragement. Still, Bomani knew that Anan’s motives did not have his best interest in mind, but it didn't matter. From that moment on, Bomani knew what he was going to do.

He waited until Anu was asleep and then he stole the map right out from under his nose. It wasn’t hard. Anu snored like a sick ogre. He set out in the middle of the night, taking with him only what he needed: a long spear and his blade; both rested in their places in his shield, which he carried on his back. He wore it in sort of a backpack style with both of his arms fit through straps. He also carried with him a pouch made of leather secured around his shoulder. Inside were two fire rocks, and a boar’s gut for carrying water.

With any luck, no one would miss him for a few days. The following day, he was due to make his way to the Grun Village to report back on dwindling conditions. It would be a week before there was any concern to his whereabouts. By then he would be on his way back, at least that’s what he thought.

V The Anifem

Bomani traveled on foot for two long days heading south until he hit the mountains and then followed them eastward until the land began turning green again. From the coloring of some of the trees that were pink, purple, and blue, he knew that he was somewhere near the village of the Animen. He made his way toward a small stream, which rustled its way downhill through the thick.

The stream was clear, and a good spot for him to fish. He stood poised; in the middle of it now, tracking the movements of the fish as they swam past his legs. He held his spear, ready to strike. It would have been much easier if he had simply made himself a crude fishing rod with his spear — using some string, a knife, and a small piece of bait, but Bomani didn’t want to make things easy for himself. That wasn’t his style. He’d much rather struggle if it meant improving his physical skills.

He caught sight of something dark moving in the water in his peripheral vision. He turned his head quickly and focused on a fish coming his way. As soon as the fish was in range, he stabbed at it quickly with his spear.

The sound of the spear entering the water was soft compared to Bomani’s gasp of disgust for his miss. His spear pierced the soft mud on the bed of the stream. When the water calmed, Bomani stood and peered at his own reflection, and doubted himself. He not only doubted his skill at fishing, but also his whole journey altogether. For a moment Bomani was consumed with thoughts of failure. He feared that he wasn’t yet strong enough for the task ahead, and that he was too young. He wanted to give up and go home, but this wasn’t his way. Most people would have given into their fears of failure and quit. Not Bomani. It was just this sort of conflict within himself that made him stronger and pushed him forward. He shook off the useless thoughts that gripped him — devoured them like a snake devourers its prey — and decided to move on.

Bomani pulled his spear from the water and waited intently. He held it firmly but loosely enough to allow a fluid connection with his weapon. He waited patiently to catch sight of another fish in the water below, and once again his eyes glimpsed the movement of a fish cutting through the water. With one swift motion, he thrust his spear towards his prey. The wounded fish fluttered about as he pulled it off of the spear. Bomani admired his work with an overwhelming sense of confidence, and looked at the fish arrogantly, as if it was a life long nemesis that he had easily conquered. After all, he was Bomani, and not to be trifled with.

“Humph,” Bomani said. He tossed the fish back and forth in his hands and boasted about his technique and skill in spearing the fish, when abruptly he was startled by something swift and shadowy. Suddenly the fish was gone. He grabbed his spear instinctively, and could feel his heart pounding wildly in his chest. He was ready to take on someone or something, or be taken. Either way, he was ready to fight. To his surprise, when he looked around there was a small blue haired wolf pup. It stood by the water looking playful with Bomani’s fish in its mouth.

Annoyed, but relieved, Bomani let down his guard and exhaled. The pup looked back at him teasingly. It wanted Bomani to chase him. The young wolf turned away, as if to run, and then paused and watched Bomani as it waited for him.

“Hey, give that back!” Bomani yelled. He started after the pup and dove toward it, but the animal evasively jumped out of Bomani’s reach and he fell, face down, into the water. Bomani turned over and heard a voice.

“You’ll never catch him,” said the voice.

It was the voice of a pretty young girl. She stood about twenty feet away from Bomani, and was dressed in a blue hooded cloak that matched the hues of the precocious wolf pup that taunted him. A gold headband of sorts peeked out from under her hood across her forehead. It held a medallion of two wolves howling at the moon. She held a long staff upright, made of a strange, grayish-blue, twisted wood. At the top of the stick, an invisible force held a luminous crystal in place, which hovered over the tip of the staff centered within a hook. Her name was Farra and she snickered in a cheerful manner as she spoke to Bomani. The playful pup amused her, but Bomani was not amused at all. Farra’s laughter irritated him. He looked at her with disgust and said, “That was my breakfast.” He wanted to assure her that this was not a joke, “I spent all morning trying to catch that!”

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I UFALME

II THE BOY

III EAVESDROPPING

V The Anifem