them that all these perils I’ll face
And that I’ll never cringe nor cower.
Tell them that I, their humble servant maid,
Shrink not from the scowl of a foe—
For they who have the Great God as ally
Are twice the victors in war!
Tell them their servant implores them
For strength and their guidance true;
Mad is he who through Life’s swamplands goes
Without the guides from Tura-ya-Moya!
The Wakambi gathered in awe around their princess, their eyes wide open like so many astonished children. They had never heard a human being sing before. Never before had they heard sounds like those that streamed forth from the bow-harp as the princess gracefully struck the string with a short length of cane. They joined her as the magic of the song overwhelmed them, and soon the whole settlement was singing.
Their voices, most discordant from lack of experience, rang out across the startled heavens and the sleeping forests echoed and re-echoed to the heavenly strains of Tura-ya-Moya.
And the vast Masai armies advancing through the forests upon the Wakambi settlement paused in bewildered confusion as that unearthly melody reached their ears faintly across the dark distance.
‘Nangai of the Mountains, save us!’
Like a deadly flower growing in a meadow of green grass, another strange idea was born in the brain of the princess Marimba as she sang. This idea had nothing to do with music; it had a lot to do with death – soon to be meted out to the advancing Masai!
She promptly ordered her warriors to cut broad, long strips of strong kudu hide while she organised the women into gathering piles of round stones in strategic positions behind the palisades. This done, the princess called her commanders together and explained to them the use of the slings of hide with the stone shot. The men listened in blank amazement as the incredible woman explained the use of this simple and yet deadly weapon that she had just invented.
The night was as dark as the face of death. A mighty storm was building up its wrath in the east and into the ears of Kahawa came muted peals of savage thunder and he also saw the distant flickers of searing lightning. Kahawa was alone; he was one of the many guards posted all along the narrow walk inside the great stockade to give the alarm should the Masai risk a night attack. He was excited and his pounding heart beat faster than usual. This was war. This was no stupid conflict between mere clans over a mere trifle. This was the real thing: war in its deadliest form, a war between two different races of men!
Never since the very dawn of time had the land seen anything like it – two different races locked in a battle to death.
Kahawa was impatient; he wanted the Masai to come quickly so that the battle might begin sooner. He wanted to see the effectiveness of the weapons used by either tribe and especially the effectiveness of his mother’s latest invention. Its effect should be devastating indeed!
A soft footfall induced him to whirl around, his heavy war club firmly gripped in his hand. But he gave a sigh of relief when a well-known and beloved voice said softly through the darkness: ‘Kahawa?’
‘Mother!’ whispered Kahawa fiercely, ‘what are you doing here?’
‘I, too, am a warrior, Kahawa,’ came the rich voice from the darkness. ‘My son must not think that he is the only one who knows no fear. His mother is fearless too.’
The dark shape that was Marimba moved closer to her son and a far-off flash of lightning was reflected briefly from the copper ornaments she wore. Kahawa felt a strong urge to tell his beloved parent to stop being foolish and to retire to her hut. Kahawa loved no one on earth more than he loved his mother and it did not matter if the whole Wakambi nation were wiped out, as long as his mother was safe. It was understandable therefore that his mother’s next words filled him with an insane rage and an unquenchable hatred of the Masai.
‘Kahawa, I wonder whether it would not be wise for me to surrender myself to the Masai when they come. It might stop them from attacking the village, and stop a needless war.’
‘Mother! What in the name . . .’
‘Listen child, that Masai you captured has been talking to us again. He told us the Masai have known for a long time that we were here. They have known about us for many generations but have simply chosen to leave us alone and continue fighting amongst themselves as they had always done. But some while ago their evil outcast god Nangai, who has enslaved the very souls of the Masai, ordered them to attack us and, after wiping our tribe out, bring me back to him alive.’
‘Bring you to him!’ cried Kahawa furiously. ‘And what does he want to do with you?’
It seems that when Nangai was driven out of the land of the gods he was wounded grievously by an arrow of Mulungu, the Father of Light, and he has been bleeding slowly out of existence ever since. His left arm has been almost completely eaten away by the poison from Mulungu’s arrow and he is dying the slow death of an immortal god. In order to survive he needs the living flesh of another immortal, a human immortal, to consume raw. He must also drink a little of that immortal’s blood every day. And I happen to be the only immortal within reach.’
‘Ayieeee!’ cried Kahawa in utter disgust. ‘You must not think of surrendering yourself to that foul monster, Oh my mother. I cannot bear to think of you being mutilated by that ogre!’
‘My son, there is no other way. Nangai is dying fast and he is getting desperate. If he cannot get me one way he will the other, even if it means annihilating the entire Wakambi tribe. I cannot let this happen. I love the Wakambi people too much to be the cause of their destruction.’
With that she turned to go and Kahawa felt like a man who had been stabbed to the heart. His mother was his very life and she was the only person for whom he had any love. He did not relish the prospect of losing his only surviving parent. Come what may, he was not going to allow his mother to surrender herself to Nangai.
He leapt after the departing silhouette and struck her a stunning blow on the back of her head with his war club. Using two of the five battle slings he had with him, he tied the heavenly form of his unconscious parent securely hand and foot. He then carried her to a small cave near the summit of the hill and gently laid her down within, rolling a great boulder over the mouth of the cave.
As he turned away from the cave the Masai launched the long-awaited attack. It was as sudden as it was ferocious. One moment the settlement had been wrapped in silence, with the distant growls of the oncoming storm the only sounds heard; the next moment alarm horns were sounding all along the stockade as keen-eyed night guardsmen saw shadowy figures creeping up the boulder-strewn slopes towards the village.
Wakambi warriors burst out of their huts and raced for the stockades as a withering storm of Masai arrows fell upon the village. Men and women caught in the open screamed hideously as falling arrows tore into their bodies. But the palisades were manned by then and the Wakambi were fighting back fiercely. About five thousand battle slings snapped and a hail of humming stones decimated the first wave of attacking Masai warriors. The survivors dived back into cover,
