“Father, I need to speak with you.”

 

The words left his lips right when he lifted the thick flap that covered the entrance to his father’s big tent.

 

He’d come to his father’s tent dressed in his best ceremonial garb, hoping that as soon as he walked in he’d be taken seriously.

 

….he soon wished he hadn’t, M'Khokeli’s eyes quickly taking note of the fact that his father wasn’t alone. 

 

M'Khokeli’s father, dark-skinned like the rest of their people but with black hair that looked almost as red as blood at the tips, lounged on his throne. The rest of the council sat on either side around him, all of them staring at him in silence as soon as he came in.

 

He gulped, sweat dripping down the side of his face even though it was still lightly snowing outside. Suddenly, he wasn’t really all that sure about his idea after all. Especially when they were all arranged like the mouth of a tiger, the open jaw facing towards him, their eyes somehow sharper than any animal’s fangs could possibly be. 

 

M'Khokeli’s mind went blank, scrambling to find words to say when the whole room was full of people that seemed to salivate as they stared, treating him like a lamb about to be fed to the wolves. 

 

Raucous laughter boomed out from one of the men seated next to his father, breaking the silence. “Hoh! Come in, boy. Come in!” The man stood up, tall with a slightly bulging belly, his hair so long that it swung behind his back in braids. 

 

M'Khokeli took a deep breath, before striding as confidently as he could towards his father in the center of the room. He smiled gratefully to the man, who he recognized as the High Priest, Khuselwa. 

 

The High Priest nodded back to him, rubbing his hand on the child’s head. “I remember when I was your age. I always wanted my father’s attention too. I could never get enough of it.” Khuselwa leaned in as if he was about to share a joke. “Hoh, you know, sometimes, I felt like Hanuman was practically my brother with how much I had to fight to tear my father’s attention from him.”

 

M'Khokeli giggled, the thought of the High Priest fighting against the monkey god Hanuman for an old man’s attention just made him laugh. “So, so? Did you win?” He eagerly asked.

 

The older man dramatically sighed. “No, unfortunately not. That old monkey was always better than I was with a staff.” He said. “So I made a deal with him. If he would stop bugging my old man on Fridays, Saturdays and Sundays, I would tell him my best kept secret.” The High Priest paused. “And it worked! And that’s why we have meetings like this every Friday.” Khuselwa nodded, as if he was congratulating himself for a job well done. 

 

Everyone snickered at the High Priest’s grandstanding and absolute nonsense, while M'Khokeli stared at him with furrowed eyebrows. “But you never said what it was that you told Hanuman!”

 

Khuselwa winked. “That’s a secret, young Spiritualist. Hoh, my best-kept secret, in fact. Maybe one day you’ll have something you can trade for it, but for now, didn’t you want to talk to your father?”

 

Heat filled his cheeks as he turned back to face his father…..and tried his best to ignore everyone’s chuckles. 

 

M'Khokeli stared up at his father, who always seemed so much bigger than everyone else, especially when he was on his throne. There was a stern look on the older man’s face...before it broke into a smile. “What did you want to talk to me about, M'Khokeli? Did your older sister steal your snacks again?”

 

He bit his lip. “Father, may-maybe it would be better if we talked alone.” 

 

The warrior with reddish-black hair lounging on the throne waved his hand away casually. “My son, anything you want to say to me you can say to all of us here. We’re all one family here, I trust them like I trust my brothers and sisters.” 

 

------------------------------------

Unknown to M'Khokeli at the time, the rest of the tribal council were whispering among themselves.

 

“Wasn’t he an only child?”  One of them whispered. 

 

“There was actually a time when we all thought that he was going to have a younger brother. They were going to name him T’Challa.” Another, this one a much older woman, replied. She shook her sadly. “The younger one was stillborn.”

--------------------------------------

 

“Father, I think I’ve had a vision from Hanuman.”

 

The buzz in the air from all the chatter froze. 

 

“Young Spiritualist,” Much like the first time, Khuselwa broke the silence first. Unlike last time, though, his voice had a stern, chiding tone to it. “I understand that it’s been a year since you were anointed by the previous Spiritualist. Hoh, however, this is a big responsibility, and certain things you say have more weight to them because of it. Even if you are feeling restless, there are some things that you shouldn’t do.”

 

With each passing word, M’Khokeli shrank under the older man’s stern gaze more and more until he was practically huddling in on himself.

 

“Khuselwa!” The man on the throne barked. 

 

The High Priest straightened and nodded towards him. “My apologies, Chief. I overspoke.”

 

The other man shook his head, his features softened. “No, Khuselwa. You’ve served the Jabari well as the High Priest, even in my father’s later years as Chief. There will never come a time where I would dare say that you’ve spoken too much. Still,” He paused. “No matter how young they are, we should not ignore the words of our Spiritualist.” 

 

The enthroned warrior turned his gaze towards the young Spiritualist that had brought them all the news. Gone was the smile he’d had for his son. In its place was the hardened, calculating scowl of the leader of a nation. “Tell me, our Spiritualist, what have the gods shown you?”

 

Though his face was incredibly stern, his eyes were practically begging M’Khokeli not to have made anything up. He would rather his son have been telling the truth, and then deal with the dire situations that always occurred when one dealt with the gods, than have to punish his son for having lied about receiving a vision. 

 

If it had just been the matter of a child interrupting a council meeting for a few moments to talk with their father, that was something that could’ve been swept under the rug. Children were allowed to make mistakes. 

 

If a Spiritualist had been found to have been lying about receiving a vision, though, an example would have to be made. Such lies were easily found out. Not only would it make the people lose faith in their protectors, both mortal and divine, but it might also incur the latter’s wrath. 

 

He shivered at the thought. Even though the Jabari were well-isolated from the other tribes and such events had never happened in his rule, tales were still told from the time of his Grandfather when one of the Border Tribe had angered Sekhmet. 

 

The gods had lines that only fools would cross. 

 

_______________

For better or worse though, M’Khokeli proved that he, at least, truly believed that he had seen a vision. Although there was no way for him to share it with others, just the mere description of the events that occurred in it gave the High Priest a faraway look in his eyes.

_______________

 

“This is worrying.” Khuselwa said after a thought, stroking his braided beard in contemplation. “Young Spiritualist, I mean no disrespect, but I really wish this had been the antics of a restless child eager for attention.”

 

M’Khokeli bit his lip, not knowing what to say.

 

“Khuselwa!” One of the other councilmen stood up in disbelief. “Are you really even considering that any of this could be true? Why should we believe the words of a six year old child?” He spat out. “Food shortages, natural disasters, the Panther Tribe, all are matters that require our immediate attention. Not,” He glared at the boy in the center of the room. “The antics of a child barely weaned from his mother’s milk.”  

 

The Chief scowled, his face reddening. Questioning the legitimacy of a Spiritualist’s vision was one thing, but to openly insult his child was another! “Imfazwe, you dare!” He yelled, leaping up from his throne. “Say it again. Say it again! My spear always thirsts for blood!”

 

The young Spiritualist shrank into himself.

 

The other council members immediately leapt to their feet as well. It wasn’t always done, but a trial by combat was one of their fastest ways of deciding how to handle delicate matters. Not only did it resolve things quickly, but such a tradition was also highly respected by everyone in the tribe. No matter the outcome, they would all kneel before the victor.

 

 The tension was thick in the air, like a rope pulled taut. At the drop of a pin, EVERYTHING would change, and change violently. The visibly-angered Chief, the High Priest who had clearly already made up his mind, and Imfazwe’s faction. Everyone else in the tent held their breath. 

 

There was a pause.

 

“Ahem.” A soft voice rang out. All eyes turned to an elderly woman, whose hair was wrapped in cloth. “Why don’t we all sit back down?” She suggested. “Standing for too long in the cold has always been hard on these old bones of mine.” 

 

A look passed between the Chief and the council member who’d spoken out against M’Khokeli. As one, they both sat down, with the rest of the council hesitantly following suit soon after. 

 

“Thank you, dears. You’re always so kind to an old woman like me.” She said with a knowing smile, once she and everyone else had taken their seat. “Now, I’m sure that Imfazwe didn’t mean to insinuate anything unbecoming of your son now.” The elderly woman with the shawl looked over to said man, who looked like he’d just swallowed a lemon. “After all, I raised him and all the other boys in his generation better than that. Didn’t I?”

 

“You did, Grandmother Fundiswa.” He said grudgingly. Turning to the Chief, he bowed his head. “I….apologize, my Chief.” He spoke through clenched teeth. “It was not my intention to say anything untoward of your son.”

 

Fundiswa, the elderly councilwoman, turned to the warrior sitting on the throne. “And I’m sure that our Chief M’Baku did not mean to act so hastily in invoking a trial by combat, aren’t I?”  

 

Chief M’Baku grunted. 

 

Elder Fundiswa’s eyes narrowed. “Especially since a trial called by one of the Council, during a council meeting, would have to be overseen by everyone who witnessed the declaration.” She said, her eyes flickering to a certain Spiritualist in the middle of the room. 

 

There was a pause.

 

“Of course, Grandmother Fundiswa.” He said through clenched teeth. Eyeing the councilor who’d insulted his son, he suddenly broke into a smile, one full of sharp fangs. “Elder Imfazwe, my apologies. I may have been….hasty in my actions.”

 

Elder Imfazwe narrowed his eyes but nodded nonetheless. 

 

It was all fake and they both knew it. Still, they would let things lie.

 

For now, at least.

 

Grandmother Fundiswa sat back with a satisfied smile. “Oh, you two spoil this old woman.” She looked over to Khuselwa. “Perhaps now would be a good time to better explain your findings, High Priest.”

 

“Hoh. Of course, Grandmother. M’Khokeli, if you would?” He beckoned to the young Spiritualist. Soon, both of them were standing in the middle of the tent facing the Council. “Close your eyes, boy.”

 

M’Khokeli did as the High Priest ordered, his father and the rest of the council soon disappeared, replaced by varying shades of darkness which covered his vision. Oddly enough, just the fact that he couldn’t see them was already helping him calm down. ‘Adults are crazy.’ That was the thought that stuck with him the most after everything that he’d witnessed since he’d come into the tent.

 

….He only hoped that he’d be able to stay sane after he became one.

 

“Hoh. Good, M’Khokeli. Now, breathe, and recall what you saw after the events of your vision today.” Visions granted by those of a higher plane were not able to be directly shared, as High Priest he knew this well. They were given to either one person or to multiple people, but no one aside from those who were directly given it to were able to see it. 

 

Signs, however, were different. The memories of those that were witnessed in the physical plane could be shared among others. It was fortunate, as even the most inconsequential of details could reveal something monumentous.

 

The six year old Spiritualist took a deep breath, air rushing into his lungs. He breathed, in and out, over and over again until suddenly, he felt as if his whole body was breathing with him. 

 

Khuselwa, the High Priest of the Jabari, nodded in satisfaction. It was always astounding to him how fast the young one was able to put himself in a trance. ‘So young and so talented.’ He thought to himself. He’d been doubtful when the Spiritualist prior chose M’Khokeli to be the next Spiritualist of the tribe. There only ever seemed to be reasons why the boy shouldn’t be considered, starting with the fact that taking a higher position in the faith meant that M’Khokeli would never be able to be Chieftain of the Jabari Tribe.

 

He would forever be just Chief M’Baku’s son, never the Chief himself. M’Baku’s ruling lineage would end. 

 

Ridding himself of such thoughts, Khuselwa reached around his back and grabbed his knopkeire. “Do you have it?” He asked.

 

“Yes, High Priest.” A calm, serene tone floated back from M’Khokeli. “I have it.”

 

Khuselwa readied his staff. Lightly touching the top of it to the boy’s forehead, he uttered one word. “Umoya.”

 

M’Khokeli, the youngest Spiritualist to ever be anointed in the Jabari Tribe, exhaled. 

 

A silvery mist flowed from his mouth like a slow moving wind. Once it reached a certain distance from the two of them, the mist spread out, covering a circular area the size of a large table. It curled back inwards at the edges, most of the substance rushing back towards the center, leaving only a thin layer to provide the large, circular platform. 

 

The circular platform bubbbled, until some parts had grown into points and others had sunken into pits.

 

As one, everyone in the room turned to follow the mist with their eyes.

 

A spiraling tower rose up from the center, collecting in a thick blob a foot off of the rest of the bottommost layer. The tower connecting the two masses thinned until it became little more than a string as thin as a spider’s thread, before even that snapped.

 

The spherical mass, now hanging completely untethered above the circular surface of the rest of the silvery mist, spun, bits of it being whipped out and covering the area above the platform, until it had shredded itself into a much, much smaller ball. The other bits that had separated now floated around, drifting from side to side.

 

“This is where his memories of the signs in the physical plane begin.” Khuselwa’s voice broke the silence that had enthralled the council. None of them were at all shocked by what had just happened, this was clearly not the first time they’d seen something like it. “I will make the memory march onwards.” 

 

The High Priest tapped the butt of his staff against the ground. “Khumbula.”

 

The silvery ball of mist floating in the air started to shine. Little by little, the amount of light that it emitted went from what you would expect from a smoldering ember until it eclipsed what you would expect from a roaring campfire. However, no heat came from it whatsoever. 

 

Bits and pieces fell from the small, drifting parts above the rest of the circular platform, falling until less than a quarter of them remained in the sky, having fallen to cover the “ground”. 

 

“Snow fell from the sky and covered the earth.” Khuselwa’s voice rang out.

 

Suddenly, the sphere sent down a part of itself towards where all of the rest had fallen. This thread, however, didn’t stay on the ground. Instead, it was reflected back upwards at an angle and in seven differing strings.

 

“A ray of light fell from above, and after reaching the ground, split back into its 7 primary forms.” 

 

That, however, was not the end.

 

On one of the points on the circular surface of the mist, under the thread that had been broken back into its seven basic colors, an image of a monkey engraved itself there.

 

There was a pause, where no one said anything.

 

Khuselwa, the High Priest, furrowed his brows and said nothing. Unseen by anyone, his grip on his staff tightened, to the point where he felt small cracks form under his hand. 

 

Suddenly unable to stand the silence, Chief M’Baku spoke. “Well? What is it, Khuselwa? Finish with your explanation!”

 

In the cold, chilly air, twin flows of air could be seen as the High Priest furiously exhaled from his nose. “The shadow of the god Hanuman,” He slowly said. “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.”

______________________

Author’s Note:

-Fun fact, in the Ultimate Marvel universe, M’Baku is actually T’Challa’s older brother. That’s where the whole bit with the gossiping Tribal Council came from.

-Additional fact, Wakanda in the comics has 4 main religions/deities: The Panther Cult who worships Bast, The Crocodile Cult who worships Sobek, The White Gorilla Cult who worships Ghekre and the Lion Cult who worships Sekhmet. There are other, more minor beliefs but those are the main ones. The MCU only showed 2 main beliefs (regular Wakanda & Jabari), and they also replaced the worship of Ghekre with Hanuman.

-Societies where large groups of people live close together and depend on each other usually have common titles that they call their elders. Children call adults as “Uncle” or “Aunt”, and the elderly are usually referred to as “Grandmother” or “Grandfather”. It doesn’t matter whether or not you’re related to them. This was very common all across the world and only in the past generation or two has started to die off as a tradition.

-Umoya means “spirit” or “wind” in Xhosa, the language that Okoye (and presumably the rest of Wakanda) speaks in the movie “Black Panther”.

-All non-canon names in this chapter are in Xhosa

-Khumbula means “remember” in Xhosa.

 

Note: I don’t speak Xhosa whatsoever. For any errors in translation, please direct your blame, loathing and utter hatred towards Google Translate.