Chapter 17

“What happened?” Keita asked. “Where did you go?”
He stretched out his arm and helped Luyanda to his feet.
“I don’t know,” Luyanda replied, his voice wavering. “I was on trial, I think.”
“On trial for what?”
“For desertion.” He suddenly felt lightheaded. “I need to sit.”
Keita lowered him gently onto a seat. Luyanda flinched as a sharp pain jabbed through his torso. He turned to his side and glimpsed his rib. A small red splotch darkened his t-shirt.
“Looks like a small stab wound,” Keita remarked. “What happened?”
“I don’t know,” Luyanda said, wiping the thin film of sweat on his forehead. A sudden wave of anger swept over him. “Where were you? Weren’t you supposed to be there with me?”
“I don’t know. I wasn’t able to come with you. Something happened and I couldn’t cross over to the other side. Tell me everything.”
Luyanda recounted everything that had happened, the words catching in his throat several times as the images of the trial played before his mind.
“That’s fascinating,” Keita said, when Luyanda was done. “You definitely need to go back.”
“Are you crazy?” Luyanda said, shaking his head. “There’s no way I’m going back.”
“I’ll come with you next time. I’ll do some research to make sure that nothing goes wrong. There should be some way to work around whatever it is that blocked me from coming with you. Let’s regroup tomorrow morning. I’ll spend the day looking it up.”

The next day, Luyanda didn’t hear Msiza waking him up at six a.m. Maddie’s loud knocking on the door roused him out of bed. He took one look at the time, swore under his breathe and raced into the shower.

He got the bus stop just as the bus was hovering off. Luckily, he driver saw him and stopped. Thirty minutes later, he was racing down the corridor to Keita’s office.
“Sorry I’m late,” he gasped as he bolted through the door.
“You’re actually bang on time. Seems you left home in a hurry.”
“I overslept. Didn’t even have time for breakfast.”
“Then let’s get this over and done with so you can grab something from the cafeteria before your first lecture.”
He stood up, walked across to the door, and turned the key in its lock, and spun around to face Luyanda.
“So did you figure out how to come with me?“ Luyanda asked.
“Yes,” Keita answered, as he slung a pendant around his neck.
“What’s that?”
“The thing I need to keep me alive when I come with you.” He held it up. It was a small wooden carving consisting of two arms that crossed each other, forming a X. At the tip of each arm was the letter X.
“What’s that?” Luyanda asked, taking it in his hand. It was heavier than it looked.
“It’s an Adinkra symbol. I read about it, and asked Flannegan if he could help me source it. Turned out he had it amongst his vast treasure trove of useless goods. ”
“What does it mean?”
“Nyame Nnwe Na Mawu, or God never dies, so I cannot die. It’s the symbol for life after death.”
“So this is what will allow you to go with me?”
“Yes. As I’m not a shadow walker, I could get trapped in the shadow realm forever. Which would mean I’d be dead to this world. Think of my soul as a ship, and the shadow realm as a storm at sea. This little thing is the anchor that would keep me connected to the real world. ”
“Doesn’t make much sense to me.”
“Neither does transforming into a shadow,” Keita replied cheerfully. He tucked the pendant beneath his shirt. “We need to get going. We don’t know how much time we are going to need.”
Keita reached out for Luyanda’s hand and grasped it firmly.
“One last thing,” he said. “It’s quite likely that you won’t be able to see me on the other side. I’ll only appear to you as your shadow. I’ll mimic all your movements. But if you see your shadow moving independently of you from time to time, don’t be afraid. It would only mean I’ve been a bit too slow.”
“What will happen if I get stabbed again?”
“Haven’t you noticed that every time you get stabbed, you get tossed back here again? There’s nothing to be worried about.”
“Okay,” Luyanda said, with a sigh, “None of this makes any sense, but let’s do it.”
He took Keita’s hand in his and gently pressed his fingertips onto the stool. A grey mist swirled about him and he felt the air being squeezed out of his lungs. A powerful blast of wind lifted his feet off the ground, and once again, he was whizzing along at an ungodly speed.

The mist lifted and the black of night crashed in on his eyes, engulfing him in darkness. Old memories and new feelings welled up inside of him as he settled into the now familiar frame of Magere.
Magere was walking. Dirt crunched beneath his feet as he trudged along, his eyes adjusting to the dark rapidly. Soon he could make out the silhouettes of trees and shrubs around him. Dark patches of cloud, like black cotton wool, trailed across the pale moon hanging low overhead.
His shadow stretched before him, keeping pace with his easy, swinging gait. Images played before his eyes, and an empty hollowness sunk to the bottom of his stomach. Everything had changed in just a few hours. He was without a home. Without friends. Without roots. A wrinkled face flitted before his eyes. Omondi. His foster father. How would he fare now? With no other children in the world, and no wife, he was just as alone in the world as Magere was. A lump rose in his throat. He stared at the darkness ahead, willing the sense of emptiness away.

The thud of hurrying footsteps came up behind, pulling him out of the abyss. He paused and turned around.
“My son!”
The old man with the familiar wrinkled face came hobbling up, panting and out of breath.
“Father —!” Magere whispered harshly in the dark, even though there was no one around to see them. “What are you doing? Go back. No one is allowed to bid me farewell. It’s the law.”
The old man chuckled. “You know what I think of them and their laws. Let them banish me. I don’t care. I don’t have too many harvests left to see. Give me a hand with these. I brought you some food for the journey.”
Magere helped him to set down the two parcels slung across each of his shoulders. One of them was much heavier than the other.
“I didn’t have much time,” the old man continued, “so I grabbed whatever I could find. Lucky for you, we had some sour milk in the house. I know how much you like it. I also packed you some millet. Enough to last you two or three days.”
“Thanks,” Magere replied hoarsely, choking back the tears that he knew would be taboo to display.
“Where were you thinking of going?”
“I don’t know.”
“So long as you don’t become a Lang’o mercenary. Never turn your spear against your own people.”
“No, father. I won’t.”
“You say that now, because you’re still in shock. Shock becomes anger, and anger changes people. Hunger also. When you’ve been starving for months, you stop thinking straight.”
Magere smiled. “And how come this other parcel is so heavy?” he asked. “If feels like you put a stone in here.”
“Go on,” Omondi replied. “Take a look. It belongs to you.”
Magere took the bag in his hands, reached inside, and pulled out a small, three-legged stool. It was heavy, and jet black, carved out of a single piece of rock. Its chiseled edges gleamed dully in the moonlight.
“Where did you get this?” Magere whispered.
“It was next to you…when I found you.”
“In the cave?”
Omondi nodded.
“You never mentioned it before.”
“I wanted to surprise you on your wedding day, and give it to you as a kom nyaluo so that you too could sit with the elders in the council. But…” his voice trailed off.
Magere’s throat tightened. He gulped and turned his full attention to the stool, scrutinising it carefully to get his mind off the pain of loss he felt rising up inside of him. Carvings ran along the edge of its seat and all across its three legs. He ran his fingers over the polished black surface.
“What are these writings?”
“I do not know. It is the writing of your people, maybe.”
“My people?” Magere whispered.
“You have felt it, haven’t you?” the old man asked. “The urge to return to your people?”
“Yes. Many times.”
The old man nodded knowingly.
“The cave where you found me,” Magere continued. “Where is it?”
Omondi sucked his teeth.
“Do not walk that path.”
“I need to know.”
The old man shook his head and looked away. Magere said nothing. He waited. They stood there in silence for a moment, their minds battling in the cold, dark night. The old man sighed and shrugged.
“So be it,” he muttered. “It’s meant to be. You remember when you were a boy? I would often go to the southern edge of the forest.”
“Where the spirits walk?”
“Yes. I took you there once or twice. You were scared stiff. But I was seeking a clue to your past.”
“Yes, I remember.”
“Do you remember the rock shaped like a cow’s head?”
“Yes.”
“Behind it, you will find a tiny ravine, wide enough to squeeze through. Once you’re in, you will find a path that will take you to the cave where I found you.”
“I will go there.”
Omondi grimaced. “So, your mind is made up?” he asked.
Magere nodded. Omondi sighed, stepped forward, placed his hands on Magere’s shoulders and bowed forward slightly. Magere bowed also. Omondi stepped back. His voice cracked as he spoke.
“I will not see you again in this life. Go now,” he said. “May Nyasaye go with you and guide all your steps until you rejoin your ancestors.”
His eyes lingered on Magere, as if memorising every line on his face. When they started glittering with tears, he blinked, spun around and hurried back along the way he came. Magere watched his hobbled shape receding into the night. He took a deep breath, left the path, and cut his way through the undergrowth.
The bushes soon gave way to the gnarled stems of the baobab trees. All he could hear was his own laboured breathing. He listened for the sounds of the forest. Nothing. Not even the crickets chirped that night. Only the faint murmur of the wind and the soft rustling of the leaves overhead kept him company.
Although the thick forest canopy cut out most of the moonlight, Magere had no difficulty finding his way through the undergrowth. The forests paths were familiar to him, by day or night. He was now in one of the gloomiest parts of the forest close to his village. He hopped over a fallen acacia trunk and veered onto a new path. The trees thinned out, and the moonlight filtered onto the pebble-strewn path before him. The earth beneath his feet was cool and hard. His keen eyes made out the odd footprint every now and again. Signs of recent traffic. He wondered who had come this way.
The forest sounds were back. He welcomed the squeaks of the bats and the chirps of the crickets as he would an old friend. He picked his way through the bush, listening to the noises that the creatures of the night were making. The path veered to the left and rose upwards. He knew he was approaching the outcrops. He scrambled up a steep bank and emerged from the dense undergrowth. The dark grey granite outcrops loomed up before him. The pale moon gave them an eerie glow. He pricked his ears and caught the faint sounds of the running stream. He stopped and gazed at the rocky outcrop in front of him. It reminded him of a cow’s head.
Adjusting the two packs slung over his shoulder, he scrambled up the path. Then he heard another noise, one that did not belong in the forest. Time slowed down as he felt a cold shiver running up his neck. The faint, coppery smell of blood and sweat came to his nostrils. A twig cracked behind him. For a split second, he considered diving into the bushes for cover. But it was too late. Whoever it was, he was standing behind him. He spun around. Even in the dark, he recognized the tall figure. The turbaned head. The flashing malevolent eyes. The pursed lips.
It was the man who had assailed him on the battlefield.

“Magere.”
He started at the mention of his name. His eyes flicked down to the man’s hands. He held no weapons. His sword was in its scabbard. There was no fear in the man’s eyes. That gave Magere pause.
“Who are you?” Magere asked.
“A stranger to you.”
“What do you want?”
“That.” The man nodded at the bag hanging from Magere’s shoulder. Magere’s eyes narrowed. He hitched the bag higher up his shoulder.
“I didn’t think the Lang’o allowed common thieves to command their units.”
“They do not. I am no thief. That stool belongs to me.”
The stranger’s calm voice, relaxed stance and determined gaze worried Magere. He took a deep breath to steel his nerves and decided to buy himself some time.
“How did you know to stab my shadow?”
The stranger grinned. He unsheathed his sword slowly. Magere let his food bag slip to the ground, and slung the one carrying the stool across his left shoulder. He studied his options. Either he was going to have to disarm the man and make a run for it, or he was going to have to end the stranger’s life. Neither option appealed to him, but he had to decide quickly. The dry, coppery taste of fear rose in the back of his mouth as —
WHOOSH!
The stranger’s blade swept past his ear and missed it by inches as Magere leapt out of the way just in time. The blade slammed into the ground, sinking into the spot where his shadow had been a few seconds before. Magere twisted to one side, unslung the bag and brought its crushing weight down on the man’s head. His assailant fell to the ground, dazed.
At once, the darkness around him erupted with yells and battle cries.
Lang’o.
Magere’s well-trained ears distinguished ten, maybe twenty soldiers. He could hear their pounding footsteps closing in fast on the path behind him. Breathlessly, he spun around and faced the ravine. It was narrow, but it was the only way out. He snatched up the bag with the stool and sprung up the narrow path towards the crevice as the shouts behind him grew louder.
He plunged headlong into the inky darkness of the cave, stretching out both hands and inching forward as best he could, feeling his way along the cave walls. The noise of the shouting died down. All he could hear was his laboured breathing and the loud thumping inside his chest.
He was now in a tunnel. It seemed to be sloping downwards. He steadied himself on the rough stone wall. It felt warm. The rock around him seemed seemed to be throbbing, keeping time with his own heartbeat.
The darkness started to recede as a soft, warm glow filled the tunnel. He slowed down, grateful for the light, but at the same time fearful of what was awaiting him inside. His ears caught a soft, hissing noise. It grew louder and louder. He came to a bend. The sound was deafening now.
He rounded the corner and stopped dead in his tracks.
A subterranean chamber opened up in front of him. A thin film of mist hung in the air, coating the cave walls around him and sticking to his skin. A waterfall thundered down from an unseen inlet high above and crashed into a small, black lake. His gaze was drawn to the top of the waterfall, where a soft beam of light bathed the entire cave in a gentle glow. A thin rainbow arced across it. He stared at it for a few seconds, as his eyes adjusted to the light. He could make out more details of the cave now. He could see across the lake to the banks on the other side, where it met expanse of glistening stone, with a large, gaping crack in the middle. That was the way out.
Echoes reached his ears. Someone was hurrying down the same path he had come. He had to move. Magere scoured the edges of the lake for a path around its banks. There was none. As far as he could see, the black waters came up to the walls of the cave all around him. There was nothing else for it. He would have to swim across. The echoes grew steadily louder. Magere stepped right up to the water’s edge, balancing on a small ledge over the rippling waves. He leaned over the water’s edge, and took a closer look. The rock tottered. He grabbed at the air around him with his free hand, caught nothing, and plunged into the lake.
The ice cold water knocked all the warmth out of his body. He fell far beneath the surface, the stool dragging him down, down, down. But he was not going to let it go. He kicked for the surface, but sensed what felt like a cold hand seizing him and towing him further into the deep. The water was swirling now, churning and bubbling, wheeling him around fast. He caught sight of a gaping black hole at the bottom of the lake. Like some kind of monstrous mouth, it was sucking and pulling everything into itself. It was too strong for him. He caught a glimpse of the saw-like edges of the hole as he shot through it like a bullet. Then all went dark as night. He was floating along gently. He knew not where. Then just as suddenly-
BLAM!
His feet slammed into cold, hard concrete.
A wave of fresh new memories washed over him, and his skin, feet and hands felt familiar once again.
Luyanda opened his eyes and found himself lying on the floor of Keita’s office. He rolled to his side, and what he saw made his breath catch in his chest.
Keita was sprawled across the floor beside him, laying perfectly still and motionless.

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