Deep in thought, the king was impervious to the icy wind that buffeted the wood and straw structure of Mutsa’s hut. He had waited a long time for news, but time continued to drag on with no news. For three days he had waited neither eating nor drinking. At first, begging the Creator and the ancestors for a male child. But as more time passed he had begun to pray for the life of his wife instead. It was almost certain the child would die he reasoned, but, perhaps, the Creator would spare Mutsa.

Then suddenly, a thin wail pierced the darkness only to be quickly swallowed by the elements. Not sure what he had heard, King Uripo sprang to his feet and hurriedly made his way around Mutsa’s hut. He was sure the tiny cry had come from inside. 

At the door, he heard the sound of weeping coming from within and his steps faltered fearing what he would find when he went inside. Taking a deep fortifying breath he swept into the hut.

 The rain and the wind followed him inside before he could firmly close the door behind him. Then the sounds of the storm were muted and he could hear the cry of a newborn child. A mixture of hope and fear struggled in his heart. He paused for a moment while his eyes adapted to the meager light offered by the fire in the pit.  At his entrance, the midwife screamed in a shrill voice. 

“My Lord, you scared me!” she exclaimed. Her death grip on the bundle she was holding loosened.

The child began to wail again startled by the noise. 

“The ancestors have heard you, my king,” she smiled. “You have a son.”

Uripo tipped his back and roared. When he finally quietened tears were leaking from his eyes.

“The Creator be praised!” he said.

King Uripo couldn’t breathe. He hadn’t dared to believe…

But the baby’s cries made a huge smile spread across his face. He couldn’t have stopped it even if he’d tried. He had a son.

The King’s eyes moved beyond the midwife to his wife who was weeping uncontrollably on the blankets where she lay.

“Thank you, Mutsa,” he said as he hurried over to her. “You have given me a son. How shall I ever thank you?”

His words only led to a fresh outbreak of weeping and the king glanced at the midwife in confusion. These were not happy tears.

“Don’t weep, my beloved,” he said trying his best to comfort her. “This is a time for celebration. You have done what no woman has been able to do for me. Don’t you understand what you have done for me?”

This seemed to make no impression on Mutsa and so he cleared his throat and continued, “All my children are loved whether they are boy or girl. But this child is important because he will be king after me.”

He had finished speaking when  Mutsa turned to him. This caused the woolen blanket to fall away revealing a tiny body lying next to her body.  

The king’s jaw dropped as understanding dawned upon him. The contents of his stomach heaved dangerously and he tasted the acrid taste of bile in his mouth. For a minute, he was in real danger of disgracing himself.

His gaze ping-ponged between the two babies. 

Twins!

Not even in his worst nightmare could he have conceived such a disaster.

“My king,” the midwife said with gravity, “the children are both male.”

King Uripo blinked at the old woman who was gushing with joy as she spoke.

“You have to choose quickly so that the other can be fed.”

She picked up the child laying next to Mutsa and presented the two boys to him, one on each arm. The king’s eyes skipped over the babies and came to rest on his wife who wept the harder at his silent regard. 

He closed his eyes for a second as he silently cursed the Creator and all his ancestors for turning what should have been a joyous occasion into a tragic one.

The king regarded his sons with pain-filled eyes. They both looked the same to him. 

Seeing his dumbfounded state the midwife said, “The youngest one is bigger than the first. It would be best to keep him instead of the other.” 

As their father, he would have to choose which child would live or die. The fate of his children lay squarely on his shoulders. Unlike albinos and cripples who were condemned to die the minute they left their mother’s womb, tradition dictated that when twins were born only one could be allowed to live. There were no exceptions, not even for a king. It was the will of the ancestors.

All his life he’d upheld the traditions ensuring the will of the ancestors was followed throughout his domain as his father had done before him. 

He had never dreamt that one day he would be one of the men unfortunate enough to father twins. It was a punishment worse than death.

He had prayed for a son and the Creator had given him two instead of one. Why were things never easy where the Creator was concerned?

Taking the smallest child, he commanded the other to be given to his mother. The twins had not yet suckled, only the chosen one would have the privilege to do so. 

Without a word, Uripo carried his firstborn son out into the rainy night.

The rain fell in a silvery torrent obscuring everything more than five meters away in a thick gray shroud.

He could barely make out the many huts that made up the king’s compound only dark indistinct shapes. The night seemed a little darker than before. The howling wind kept rising like the screams of a thousand witches. The rain buffeted King Uripo, soaking his clothes and blinding his eyes. Shielding the child from the rain, he walked away from Mutsa’s hut. 

He met no one on his lonely trek to the village below. No one sane would go out in such miserable weather.

Rivers of rainwater dug gullies in the sand as they rushed downhill to the river. The king carefully picked his way through the village heading determinedly for the path that led to the river. A few dogs barked as he passed the compounds located on the northern side of the village. Once he entered the forest, the thick canopy of leaves protected him from the wind. 

 The child in his arms squirmed and his fingers tightened reflexively on the boy. The warm little body seemed to burrow closer, seeking his warmth. But the king shivered, he was so cold on the inside and he did not feel like he could ever be warm again. 

For the last fifteen years, he had been obsessed with the thoughts of fathering a male child. He had been disappointed each time his wives gave birth to girls, but he had never stopped hoping. He was a king, a leader among men, and to the exclusion of anything else, he was consumed with the desire for having an heir. Perhaps, having the twins was his punishment for the callous way he had dealt with his wives and daughters because of this driving need.

His trek finally led him to the edge of the mighty Black River which, at this point, was more than four hundred meters wide. From the rocky outcrop where he was standing several meters above the water, it looked like a large silver serpent with neither head nor tail. The river’s surface appeared calm dotted by the handful of trees growing in it. 

The river was home to many animals, including the dreaded river god. No one outside the healers had ever seen the god. Ordinary people would occasionally catch glimpses of its giant black scaled serpentine body. Even then sightings were rare. The river god only appeared in times of great calamity.

  It was at this river that the twins, albinos, dwarves, and cripples were returned to the spirit world where such things did not matter. 

This was where his child would end his short life and begin a new one in the spirit world.

Hardening his heart he stretched his arms over the river. “Farewell, my child,” Uripo said in a broken whisper.

But the child, who had been silent up until then, began to wail piteously as the cold rain lashed at his tiny body. A flash of lightning lit up the sky illuminating the scene for a brief moment. In that instant, the king truly saw the child, his son, for the first time. Really saw him.

The baby’s eyes were wide open and he was crying as if he knew his fate. His eyes locked in with those of the king as if he was begging his father for life.

It was as if the child knew how much King Uripo wanted him. It was not like he could hide it. He had anticipated this day for over two decades. As if the boy had sensed the dangerous emotions swirling within Uripo and was taking ruthless advantage of him with his innocent little eyes. 

King Uripo fought to squelch the dangerous emotions with great determination. But they wouldn’t go away, no matter how much he castigated himself.

Disobedience would only lead to a curse, he told himself. The rains would fail and the crops would perish in the fields. Disaster upon disaster would strike the land and joy would be stolen from every resident.

The king held his son in his outstretched arms a minute longer as he struggled with himself. Slowly, the king drew the child back from the precipice and back into his embrace. Loud sobs shook his frame as he gave voice to his anger and pain. The sound of his shouts and the baby crying rose in unison and mingled with the elements until it seemed like father and son were part of the storm. 

Eventually, the king staggered into a fisherman’s cave not far from where he stood. Finding a smooth rock close to the entrance, he laid the boy down. The baby’s blanket was wet and he was shivering from the cold.

Using the firewood the fishermen used to dry the fish they caught in the river, King Uripo made a fire. 

The cave was very wide with large stalactites jutting out of its roof like the great gaping teeth of a monster. It had tunnels that extended deep underground.

 With the fire burning cheerfully, the warmth began to seep in, banishing the cold. Although he no longer shivered from the cold, the child continued to cry. His father, unable to think of any other way to quieten him, stuck his pinkie into the baby’s mouth. 

The child’s mouth began to work on the finger with gentle suction. In the flickering light, the king gazed at his son and wondered why he was delaying the inevitable. It would be so much harder now to give him up now that he had bonded with the child. 

But the raw need to have a son had been an integral part of his life for so long, he had no idea how to turn it off. It was an ache that resided in his innermost core. It refused to be subdued. He found himself caressing his son’s tiny fist which was so much smaller than his own. The king was a very large man standing at over six feet in height. He was like his father and his father’s father before him. The kings of Uripo had always been men of large stature. His body, though old, still bore the strength of his youth.  Years of hard work had chiseled his muscular form and he was certain that his son would grow up to become just as big if he was allowed to live. 

Time passed slowly and the boy remained safely cocooned in his father’s arms while outside the rain continued to fall. Only Uripo’s voice broke the silence as he spoke to the sleeping child.

“I can’t keep you,” he said. “I am the king and no matter how much I want you, I can’t do it. There is nothing I can do. I am the king but I cannot save your life.”

His words seemed to rouse the boy who yawned delicately, his little mouth forming a tiny circle, then his dainty eyelids fluttered open. The king gasped in wonder as guileless brown eyes stared up at him. His son looked so small and innocent that his heart began to ache all over again.

“I can’t keep you,” he whispered, but the brown eyes continued to stare innocently at him, unaware that his very life was in danger.

As the night wore on and the firewood dwindled to nothing, the king realized that he could no longer stay in the cave. His son was asleep, safely tucked into his now dry woolen blanket. He knew that he must act decisively. But a flood of unwanted emotions bombarded him, threatening to overwhelm him and set him on a pathway to destruction. 

He should never have kept the boy with him for so long. But something inexplicable had happened to him from the moment he had held the boy in his arms.

The rain was gone and he could hear the sounds of the night. Somewhere out there the frogs were singing and an owl was hooting. Life was getting back on track after the storm. He knew that he had to act but he couldn’t force his limbs to move. His mind said yes but his heart was telling him no. Love should not be allowed to enter the equation he knew. He needed to separate his emotions from what needed doing. 

His sons were both royal princes of Uripo. His blood and the blood of his ancestors ran in the boys’ veins. By right as the firstborn this boy was the true heir to Uripo. Such a child could not be discarded as if he were an insignificant thing. All his life King Uripo had lived by the laws of the land enforcing the will of the Creator and the ancestors. He’d never questioned them until this night because he realized that he could not let his son die. Once his actions were exposed the people would rebel. They feared the wrath of the ancestors too much to surrender to his whims. His son would be killed and he would lose everything. 

All night his mind had worked towards a solution while he’d fooled himself into believing that he searched for the courage to do what must be done. There was only one way around this tragedy if only his friend would agree.

Mind made up Uripo put out the fire and walked out of the cave. As he passed by the river he saw the crocodiles lying in wait like fallen logs floating on the water surface. The minute his son’s body broke the surface the crocodiles would be on him swallowing him up faster than a lion consumes a rabbit. 

If curses and suffering came then so be it. His firstborn son would not die this way.

With a curse, King Uripo turned away from the river and began to walk back the way he’d come towards Zambezia. Taking a different path from the one that led to his compound he made his way to his most trusted warrior’s compound.

It was the deepest part of the night. The time when witches and wizards were said to walk the earth openly spreading curses and death wherever they went.

The King felt no fear.

Want to read more? Join me on Patreon