Chapter 2

Zvongombe, the name of the capital city, meant the place of the cows. The city stood like a jewel in the wilderness. It was nestled between three hills, one of which, a cow-shaped rocky outcrop, had given the city its name. The grey cobble-stone streets had been worn down over the centuries by the feet of merchants, pilgrims and refugees seeking asylum from marauding neighbours. Its sleet-grey walls were thirty paces thick - enough for four men to walk abreast. Within the city walls, three hills marked out the separate boroughs of the city, with the temple, called Mwari's Rock or Mwariwe, built on the highest of the three. Its conical tower jutted out like an ancient sentinel, watching over the city. Even in the evening, the market buzzed with bartering and exchange. The famine had only slowed down commerce and pushed up the prices of everything. When Banga had first moved to the city seven harvests earlier, a handful of millet cost less than a cowrie. Now it cost two.

Banga dismounted at the city gates and proceeded on foot, leading his horse along the winding, curvaceous paths of the city. He wished he were in Sofala, the port city two days ride away by the sea. That was a city that was easy to hide in. Nobody knew him there and it would have been easy to pass unnoticed. But in Zvongombe, his job as Pfumo waMwene - the spear of the Emperor, meant that he was in charge of all the Barwe Tonga, the soldiers who guarded the city and the royal person of the Mwene Mutapa himself. It would be difficult not to be spotted carrying a large parcel under his arm. The best course of action would be to act as naturally as possible. That way he might just have a chance of making it out of the city without anyone noticing him.
He took in a shuddering breath and calmed himself. Nobody knew of his intentions. His mind drifted to the drum. He had seen ngomalungundu only a few times before. The first time was when he had pledged his life to protect it as a young recruit into the Barwe Tonga. After that had been during the inauguration of Mutapa Chimedza and that of his predecessor, Mutapa Nyasoro.
The cool evening breeze wafting through the streets of the city mad him realize his palms were sweating. He wiped them on his legs, wishing that darkness could come sooner. He glanced up at the evening sky. The comet was still visible, though now the little puffs of cloud were gone. The glowing orange sky taunted him and the land. The drought would continue unabated.
He tried to remember when the last time was that the rain had fallen in sufficient quantities to ensure a bountiful harvest. His uncle, who had brought him up ever since his father disappeared and his mother abandoned them, had been a farmer. After losing all his crops to the drought, he had taken to drinking millet beer and become a wreck. Just one more casualty of the ongoing drought. Already, there was talk of people moving to the west in search of rain. But that would mean leaving behind everything that their fathers had built. Everything they had fought and died for.
The people's faith in ngomalungundu had grown cold. It was meant to bring down Mwari's blessings in the form of rain, and had been known to be the most powerful rainmaking drum in several realms. But it had not brought them rain in almost ten harvests, and now he know the reason why. And worse still, he knew that it would take several harvests more before the situation was reversed.

The guard house was one of the few rectangular structures within the city, built in that way to allow for a bigger building. It had to accommodate in excess of fifty men at any one time, with their weapons, supplies and sleeping rolls. There were four such guardhouses around the city. Three were located near the three city gates, and the fourth and largest one was about a hundred paces from the Temple and Palace precincts. It was there that Banga tied up his horse and proceeded to the food stores, ignoring the stiff salutes of the soldiers whom he went past.
The food stores were kept under lock and key. He would have to request the storekeeper to open up for him. The storekeeper was a wiry old man named Basomi. He had no hair and no wife and wore a perpetual frown. He liked no one, and no one liked him. But he was a distant relative of Gorodenna, the Councillor, which was the only reason why he had held the position of storekeeper of as long as he did. When Banga had confronted him about the supplies that kept going missing from the stores, accusing him of pilfering and selling them off during the drought, Gorodenna had called him aside and asked him to stop giving his relatives a hard time.
Now as Basomi opened the storeroom, with his usual frown, his cold eyes followed Banga's movements as Banga went about filling his food bags with hunks of dry mean and handfuls of millet. Banga could feel the old man's malevolent eyes watching him, but he decided to play it cool. Basomi had no reason to suspect anything, and Banga decided not to say a word, so as not to arouse any suspicions. He left the storeroom, loaded the supply bags onto his horse, and led it out of the city.
The sun set quickly at that time of the year. Dusk was now falling across the city. The smell of wood burning in fireplaces filled the streets as he made his way to the city gates. He mounted his horse, nodded at the guards, and rode out into the night. It would be a long ride to Kirowi's Baobab. If he kept a good pace, he would get there at exactly the appointed time. Modjadji, moving slower because of the girl, would likely get there at around the same time, if she had left shortly after they had spoken. He had no doubt that she had.

He pushed his horse into a trot, not paying much attention to his surroundings. He felt sorry for Modjadji and the girl. He was asking them for a lot. It was a big sacrifice, asking them to leave everything behind, the home they had built. Tongues would wag. People would question Modjadji's honor, which was unquestionable. Modjadji was as straight as an arrow. A stickler for the rules, she had taken it with quiet resignation when her husband passed away and his brother, Hondo, lay claim to her and the yet unborn child. Banga would have backed her had she refused to marry Hondo, but she did not. She knew what the customs were, and she didn't want to break them. But everyone knew that Hondo didn't really love her. What they had together was a homestead, but not a home. Perhaps that was why Dzugudini spent so much time around Banga's household, not only enjoying the company of Yasuka, his son, but his own warmth and affection. Dzugudini reminded Banga of Chipemba, his best friend who had passed away so tragically, poisoned by the arrows of the Sao on his way to his inauguration. HIs thoughts drifted back to the night when Chipemba died in his arms. Many years had passed, but the sadness never went away.
He almost rode past the gigantic baobab tree that was the appointed meeting place. He hadn't realized how long he had been traveling. Now the gigantic tree loomed up ahead of him, its long branches reaching out like fingers into the pitch black sky. He got off his horse, walked up to the tree, and stood beneath its spreading branches. He heard nothing except the night noises of the forest. His heart contracted as a thought ran through his mind.What if Modjadji had not believed him? What if she was not coming and had changed her mind?
The dry grass rustled behind him, and footsteps crunched on the dry, hard soil. He spun around to see a woman approaching with a little girl at her side.
"You came," Banga said.
She nodded. Her eyes traveled to the bags on his horse.
"I got supplies. Where are your horses?"
"One horse," she said. "Dzugudini is too young to ride. We've tied him up in the bush."
"She can ride with me. My horse is strong."
"But he's got provisions."
"He's one of the strongest horses in the land. He'll handle it."
The words froze on his lips. In the distance, the galloping of hooves and the shouting of horsemen urging their horses onward came to his ears. Banga's blood froze in his veins.
"Who did you tell you were leaving?"
"No one," Modjadi answered, her eyes widening in fright.
"Take the girl and go," he said. "Use my horse. Get as far away from here as you can."
He started heaving the the food bags off his horse and hurling them to the ground.
"What about you?" Modjadji asked.
"I am the captain of the Barwe Tonga," he said, taking his spear and shield into his hands. "Nobody will touch me."
He picked up the girl and put her on the horse, then helped her mother on behind her. "Ride and don't look back. Mwari, go with you."
"Mwari, stay with you."
"Hold on tight and keep your heads low."
He slapped the horse hard. It reared slightly, causing the little girl to shriek in fear. Then, it took off into the woods.
Banga watched them disappear into the night, then slunk behind the tree, keeping his eyes peeled on the track in front of him. In a few moments, the horses were upon him. Even in the dark, he could make out their leader. His gleaming white cowhide headdress and his grey steed stood out in the twilight. A gigantic wild dog bounded beside his horse. Seven other men on horseback, each clutching a spear in one hand and the reins of their horses in another, followed close behind. Banga watched them thunder past in shock, a thousand questions racing past his head. How did they find out? Who sold them out? Perhaps they were on a routine mission from the capital? He dismissed it as wishful thinking. A sinking feeling came over him. It was Basomi. The old fool had told Hondo that Banga had been to the stores. Probably to curry favor. Probably he got a cowrie of two for his troubles. Banga cursed the man under his breath. But now was the time for action. Modjadji's horse was nearby. He could still make his escape. He was not too late to save himself. But if he did, they would surely overtake the girl and her mother. He was their only chance. He would have to see it through.
The last horse was already several paces away when Banga stepped out of the shadows and raised his voice.
"Barwe Tonga. How goes it?"
The riders checked their career, spun their horses round in a tight circle, and galloped back towards him. Banga stepped right out into the middle of the path, where there was no chance of them missing him. They surrounded him in seconds and leveled their spears at him. For a few moments, only the heavy breathing of the horses could be heard. Banga surveyed them slowly, feeling the weight of the spear in his hand.
"What brings you out this late at night, Barwe Tonga?" he asked. It was Hondo who answered.
"Where is the girl and her mother?"
Banga had not expected that question. At least not that soon and not that directly. Somehow or other, Hondo had found out everything that had happened. Banga looked at the men before him. He was greatly outnumbered. But if he could slow them down, then Modjadji would stand a better chance.
"Where is the girl and her mother?" Hondo asked again. "And where is your horse?"
Banga noted the men around him, noted their positions in the dark night, noted the distances between them, noted the weight of the spear in his hand. Then, with a roar that made even the wild dog, Chisi, shiver, he sprung into the air and thrust his spear straight through the chest of the man who was closest to him. The man toppled off his horse, Banga's spear jutting out of his ribs. The other soldiers were upon him in seconds. Banga's spear flashed in the night, it's tip dripping crimson red as the soldiers fell screaming to right and left of him.
"Chisi! Kill!" Hondo yelled.
The wild dog leaped at Banga, tearing at his throat but meeting only the tough buffalo hide of Banga's shield. He fended off the wild dog again and again with the shield, while keeping the four able-bodied soldiers still standing at bay.
"Two with me," Hondo shouted. Then he kicked his horse and galloped off into the night, while two other soldiers leaped onto their horses and followed him.

Modjadji and Dzugudini heard the hooves thundering behind them for a moment as their horse charged down the forest path, heading deeper and deeper into the woods. Modjadji was nervous on Banga's horse, not being used to riding them, let alone galloping in the dark in a forest. The horse vaulted over a root stretching across the road, tossing them both onto its side. Modjadji tried to catch Dzugudini, who gripped tightly onto the horses mane, turning him off the path. Modjadji let go of the reins and grabbed the girl. The next instant, she slammed into the hard ground. Dzugudini landed on top of her. She struggled to her feet in time to see Banga's horse buck and rear, then take off galloping into the night. Dzugudini was crying now. Modjadji winced as she held her close to her chest. A sharp pain shot through her side. She hoped her rib wasn't broken. Galloping hooves thundered towards them. For a moment, she hoped that their horse was coming back. Then she saw the familiar white headdress and the pale horse.
"Run!"
She pushed Dzugudini off the path and into the forest, following after her. Then she grabbed her hand in hers and ran through the undergrowth, ignoring the thorns and brambles that tore at the clothes and skin and the branches that whipped their faces.

Banga was badly hurt. The wild dog had torn his arm and his legs. His chest bore several wounds. Even as he swung his shield to parry another blow, a wave of fatigue swept over him, and his knees trembled. There was no turning back now, no hope of escape. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the wild dog leaping for his jugular again. He dropped to one knee and planted the end of his spear in the ground, letting its tip meet the oncoming beast. The animal was already airborne and couldn't check its course. The spear went straight through its open mouth and emerged out of the back of its head. Banga stumbled back as the dog rolled over and lay on its side, twitching and convulsing. He had no spear now. Only a shield. His eyes raked the ground for a spear. A life and death battle turned on tiny moments such as this one. The three soldiers saw their advantage and pressed in, their spears level with his neck. They could all see that he was spent. Banga lowered his head, prayed to his ancestors, and awaited the final blow.

Hondo had caught sight of the woman and the girl crashing into the forest. He brought his horse to a halt, leaped off, and took off after them, his two soldiers following close behind him. Modjadji's lungs hurt. The thrashing behind them was getting louder. She tugged at Dzugudini's hand. The girl was doing her best but could not keep up. She tripped over a root and fell to the ground with a grunt. Modjadji picked her up, and half dragged, half carried her in the dark. Both of them were crying now. She stepped on a rock, and her ankle turned awkwardly beneath her weight, sending her to the ground. Even as she got up and hobbled on, she knew that it was all over. Only one thought dominated her mind now. The girl. She must get away. She must live. Modjadji stopped, grabbed Dzugudini by both shoulders, and looked her straight in the eyes.
"Listen to me! I need you to hide."
"No, mama. No."
Modjadji shook her hard, almost sending the girl to the ground.
"Run and hide," she said. "Don't look back. Go."
She gave her a firm shove. Dzugudini stumbled to the ground, then rose to her feet. Tears shone on her cheeks.
"Dzugudini. Please," her mother begged.
Behind her, Dzugudini glimpsed the heads of the soldiers pursuing them emerge between the bushes. She gave her mother one last look. Then she turned and ran.

Modjadji heard her daughter's steps receding into the night. Then all strength left her, and she crumbled into a heap on the ground, weeping bitterly. She heard the footsteps approaching, and couldn't bear to look up.
"Where is the girl?" Hondo asked.
"Please, Grey Leopard," she begged, not looking up. "Please, she is only a child. Your daughter."
Hondo did not let her finish. He thrust his spear straight through her ribs. The blow had shocked Modjajdi into silence as the spear went through her, but now as Hondo yanked it out again, the white hot pain became a scream upon her lips. Modjadji stared up at his cold, lifeless eyes, then at the spear that he held. As her blood dripped off its tip and fell to the ground, so did she. She breathed a few, short rasping breaths. Then she fell silent.
"Find the girl," Hondo shouted and charged into the forest.

Dzugudini ran blindly, not seeing where she was going. Her mother's shriek rang through the night air and slammed into her, forcing her legs to stop. She knew it was her mother's voice, even though she had never heard her scream like that before. Then she heard the footsteps tearing through the undergrowth. Her mother's words came to her as though she were standing right beside her.
"Run!"
She sobbed aloud and broke into a run. Almost at that same moment, she slipped over the edge of a ditch and tumbled down to the bottom, rolling over and over. She slammed into a tree trunk and groaned, feeling a bed of dried leaves and moss all around her. She looked around. Darkness surrounded her. Out of the corner of her eye, she could make out a thin sliver of light. She was in the hollowed-out trunk of a fallen tree that lay at the bottom of a ditch. Above her, she heard footsteps rushing past. She took a deep breath and tried to calm her pounding heart. The footsteps disappeared in the distance. She didn't dare to move. She just lay there in silence, listening to her own breathing and to the beating of her heart. Then she heard them. The footsteps. They came again. Much closer this time. They were clambering down the ditch, sending dead leaves and soil rolling down into the ditch. Dzugudini did not dare to breathe. The footsteps came nearer.
"Do you see anything?" It was Hondo's voice. He was further off. A grunt that was much too close for comfort came in reply.
"Yes."
Dzugudini's hand moved to the amulet that lay on her chest. She clutched it tightly and closed her eyes, not daring to breathe. The man was right beside her, right next to the tree trunk. He paused, turned this way and that, and then crouched. Dzugudini grew faint as she held tightly to the amulet, feeling the wings of the butterfly pressed against her sweaty palms. Her thoughts drifted back to Yasuka. His warm smile, his large eyes, and his boyish laugh when she accepted his gift.
"There's nothing here," the gruff voice above her said.
"Let's go. She can't be far," the reply came from further off.
The footsteps turned around and tramped off. Dzugudini sucked in a mouthful of air. Then the tears came. She sobbed for a long time in that hollow tree trunk, holding onto the amulet in her hand. Then the sorrow and exhaustion overwhelmed her, and she fell into a fitful sleep.

Yasuka squirmed under the firm grip of Chenzira, the High Priest, who held him beside him and squeezed his arm.
"You don't have to watch," Chenzira whispered. His voice, a deep baritone with a Butua accent, commanded respect. Though a priest, his athletic build suggested a history of physical exertion beyond ceremonial rites, and Yasuka couldn't budge from his firm grip. Standing in the midst of the soldiers gathered outside the guardhouse, he found that all he could do was stare at the upright tree stump that stood a few paces away from them. Two soldiers pushed his father out of the guard house. Banga stumbled forward. His face was bruised and swollen. His mouth hung open. Where his front teeth had been, now there was a reddish gap. Caked blood covered his body.
Yasuka took a moment to recognize this man. He had never thought his father could look so haggard, so hopeless. He looked away. Just because the Emperor had ordered that he was to be present at his father's execution didn't mean that he had to watch, as Chenzira had reminded him. His father was to be executed in secret. The entire affair was to be kept under wraps. In Dande, whenever anyone important disappeared, nobody asked any questions. That was just the way things were. Princes. Councilmen. Wealthy merchants. They had all disappeared over the years if they stepped out of line and fell out of favor. Now, it was his father's turn.
Yasuka hadn't wanted to see him. He didn't want to say goodbye. He did not want his final memory of his father to be this. His tears rolled down his cheeks as he stared at his feet. A guard grasped his hair and yanked his head up. He was to look. It didn't matter. The tears flowed so thickly that they blinded him.
He hated his father so much. He hated him for leaving him an orphan and for taking Dzugudini away. That was all that he had understood of what the grownups had said when they came to his house to take Yasuka away. They had pushed his aunt, his father's sister, to the ground and said the boy must come with them. When she chased after them, screaming hysterically, they assured her that the boy was not to die but was to be handed over to the empire. All that had belonged to his father was now confiscated by the state. Banga's lands, his cattle, and his son. All were being taken by the Emperor as payment for the man's treason. As they rode and he walked behind them, making their way back to the city, he had caught snippets of their conversation. Dzugudini was missing. Her mother was dead. They had been hunting in the forest for her since the previous day.
And his father was to die.
As he stood outside the guardhouse, he noticed Dzugudini's father standing at a doorway nearby, looking on. Their eyes met. His stare was cold. Hard. As if he hated Yasuka. Hated him more than anything and anyone in his life. Banga was not enough. He wanted Yasuka dead also. Yasuka looked away, and saw his father moving towards the street stump.
Banga knelt of his own accord and stretched his neck out on the stump. He raised his eyes and caught Yasuka staring at him. This was goodbye. Yasuka did not want to look at him, but he couldn't turn his eyes away. The man raised his axe in his hands. Banga drew a deep, rasping breath.
"Yasuka," he cried out. "Return ngomalungundu to its owner."
Yasuka turned away as the axe came down. That was the last time he saw his father or heard his voice. Everything that happened afterward felt so far away and distant.
It was happening to him and around him, but he was not part of it.

He felt rough hands on his shoulders. They pushed him away. He was placed in the guardhouse, not far from where he last heard his father's voice. Then, some soldiers forced him to walk to the Emperor's palace. He had never been there before and had always dreamt of visiting it one day. The day had finally come, and he couldn't take in any of the decorations or the furnishings of the tall walls and the high roofs. He did not see Hondo, sitting with his back straight, with his nose held up high like a man whose dignity had been offended. He did not see the other councilors squirming in their seats, nervous and uncomfortable under the angry gaze of Emperor Chimedza. He was a thin man, with pallid skin and a persistent cough. He did not look well.
The men were speaking, but their voices were far away and distant. He could hear them, but the meaning of their words was lost to him, as though they were speaking in kichidima or kibutua. All he heard was the Emperor's coughing. It came loud and clear, above the sounds of the men speaking.
"My fathers," Hondo said. "I am honored by the appointment to replace the traitor as the head of the Barwe Tonga. You know that I have served faithfully for all of these years, and it is an honor to be seated here amongst you."
Chimedza coughed and cleared his throat.
"Appointing you to replace the traitor was the least that we could do to repay you for your loyalty," Chimedza said. Then he coughed and cleared his throat. "You will also take all of his lands and his property as your own."
"I want the boy also," Hondo said.
"If I may," Chenzira spoke haltingly, sounding like a man who was biting back his fear in order to speak clearly. "The boy had nothing to do with his father's treason."
"I want the boy," Hondo said. "His father cost me my wild dog. The boy will take its place."
"He is a human being, Hondo," Jendayi said. The Emperor's mother sat at his right hand, wearing a red silken robe bordered with gold lace. A matching red headband covered her short-cropped hair.
"He is the son of a traitor." Chenzira said. "He should be grateful that I am not selling him into slavery."
"His father owes me a wild dog," Hondo repeated, "And I will be repaid in full."
"So be it," Chimedza said. "The boy is yours."
Hondo's cold, hard stare met Yasuka's eyes. An icy grip clutched Yasuka's heart. No longer embarrassed to cry in front of all of these strangers, he did nothing to stop the tears rolling down his cheeks.

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