The Ancient Lands: Warrior Quest, Search for the Ifa Scepter (3 page)

After Anan and his companions walked away,
Bomani tried to release some of the fury steaming inside, but he
could not. His anger stayed with him and he knew that he had to do
something with this energy. Bomani grabbed his spear and prepared
for a fight. His opponent —his shadow. He wrestled theatrically
with his spear and hopped along his path, impersonating a warrior.
He jabbed at the air and triumphed over an invisible foe. “Ugh,
ugh, take that! I will be a great warrior some day — better than
all in the land. It’ll be my name that the people will call and
shout into the night. They will remember
my
deeds, and the
stories told by the elders will be about me. “
Oh, great warrior
Bomani, protect us from harm
,” they’ll pray. I will be
king!”

Bomani leapt up, and landed on a large
boulder in the garden. He jabbed his spear in the air again
puncturing another imaginary assailant. “Take that beast! Ugh! Feel
my strength! Fear my wrath! Arrggh! Ugh…take that!”

Bomani was unaware that he had an audience,
and when he heard his mother’s voice, it startled him.

“Bomani, what are you doing, and to whom do
you speak?”

“Um, to no one Mother, I was just….”

“And just who is it that should fear your
wrath? Is it me?” she teased.

“No, Mother,” Bomani said.

The Queen sat upon a smooth granite bench,
located in front of a large boabab tree that stood in the middle of
the garden. She beckoned Bomani to sit next to her.

“Mongo did quite well today. I would expect
that you would want to join your brother and congratulate him on
his triumph.”

“Mongo doesn’t need me to tell him how great
he is. There are enough people to do that.”

The queen heard her son’s cry of envy. She
had never directly talked to him about it, but she had known for a
while that something was wrong. It hurt her to see him separate
himself from his older brother. Of course from a mother’s
perspective, she wanted more than anything to see her sons bond.
She was even more concerned because Bomani seemed to prefer to be
alone most of the time, and this worried her.

“And so, on a night of festivity, danger,
loss and triumph, you choose to be out here alone?”

“What’s wrong with being alone?”

“It’s not just tonight, Bomani. You rarely
ever play with any of the boys your age. It worries me.”

“I don’t get along with the other boys.”
Bomani said.

“Could it be that you think you are better
than them?” his mother asked. Her accuracy and ability to read him
was beginning to make him feel small and vulnerable. This trait
usually made him feel safe and protected by his mother, but now it
irritated him.

“I AM better than they are, Mother, I am the
son of a king,” Bomani replied, “I could be king someday.”

“Maybe, but you know that your brother is
most likely to be crowned.” His mother gently reminded him.

“I hope not.” Bomani said.

“Still, a king must understand that he is no
better than any of his people.” The queen looked up into the sky as
if she searched for the answers in the stars. “The moon shines on
all of us the same, Bomani, and even kings must be thankful for her
light.”

“The moon will go, and it will be back
again, and it will go, and it will come back.” Bomani made light of
the message his mother attempted to express.

“My son, the moon has great power,” she
continued, “and if we are fortunate, we may get just a hint of that
power from her. Why, you yourself were born under a full moon.”

“At every full moon,” his mother continued,
“I think of you, my youngest child, and I give thanks to her.

“You mean small one,” Bomani replied —
unwilling to allow his mother’s sentiment and warmth to change his
mood.

“You will grow,” she said.

“I don’t want to grow. I want to be big
now.”

“Don’t be so anxious to grow up. When you
are a child, you are free of responsibility and duty. Once
childhood is gone, you will never see it again, aside from watching
children play, and then you will understand how free you are now in
childhood. Why do you think your father indulges you so? He looks
at you and he remembers his childhood. He also knows what you will
be faced with when you are a man, and he wants you to enjoy this
time in your life while you can,”

“But, I’m ready now! I’m ready to show
Father how great I can be now, and that I am just as great as
Mongo!” Just as he said this, two villagers danced by in masks,
singing, “
Mongo, Mongo, Mongo.”
Their festive chants and
unintentional mocking snatched Bomani’s breath away. He lowered his
head as if he’d been defeated and sighed. The Queen placed her arms
around his slender shoulders, and this time he didn’t pull away. He
sat next to his mother for a moment and released his anger.

“Don’t worry so much about being king. If
your happiness only resides in the highest of goals, the rest of
your life will be empty. Sometimes, it’s the littlest things. Every
man, just as every tree in the land, and every hawk that flies
above, and even the great Madunia herself, blossoms in its own
time.
You
will blossom in your own time, but for now, it is
your bedtime,” said the queen. She wanted to kiss him and feel his
familiar forehead against her lips, as she used to when he was
younger, but out of respect for his need to be seen as a man she
did not. Bomani looked into his mother’s eyes, torn between being
the little boy who found comfort in her arms, and his need to prove
himself a man.

“Girls blossom mother.”

Her response was a smile, and then she
realized that perhaps there was yet another topic that they needed
to discuss,
girls.
But she would save that one for another
day.

“Before you go to sleep,” she said, “You
should say good night to your father, and congratulate your brother
on his victory. He could have lost his life tonight.”

“Yes, Mother.”

Despite both of their reservations, she
leaned over to his forehead and pressed her lips against his ebony
skin. “Good night, my son.”

Mongo entered his father’s quarters with the
lion stretched across his shoulders. His father applauded him and
stepped forward as his son approached him. “A fine prize for you,
my son, but you need to take it easy, until you have healed,” said
the king.

“A gift for you, Father,” said Mongo laying
the lion on the ground.

“You have once again proven yourself to be a
great warrior. I’m proud of you.”

“It came at a price, Bogo’s life.”

“Bogo’s life ended earlier than one might
expect, still he died the way that a warrior would wish to, in
battle. Don’t forget that.”

“No Father, I don’t think that I will.”

“Now,” said the king. “If you are ever to be
king, you must learn the meaning of all things. What of this lion?
What does it mean?”

“It worries me father. The lion should not
have come into Ufalme. It must have been desperate and hungry. Look
at how skinny his body is. This animal was starving to death.”

“Yes,” said the king, “it would seem that he
didn’t have a choice, did he? It doesn’t seem that he was in any
shape to catch much of anything.”

“Our land is dying father,” Mongo said.

The king sighed. He stood silent for a
moment. Then he looked at the gifts his people had given to him.
The jewels, the precious metals, the animal hides, the vegetables,
all this at a time when food had become more and more scarce. The
king felt uneasy about receiving these things from the people
during a time of near famine, but offerings given to a king from
his subjects were tradition. The people lived by it and he too
always followed the old ways. It was their way.

“And what do I do with all of this?” asked
the king. “The people give too generously.”

“They love you, Father. They give to you
because you give to them.”

“Soon I will be able to give them nothing,
and they will have nothing to give.”

The king contemplated what his son suggested
and tried to conceal his concern about the true state of things in
his kingdom, since the drought began. Suddenly, in the corner of
the king’s quarters, there was movement and both father and son’s
attention averted to the sound. Mongo readied his hand on his knife
as he met the eyes of the king. Mongo nodded and motioned toward
something off to the right of them. The king nodded in agreement.
Then Mongo noticed the shadow on the floor outlining a familiar
shape. He whispered into his father’s ear. “I think it is the young
one.”

The king smiled and nodded his head.
“Guards,” he said. There is an intruder in here. Find him.”

“Yes sire,” the guards shouted.

“And when you find him,” the king added.
“Kill him! Bring me his heart on a stick! We will feed him to the
pigs!”

“No!” It was Bomani. He stepped out from the
large, wood-carved totem that he had been hiding behind, He felt
disappointed in himself because he had betrayed his own hiding
place.

Mongo laughed. “Bomani, come out where I can
see you!” demanded the King.

Bomani stood behind a carefully pruned sweet
thorn.

“Why are you hiding? Were you eavesdropping
again? What have I told you about that?” demanded the king.

“Shall we kill him, and feed him to the pigs
my king?” asked one of the guards who had realized that this was
all a game.

“What do you think Mongo?”

“Well, I suppose, that if he comes out and
gives himself up, we will only jail him for the rest of his
life.”

“Very funny,” Bomani mocked cynically then
approached King Jumbe and his brother haughtily.

“I’m sorry, Father, I just came to say
goodnight.”

Bomani greeted his father informally, and
stood opposite them. It seemed Bomani’s mind never tired from
measuring himself against his brother. He took pleasurable notice
of the possibility that at the rate he was growing, some day he
might stand taller than both his brother and his father. However,
this small measure of satisfaction was instantly cancelled by the
fact that this matter didn’t seem to bother Mongo in the
slightest.

Mongo was not only the older brother, he was
also bigger and stronger; he didn’t even realize that they were in
competition. Mongo doted on his brother, and was proud of the man
Bomani was becoming. Mongo was just being himself, noble and
gallant. He was so fond of his brother and father that his efforts
in excellence were to please his family, and represent them with
honor, not because he sought after the throne. Still, Bomani
constantly measured himself against his brother. He constantly made
comparisons although there really were none.

While Bomani was still learning how to
master his strengths and abilities, Mongo had already acquired the
full deft and strength of a man, and perfected his skills. Mongo’s
agility was not only swift, and his blows powerful, but his aim was
always precise. When Mongo wrestled him, Bomani knew that his
brother did not exert his full strength against him, by the ease
with which he tossed him about when they played and tussled. This
angered Bomani, for he wanted no favors. Yet, Mongo could already
see that Bomani was well past the skill level that he had when he
was the same age. He took great pride in helping his brother become
stronger. In his eyes, the master is truly content when the student
has surpassed him. And Mongo, though well qualified for the task,
did not seek the throne.

Still, in Bomani’s eyes, Mongo was his
competition and it was this feeling of competition that inspired
Bomani to physically excel in all tasks. He was indeed better than
the rest of the boys his age. He had worked very hard to become so.
Bomani knew that in time, and with age, he would be an equal match
for his brother. He studied his brother’s attributes profusely. He
studied Mongo’s precision, speed, and panther-like agility.
Secretly, he admired Mongo more than he did anyone in the kingdom,
aside from King Jumbe himself. Though, he would rather be swallowed
by crocodiles, than admit it.

Mongo patted Bomani on the back
affectionately. “How are you little brother? Did you enjoy the
games this evening?” Mongo asked.

Bomani answered sarcastically, “Yes, and you
were,
as usual
, amazing.” He looked away, pretending to be
uninterested, and then he challenged his brother again proudly.

“I may soon join you and the others in the
games.” Bomani said.

“Someday soon, yes,” Mongo said, favorably,
“You should be preparing yourself formally if you want to compete.
Perhaps one day you will even beat me.”

“Yes, some day I will!” Bomani said.

Mongo and King Jumbe looked up at Bomani and
then at each other. They were both amused and yet concerned that he
was so solemn.

“Are you not proud of your brother?” asked
the king.

“Yes Father, but when do I get to compete in
the games?” Bomani asked.

“In time my son,” said the king.

“In the meantime, little brother, I will
continue to help you prepare,” said Mongo.

“No, I will train on my own,” Bomani
said.

Mongo and the king chuckled. “A young boy
who does not want help,” said the king.

“Excuse me Father. I will leave you two
alone. Good night, Bomani,” Mongo said.

“Good night, Son,” the king said to
Mongo.

“Good night, Mongo,” Bomani said.

The king began to remove his accessories and
jewels. “Bomani,” the king began, “what is bothering you?” Bomani
brooded over the question for a moment.

“I guess tonight Mongo has again proven
himself to be king; killing a lion and all.”

“You should not worry yourself over these
matters, son. Being king is both an honor and a burden. For now
focus your attention on the small tasks that I give to you.”