Dzukwa prince of Uripo raised his hand making a fist as he came to a stop. Behind him, he heard quite a few sighs of relief as the three hundred warriors under his command came to a halt at his signal.

They were all exhausted after running for five straight days with barely any rest. They couldn’t continue like this not all the way to Manika. Not if he wanted his warriors in fighting condition when they arrived.

They were in a mountainous place that was green and breathtakingly beautiful. It was a well-watered area with thick vegetation covering the river valley. Unfortunately for them, to shorten their trip they traveled over the higher ground where only a handful of trees shaded them from the blazing sun.

They were on the last hill, Manika within sight at the foot of Eagle Mountain.  

“Nice,” Itai said surveying the place they would camp for the night.

The hillside would provide protection from the wind and hide their fires from any enemy watching from the village. And an attack from the east would be impossible unless the enemy had learned to fly.

“Where should I put your bedroll, sir?” Anesu’s squeaky voice came from his side. Tall and lanky the teenager grinned up at Dzukwa with obvious awe.

“Put it under that Jackalberry,” Dzukwa replied. The tree he pointed to was halfway up the hill with some of its massive roots above the ground. It would give him a little privacy when it was time to rest.

The boy ran almost tripping on his long legs before he slowed to a more sedate pace more suited to going downhill.

Itai grinned shaking his head, ”Was I ever that eager?”

“You were worse,” Dzukwa replied.

“That can’t be true,” Itai laughed. “I did all the right things. That’s why you made me your second in command.”

“I don’t know about that,” Dzukwa replied scratching his beard. The action helped keep his smile hidden. ”Keeping you next to me was the only way to keep you out of trouble.”

Itai snorted, “Keep telling yourself that old man.”

Dzukwa was thirty-two years old but to a man of twenty-three he probably seemed ancient. To Itai one of the few warriors he’d personally trained the difference between their ages and station was sometimes too wide.

They fell silent as they both gazed at the tallest mountain in Alkebulan. Eagle Mountain. It loomed over them a gray monstrosity so big its peak was invisible, shrouded in white misty clouds. Its shadow eclipsed Manika and several miles back where they’d come from.

“I could touch the end of the sky if I climb Eagle mountain,” Itai said in a reverent voice.

“There you go again talking crazy.”

“You call me crazy but imagine what I could learn,” Itai replied, gaze still fixed on the mountain.

“There is nothing to learn on a granite mountain except maybe how to break your head like a gourd.”

“I’m a good climber but in case I should break my skull I’m sure you’ll be grateful for the peace and quiet.” Dzukwa laughed searching out the land around the mountain. From this distance, it was difficult to see any activity in the village. A fortnight ago Manika village was attacked by the Mutapa. As soon as he heard about it his brother King Uripo sent Dzukwa and his warriors to help.

“You were right to allow us to rest tonight. We wouldn’t have been much use to the villagers of Manika if we’d arrived in our current state,” Itai said.

“It takes too long to get here. The Mutapa warriors will be long gone by now. They avoid trained warriors whenever they can.”

It was the only reason Dzukwa had allowed Chief Ndoro to talk him into bringing Anesu along. Not too dangerous. A perfect initiation for an untried youth.

“They are a bunch of cowards attacking farmers and their families. If they want a fight they should face real warriors, not women and children.”

“Warriors don’t make good slaves.”

“There has to be a way to stop them,” Itai said slamming his fist into his palm.

Dzukwa felt his frustration. He’d asked his father the same question once. Every year the Mutapa came into their lands and robbed them. The theft of food or livestock could be forgiven but these were no ordinary thieves. Once in awhile, they stole people too. Parents lost their children. Children lost their parents. Never to be seen again.

“If there is a way no one has figured it out yet,” Dzukwa said. Ten years ago the attacks had become more frequent. This year alone the Mutapa had come not once but thrice.

“I don’t know about you but I’m too tired to think clearly. Tomorrow will be too soon to deal with Manika,” Itai said. He gave Manika a last look before he left.

Dzukwa was left on the hill still gazing at the village. It was his job as army general to protect the people of Uripo but he’d failed Manika one too many times. He couldn’t provide a solution let alone bring back their loved ones.

They couldn’t predict when a Mutapa raiding party came or even if a raid would cost them more than grain and livestock. Posting a full guard had been tried but it hadn’t made a difference. Somehow they still came through.

To make matters worse the raids were happening more frequently than before. And almost every raid carried away dozens of Manika residents instead of the previous one or two raids in a decade.

At the current rate, Manika would be empty of people within a few years. Something had to be done and fast. But for the life of him, he didn’t know what to do. The Black river divided Uripo and Mutapa. Its fast-moving waters were treacherous. Many brave warriors had died attempting to cross it. Only the Mutapa crossed and no one knew how they did it.

Tomorrow they would go into Manika and it wouldn’t be to fight. It never was. With a sigh, Dzukwa turned away from the view and followed Itai into the camp.

 

Dzukwa was proud of his men. Already the camp was set-up without direction and the hunters sent out to catch their dinner. Everything was smooth and efficient. Just how he liked it. He greeted a few warriors, stopping to chat at a few campfires on his way to his bedroll.

“I’ve never seen a more beautiful place,” Garai said. He was a large bearded veteran who had seen many wars but had never visited Manika. Several men lay around the fire close to his chosen sleeping spot. They were his inner circle. Brothers and comrades in arms.

“Uripo doesn’t look like this even in summer,” Anesu agreed. “If I wasn’t so tired, I know I would appreciate the view much more.”

There were grunts of agreement from the warriors.

“The land is good for farming, but it’s plagued by chilly weather and mists that blanket the area for hours on end,” Tendai commented. He was an older warrior who had traveled the length and breadth of Uripo and beyond.

“I don’t mind mists, but I can’t abide the cold,” Itai said with a shudder.

Dzukwa personally knew that the temperature would drop drastically once the sun had set. He remembered that much from his first visit to Manika when he was a boy of eleven. His father had taken him and his older brother, who was now king, on a trip across Uripo to see the land his brother would one day rule.

He had wondered then why his father hadn’t moved the family to their southeastern border. Manika looked so much prettier, and the ground was known for producing a bountiful harvest. All the trees were green even the Umbrella Thorns. Giant evergreens dotted the Eagle mountain range creating picturesque valleys and gorges divided by silver rivers. It was heavenly.

These thoughts lasted only until night came and with it a deathly chill that penetrated to the marrow of his young bones. Combine that with rainfall that fell regularly even after spring Dzukwa had been more than happy to leave after their weeklong visit was over.

He would choose Zambezia’s warm climate every time. He didn’t envy those who chose to settle here. After all, Manika was the breadbasket of Uripo. Someone had to stay here.

Once he reached his bedroll the relief from the days' heat was immediate. With his back resting against a tree root and his bottom firmly planted on the red soil, the heat of his body gradually dropped back to normal.

He moved his elbow to rest on his bent knee and almost cursed out loud. His muscles ached terribly now that he was stationary. They were punishing him for the abuse he’d forced his body to endure on the long trek to get to this place.

Itai saw his distress and said, “I feel like I’ve been trampled by a herd of elephants too.”

Dzukwa grunted his agreement, exhausted beyond speech.

Dzukwa closed his eyes and fell asleep.

He woke up much later as the sunset painted the sky orange and pink. The camp was more subdued than when he’d gone to sleep. It bore testament to how hard he’d pushed his warriors all the way from Zambezia. They may be useless to those abducted by their enemies but they could at least arrive as quickly as possible to help with repairs.

Wood smoke filled the air but no scent of cooking meat. He rolled onto his stomach and saw Itai approaching. He didn’t look happy.

“The hunters have not yet returned?” Dzukwa asked as he came to his feet.

“No.” Itai replied. “I sent Gari with a few warriors to look for them an hour ago.”

Dzukwa frowned.  They had seen many antelopes today. Finding game should have been easy for skilled hunters.

”An hour ago you say?”

Itai nodded grimly. Something was very wrong.

“Perhaps the Mutapa have finally grown tired of fighting farmers,” Dzukwa said picking up his shield and spear. “Put the men on alert.”

Itai left to carry out his orders.

Suddenly, feeling restless and uneasy, Dzukwa walked to the edge of the camp and studied the forest downhill. The only way an enemy could approach. There was enough cover to hide an army down there.

They were still a full day from Manika. He’d been so sure there were no enemies nearby. The Mutapa had lulled them into complacency.

Behind him, the warriors grew silent and restless as they too waited anxiously for the others to return.

Dzukwa closed his eyes, listening to the sounds of the forest. He tuned out the bird song and the wind as it gently ruffled the leaves of the trees. Searching for anything out of the ordinary.

He heard the subtle scrape of a sandal against rock.

Dzukwa immediately opened his eyes and turned his face towards the sound. And became aware of the threat.

Though he couldn’t see them he could feel their presence in the dense foliage about forty meters from their camp. Before he could whisper a warning Anesu called out.

“Do you see something, sir?”

“Be quiet, you fool.”

Too young and inexperienced Anesu had just alerted their enemy, whoever they were that Dzukwa and his warriors were aware of their presence. In response the enemy launched spears directly at the camp.

“Get down!”

Dzukwa hit the ground on his stomach, only looking up when he heard the sound of impact followed by an agonized scream behind him.

At that moment, a dozen enemy warriors burst out from the cover of the forest, their spears flying towards them.

Dzukwa had the high ground, but his enemy had the element of surprise and the greater numbers. Mutapa warriors poured out from the forest until in a short time they had Dzukwa and his men surrounded.

Dzukwa rose with a roar. He sent his spear flying into an enemy warrior. As the man fell back, he sent two others behind him tumbling down the hill. He only had a moment before another Mutapa attacked.

Using his shield to block the spear that threatened to pierce his chest, Dzukwa advanced on his enemy to retrieve his spear. Then, with a smooth move, he met the next attacker, quickly sending him to his Creator forsaken ancestors. Withdrawing his spear, he thrust it into the chest of another of his enemies.

Roaring out his challenge to the next spear-wielding  Mutapa, Dzukwa was ready to kill him with his bare hands. There wasn’t time to reach for the knife he kept sheathed at his waist.

Like a leopard, Dzukwa crouched down, dodging the sharp tip. He caught the spear in the middle and pulled it towards him with all his might. The enemy warrior lost his balance and fell forward. His face smashed into Dzukwa’s waiting fist.

Dzukwa didn’t wait to see him drop but instead turned to retrieve the spear that had fallen to the ground. His fingers quickly circled the wooden shaft. But before he could pick it up, a large foot stepped on his hand, crushing it into the ground.

Dzukwa tried to snatch his hand away, but it was too late. The tip of a spear pierced his shoulder, tearing through flesh and muscle. Fiery pain flared through him. He ground his teeth to lessen the pain while reaching for his knife with his right hand.

“Move and you die,” the harsh voice of his enemy said, stopping him in mid-motion.

Dzukwa looked up into the face of a man with eyes that showed no mercy. A large scar extended from his right temple and cut across his nose and down his left cheek. Dzukwa couldn’t imagine the kind of injury that had caused such a scar.

Great harrowing breaths escaped the Mutapa’s heaving chest while sweat glistened on his mahogany skin. No doubt from the exertion of killing Uripo warriors. Dzukwa waited for the deathblow to come. His time on earth was finished.

The scarred Mutapa raised his spear for the final thrust.

Dzukwa didn’t close his eyes. If he was going to die, then he would do it looking his killer full in the face.

 

***

 

 

It's really happening, Anesu thought with mounting excitement. The order to get ready to fight had come directly from Prince Dzukwa. To be honest he hadn’t expected to do any fighting on this trip. Everyone knew that the Mutapa always ran from real warriors. It was the only reason his father had allowed him to travel to Manika.

No danger.

But the ancestors were with him and now he would do some real fighting. When he returned home he would no longer be called a boy.

Today he would send many Mutapa to their Creator forsaken ancestors. There was nothing more just or nobler. He hated the Mutapa. They stole Uripo’s food and enslaved their people.

Today they would know vengeance. He could see the resolve burning in the eyes of the veteran warriors around him. Slinging his shield over back he went to stand next to the prince at the edge of the camp.

“Do you see anything, sir?” The forest was darker. Ominous. The waning sunlight couldn’t pierce the thick leaves of the evergreens.

“Be quiet, you fool,” Prince Dzukwa growled.

Anesu was embarrassed. His father always admonished him about speaking without thinking. He couldn’t believe he’d made such a mistake.

A moment later the prince threw himself on the ground shouting. Anesu didn’t hear. In front of them, the forest erupted with enemy warriors. He felt a piercing pain in his chest. As he fell he saw the long length of a spear sticking out of his chest.

His last thought as he fell to the ground was that he shouldn't have left home.

 

***

 

“Stop!”

The spear above him halted. Hardly daring to believe it, Dzukwa watched as a boy of no more than ten approached them. Dzukwa didn’t need to see the lion pelt across his shoulders to know that he was a king. His authority and the way the Mutapa warriors deferred to him was a dead giveaway.

Bloodied and bound the two hunters Itai had sent out hobbled behind King Mono. All around them his men were either dead or lay wounded bleeding out their lives on the green grass.

“It seems this one might be of use to me,” King Mono said.

They spoke the same language throughout Alkebulan but the Mutapa nasally tone made it hard to understand the boy king. Dzukwa’s life had been spared for some reason but he was sure it wasn’t any reason to celebrate.

“Stand up,” King Mono demanded.

When Dzukwa was too slow to comply the back of a spear was employed on his back. He stood up.

The pain in his shoulder burned like hot peppers. Dzukwa put his palm over the dripping wound to slow down the blood loss. His knees shook but he locked them refusing to show just how weak he felt. Tall and muscular thanks to good genetics he knew he looked intimidating looming over the boy.

King Mono was speaking again.  “Are you the brother of King Uripo?”

“I am the king’s brother,” replied Dzukwa. “What of it?”

 If he’d thought to intimidate the boy he wasn’t succeeding at all. King Mono smiled widely.

His teeth were sharp daggers. Filed Dzukwa realized as he stared at the horrible sight. The boys' lips were black like a lion’s maw. But his worst feature was the eyes. They burned like coals. Looking into them was death. He couldn’t breathe. Dzukwa diverted his gaze heart racing.

Perhaps death would have been better than facing this creature. It wore the body of a boy but the eyes were those of an ancient evil.

“You will serve me well,” King Mono said.

“I am no man’s servant,” Dzukwa replied. He would rather die.

 The Mutapa warriors laughed. It sounded sinister. As if they knew something he didn’t. King Mono did not appear to be offended by Dzukwa’s words. He instead raised his tall walking stick pointing it at Dzukwa’s chest.

The stick was unlike any he’d seen before. Its head was an intricately carved snake. The mouth was open exposing two curved fangs that appeared ready to strike. Dzukwa was caught by the eyes. They were not made of wood. They appeared to be red gems that shimmered with a fiery brilliance. A fire similar to the king’s eyes.

 Dzukwa tried to back away but he hit a human wall. The Mutapa warriors had him completely boxed in.

Despite his earlier resolve to be brave, fear overtook him and he cried out. The stick was almost touching him.

Dzukwa dropped into a crouch and reached for his knife. He lashed out. No one would be fast enough to stop him.

The knife stabbed into King Mono’s gut. It was like striking stone. On impact, the knife shattered like glass.

Dzukwa’s jaw hit the ground. What manner of creature was this king?

Taking advantage of his amazement King Mono brought the stick to Dzukwa’s chest.

Dzukwa’s body froze caught by invisible bonds. He could not move as wood became flesh. The snake sampled the air with its forked tongue before it darted forward. It bit him on his right pec directly below his bleeding wound.

Dzukwa heard a high piercing scream and realized it was his agonized cry moments before everything went black.

 

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