The Children of Banjul Part 3

Flailing arms and legs threw water into the air in every direction as the fight ensued.  Briefly Zaire broke the surface allowing his lungs to expel the water and refill them with air before returning to the struggle to maintain his life.  Their icy touch sent chills through his blood compelling him to frantically fight for his life as he swung the curved blade over and over having no affect on his tormentors.  Sinking back beneath the shadow waters the short reprieve gave him enough strength to break free and find his way back to a dry patch of earth as he reclaimed his composure breathing heavily.

Meanwhile in the citadel Mazula howled in madness by the news of Zaire’s escape,” incompetence,” he screamed at the captain of the guard as he swung the overly large hand across the man’s throat slicing him open.  Blood sprayed across the walls and his advisory's face shocking him.
 “Gather a dozen of my best warriors and ready my armor…I will oversee his capture… I will eat his heart.”

Finding their way through the darkness was like second nature as the smell of the stream’s running waters penetrated the air with nature’s nocturnal residents claiming their territory chirping and buzzing along the way.  A small and humble fire was lit where the women began to chant throwing herbs into the flames causing them to crackle. Bluish colored smoke spiraled up into the air as the flames danced wildly.  The elders began reciting the ancient prayer once recited by their ancient ancestors.  Children gathered more herbs and roots to throw into the dancing flames.  Young men fashioned hand instruments from nature’s fruits; rattles and hollowed wood would create rhythmic vibrations to accompany their melodic mantras enticing young women to dance to the rhythms that flowed through the night stirring the heavens.  One by one their consciousness became the collective.  The drumming continued the chanting continued the dancing continued.

Zaire stood upon the dry patch of small earth staring out into the unrelenting darkness,” this is madness,” he growled glancing up at the moon that appeared so close it was as if he could reach up and touch it.   Then the foul stench of the wind returned taunting him whispering,” there is nowhere for you to go warrior allow the shadow waters to claim you,” it whispered spinning the warrior’s head around in all directions to search for the words that stalked him.  Suddenly his heart began to race as if it were filled with a great burst of energy as his chest began to heat up beneath the chest plate with a surge of energy flowing empowering him, “I will be claimed by no such thing,” he said with new vigor silencing the ill words of the shadow waters.  Placing his hand over the chest plate he felt the heat radiating from the amulet as it spoke to him,” you have come too far to allow Mazula’s evil to impede your destiny.  For many generations the blood amulet has protected your line. It is not your destiny to perish at this time,” the amulet spoke clearing away all doubts and apprehension.”

“The blood amulet…it speaks to me?  Am I going mad it has never uttered words before,” he said to himself confused.

“Only in times of dire need does the blood amulet speak to the warrior’s heart…there is no need to be confused trust in your faith,” the words came.

“Your faith is sealed warrior…here in the shadow waters.”

“I think not foul works of Mazula,” he said taking the dagger from its sheath and swiftly cutting across his palm then smearing the blood over the chest plate diving deep into the shadow waters past the dead souls into the black abyss.    

Suddenly the small stream swelled running over their feet, and then up to their ankles.  They continued chanting the ancient prayers as the water grew deeper with its banks growing wider. Up to their waist they continued chanting.  Then suddenly a huge arm broke the surface followed by a leg just as huge.  Then coughing up water the great warrior emerged.  Bulging eyes peered out at the entranced villagers. 

“What manner of being is this we have conjured, is it a god…is it a water spirit,” they thought as the water born Zaire rose up.  The ground beneath his feet welcomed him with every step taken as he towered in height with strength displayed throughout his massive muscular frame.  The villagers remained speechless as stones; pleasantly surprised the magic of their ancestors was still strong and powerful almost making them apprehensive of their own power.   However a small boy named Ekewe walked up to the giant like figure.

“I am Ekewe,” he said with curiosity streaming through his small body. 

Towering over the small boy who only reached to his waist deaf to his words; looking with an undeniable fascination around at his surrounding for only seconds ago he was in an unfathomable watery abyss.  “The amulet returned me to its makers…the ones of the first magic,” he thought returning his attention back to the small boy.  Never had Zaire thought anything so unbelievable was possible.

“I am Ekewe. Did you come from the land of the ancestors?”

Zaire looked thoughtful, carefully contemplating his words. Ekewe spoke again thinking that maybe his words did not reach his ears. 

“Did you come from heaven… the land of the ancestors… in the kingdom of the dead who sit at the feet of the creator?  We pray to the ancestors to protect us from the man-beast Mazula.”

Zaire gathered his composure with the villagers standing around him.

“You must be from the land of the gods,” Ekewe said to the warrior, which brought a great burst of laughter from him, “no… I am no god,” Zaire chuckled, “I came through the watery abyss by way of the amulet into this realm.” 

The boy looked incredulous, “my elders chanted the sacred words, and I did not know what they meant… all I know is that they are words of power.”

Akosuwa then came forth with great wisdom radiating from her; the ancient one having lived over a century.  Zaire gazed at her with great admiration feeling her spirit.

“The prophecy is true,” she whispered walking around the great warrior inspecting him with diamond sharp eyes.

“You are Akosuwa the wise… my great grandmother told me of your kind when I was a small boy… people of the earth who birthed the blood amulet worn by my line.” 

“We thought we had lost those powers when so many of our holy people were stolen many moons ago and we were forbidden under pain of death the use of magic,” she said as tears streamed down her face.  Zaire knelled down on one knee honoring the elder.

Another villager emerged from the darkness; a man carrying a baby in his arms, “they steal from our land during the jackals’ moon.  They steal our people, they have stolen my wife. Our village grows smaller because of Mazula. 

Some of us have vanished without a trace…I have been calling upon you,” Choc said.  Zaire felt the pain of the village as they confided in him. 

“On pain of death no one will ever steel from your village again.”

“You are a god aren’t you,” Ekewe said.

“No… I have come because you have called me here.  An agreement was made with your ancient ancestors centuries ago, that when the heavens were in position the blood amulet would return to the children of Banjul.”

Suddenly loud angry voices penetrated through the darkness with Mazula’s guards wielding swords, chains and shackles waving torches as they burst forth from the forest with chaos erupting everywhere.  The tormentor’s voices penetrated the night denoting their cruelty toward those things sacred to nature. 

“Quickly blend with the essence,” the old woman said with the others in agreement.  Zaire looked intently around all that was left was the fire burning and the drums with the stream’s water steadily growing. 

“I don’t understand…why they didn’t revert to this strategy sooner and saved their holy people,” he thought to himself then realizing the use of magic was forbidden to them by pain of death.   Then shaken from his thoughts his presence was discovered by the king’s guards.

“We have found the prisoner…summon the king,” one voice cried out as they circled him with machetes drawn.

“Do not kill him he is to be the king’s sacrifice…find the others and kill them instead.”  Despite the drawn machete Zaire could sense their apprehension; the tension in their muscles as the smell of fear cloaked them, but he couldn’t distinguish if their fear was instilled by Mazula or if it was due to his uncanny escape and how he survived the shadow waters maybe it was all of the above.

“What is it that Mazula holds over you? You were once good men.”

“Silence you are not worthy to speak to the king’s guard,” one of the men growled with arrogance as the other four surrounded him.  One of the men held iron shackles to be clamped around his throat, wrist and ankles.

“Do you think I would allow you to collar me like some animal,” he said unsheathing the huge curved machete.

“There are four of us can you not count?”  Suddenly a large whiff of black smoke cloaked the man’s complete physical form with his screams ringing through the air shocking the others including Zaire.

“What sort of witchcraft is this?”

“Are you afraid…lackey of the king?” Then again the black plume of smoked appeared before the guard’s eyes cloaking him sending his screams out into the darkness as well.

“Where’d they go…where’d they go?”  Fear wrapped itself around him squeezing him taking his breath away.  Looking around desperately as he backed away from Zaire,” stay away from me,” he shouted steadily backing away from Zaire as he unfortunately backed into the sharpened end of a branch that impaled him through the armor he wore.  On the other end of the branch a young woman faded into view,” we will no longer be hunted like animals for your man-beast,” she whispered into his ear then changing back into a wisp of smoke horrifying the dying man.

“Demon,” the guard shouted as he charged Zaire,” call off your demon.” 

Metal then clashed against metal as the two exchanged blows.  Back and forth the blades swung as the two fought side stepping fallen branches trampling over the camp fire kicking ambers into the air unaffected by the flames while the king and the rest of his guards searched the area calling out into the night,” reveal yourselves we know you are here…by order of the king surrender yourselves,” the guard shouted with Mazula growing impatient.

“We will not be enslaved by the sadistic evil that has taken over our land.  The man-beast is not the true king,” a disembodied voice hissed into the air un-nerving them; causing Mazula to unsheathe the doubled edged sword forged in the devil’s fire giving it powers beyond human understanding.  The skull shaped hilt made for the overly large hand of the king swung effortlessly through the air separating the head from the villager whose words had taunted him spilling his blood on to the soft earth with his body fading into view.  His limp body laid motionless as Mazula stood over him,” find the rest and slay them all if they do not tell of Zaire’s whereabouts.

Zaire and the king’s guard locked into a deadly embrace continued,” surrender to Mazula and he will kill you quickly and I will not have to cut off your manhood,” he boasted until Zaire’s blade found a weakness in his chain-mail; falling to his knees he looked at Zaire in disbelief ,” why do you defend them? They’re nothing…animals scavenging in the forest living in caves.”

“It was because Mazula made them into what you perceived them to be….by taking away their homes…denying birthrights.”  The guard gurgled blood through his open mouth,” please…give me a warrior’s death.  I do not want the last thing I feel to be Mazula’s wrath for failure.”  Zaire looked at him intently with disgust.

“A true warrior does not prey on the weak and helpless…those who can not defend themselves.  You are not deserving of a warriors death you are deserving of the fate of the man-beast who sent you here to kill women and children,” Zaire said as Mazula made his presence known,” he is correct,” he added walking toward the dying man, and with one large hand he tore at the man’s throat slowly and cruelly sending him into convulsions of excruciating pain.

“ You will beg for your fate to be swift, but believe me it won’t…suffering shall be your lot,” he said as his last remaining guards made their appearance.

“Fail me and I will hold your heads as well,” he growled showing them the severed head of their fellow guardsmen with ragged and torn flesh dripping the man’s blood.

“This should prove entertaining,” Mazula chuckled as his two guards prepared to engage Zaire; circling him with shackles they intended to imprison him with.

“Hold still dog this won’t hurt a bit,” one of the guards snarled holding up the shackles intended to humiliate and degrade the warrior.

“Hurry…I don’t want to be in this god forsaken place any longer than necessary,” Mazula said watching his first guard fall prey to Zaire’s powerful blow from the hilt of curved blade that caught the man’s chin by surprise knocking him into the feet of Mazula.  Enraged with his guard’s failure the king’s twin blade cleaved  the man’s head in half,” I said to shackle him not to be plundered by him,” Mazula shouted diverting the other guard’s attention away from Zaire. The warrior took full advantage of the man’s distraction as he swung the blade across the guard’s midsection with such force his body spun around with his entrails splattering the king.  Mazula’s eyes bulged in disbelief his best men not only defeated but slaughtered before his eyes. 

“Am I still dirt beneath your feet?  What does the man-beast have to say now…the one who poses as a king?”  His dark evil began to rise up through him with such force it colored the night with his hate and loathing.  The pointed teeth bared his true nature as they seemed to elongate in his twisted mouth that foamed like some rapid animal.  Picking up the shackles from the blood stained earth,” you are my prisoner…surrender now and your death will be swift...however if you do not I will find everyone in this place and gut them slowly,” he growled as he swung the huge blade through the air manifesting a severed arm with a terrifying scream following; invoking the wrath of the villagers instead of fear. 

“Your evil will fall upon your own head,” the whispers came as a swift shove propelled Mazula forward into a tree.  Zaire watched incredulously realizing he was being given an advantage. 

“The dead await you…they await you for judgment man-beast.”

“The king is beyond judgments,” he roared swinging the blade again as it bore no fruits from his efforts.

“It seems you have no more power here,” Zaire laughed further angering Mazula.

“I have enough…I am the king, guards,” he shouted out,” guards…your king summons you!”

“It seems his majesty has been abandoned…or worse they have died at their own undoing.

“Is that so scum who proclaims himself a warrior…I am curious tell me before you die what dark magic was it you used to escape the shadow waters,” he asked stepping closer to Zaire breathing putrid breath from his lungs into the night air tainting it.  Zaire stood fast unafraid of the man-beast with an unwavering resolve. 

How did I survive the shadow waters….it was with no dark magic I can assure you... let me show you instead,” he said suddenly charging Mazula with the curved blade swinging it so fiercely it was almost a blur shocking Mazula and catching him off guard.  He was quickly backed up a considerable distance.   In an instant the two found themselves at the water’s edge with their confrontation ensuing as the water became waist high.  One by one fading into existence wisp of smoke materialized the villagers to witness the warrior take on the wickedness that had ravished their land for so long nearly stripping them of everything they held dear.  Water splashed high up into the air; over and over the two exchanged blows and matched strength.  At times they would fall beneath the surface thrusting about and then rise again in a fury.  Zaire managed to block the over sized hands as they both sank beneath the water.  The two then broke the surface gasping for air.  “Mazula your reign of terror is over your fate awaits you in the shadow waters,” he shouted seizing him by the throat squeezing with all his might as they disappeared back beneath the surface of the dark water. After a while the water’s surface became still as the massive amount of water transformed itself back to shallow stream revealing only the weapons from the confrontation at the villager’s feet.

I hope you have enjoyed another story from Another reality thanks for visiting

   

A Crime Scene's Vengence

No one dared to even go near the old abandoned house since the sheriff’s disappearance 30 years ago; answering a call for an unknown disturbance.  All that was left was his badge laying in a pool of his own blood beneath the portrait of old man Tanksley standing on a burned confederate flag.  There were whispers that the un-natural had taken up residence opening strange doors that peeled back the pages of time leading back to an era of abuses where the land and its unfortunates were the victims of laws that spawned cruelty.

The old house seemed to be a time portal that led back to an era of abuse and cruelty unfortunately it was the law of the time despite Abraham Lincoln being the 16th President of the United States, serving from March 1861 until his untimely demise in April 1865.

 From 1865 to 1877 following the civil war the reconstruction era brought about fear.  The strong preyed upon the weak that were systematically singled out for execution to keep the fear factor alive and well.   It also kept a people from rising up and it kept them from the knowledge of who they were.  All their strengths would be the detriment of a society as we know it,” he thought just before he was drug from his bed in the dead of night.

“You is one of them uppity ones…all educated and everything,” the gruff voice barked through the hood that covered his face that barely afforded him enough air to breath; yet his words of hatred flowed like water.

“I know you,” he said unafraid.

“Shut your black pie hole,” the voice said as a swift blow to the gut dropped him to his knees.  But his resolve was stronger than the blow that threatened to take his breath away as he rose up to face his tormentors with a strength he never knew existed within himself. He felt something deep within him that was hot and ferocious.  His head felt light and woozy as his eye sight became burry and then refocused.  Before he realized it their dead bodies littered the floor with their blood covering his hands,” oh dear Jesus what have I done?” 

And then someone came forth out of the shadows; an identical reflection of himself in every way.  Shock and disbelief gripped him so tightly he struggled to breathe starring at himself.

“Oh don’t look so shocked…ya knew sooner or later they was coming for ya.  The others gonna be here in a couple hours when these two don’t show up with the proof of their kill for their membership.  Yeah they’ll come looking for’em.  Now the question is wha’cha gonna do?”

“Who…who are you…where’d you come from?”

“You is asking to many questions.” 

Fright and fear stood by unmoving as he looked on to the bodies with his heart racing as he paced back and forth,” I gotta do something.”

“Well you better do it fast.” 

He grabbed one of the bodies by the arm in an attempted to move it.

“Now what is that suppose to do…boy let me help ya out.  How bout we jus set the place on fire with them in it?  Burn’em to hell that’s where they was going anyway we is jus helping’em get there a little faster,” he said laughing.  And from the wood burning he lit a piece of wood,” fetch me that oil…oh never mind I’ll jus do it myself.”

 Within minutes the flames were running up the walls.

“Don’t jus stand there boy…check them pockets see if these good ‘ol boys got any money, they usually do from all the colored folk they steal from.  You gonna need it…oh don’t forget…take them guns too…they got horses you can take. They’ll get ya out of Mississippi ain’t nothing left here for ya but trouble. Get up to the Carolinas.” 

Minutes later hot ambers were popping as flames raced across the ceiling,” now that’s a fire…not like them pathetic fires they burn on them crosses they burns on folk’s land,” he said as they ran from the burning shack.

“Looks like you is in luck…got yourself a way outta here best get going… ya owe me one… see ya in the next life. I’ll be watching over your descendants like I watch over you…jus like I promised.” 

Barely escaping with his life that fateful night decades later he never understood what happened or saw anything like it again.   

As the years turned to decades the old colonial sat alone coveting its secrets.  Empty and abandoned its history was incomprehensible as incomprehensible as the investigations into the sheriff’s demise; an unsolved murder that continues to remain a mystery.  It was said that the man’s reputation for being vindictive and cruel enforcing the law as judge jury and executioner had been his own down fall.   Some say his hate for old man Tanksley’s grand daughter was fueled by the wealth she’d inherited along with her strong personality and character resisting the man’s unwelcome advances.  It was whispered she had a predisposed affinity to attract ancestral spirits.  She also had a reputation; one that the sheriff should have heeded instead of scoffing at things he didn’t comprehend.  He allowed his arrogance to rule his better judgment that fateful night three decades ago.

Fictitious claims of disturbances were often used to gain access into a residence.  That was common practice for the sheriff who thought himself above and beyond the law he swore under oath to protect and uphold.

It was a hot and smoldering night walking back from the cemetery, “good lord even with the sun going down it’s still hot as fire,” she said to herself wiping sweat from her face walking up the path to the house. Out of the corner of her eye she spotted the sheriff’s car,” ain’t nothing worst then a rattlesnake that won’t no for an answer.”  She hurried to the house locking the door behind her.  She could hear the heavy footsteps making their way toward the door. Then all of a sudden the door came crashing open.  His cigar’s stench was strong and pungent similar to his body odor.  The large man glared at the woman.  She returned his glare with defiance,” get outta my house and get off of my land,” she growled thru gritted teeth.

“Listen here missy we can do this the easy way or the hard way…your choice,” he said unbuckling his belt buckle.  Her breathing became rapid with the muscles tightening in her face.  She felt as though her blood was boiling inside of her as her vision blurred out of focus before blacking out temporarily. When she regained her composure again she could hardly believe her eyes. “Where’d he go,” she said looking down at the pool of blood.  She noticed something in her hand she wasn’t holding before, “what on god’s earth is this,” she said dropping the badge into the pool of blood spilled out in the floor where he once stood.

Bewilderment settled over her throwing her into a world of confusion with the room spinning almost out of control. 

“Well best to get a hold of yourself it won’t be long before someone come looking for’em. Let’s get a move on,” he said smiling.

Shock and disbelief clutched her as she looked on to a figure that looked as if he came from another era of time.  “Ol peckerwood had it coming…he won’t be bothering no more colored folk or anybody else for that matter. I had a little run in with his descendants some time ago me and ya great grand daddy burnt up everything…they ain’t find hide or hair of anything.  Well jus do this a little different this time…this will be a crime scene they’ll never figure out,” he said as everything vanished except the pool of blood around the sheriff’s badge.

 All that remained of the old abandoned colonial house was a blood stain that marked its territory as a crime scene to an unsolved mystery.