The Children of Banjul Part 2

 An explosion of anger threw Mazula into a fit of rage hearing the bitter truth.  Grabbing a torch from the wall it grew as if the king’s anger was increasing its size.  The flame danced wildly as it took on Mazula’s malevolent spirit. Over and over he struck the warrior with its flames biting at his skin as he ranted and raved foaming from the mouth like some wild rapid animal terrifying the council until Zaire fell beneath the savagery.   

“Your majesty you’ll kill him how will he serve as the sacrifice if he is plundered to a pulp,” his trusted advisor said to him snapping him from the rage that revealed the beast within.  Throwing the torch to the floor it returned to its normal size, “take this dog from my sight… to the dungeons with him and at the rise of the jackal’s moon he’ll enter hell’s gates.”

Bruised and battered sprawled out on the dungeon’s floor human waste and filth surrounded him as rats ran across him.  Quickly gathering himself swatting the rats from his body he then backed away from the unidentifiable filth.  As he further gathered his composure he attempted to gain his bearings as he noticed his cell seemed to be isolated away from the others as he found it unusual to be the only prisoner in Mazula’s dungeons.  However in the distance he could hear horrible screaming.
 “The man beast is no doubt satisfying his unholy appetite with the suffering of others.”  Pacing back and forth testing the fortitude of his cell a bitter conclusion and realization almost dampened the warrior’s spirit. “Think…think there is a way out of this god forsaken place.  I will not fall prey to Mazula’s blood lust,” he declared finding a place on the floor suitable enough for him to make himself comfortable as fatigue compelled him to close his tired eyes.  But the horrible screaming went on snatching sound sleep from him, and then suddenly there was silence.  “Poor soul… may his ancestors guide him into the light to cross over to the kingdom of the dead to be with his honorable ancestors… for god has been merciful to him to allow death to take him from his suffering,” he prayed as sleep finally embraced him.

“Warrior…warrior you must escape before they come for you,” the faint whispers urged slowly stirring him from his hard earned slumber.  Looking through the darkness at nothing he stood up,” who is it that calls out?  Is this place cursed playing upon my mind robbing me of my sanity, or have my dreams become torturous…leave me be evil of Mazula.”

“It is not the will of the ancestors for you to parish in this place…the guards they come for you… I will do what I can to help you,” the disembodied voice said,

“Who are you…are you a ghost of this place trapped here?”

“Only one of many I have just passed over I heard your prayers for me…thank you for relieving me of those sufferings.  I will not see you suffer at the hands of Mazula’s evil.  Your words were the first holy words this place has ever heard.  Mazula’s guard are just as twisted as their king.  They will come to torture you and to break your spirit for the sacrifice.  Quickly position yourself to have the advantage then I will do what I can.  You must do the rest.  Take the guard’s tunic and helmet and make as one of them and I will show you the way out of this place, but you will have to survive the crossing waters …it is an evil place with many water ways and they are filled with many horrors thanks to Mazula’s wickedness.  I must warn you your chances may be slim to none in the shadow waters.”

“I’ll take my chances…my destiny is not to be another sacrifice of the man beast who claims himself a king,” Zaire vowed strategically positioning himself for the element of surprise.  The heavy footsteps of the guard echoed in the distance as he concealed himself in the darkness blending in listening intently for the sounds that would spur him into action.  With the heavy cell door swinging open the moment was quickly seized as bodies slammed against the cold dungeon walls breaking bones adding to the blood stained cell.

“Quickly...you will need weapons and disguise yourself as one of them,” the disembodied voice reminded him.  Immediately Zaire clothed himself as one of the king’s guards.

“Follow the passages where the air is the purest.  There you will find a hidden passage way out.  It’s where the guards snuggle out the bodies of women who died at the hands of the beast’s depraved pleasures.   Their bodies are taken to be exposed of at the water’s crossings a cursed place that has now become the shadow waters.  You must hurry I can help you no longer the fates they come for me to judge my soul,” the voice said fading away.

“Thank you,” Zaire said with gratitude.

It wasn’t long before Zaire was out of the citadel, but what awaited him was equally dangerous.  The crossing of the shadow waters; water ways that proved to be unearthly no man ever dared entering the watery realm of the dead for fear of drowning in the shallowest depths of water. Zaire made his way from the citadel through the forest with the ground beneath his feet becoming ever so moist as the earth signaled he was coming closer to the watery place where not even aquatic life existed.  With every step taken he felt as though the earth was in protest of his very presence.  Despite the chill that clung in the air he sweated fiercely struggling to go on through the marsh-like land.  “This place is cursed,” the wind whispered in his ear carrying a foul stench,” are you cursed as well warrior?”
 Zaire dared not to stop fearing the ground would swallow him whole.  “I am Zaire of Banjul son of Jakuta and no curses fall upon my head,” he retorted as the mud began to thin out becoming something that resembled water.

“You trudge through the tears of many…be warned trespasser trespassing in this place will be your end,” the wind whispered.  As he glanced down into the water he could not believe his eyes as a woman’s mutilated body seemed to have faded into view and then became evasive from his sight.  “Mazula’s victims,” he growled as the water became deeper in some places.  As he shook the image from his mind’s eye the ground became solid where he found his footing again where he rested briefly.  Looking around through the light of the full moon the marsh seemed as if it would go on forever in all directions with the water reflecting the moon. Then a strange and hideous sound pierced the still night; a howling that became louder turned his blood cold. 

“The jackals’ moon,” he whispered grabbing the curved blade that hung at his side.  With his heart racing he looked out on to the vast waste with confusion taunting him, how long have I been in this madness…which way is out,” he said desperately.

“It does not matter warrior…killer of maidens.”

“I am no killer of women,” he shouted offended at the accusation,” I grow weary of these accusations,” he shouted again.

“Liar…you wear the stench of woman’s blood on your clothing you carry the dagger that has drank the blood of many a virtuous woman,” the wind whispered as a hand from the water grabbed at his ankle; quickly he shook the disembodied hand from his ankle and began running deeper into the shadow waters without direction or bearings. Soon the water rose up to his waist and then his chest.  His efforts to swim in the cursed waters were almost thwarted as a dozen hands grabbed on to him pulling him under. His lungs began to burn as he fought to reach the surface of the water; with the blade in his hand he swung frantically at the apparitions pulling him deeper into the water.

In another place not far from the citadel the exiled and displaced gathered around a small fire in regret remembering how their land was transformed into a place of sorrow and oppression by the cold and heartless Mazula who believed in nothing; slaughtering at will those who occupied the once tranquil land for the riches the earth blessed them with.  Brutalizing enslaving, and dehumanizing many for what he perceived to be an affront to the natural law they were captured for their spiritual essence; for no commoner was worthy to possess such a power.  Suffering had taken up residence as anguish dominated the once serene land.   Afraid to leave the safety of their homes they were nothing more than prisoners within their own land until they fled Banjul once a place of abundance; now nothing more than a wasteland that held painful memories.   

Thankful for escaping the king’s oppressive rule they still remained in fear being hunted for their spiritual essence; the keepers of the earth and first magic were slowly dying out and they soon became nocturnal as it was the only time they felt secure; concealed within the darkness.  Gathered around in a small group of what was left of the village angry words were exchanged.  The small fire that burned flickered wildly revealing the fear etched on their faces, “Mazula continues to hunts us like animals despite the fact we have abandoned his lands.”

“He hunts us because of who we are… the color of magic flows through our veins…it does not matter that we have not called upon the fates or the earth mothers or any other force of nature,” Choc said looking away from the faces that searched his for something other than the words he spoke as the fire began to pop and crack. 

“The fire says you lie…and someone has called upon the unseen,” the old woman said softly as hushed whispers seemed to intensify the atmosphere.

“I am sick of hiding, being hunted and my people enslaved because of our birth right.”

 “We are hunted and enslaved because you are recklessly angry you endanger us all by whatever it is you are doing in secret Choc,” an angry man added.

“No…it is because we do not fight back with our gifts,” Choc said jumping up from where he sat with anger almost seizing him.  Only by being rational would he be able to remove the fear and despair from those he loved, “how many have we lost I can not begin to count it grieves my heart.  We were not meant to exist in anguish, and our ancestors did not wish this suffering to be our lot.  They were the keepers of the first magic.  How is it we have fallen so far from our destiny?  Condemned for our love of the earth mothers and her fruits… the only thing we are guilty of is being nature itself and being one with the heavens.  That is not to be punishable by death.  It is to be honored and when we do not honor the sacred way that is when we become cursed by those who hate for no just cause. We shame our ancestors by not embracing our birth right…and that is why we do not fulfill our destinies.  We are the keepers of the first magic, and yes I have called on the fates.  It is time for change I will not be led to the slaughter for the pleasure of evil.”

“Then you will die a horrible death in Mazula’s pit of hell.  We have lasted this long without the fates or the forces of the unseen,” one man said.

“This is not living when we only come out at night like stinging insects. We are people of the sun we are of the earth.”

“She is right this is not living fearing whenever the sun rises, and scavenging for food and hiding in caves,” another added.

“At least you are alive to scavenge for food.  How many of our women have met their demise in the citadel and now lay in the shadow waters' mass grave,” his words taunted.

“It is because you will not fight for us…we have a weapon given to us by our ancestors deep within,” she shouted as anger replaced fear.

“Please…we can’t get anywhere by arguing among ourselves,” Choc said,” I have called upon the unseen for aide before we are all dead and gone. Yes I have communed with those whose spirits are no longer with us we can not go on like this.  Those souls must be acknowledged and given prayer,” he went on without remorse or guilt.

“You have doomed us all by calling on the spirits of the dead.”

“No…we are doomed if we do not honor them.  They should be honored they are of our blood…taken away from us by Mazula to endure a horrid death and to be laid in the shadow waters that was once a place that fed us and quenched our thirst and bathed our babies.  Now it’s a place where the spirits dwell and it may be a place of hope for us,” he said.

“Then let us prepare for the old ways to open the way…the stream is where we should be,” the old woman said in agreement with Choc convincing everyone to embrace the ways of the ancestors.

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