CHAPTER 22
The Conspirators

Without a telling of Tambo and the Bride, Nasomi was lost for what to do. Among all the strange and scary dreams she had, there was emptiness where she sought for them. She knelt in her room whenever she was alone, trying to force up the familiar feeling of a telling, focusing her mind on Tambo or on Reema, but nothing of them came when she slept.

The prophetess implored her to stay a few days in Mifirhana, and pestered her about whether she had any dream of whoever put the prince in the well. Nasomi had none, got tired of explaining to the Eyes and Ears about the haphazardness of the tellings, kept reminding those who fawned on her that she was no special seer, or any seer for that matter. She stayed, though, because she was waiting for a dream to guide her to Tambo.

As days went by, she was faced with only one choice: to return to Nari. There was a pit in her belly, and it dug deeper whenever she thought she had to give up Tambo. She cried over it, made her peace with it, cried over it again. It meant letting go of the dream she had had about returning with Tambo, letting go of the conviction that it had to be her to get him back, letting go of the promise she had made to Ramona. Her children would have to grow up without a father. She would say he was dead, and she would mourn with them.

Reema had won. She was the victor in this. She’d broken a home, taken a husband and father. Driven Nasomi mad, and was gone beyond where Nasomi could reach her. On the night before she could depart, Nasomi failed to sleep, fighting within herself over the two choices. Returning home seemed the wise thing to do, but was she to give Tambo up just like that?

The next morning, as Nasomi was preparing herself, Wakani knocked on her door. “It is I,” he said. “May I enter?”

She said to come in. He was dressed in the clothes he came with from Nari, had a good smile on his face and Nasomi could tell he was trying to conceal how truly excited he was about finally going home.

“I thought you might need these back.” He had in her hands Nasomi’s folded cloak, the leather bag and something else wrapped in a cloth. Nasomi looked into the bag. There was the water pouch, a piece of cloth, and her coins.

Delight and hurt sprung in her heart when she took the cloak. “I thought someone had stolen these.”

“I kept them in my room.”

The wrapped item was the kitchen knife with a white handle.

“You kept this?” Nasomi asked.

“Yes, My Lady. It looked important.”

“It's… not. But I'll take it. I guess I cannot leave it here. I will discard it on our way. Is everything ready?”

“Yes, My Lady. Though the prince has requested your presence. He awaits you at the palace.”

“Me? Why?”

“You told them where he was. You saved his life. I think he means to thank you. I came to escort you there.”

An idea came to Nasomi: Maybe I should ask him for a horse. She rewrapped the knife and tossed it onto her bed. Maybe, she thought, maybe I can even go to look for Tambo, even without the dreams. Either way, a horse would serve me well. Wakani and I could go our separate ways. “Help me with my hair,” she said to Wakani.

The palace of Mifirhana wasn’t as grand as any in Nari were, but it was majestic in its own way. It was set atop a hill, hewn stairs leading up to it. Around the four buildings that made the royal dwellings were well-maintained lawns and flower gardens. Guards stood vigil at a number of spots about the hill. Wakani led her by the arm all the way to the Meeting Hut. Kanguya came along.

“Go in there, kneel, and the rest you will be told what to do,” Wakani said. “I will wait for you here.”

Nasomi entered. The Meeting Hut was as wide as it was long. It had a dais in front upon which the young prince sat in a chair and on a larger chair sat a man Nasomi guessed was the uncle, Majiyo. She walked in between rows of filled benches, a score pair of eyes upon her and the kowasa slinking beside her.

Nasomi knelt when she was near the dais.

“Rise and come closer,” the boy said. She could tell he was trying to be confident, to show manliness in the presence of his representatives. She took as much information as she could in a non-offending glance at him: a slender boy, wide eyes, a large shaved head. He wore no shirt but a deep brown sash across his bony chest, and a leopard-skin skirt up to the knees. His feet were shod in sandals with short thongs fastened about the ankles. He looked to be about ten years old.

Meron is nigh eight, Nasomi realized. And as motherless and fatherless as this prince was. I should go back to Nari.

“I want to relay my gratitude to you,” the prince said. For finding me,” the boy said. “I called for you to show you that…” He was remembering rehearsed words. “Tha… to show you how delighted and grateful I am.”

“Had it not been for you,” the uncle said — his gaze was penetrating, as though he was taking her apart — “Who knows what would have happened? This ability of yours, surely it comes only from the Goddess.”

“Perhaps,” Nasomi replied. “I, too, am delighted I was of help, My Prince. When I had the vision, I didn’t know what it was about, or whom I saw.”

“These visions of yours,” Majiyo said. “Explain to us how they work.”

“In truth? I don’t know. I don’t choose them, or understand them. They just come to me through my dreams.”

“You said you saw Prince Tebula in the dream when he was in the well.”

“Yes.”

“And you did not see who did it? The evil one who put his dirty hands upon the ruler of Mifirhana?”

“I did not.”

As the people looked at and nudged at each other, Nasomi noticed the prince shivered slightly. Her heart went out to him, and she couldn’t keep back the mother in her.

“Are you well, My Prince? You were in that dark smelly well a long time, with little room to move.”

“I was scared,” the prince said. Majiyo gave him a sharp look and the boy kept quiet.

“The prince is recovered,” Majiyo said. “He is strong now. Only some pain in his legs, but it will heal. If no one has anything to say....” He gestured to the seated council of the four elder Daughters in the front, and older leaders immediately behind the Daughters.

They all shook their heads.

Nasomi spoke again, to the prince. “I know what it means to be alone and afraid. It is scary. All you think is how it is the end of you. I have felt it many times. But there’s something that happens to help. Often, if not always. Sometimes it’s other people, sometimes it’s the mysterious goings-on in the world, the workings of the Ma— of the Goddess. I felt your pain, My Prince. I know what you experienced. I was there with you. You did not see me, did not feel me, but I was there, and I understood your suffering. You were not alone.”

The prince jumped off his chair and ran to hug Nasomi. The gesture surprised many, shocked some, left Majiyo with a stupid face. An atmosphere of loving peace settled in the room. Nasomi saw someone wipe a tear; grins and smiles flashed all around, and a few touched their hearts.

“Thank you, Esha,” the boy said fervently. “Thank you.”

Nasomi returned the embrace, unable to contain the mirth that came bursting out. Kanguya did not want to be left out. He bounded forward and hugged the prince. Tebula seemed to love it. He let go of Nasomi and hugged the kowasa back. The room was filled with laughter and happy chatter. Majiyo stayed still in his chair.

The prince dashed to get a basket next to his seat, presented it to Nasomi. “For you. A small token of appreciation.”

“Thank you, My Prince.” She retrieved from the basket a long supple dress adorned with ruby gems and gold trimmings. Her mouth went wide. “I thank you for this, My Prince!”

“Can I play with him?” Tebula indicated the kowasa.

“You can. His name is Kanguya. He likes to pick up shiny stones.”

“Even me! Come, Kanguya, let’s go outside.” He ran outside and Kanguya followed.

“Prince Tebula!” Majiyo called, clearly miffed. But the boy did not return. Majiyo pointed to a spear-wielding warrior. “See that he is safe.”

Everyone else took it upon themselves to shuffle out of the room, and Nasomi could see that it irked Majiyo.

An elderly woman put her arm around Nasomi. “You’re a gift to us, Esha. You brought happiness to him.”

“The first ever council meeting full of happiness,” another one said.

Nasomi turned to go outside, but Majiyo called, “Nasomi Esha? Would you linger a moment?”

The prophetess and the other three Daughters of Mohale and two elders lingered, too. Two warriors wet to stand by Majiyo’s sides.

“Here,” Majiyo said, making a sweeping motion with one hand, “in the presence of the few most trusted people in Mifirhana, you may divulge the truth.”

Nasomi was confused. “I don’t understand what you mean, Musha.”

“Mushae is how you address me. Your visions, your dreams. I need you to tell us who you think the evil people who did this are.”

“I spoke the truth. I know nothing more. The dreams can take a long time to reveal things.”

He leaned back in his seat. Was that satisfaction she saw on his face? Nasomi looked at the people around her. They hate him, she thought. They might even suspect he was involved in the prince’s abduction, but they fear him and cannot say anything.

“Is there anything then, we can do for you, Esha?” he asked.

“A horse,” she said.

“Granted.”

The prophetess stood and came to stand beside Nasomi. “Truly, Mushae Majiyo, she can stay in Mifirhana a few more days. Her presence is a joy to the prince, and he will heal better.” She squeezed Nasomi’s hand and looked at her, her eyes pleading.

“Eyes and Ears, we cannot detain her if she has an urgent need to go,” Majiyo said. “She is a foreigner, one who has caused quite an unpleasant stir in our community.”

“She found the prince.”

“And we are full of gratitude. But it is up to us now, or our people will think we cannot lead. If there are any visions needed – you are the Eyes and Ears, are you not?”

The prophetess looked offended. Nasomi turned to her. “I am sorry. I have no more dreams to help.”

“May you go well,” Majiyo said. “The Goddess protect you, and help you find this Bride you are looking for.” He indicated the warrior on his right. “Adomo here will take you to the stables and give you the best horse.”

The one called Adomo nodded and came toward Nasomi. He gestured toward another door and he walked after her. Outside, Nasomi stopped. I should find Wakani, she thought.

Adomo gave Nasomi the lightest shove with his spear. She scowled at him, warning him not to do it again. He smirked and shrugged, pointed the way to the stable.

The stable was a shelter made from knobbly poles and thatch. It was small by any standards, a single undivided structure with all of twelve horses in it. The entire Mifirhana had only a dozen horses. She found the gate and opened it. The stench of horse dung burned the insides of her nose.

She was immediately attracted to a sleek black stallion, smooth in looks as in movement. While the others moved away from her, the black one stood proud and lowered his head to let her pet him.

“That one,” said Adomo, “is for the Guardian of the throne.”

She turned to face him, horror-stricken. His voice! It was the same gruff one as the prince’s captor in the dream. “It’s you!” she blurted.

“It’s me what?”

But he knew what she was talking about. It showed on his face. Adomo shifted his spear, not directly pointed at her, but tilted forward enough to make her know he was threatening her.

“Esha, take the black horse if you want it. Just leave.”

There was a bundle of blankets and reins at one end of the stable. All she had to do was pick what she needed and ride away from Mifirhana.

And let them kill a young boy, she thought.

With a good look at Adomo, she took a few steps toward the bundle, then dashed aside and ran for the gate. Adomo shouted, and something hit her at the back of her head. She fell to the ground. Her head felt like it was on fire.

She rolled to face upward – No, it was Adomo who rolled her over with his foot. Her vision was blurry, but she could tell that it was the butt of a spear that came down at her face.

The world turned black.

When she came to, she was moving. Being dragged on the ground. Adomo set her down, and she tried to get up.

He pushed her down with his foot. “No noise, Esha. Don’t make me stab you. I will know what to answer to people if you force me to kill you. I let you have the Mushae’s horse! The one he rides to in battle. You’re a stubborn woman.”

The man shoved a piece of cloth into Nasomi’s mouth, while holding her head to the floor. When she struggled, he punched her in her belly. He picked up some rope and tied her hands behind her back, as well as her feet. He dragged her to the further wall.

She was in a room she didn’t recognize, mud walls and thatch roof. It stunk of urine and the only light came through a small square window. The gag was choking her and she breathed in heavy dust from the floor. She sneezed and tried to cough out the gag. Adomo kicked her.

“I said no noise.”

Wakani, she thought. I should have gone to find him.

Adomo walked to the wall and hit his face in it. He winced, touched his bleeding nose. He seemed satisfied and came to drag her to the edge of the hut. He turned her face down, and she heard him walk out of the door. It banged shut, and she heard him close a latch.

Outside, Adomo began shouting. “Mad again. The Esha has gone mad again! She hit me!” His voice faded as he repeatedly shouted that Nasomi was mad again and had attacked him.

A gloom enwrapped Nasomi. She wriggled and squirmed. Her hands and feet chafed, her shoulders hurt. No position – sideways, on her back – eased her suffering. She gave in to tears, to despair.

With great effort, she spat out the gag with the help of her tongue and a wild shaking of her head. She wheezed a number of breaths in, coughed. When she was young, she could get her clasped hands over her shoulders. But now, her shoulders threatened to tear off.

The gloom thickened. As the walls seemed to close in on her and she thought she might lose her mind again, she scrunched her eyes shut. It was coming upon her, the madness, breaking the walls of her mind, shattering her soul.

She heaved herself into a kneeling position, forehead to the floor. She was breathing hard, fighting the fear, battling the insanity. “No!” she declared. “Not again!”

Her body shuddered terribly, and a warm sensation rode inside her belly toward her throat. She lifted her head and let out a cry. For the first time while awake, Nasomi was thrust into a telling.

She knew it was one because she was both a bound woman in a hut in the small kingdom of Mifirhana and a lithe boy bounding from tree to tree in a dense forest somewhere far east of where she was.

Then she was the boy entirely, and she wondered if her body in the hut fell to the floor or remained kneeling.

The boy climbed skillfully up a gigantic tree, gazed east when he was near the top. Nothing but the forest canopy that stretched to the horizon was in sight, but he gazed dreamily as though he could peer at something hidden by the trees. An uninhabited city that was supposed to be his home.

He had never been there, having been born by the ocean shore. And this spot was beyond the permitted limits. His father would throw a fit. But for now, the boy was here and he needed to be about his daydreaming. There in the west was the abandoned holy city of Dunia. The home of his ancestors, awaiting the return of its people. He hoped the Return would be within his lifetime. He always dreamed of it, making up scenarios of him leading the exodus as a mighty warrior. He pictured entering one of the mighty stone temples to worship at the statues of the old gods.

He could almost hear the scolding he would receive from his father when he got back. He let go of the trunk, dove down. His belly fluttered and panic burst through him as he plummeted. He caught a branch deftly, spun around it and let go to land on another.

He hopped from branch to branch, tree to tree. He dove down, somersaulted to land on his feet on the ground. He ran in between thick trees, came to an opening that ended abruptly in a cliff overlooking an ocean. He had done this many times to know when to stop before falling over the cliff.

Nasomi would have gasped if she had come here in physical form. The ocean was vast and blue. At the horizon, it was so one with the heavens that she couldn’t tell where the water ended and the sky began. The air was filled with the smell of the salty water and roasted fish. She smelled it through the boy’s nose.

On the beach was spread a habitat of dwellings made from timber, stretching for miles below the plateau. The people moving about down there were strange to Nasomi: gaunt, livid and tall, with so little flesh that she could make out their skeletons. They were the boy’s people, for he was equally emaciated.

He was relieved he couldn’t see his father. He leaped down the cliff, bounding from rock to rock like a cricket.

The telling shifted.