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Blood Moon

By Keyshia-Pearl DeGruy

When; Generations after the War of the Fallen.

Where; White Bison Bayou: an outskirt of New Silver City; a metropolis criss-crossed by canals, bayous, woodland, farm land, and urban settlement.

Characters;

* Sam BlackBird (he/him); A prominent young war captain of the Oba Shaas.

* Quil BlackBird (he/him); A younger cousin of Sam BlackBird.

* RakShah BloodMoon (she/her); An elder wolf woman, over 100 years old. Her hair is silvery white, her eyes are blue and black, and she wears deep crimson.

* Shaastaa BloodMoon (he/him); Chief of the BloodMoons.

* Silver Lynx (they/them); The Scorpion Healer.

* Shonii Blood Moon (she/her); The Blood Moon Princess.

* Naanii Khaalii (she/her); The 444 Phoenix of Protection.

* Sabaa Lusaa (she/her); The current Black Wolf and 777 Phoenix of Polarities.

* Kasaii (they/them) ; A Teshiikaana Warlord

* Prince Nooka (he/him); The current Sky Fire Prince, aka Pitch Black Wild Cat.

* The Big Falayaa; A Warlord of the Underworld

* O-Maal; The Emerald Moccasin; Keeper of Okwaa-Tii-Kaa

* Khaalikii Yaaknii (they/them); A shaman and keeper of the Star Swords of Niikanaatkin.

Chapter One

Sam BlackBird assumed the world’s favor as he approached the great lodge of Shaastaa BloodMoon. He was accompanied by his cousin; Quil BlackBird, and other warriors of the Oba Shaa order. He was dressed in worn armor of navy, black, gold, ivory, and brown; same as his comrades.

They were intercepted on their way by warriors dressed in black, ivory, and crimson, with tattoos of the same colored inks across their bronzed and brown skin. They carried long bows, guns, machetes, and decorated spears. They were keepers of the BloodMoon Lodge, loyal to Shaastaa BloodMoon and his family. They told Sam Blackbird that he would not travel any further with his weapons, nor with the full host of warriors at his back. Sam found this strange and affirmed that he’d sent word to Shaastaa BloodMoon weeks earlier that he was coming. He did not understand either why Shaastaa would demand he leave his weapons and his company behind, as he never had before. Shaastaa was a godfather to Sam who’d spent much time across his life at the lodge as an honored guest. He asked the BloodMoon warriors for an explanation but they gave none, insisting that if he wanted to continue, he’d do as he was told. Sam was weary of what awaited him; a trap perhaps? But he’d come a long way, and he did not want to seem too cowardly or suspicious of the chief, whose favor was necessary for Sam’s long pursued objective. He disarmed himself as was asked, and left his weapons with his warriors. Only Quil Blackbird, his lieutenant, was permitted to continue with him to the lodge.

The Great Lodge of Shaastaa BloodMoon was situated atop a ridged bluff of a bayou tributary. It was early winter, and the grass was short or sparse over red clay soil, and the trees were shedding their leaves. The bayou water was low, and animal activity was minimal. In the sky above the lodge were many black and turkey vultures, and some red tailed hawks. There was the soft chirping of small song birds as Sam was led toward the earthen mound at the center of the lodge; at its base were garden beds, walk ways, and smaller houses and other structures. Farther inland was the broader community connected to New Silver City, however the lodge existed at the edge of woodland within the borders of the Narrow Land; a corridor of wilderness and water ways stretching from the edge of the Mountains to the North West, to Bulbancha in the East. There was a stairway up the mound to the entrance of the Bloodmoon temple; roofed with arching mastodon tusks and bison bones over a large dome. Sam noticed a tusked deer grazing near the base of the stairs; the species was a steed of warriors from the Sun Tribe. He took a deep breath of anticipation, glancing at his cousin Quil, wearily, before following the BloodMoon warriors up to the temple’s entrance which was guarded on either side by two statues of snarling silver wolves, as well as two very real soldiers with crossed bladed long weapons. They uncrossed their blades to let Sam and the others pass through. The first sight upon entry to the temple was the BloodMoon banner; a large tapestry hung from the ceiling depicting a black bison, slashed and bleeding, surrounded by a pack of white wolves against an all red field. Sam was led further on, to the main hall of the temple where there were many present. The heads of the BloodMoon families, as well as other house, clan, and tribal leaders of what persisted of the BloodMoon Confederacy had come to witness. Among the assembly were healers and warriors; both active and veteran. There were dream seers, builders, hunters, conservationists, storytellers, agriculturalists, doulas, and hospice and death keepers, and other guild masters. Ahead and at center, sitting exalted on a raised dais was the Great BloodMoon War Chief; Shaastaa.

Shaastaa was a large man dressed in fine robes of crimson, black, and ivory. He was adorned with jewels, crystals, ivory, silver, and gold on his wrists, fingers, around his neck, his ears, and various piercings across his brows, nose, and lips. His skin was etched with black ink tattoos. He wore a high hat, fashioned with arching green and black and patterned pheasant and rooster feathers. Some of Shaastaa’s teeth were capped in gold. In his youth he’d been a renown warrior who achieved security for his people in the cross cultural war games which persisted as an alternative to all out war across the southern territories since the degradation of the Star Fallen Empire. As he was then, in his senior years, he preferred the stability of the lodge over the rigor of battlecraft. To the left of Shaastaa was his grandmother Rakshah BloodMoon, and his daughter Shonii BloodMoon.

Shonii’s amber eyes glanced briefly into Sam’s own, and he felt at once calmed and aroused in his spirit. Shonii was the gravity of his heart’s compass; the reason for his journey to the lodge. But strangely, there was a foreign warrior to Sam’s left, kneeling before the BloodMoon Chief. Shaastaa beckoned Sam forward across the distance and he took his godson’s hands in his own, affirming his expectation of his arrival, thanking him for his punctuality, and asking him to have a seat at the front of the assembly. He sat as instructed and Shastaa asked the foreign warrior to sit as well, before he was introduced to the assembly.

The man was not very tall, though he was dense in his build. He was bronze skinned with dark brown eyes and jet hair cut low in waves. He wore a black ao dai suit of fine and embroidered silk. He was adorned with gold. Around his neck was a starburst gold amulet. His name was Nooka, and he was the Skyfire Prince; the second son of the Sun Chief who ruled at the Sun Palace in Bulbancha. Sam hadn’t needed an introduction though; he’d encountered this warrior before at a tournament some years prior. He was known among warriors as the Pitch Black Wild Cat; both for the consistency of his black attire and his mystical ability to transform into such a shape, as well as that of a raven. Nooka glanced at Sam with even eyes that one could discern no particular emotion from before he looked at Chief Shaastaa and inclined his head with respect.

Finally, Shaastaa began to speak on the matters at hand; He addressed firstly, the long term betrothal of his daughter Shonii and Sam BlackBird. The BlackBirds were a longstanding close ally of the BloodMoons for many generations. Sam’s uncle, Dante Blackbird was present at that very assembly, as a commander of the warriors stationed at the lodge, and a chief guard of Shaastaa. Sam BlackBird was the son of the BlackBird chief, who commanded the BlackBird army which controlled a vast territory on the great plains. Shonii BloodMoon was born when Sam was about ten and as early as then, Sam’s family and the BloodMoons had been coordinating toward the eventual marriage of the two of them. Many of the smaller tribes and clans that comprised the confederacy were in support of this marriage alliance and had been planning accordingly toward the future. Still, though Sam had the favor of his people, Shonii’s hand was not simply promised to him. Across his early life he trained and studied extensively in horse keeping, cattle herding, bison conservation and prairie ecology, diplomacy, and war craft. When he came of age he was initiated into the order of Oba Shaa to serve as a steward of the bison, cattle, and mustang herds the confederacy depended on both economically and culturally. He was also defender of the Narrow Land and their expansive territories. At the present moment, Sam was thirty-one years old, and Shonii was twenty-one, and he’d been serving as an Oba Shaa for over 15 years. He’d finally developed his confidence and stature as the most prowessed warrior in the region. He claimed the rights to a great herd of mustangs and cattle, and he’d contributed significantly to the preservation of the remaining bison herds so sacred to both his people and to the BloodMoons. He’d sent word to Shaastaa that he was ready to formally propose to Shonii and begin the course of their engagement and support Shonii in her transitions toward marriage. The vast territory that was Shonii’s dowry; the great pine forests, the coastal water sheds, and the southern plains west of the Atchafalaya Basin would be inherited by Sam BlackBird’s children, and the BloodMoon and BlackBird lineage would be merged, securing generations of security and peace for their people. Everything seemed according to that long term plan which had spanned the course of much of Sam’s life… but there was something strange in Shaastaa’s eyes, and an anticipatory and nervous pulse on the hearts of the assembly…why was Prince Nooka there, on the day where all had gathered to witness and support Sam Blackbird’s proposal to their cherished princess?

Prince Nooka had come on behalf of his father and House Lomaasii; the dynastic sovereigns of the Sun Tribe. They governed the Atchafalaya Basin, and the coastal delta of the Great River. Their territory was not massive, but it was dense with resources; fertile soil and sediment rich waters, and lush forests. Their placement at the mouth of the Great River meant they benefited from jurisdiction of all the trade and travel that flowed through Bulbancha, from across the continent and beyond. House Lomaasii commanded one of the largest military forces in the South as well, and they were in good standing with the Ghokaan Empire whose governors were situated up river at Zion. The Lomaasii war lords, having secured their region, were interested in expanding their territory westward. They’d sent Prince Nooka to propose to Shonii BloodMoon. Upon this revelation, the assembly shifted and spoke amongst themselves. Samuel BlackBird took this news difficultly, but held his tongue to hear Chief Shaastaa’s further thoughts.

Chief Shaastaa gestured for three chests to be brought forth, each filled with gold pieces, gems, and crystals and other valuable artifacts collected from the Lomaasii’s vast treasury. The content was to be distributed generously to the houses gathered at the lodge on behalf of the Sun Chief’s intentions of alliance and union. Sam’s family was not rich in possession of gold. He’d been prepared to present offerings according to the traditional currencies of the west; 500 horses, 200 heads of cattle, and several of the finest specimens of bison from that year’s breeding season. He’d been made to leave his offerings behind. Sam looked upon the gold and was not impressed, but he could see that Shaastaa was swayed by the currency of the East, his curiosity drawn there. Shaastaa expressed his interest in considering Nooka’s proposal. The assembly bristled. Many were unsettled by the prospect, though they did not outrightly challenge Shaastaa. Sam however, could not bear to further hold his tongue. He addressed Chief Shaastaa,

“Great Chief, I fear I’ve lost your favor and your support…” Shaastaa answered as a chief who does not owe apology, only honesty,

“You have served our people devotedly Sam BlackaBird, and I cherish you as an ally and godchild. I don’t deny that you’ve been groomed from childhood to marry my daughter, but the prospect of alliance with the Lomaasiis was not foreseen…now that it’s been proposed, I must consider it on behalf of the greatest good of Shonii, my family, tribe, and territory at large. Prince Nooka might afford her a life and purpose beyond what any of us may have imagined for her…we might see great progress across the generations. You have not lost my favor or my support, and I will see to it that you are rewarded immensely for your bravery, loyalty, and dedication.” Sam could tell, Shaastaa was not merely considering Nooka’s proposal, he had already decided. Further, Sam sensed a subversive context; the Lomaasii’s proposal for alliance was tinged with the undertone of threat. If Shaastaa and the BloodMoons consented to the marriage between Shonii and Prince Nooka, then all might be well. But if they refused, and favored her union with Sam, the Lomaasiis would not simply concede their ambitions of territorial expansion. The Sun Tribe would come back to the temple, as a martial force, and they would expect no less than war for refusal to comply; this was the way of empires. Perhaps, Shastaa truly did resonate with Prince Nooka’s proposal, or maybe he was just afraid. Either way, Sam felt something like a strom brew in his heart. He glanced at Shonii; more beautiful than dawn, dark as shadow, and mysterious as the stars. He’d been fighting for her for a long time, asserting himself over many warriors who coveted her submission, her womb, and the magnitude of her dowry. He’d been so close…so certain…he wanted so badly to touch her, but he knew he could not, and, that had been bearable, when it seemed clear that eventually, he would. But suddenly, this potential reality of losing her to this foreign prince before he could was unbearable. Sam spoke,

“Prince Nooka is wealthy, and a formidable warrior… but he and his people are not horse masters. They do not know the plains. They do not speak our languages or follow our customs. They are not bonded to the bison,” Sam’s words were loud enough for all to hear, “this man would rule us… from a far and unfamiliar distance…Great Chief, indeed, I have served, I have fought, I have lived, breathed, bled, and sweat for the inheritance of our territory… I am sorry, but I would not stand for Shonii to marry this man.” There was a shudder through the assembly. Shaastaa BloodMoon’s eyes were unwavering on Sam’s. Simply put, Sam had threatened war. Following his protest, others of the council; warlords, shamans, and healers alike, proclaimed their support for Sam, and their refusal to buckle to the Sun Tribe’s slick manipulation. But there were as many who were in favor of Prince Nooka and the alliance with the Sun Tribe. And suddenly, the assembly was in an uproar as the factions argued. Shaastaa and Sam engaged each other directly and Prince Nooka affirmed the likely consequences of his father’s disappointment.

As the tension rose, Shonii observed. She’d been still and silent, observing and listening as these people bartered over her. Her great grandmother was close to her, holding her hand. Shonii could sense the inevitability of violent conflict, and her mind flashed with images of destruction; to her people, their culture, and their ecosystems…She foresaw the second mass desecration of the bison…she saw the ruin of not just one tribe, clan, or house, but of many, engulfed in flame and blood. She reached within for an answer, and her ancestors spoke a solution through the veil. Shonii stood, calm and steady. She did not need to project her voice to call in the assembly’s attention as they steadily noticed as she walked to her father’s dais. Their arguments stilled and their eyes stayed on her. She looked upon Sam BlackBird, and Prince Nooka, and when the hall was fully silent, she said,

“Let me be very clear; I will not be earned through war and destruction. I would make no good wife for either of you, and I’d certainly not bear your children, if my lands burn, and my waters are polluted with blood, and the women and children and elders of my territory suffer.” Shonii’s voice was soft as her words were clear; she was not making a threat, she was establishing a promise. Nooka nor Sam or any others in attendance were foolish enough to mistake her for bluffing; she asserted a refusal to endure unreasonable degrees of grief. Shonii was fearless enough to take herself from a world which assumed she could or should not.

“If my dowry is the subject, let it not be determined by my elders, or those from a foreign tribe. I exercise my right to determine how it is claimed?” She asked her father, who obliged her to continue,

“Rather than suffer an all out war, I propose that a ritual duel be held between the two of you, Sam, and Nooka. Let it be fair, publicly witnessed, and sacredly ceremonial. Allow fate to decide whether my dowry will serve the west or the east, whether my children will be BlackBirds or Lomaasiis. You are both great warriors, I don’t take either of you for being reluctant to meet this challenge?” Shonii asked. Sam nor Nooka protested Shonii’s proposal.

“A Year from now, at the next winter solstice, a tournament will be held on neutral ground. The fair and true victor will have my hand in marriage without protest.” Shonii turned to her father, then to the assembly,

“Is this an acceptable compromise?” The assembly deliberated briefly, before they gave their collective gestures and proclamations of consent. Nooka and Sam were in agreement, and they departed the BloodMoon lodge to prepare themselves for battle in a year’s time.

Chapter Two

The year passed since Prince Nooka Lomaasii and Sam Blackbird agreed to the terms established by Shonii BloodMoon over her dowry. On the winter solstice there was a great gathering in a neutral dimension. Officials and citizens from BloodMoon and Sun Tribe territories convened at the Brackish City of Okwaa-Tii-Kaa; an aquatic dimension beneath the waves Bulbancha’s Okwaata; Wide Water. They were hosted at the palace of O-Maal; the Emerald Moccasin. The assembly came to witness at a battle dais, where drums rolled and incense burned as the shamans and mystics prepared the space.

Sam BlackBird was ushered into view, and there was a great roar among the factions which supported him. He was armored and armed. Shonii BloodMoon and her family were situated near the dais, and he met her gaze briefly before refocusing on this mission at hand. Sam awaited the Sun Tribe’s presentation of Prince Nooka, but became perplexed to see Prince Nooka move through the crowd; he was dressed in armor, and his attendants carried his ancestral garfish sword, but he did not come to the other side of the dais; instead he sat with his father and other Sun Tribe officials, as if to witness. Sam sent his cousin Quil to inquire. Quil returned with news that Prince Nooka would not fight Sam, not initially. The Skyfire Prince had chosen a champion to fight on his behalf, and only if Sam defeated that champion, would he be cleared to face Prince Nooka directly. Sam was infuriated and offended, as this was not the deal he’d agreed to and prepared for. He moved to protest, but he was stilled by Quil, who insisted that technically, Prince Nooka was in his right of bounds. Just as Sam was about to ask who this champion would be, the Sun Tribe presented a warrior to the height of the dais. The warrior’s name was Kasaii; a War Lord of the Sun Tribe as well as the Underworld. Sam’s grip on his sword handle tightened, for this warrior was one he had bad blood with.

Kasaii wore armor of silver, ivory, black, and crimson. Their eyes were amber, and their hair dark auburn red. They wielded a slender rapier blade, pommeled with a silver cobra head. They were a Teshiikaana; a serpent incarnate; their kind were arch nemeses of the BloodMoons and other bison hunting groups.

At O-Maal’s signal, the battle between Kasaii and Sam BlackBird ensued, and at the start there were drums rolling, chanting and cheering encouragement from an anticipatory audience. Sam and Kasaii were both formidable warriors, and they met each other blow for blow, swing for swing. Their steel clashed and sang, on and on, until the drums diminished, and the roar of the crowd was exhausted. The duel was dragging on as both warriors coursed their staminas. Neither of them could land a hit on the other…as if their swords were averse to each other’s flesh. They fought until their muscles fatigued and they were dripping sweat. They both breathed heavily. They seemed to be evenly matched … so matched in their strength and prowess, that eventually, neither of them could continue the fight, and they both knelt at either side of the dais. As overseer of their duel, O-Maal stepped forward to discern their states. He proclaimed to the gathered witnesses that neither warrior could continue their battle, declaring a draw. The crowd anticipated what this meant for Shonii’s dowry. O-Maal went to consult with his own associates and then with the Sun Chief and with Shaastaa BloodMoon, before returning to the center of the dais, and proclaiming;

“Prince Nooka’s rank and prowess are known to be greater than that of Kasaii. The draw between Kasaii and Sam BlackBird constitutes that if Sam cannot overcome them, then he cannot and will not defeat the Pitch Black Wildcat in battle. By default of this draw, Prince Nooka is therefore the rightful victor, and heir to Shonii BloodMoon’s dowry.” At this proclamation, many BlackBirds and BloodMoons erupted in an uproar of dissent, challenging the validity of the victory and accusing the Teshiikaana of using sorcery or witchcraft to increase their strength against Sam BlackBird. But they were silenced with a command from Shaastaa BloodMoon to show respect for the sanctity of their ritualistic war customs. He affirmed that there’d been no trickery, that the rules had been followed, and Prince Nooka was victorious. The Sun Tribe celebrated with applause and comradery, and the Great Sun affirmed his son’s success. And so was the end of this chronicle… or so it seemed, until Shonii BloodMoon stood, as she’d done a year before. She went to speak directly and quietly to O-Maal, whose brow furrowed with perplexity, and then intrigue, before he reigned in the attention of the audience.

“Chief Lomaasii, Chief BloodMoon, I stand corrected. This trial is not complete, and Nooka may not yet be declared victorious.” Dissatisfaction flashed in the Sun Chief’s expression, and he asked what the matter was? Before O-Maal could answer,

Shonii BloodMoon replied, loud enough for all those present to hear,

“I call on my own champion, to fight on my behalf. I intend to secure my own dowry.”

Chapter Three

Context of time; a month after Sam and Nooka agreed to Shonii’s terms at the BloodMoon Lodge.

Samuel BlackBird journeyed to Bulbancha; The Land of Many Tongues. He kept a low profile as he crossed the green swamp city; he was not supposed to be there. To minimize the risk of calamities which might lead to war, Shonii had encouraged both Sam and Nooka to remain out of each other’s territory, until their duel passed. But Sam secretly went to Bulbancha out of necessity.

A duel of such epic proportion called for the manifestation of armor worthy of the occasion. As a Skyfire Prince of the Sun Tribe, Nooka was inherent to the dynastic wealth of generations, and could simply commission the finest armor makers in Bulbancha to manifest his suit. For Sam, this task was more complex. His family’s wealth was livestock and prairie and farm land, and though he could secure the service of an armor maker from his tribe, none of his own people were particularly renowned armor sewers. Among the BloodMoons, there were no finer sewers than Shonii BloodMoon and her great grandmother, Rakshaah. Sam could not however, ask Shonii or her family to support him in any way, in the procurement of her dowry, for risk of greatly offending them and disgracing the sanctity of competitive ritual. The greatest armor makers lived in Bulbancha, but many of them were already commissioned, or their costs were more than the BlackBirds could afford. But Sam could not face Prince Nooka in sub-par armor; not only would it be dangerous, but worse, it would dishonor him and his people. He considered one person who might help him, though it was a great challenge to his ego to request the aid. To meet the armor maker, Sam went to the Temple of Omoyaa.

The Temple of Omoyaa was a sanctuary of rehabilitative healing and protection for the recovering, lost, and ostracized until they were strong and brave enough to face the challenges of the dimensions beyond its walls. Outside the temple was a great and looming oak tree, fashioned with many blue, green, and brown glass bottles to ward off evil spirits. There were many roosters and hens across the grounds who slept in the tree’s high branches at night. The entrance of the temple was guarded by two golden statues of phoenixes. Omoyaa was kept by a faction of wolf-women, loyal to the Sun Phoenix; Naanii Khaalii. They vetted Sam at the entrance of the temple and then went to inform the one he sought of his intentions to visit before returning to permit his entry. The wolf-women led him to one of the many rooms of the temple where the door was already open.

The room’s layout was relatively simple and minimal. The floor was centered by a tapestried rug, and to the right was a floor mattress next to a closet. Beneath a window that let in the natural light of the eastern morning was a desk, decorated by a blooming orchid plant. At the left wall of the room was an altar of lit candles and sacred objects, photographs, crystals and other elements. There was a sword stand, though the swords were not there. Sitting at the desk and gazing out of the window was the one Sam had come to see. As he entered the room, its occupant turned around, and as their eyes met, both of their hearts pulsed with a strange median between joy and grief. They had not seen each other in years. The individual’s name was Khaalikii Yaaknii.

Khaalikii had marbled two toned skin and hair, and two toned amber and black eyes. They wore all black, in the fashion of the temple. They stood from the desk, and gestured for Sam to sit down on the rug as they set to making tea for the both of them. When the tea was ready, they placed it before Sam, and lit incense with a small spark from their manicured finger. As the frankincense wafted, they both sipped their tea, and let the hot liquid calm their nerves; as much as it could at least.

Though Khaalikii had been expecting Sam, his proximity was still an intense experience. There was so much unresolved tension between the two of them. Sam felt a complex range of emotions as well. It was strange to see Khaalikii bound to that temple. For so much of their lives, they’d been bonded through near constant communication, mutual protection, acts of service, prayer work, and exercise. Khaalikii had trouble looking directly at Sam for more than a second at a time. Sam refrained from initiating any physical contact. Khaalikii and Sam coursed through some small talk, before Sam finally shared why he was there; his intention to marry Shonii BloodMoon, his mission of defeating Prince Nooka, and his need for suitable armor, to achieve those goals. He asked Khaalikii to consider sewing his suit across the course of that year.

Khaalikii was quiet for a long moment, considering the magnitude of the request. See, the task of making a warrior’s armor was not as simple as the organization and binding of textiles. It was a commitment in spiritual and emotional binding as well; to be physically proximal and in relation. To make Sam’s armor, would be to enter a state of perpetual consideration and contemplation, collaborative design, and prayer ritual. While Khaalikii sewed the developing armor, they would keep it at their bed side, praying over its pieces, imbuing it with energy and ancestral fortitude. When the time came for this battle to occur, Khaalikii would go with Sam, to attend to him and his armor and his weapons and his mission, as a familiar. In years passed, Khaalikii had served Sam BlackBird as a war familiar, across his many trials, tribulations, journeys and tournaments…but they’d left that reality behind and their destiny had seen them to the Temple of Omoyaa. Khaalikii took a deep breath, sipping more tea to calm their nerves. They were impacted by Sam in a singularly powerful way; his skin was the dark umber of the earth, his eyes the coal black of a dark sky, his voice the rumble of thunder, and his hands the iron ore of mountains. This man’s spiritual presence was monumental, and Khaalikii felt drawn to him from deep in their chest. They wanted to touch him, to embrace him, to bond with him and be close to him in all ways…more than anything, they’d wanted bondage and submission to this man…and it had been so long, since they’d known the embrace of a man of their own culture…the embrace of home. Khaalikii knew that serving Sam as a familiar might bring them close…they thought of the ways they might manipulate this warrior, to serve their interests of intimacy and devotion…how they might bargain for his affection through the commodification of their armor making. Khaalikii’s service was valuable and necessary… and yet, the union of service would be inevitably temporary, and when the mission was complete, Sam would have no need for them anymore.

Khaalikii would not face such grief, not after everything they’d gone through to be free from it in the past. Khaalikii asked Sam BlackBird if he truly loved Shonii BloodMoon? Was she worth all he was prepared to sacrifice?

“Of course.” Sam affirmed that Shonii was the most beautiful woman in their dimension, her dowry was the glory and survival of their peoples, her lineage ancient…all practical conclusions. Khaalikii took a long moment to think of a considerate and empathetic response before they found the strength to simply say,

“No.” As they said it, their courage rose to look Sam in his eyes, and they held his gaze. Sam took a breath.

“You won’t even consider it?” Sam asked, and Khaalikii said,

“I have considered it, many times over Sam. I will not serve as your armor maker.”

Sam glanced at the sword holders, void of their artifacts, and looked back to Khaalikii. He knew the troubles which had brought Khaalikii to the Temple of Omoyaa in connection to their loss of their most treasured ancestral mantles; the star words.

“If you were to support me in my defeat of Nooka, I could help you to win the swords back.” Khaalikii looked at the empty space where the swords were supposed to be, and they felt a pit of grief in their stomach…they wanted little more than to see the swords returned. But their intuition was consistently affirmed, and they said to Sam,

“You are no match for Prince Nooka, you will not beat him Sam, and in that event, you will punish me for the defeat. You will blame me for not sewing your armor well enough, and you will not help me.”

“You’re wrong, I can and will defeat him.” Sam said, but Khaalikii did not respond, knowing better than to argue with what Sam had decided was the truth. They looked at Sam with a most infuriating expression of pity, and Sam projected that Khaalikii was as selfish as they’d ever been. They were disassociating from the devastating consequences to come from Shonii’s marriage to Nooka Lomaasii, for their people. The bison hunting tribes would succumb to the rulership of a foreigner, and Khaalikii would have done nothing to prevent it. Sam projected further that Khaalikii was still punishing him for what he could not provide to them. He spoke a multitude of other projections, which Khaalikii did not counter. Maybe the things Sam said about Khaalikii were true, maybe not. In the past, they would have argued their case, as the loss of Sam’s favor would have been more than they could bear. But in that moment, they knew that their refusal was a finalization of their separation, and though it hurt a part of them, it freed so much else within their spirit.

“It’s time for you to leave.” Khaalikii said, and when Sam challenged their direction, Khaalikii asserted, “I do not have to deal with you here, Sam BlackBird.” Sam replied,

“Well, I am sorry to be something you struggle to deal with…” Sam looked away from Khaalikii, to the sound of birds chirping outside the window, before they turned back and said,

“Your loyalty is with that snake. I should’ve known you wouldn’t help me.” Sam stood then, and turned to leave. But Khaalikii asked one final question of this man they’d once loved so fiercely,

“What is her favorite flower?” Sam sneered at the question,

“What?”

“Shonii, what is her favorite flower Sam?” Sam’s silence was a reckoning conclusion to their brief interaction. Neither of them said anything else to each other, and Sam departed the temple of Omoyaa, to find someone else to sew his armor. Khaalikii reconciled the grief of losing a friend.

Chapter Four

Context of time; Three years before Sam BlackBird battled Kasaii at Okwa-Tii-Kaa.

The ceremonial rituals, presentations, and feasts of the Spring Equinox were in sway at the village of the Seven Feathers in Bulbancha. The Seven Feathers were allies of both the Sun Tribe as well as the Blood Moon Confederacy. Historically they inhabited the southern prairies spanning both BloodMoon and Sun Tribe territory, and in late winter, their wolf women would support the Oba Shaas in stewarding the great herds from the BloodMoon lodge to Bulbancha, where the Oba Shaas would remain until Spring, when they would begin to drive the herds back up north. The Seven Feathers maintained a stronghold in Bulbancha, on the ridged land near the Sun Tribe’s palace, where they served as the Sun Tribe’s horse and tusked deer keepers, and sometimes, as their armor sewers.

The Oba Shaas were in attendance, as well as Shaastaa, Rakshah, and Shonii BloodMoon who’d traveled from their home to celebrate and honor their sister tribe. Sam BlackBird was there, sitting among his warriors; they were all joyous with the light of recent victories in the war games that had passed days before. They’d secured territory, armor, weapons, and glory for their house and community, and they were full of pride. With the Oba Shaas was their head war-familiar; Khaalikii Yaaknii.

Khaalikii remained as familiars were traditionally; organized, calm, observant, and submissive. They were so still and quiet it was easy to forget they were there. They’d supported the Oba Shaas as they’d travelled with the bison and competed in war games since they were a child. Sam BlackBird was older than them, and Khaalikii had been assigned to familiarity so they might develop toward shamanhood. This celebration marked the milestones of Khaalikii’s own initiations; They were ancestrally both BloodMoon and Seven Feather as well as Malaanii through their father and mother’s lineages. Their mother was a powerful scorpion healer of Bulbancha named Silver Lynx. At Saint Joseph’s night, Khaalikii had been gifted the sacred mantles of their mother’s bloodline; The Star Swords. Khaalikii was their generation’s incarnation of the prime light, as well as a dream seer and preservationist of their people’s culture and the wilderness. Sam BlackBird was very proud that his familiar and armor maker was of such an honored and sacred position among their peoples. Khaalikii was presented with many praises, congratulations, and offerings to honor their progress and their long time service to the Oba Shaas and the preservation of the bison. All seemed well as their cultural traditions progressed.

But then, Khaalikii shuddered with a chill as they sensed something arriving with the wind. There was a passing of a murder of crows, and the horses around them shifted and winnied. The dogs barked. Silver Lynx noticed Khaalikii’s sensing, and touched their hand to inquire on the matter, as the crowd began to turn their attention to one side of the field where they were gathered. The music and laughter and play began to die down as the crowd parted and watched wearily as a visitor arrived. He was heralded by a host of warriors from the Sun Tribe as well as escorted closely by two Skyfire demonslayers. Khaalikii drew a breath of anticipation, for they recognized the individual approaching. They were tall and densely built, with large hands and sharp eyes; Kasaii; the Teshiikaana. They came bearing gifts of gold as was customary for the Sun Tribe’s emissaries. They congratulated the BloodMoons, Seven Feathers, Blackbirds, and ObaShaas on their successful migrations. The tribes did not return the smile of a nemesis, however, Kasaii’s service to the Sun Tribe and the Skyfire Prince meant these smaller tribes were to abide by their presence, especially while in Sun Tribe territory. Kasaii was asked the reason for their visit. They expressed that the war-familiars of the bison stewards were renowned for their skill, dedication, and loyalty in battle, armor making, healing, and space keeping. The Skyfires had been assigned a potentially perilous, but very important mission. Kasaii needed a familiar and armor maker and keeper.

The BloodMoons bristled at this. Their cherished princess; Shonii, was still young and developing, but across her life she’d attracted potential suitors. Powerful warlords, merchants, chiefs, and other figures of power, wealth, and status, who wished to marry and possess her. Of all those who’d proposed though, none had ever been a Teshiikaana. Shastaa BloodMoon expressed that he would face the fires of any and all consequence, to keep Shonii from Kasaii. But Kasaii showed their palms, and shook their head and said,

“I have no doubt that the young Shonii is talented, and whoever she ends up serving will be blessed beyond measure, but I am not here to inquire about her. I’m here to call on Khaalikii Yaaknii.” Shock coursed through the crowd as they turned surprised glances in Khaalikii’s direction. Sam Blackbird tensed, gripping his weapon, as the other Oba Shaas did the same. Sam spoke,

“Khaalikii is my familiar, and they serve the Oba Shaas. You must be mistaken, serpent…”

“I am aware of Khaalikii’s circumstance as your familiar, up to this point. Still, I call on them.” At that, the warriors gathered all rallied to arm themselves, for this offense was so great. Favored by the Sun Tribe or not, Kasaii had overstepped and greatly insulted these people. But none could have expected for Khaalikii’s confession,

“I want to go with them.” They spoke loud enough for Sam, their mother, and the BloodMoons to hear. Sam’s expression was affronted as he said,

“Khaalikii, you are my familiar, bound to me through sacred vows.” Khaalikii turned a dark glance on Sam that sent a chill up the Oba Shaa’s spine.

“Vows I made as a child, before I could imagine all I now desire, all which you will not give to me. Kasaii is wealthy and strong, and they see me, and they want me… tell me that your heart has changed…tell me you are ready to give me the love I want and deserve…and I will reject them.” Khaalikii felt tears well in their eyes, as they released the last sliver of hope that Sam might change his mind… but the Oba Shaa was set in his truth, and he could not bring himself to lead Khaalikii’s desire for his love on… as Khaalikii looked away from him, disassociating from the fantasy, Sam spoke with judgement and pain,

“They are Teshiikaana, enemy of your people…”

“Khaalikii…were you expecting this?” Silver Lynx asked, and Khaalikii met their mother’s eyes and the truth was there. Silver Lynx asked Khaalikii why they would do this? Why, of all people, Kasaii?

The reason was complex. Khaalikii was thirteen years old when the BloodMoon and Seven Feather councils assigned them to serve as Sam BlackBird’s familiar. Khaalikii was to learn, train, and serve under Sam’s direction and protection, sew his yearly armor, tend his weapons, and support the Oba Shaas across their trials. Sam taught Khaalikii to fight, to keep horses, to be a warrior. Khaalikii shared dreams with Sam, exchanged secrets, and went to the edge of death and back, many times over. At every victory, Khaalikii had been there, and at every milestone, Sam had been for Khaalikii. But Khaalikii grew, as did their prowess, self esteem, and sense of worth. They began to change in their spirit, becoming ever different from the Oba Shaa. Khaalikii became increasingly interested in love, intimacy, and the prospect of home making. As they were so close to Sam; entwined into the fabric of that warrior’s world, their spiritual imprint intensified with longing and desire. When Khaalikii came of age, they worked up the courage to express their heart to Sam; their want for attention, intimacy, and investment beyond the condition of their armor sewing and support in war… Sam was taken aback by Khaalikii’s confessions; they were close, indeed, spiritually bonded as warrior and familiar; but Sam did not process Khaalikii in a romantic sense. He asserted that he could not give Khaalikii the kind of love they wanted; he was clear that his investments and intentions for worldbuilding would be directed to a cis-gendered woman, as would his physicality, affection, and emotional vulnerability and intimacy. He would continue to care for and support Khaalikii, but only platonically, and in relation to their purposes in warcraft and conservation. Khaalikii accepted Sam’s truth, though it was painful…not only that Sam did not want them, but that it seemed their incompatibility had everything to do with the reality of Khaalikii’s body and not their spirit. For a while Khaalikii tried to convince Sam, as well as their self, that they didn’t need the physicality and affection; that perhaps, they could build a life together, aromantically…but that didn’t make sense for very long…Sam’s attention could not be pulled or earned…and Khaalikii’s voids were too gaping to be neglected.

Khaalikii continued to serve the Oba Shaas as a familiar, and after a while, it was as if they’d never proposed intimacy to Sam, who openly engaged his female prospects. But spiritually, Khaalikii’s soul yearned and their heart called out. They dealt quietly with the pain of rumination, fixation, and addiction as they coped with intimacy deficiency. They manifested hyper functionality in their work, which masked the severity of their grief to the Oba Shaas, who believed all was well with their familiar. Khaalikii came to a point, where they went to an altar at the BloodMoon temple, and they prayed for any kind of love the universe might send to them…they just wanted to be touched, and seen, and desired, not as a comrade, but as a lover.

Khaalikii sensed the coming answer to their prayers in their dreams, deja-vus, visions, and intuitions. They were approaching something…or, maybe, something was approaching them; strong, intense, and destined. One night, they dreamed of intimacy with an energy of silver light, smooth to the touch, with steel like strength, and sharp intent. They woke up in a sweat and heard whispers on the breeze. The second dream was the first time they saw the warrior, in a swirl of cosmos. They sat together in a galaxy, and they talked. The dream visitor asked Khaalikii what they wanted and what they needed. The visitor expressed that they lived in an intense and volatile reality, full of danger and unpredictability, but much passion and excitement. It intrigued Khaalikii, who thought anything beyond their current reality with the Oba Shaas might be a welcome change… above all else, Khaalikii craved change. When they’d been designated as the Oba Shaa familiar they’d been so young, caught up in the favor and encouragement of their ethnicity, they did not think to protest or reject it, but as an adult, their niche designation was making them weary, for it was not only Sam who was aloof to their needs, but all the Oba Shaa were the same; spiritually engaging and cherishing of Khaalikii in their war aspects, but boundaried and avoidant with intimacy as well as averse to emotional reckoning. Who was Khaalikii, to beg them to change? It was ever strange to be venerated as a war incarnate, but tabooed and exiled as an intimate being; The Oba Shaas seemed to know that Khaalikii’s needs were great, and they all began to hold them at such a distance.

So, when Kasaii finally materialized and began to court Khaalikii in secret, they did not reject. Indeed, Kasaii was a Teshiikaana, and certain things made Khaalikii weary, but how could they judge this individual, who seemed in every way, wanting to love them. Kasaii presented gifts and was confident with affection and robust with promises. They made Khaalikii feel seen, and wanted, considered, and remembered….

So, when Kasaii made their move, and deliberately called on Khaalikii in front of all their people, Khaalikii did indeed, express their desire to leave with them. Khaalikii stood, to Sam’s severe dissatisfaction; though Khaalikii knew Sam was less upset that they were leaving, as much as he was offended that his familiar was being taken by a blood rival. Khaalikii started toward Kasaii and felt their mother’s hand grip their wrist. They looked down at Silver Lynx, whose eyes were pleading,

“Khaalikii, whatever they have promised you…you are making a mistake, please…” Silver Lynx felt the shame of having just passed the swords down to Khaalikii on behalf of their tribe, believing, as they all had, that Khaalikii was ready for the responsibility…but here they were, throwing their self to a future she was sure they could not comprehend, blind with lust and youthful desire…and her grief was so intense with understanding…she knew, exactly how her child felt, and she had made her own mistakes in youth and she could not bear to lose them this way… but Khaalikii turned from her, insistent in their decision. Before Khaalikii could reach Kasaii though, Chief Shaastaa BloodMoon called out to his warriors, to block Khaalikii’s way,

“They’ve been bewitched by the Teshiikaana, do not let them leave.” At that command, the wolf women who were present changed their shapes, and went four legged and fang bared to stand between Khaalikii and Kasaii. The warriors of the Sun Tribe had been calm up until that moment, and they drew their weapons. A disaster of violence was imminent… until someone came forward. No one had known she was there, as she’d been blending into the crowd. She walked calmly, though the wolves stepped back in submission to her approach. She glowed with the otherworldly light of the auroras. Her hair was ink black and her skin was russet brown. She was a living ancestor; Katlaha Sabaa Lusaa. She did not live in their world, but in times of need, she would manifest her form through the veil. The gathering bowed their heads with respect as she approached Khaalikii. She touched their face, and looked them in their eyes, reading all the pain and longing that swirled within. She looked at Kasaii, knowing that the serpent was dangerous, but destined. Then, she looked to Sam BlackBird, and to Chief Shaastaa,

“Khaalikii may not be possessed by any faction; their path is to course by their own free will. If they wish to leave with Kasaii, then their decision will be respected.” Sabaa Lusaa said.

“But Kasaii is Teshiikaana, our most ancient and sworn enemy…Khaalikii is our war familiar, our shaman, incarnate of the prime light… they will be used by this demon…” Shastaa protested, but Sabaa Lusaa replied,

“The path they have chosen must course. Believe me, it will be more disastrous to bind them to your fears than to release them in as much faith as you can muster. Khaalikii,” Sabaa Lusaa said as she turned to Khaalikii, “follow your heart, and remember to never succumb to fear. Where you are headed, you will need courage most of all.” With that blessing from Sabaa Lusaa, Khaalikii went to live with Kasaii, and the bison hunting tribes were left to reconcile the loss of their most beloved Khaalikii.

Chapter Five

Khaalikii and Kasaii consummated their union beneath the light of a brightest full moon. Their physical bonding was like a thousand bursting stars colliding. Khaalikii’s body, mind, soul, and spirit became intertwined with Kasaii’s and they were ever more in-sync. Khaalikii set to serving Kasaii; keeping their armor, their weapons, and their house, as was customary for a familiar in submission. When the time came to depart on the mission that required Khaalikii’s service, they and Kasaii departed from Bulbancha in complimentary silver and black armor. Kasaii was charged with retrieving a number of lost and powerful artifacts which had been scattered across the underworld. Khaalikii voyaged with Kasaii to Naas Durell; The Dead City with several other Skyfires. Khaalikii protected Kasaii between the battles they fought at tournaments held at the tower of the Big Falayaa. When Kasaii’s armor was damaged, Khaalikii would mend it at their residence at the Temple of Six Snakes, where Kasaii was venerated as a warlord; a member of the council of 13. Kasaii’s power in the underworld as a Teshiikaana was ten fold, and they were a powerful agent of the Sun Tribe. When they fought, they almost always won, and secured an artifact to be sent back to the Sun Tribe. When Kasaii lost, they were certain to recover, train, calculate, and return to win.

It was a reality that Khaalikii could bear, for in the first few months, there was a balance between the time they spent between the Underworld and Bulbancha. Khaalikii poured their intention and effort into service, and Kasaii excelled in victory, and in the downtime they had between their trials, Kasaii delivered Khaalikii potent and satisfying intimacy and investment. They became one in their niche, and Khaalikii at times, forgot about their people, and about Sam, as they were absorbed into this alternative reality. But, strangely, the success of their union was starting to become condemning. Kasaii was assigned more frequent missions to retrieve the most coveted artifacts; rings of power, cursed swords, ancient texts… and the greater the prize, the more dangerous their trips became; they were entering the underworld to compete in tournaments, but their constant success was drawing attention and danger to them, as the lords of the Underworld began to send assassins, challengers, and other horrible entities to stop Kasaii and Khaalikii from reaching the Big Falayaa. As Kasaii’s protector, it fell upon Khaalikii to defeat these demons with the star swords, until Kasaii could face their designated opponents in ritual combat. Once they achieved victory, they’d return home to Bulbancha, but it was not as before. They both would have to recover from wounds and ruined armor…and beyond just physical healing, they had to work through the spiritual illnesses that came from constantly entering and exiting the underworld… entities would sometimes follow them home, and Khaalikii would have to expend much energy to banish the demons back to the pit. Almost as soon as they’d recover, they’d be sent back, to do it all over again.

Khaalikii grew weary. They were not receiving the care and devotion that Kasaii had courted them with. They were once again facing the pangs of intimacy deficiency as they reconciled this familiar state of loneliness that pulled them to the edge of depression and mania. They spoke to Kasaii about their sorrows, and every time, it seemed that Kasaii understood as they swore to honor Khaalikii’s needs for well being. They promised change. They promised a recommitment to developmental intimacy. But the truth was that Naas Durell had a greater hold on Kasaii than Khaalikii could have predicted. Khaalikii encouraged, and at worse times, pleaded with Kasaii, to refuse the missions into the underworld… and Kasaii would insist; one last time. But it was never the last time, and again and again and again, Khaalikii was following the warrior back into the fray, for fear that if they did not, Kasaii would be destroyed. Kasaii seemed to develop an addiction to the traumatic rush of danger and substances of battle and its atmospheres. In Bulbancha, Kasaii was as other mortal warriors, but in Naas Durell, the great Teshiikaana warlord was venerated like a god, and they could not get enough of it. They broke their faith with Khaalikii, and eventually, Khaalikii could no longer trust them with their physical submission…though, they imagined for a while, that there might be a way to turn this downward spiral around… but things just got worse, and worse, and worse, until finally, Khaalikii established a boundary.

Kasaii was preparing for a duel at the temple of the Big Falayaa; they’d been losing, consistently. They’d been bound to the underworld for weeks, because Kasaii kept being defeated; they were full of potions and spirits, so their prowess was decreased considerably. Kasaii allowed theirself to succumb to the Dead City’s sway, because, as a Teshiikaana, they could come and go from the underworld as they pleased, so they did not consider urgency. But Khaalikii was mortal, and they were dependent on Kasaii to achieve victory, to return to the living world, so, until Kasaii could win a tournament, Khaalikii was stuck at the Temple of Six Snakes. Khaalikii resented Kasaii’s indifference and lack of consideration for their efforts in service and the constant task of having to mend the armor Kasaii damaged…. torn, bloodied, and soiled… Kasaii was not honoring the sacredness of Khaalikii’s work, or their submission…in those moments of bitterness, Khaalikii thought of home. They thought of the sunlight on their hands as they sewed beads and prayed in breaths of incense. The day came, when Khaalikii had enough.

They waited for Kasaii to be sober, because then they were reasonable… however, as well as charming, seductive, and soothing. They knew how to provide Khaalikii with just enough stability and affection, to make them feel like there was hope…and Khaalikii would push their resentment down, and submit their soul. But the veil had been lifted from Khaalikii’s senses, and they would no longer be fooled. When Kasaii came to them with energy in their hands and desire in those amber eyes, Khaalikii could not disassociate from the liquor on their breath, and the smell of ash, and blood on his skin. Khaalikii demanded that Kasaii purify theirself before touching them…Kasaii found Khaalikii’s dismissal amusing at first, mistaking it as an invitation to chase and test the boundary as foreplay. But Khaalikii asserted their seriousness with aversive body language. They allowed theirself the grace of an attitude, no longer masking their feelings, for the sake of Kasaii’s ego. They no longer cared if they threw off the serpent’s mood, and impacted their prowess or decreased their desire. When Kasaii got to the point of their approach; to ask Khaalikii to mend their armor, and tend to their wounds, Khaalikii refused. Kasaii stepped back, understanding where Khaalikii was, in a cycle the Teshiikaana was all too familiar with, with their lovers. Khaalikii took the moment to express their grief, their dissatisfactions and disappointments, their anger at Kasaii, for forsaking their bond. Kasaii, ill, but honest, conceded that they did not know how to remedy Khaalikii’s pain, for a lack of understanding how to heal their own… but at least, in their sober state, they seemed to respect Khaalikii’s grief. Khaalikii told Kasaii that they wanted to separate, and sever their bond of familiarity, and further, to return to the mortal world. They demanded to not have to wait for Kasaii to win a tournament to do so.

Kasaii took Khaalikii to the Tower of the Big Falayaa, because the Big Falayaa held jurisdiction over who entered and exited the underworld, as well as the matter of the severance of Khaalikii and Kasaii’s soul tie. The Big Falayaa delivered a heavy truth; Khaalikii could not simply leave. The Big Falayaa asserted that Khaalikii would have to defeat Kasaii in battle to sever their bond, and free their soul from the underworld, as Khaalikii had sworn vows to Kasaii at the banks of the Great River for all the spirits and ancestors to witness. Khaalikii did not feel daunted at first by this, until the Big Falayaa clarified further, that Khaalikii could not use the star swords to fight Kasaii. They would have to submit the star swords, and win them back. Khaalikii’s spirit despaired in that moment, for the challenge was impossible and purposefully made so they would fail. If Khaalikii fought Kasaii, and lost, they would be bound to the underworld forever, and the star swords would enter into the possession of the Big Falayaa. Khaalikii was distraught, for they could not under any circumstance forsake those swords to the Big Falayaa.

Kasaii, whelmed by Khaalikii’s grief, offered the clearest course of reparation they could, to hold the star swords on Khaalikii’s behalf, and defend them, with all their might, so Khaalikii could at least return to the world of the living, until they figured out a way to retrieve the swords again. Khaalikii struggled with this proposition, but their options were limited, and strangely, they sensed Kasaii’s promise was genuine… The one way they could love Khaalikii was through a commitment to battle; what the Teshiikaana did best. Khaalikii needed relief, as they were not merely homesick, but plagued by madness, and suffering the most severe mania, depression, and susceptibility to demonic harassment. Kasaii insisted that they return to the world of the living, and Khaalikii, though they were afraid, knew they had no other choice. They left Kasaii and the Star Swords behind.

Chapter Six

There was a rush of excitement, when Khaalikii returned home to their mother’s people at the village of the Seven Feathers. None had known if they would ever see Khaalikii again after they’d departed with Kasaii. But the excitement was reduced to ruins of grief and disappointment, as they realized that Khaalikii; shadowy, traumatized, and ashamed, was without the sacred heirloom Star Swords. Khaalikii asked their mother’s people for help, and later, the BloodMoons, and even the Oba Shaas, for any support in retrieving the swords. They needed a champion to fight for them… but Khaalikii’s people dismissed and shunned them, angry and disappointed in their recklessness. They would not help Khaalikii, and they did not want them around. Shaasataa Bloodmoon went as far as to banish Khaalikii from the territory. Those few relatives who remained kind, were still hurt, and disappointed.

Khaalikii was grasped once again by the depression and loneliness they’d tried to leave behind in the Underworld. It seemed their grief was unescapable. They did not know where to go. They did not know a place to call home. In the darkest depths of their mania, Khaalikii attempted self harm, and their family, though they were still angry, prayed to their ancestors for support, and guidance for Khaalikii on their journey. Khaalikii’s ancestral godmother; Katlaha Sabaa Lusaa crossed the veil to communicate with Khaalikii. She advised them to seek rehabilitation at the Temple of Omoyaa.

Khaalikii then went to the temple of the Sun Phoenix; Naanii Khaalii. Once there, they were able to settle spiritually and physically in the safety of the temple, and the demons that plagued them could not harass them with such malice. Khaalikii took time across several seasons to pray, to heal, to study, and to train. They developed some self esteem, beyond the limitations of familiarity and spiritual bondage to someone else. They prayed and practiced communication and veneration for the earth, the trees, the waters, the sky, the sun, the animals, and their ancestors. They rooted theirself in the vast wealth of their spiritual and cultural practices. They still grieved for their separation from Kasaii and the loss of the star swords, but they were developing healthy coping mechanisms toward potential solutions.

Khaalikii heard from some of the wolf-women who travelled to and from the temple of Omoyaa, that Sam BlackBird had finally went to propose to Shonii BloodMoon, but that Prince Nooka Lomaasii also proposed, and that they’d settled on dueling for her hand in marriage. Khaalikii was surprised, though, when Shonii BloodMoon visited them at the Temple of Omoyaa, weeks before Khaalikii was visited by Sam. Shonii sat with Khaalikii, and discussed her circumstances, and checked in with Khaalikii about their own.

“Why did you leave with Kasaii, Khaalikii…could you not see what was coming; the truth of the serpent?” Shonii asked, and Khaalikii replied,

“I could see… but I guess, I was holding on to the hope that maybe a different reality would manifest…There was a chance to get the love I wanted, so I took it. I’m not happy about losing the swords, Shonii, not at all. But there were experiences within that darkness I just couldn’t bear to miss anymore… It shouldn’t be so, but, Kasaii was the only space where I could find the love I needed… at least, it seemed that way at the time.” Shonii, who’d been coveted by men for many years then, had such choices in intimacy that desperation for a man’s love had never been fathomable. But Khaalikii expressed that, as being of power, there was nothing they wanted or needed that they could not manifest through prayer and action; but the touch of a man, the devotion and care and intention and desire of a warrior, by true and non-manipulative means, was absolutely out of their control, as the willful participation of another was necessary. To have the love Khaalikii wanted, they needed to be chosen, and they’d sacrificed so much, with hopes that eventually, they would be. Now, as they were bound to the Temple of Omoyaa, with their soul still tethered to Kasaii and the swords in The Underworld, no closer to that ideal relationship…it all seemed a silly dream.

Shonii shared what brought her most profound joy was not the love of others, but the affirmation of the earth beneath her feet, the sun on her skin, and the wind in her hair. She dreamed of freedom, not of bondage, though her people wished for her to submit herself to a life of submission in marriage. She shared with Khaalikii that she was not resonant with the prospect of being a wife, or even a mother. She dreamed of the wilderness. There was when she asked Khaalikii for support.

“Khaalikii, when Sam, Kasaii, Nooka, or any warrior this year, comes to you and asks for armor, I need you to refuse.” Khaalikii considered this strange request, and they struggled to make the promise. They’d left Sam for Kasaii, and they had indeed told Kasaii they’d not make their armor, but those decisions were on Khaalikii’s own terms. There was still a degree of freedom for Khaalikii to change their mind … still space, even if it was marginal, for these relationships to reconcile… Even after all the grief, Khaalikii found some comfort in knowing there was still a tether to both warriors. But if they obliged Shonii, they knew that if either warrior came to them, and they refused, absolutely, without any room for manipulation or compromise, then it might be the true end of those relationships. The prospect of such finality was suddenly whelming.

“Why do you hesitate Khaalikii?” Shonii asked, and Khaalikii took a deep breath, exhaling,

“I have love for them, Shonii, I … I’m not ready to release them … I wanted to process this in my own time.”

“But they do not love you Khaalikii, they do not consider you, or your preservation. There is no time, there is now, this moment. I’m coming to you, and I am asking you to help me, because you are the only one in this world who can make the difference. Please, Khaalikii, do not support them in fighting for my dowry.” Shonii clasped Khaalikii’s hand, and held their gaze.

“Promise me, Khaalikii. Promise me, you will refuse.”

And so, Khaalikii did find the strength to refuse Sam BlackBird, and any other warrior who would call on their aid on behalf of Shonii’s dowry. And as the year coursed, so too did their healing.

It was Autumn, at the approach of the Days of the Dead, when Khaalikii was visited by Naanii Khaalii. She’d observed their progress in healing, and proposed a path which Khaalikii had not imagined for theirself. Naanii Khaalii had been without an Okiinamaa Lusaa for some time, and she felt Khaalikii might make a compatible war familiar and steward of Omoyaa. Naanii Khaalii offered Khaalikii Nguailii; the ring of dawn, and the Bright Fire Sais. Khaalikii considered the proposal seriously, because it was so significant. Just as they’d stopped trying so hard to manifest that ideal dynamic of familiarity, there it presented itself, from one of the most powerful warriors of their universe. Khaalikii knew that Naanii Khaalii would be true to them and would not dishonor them as Kasaii, and would not neglect them as Sam. The gravity of the ring of power was tempting, and Khaalikii imagined theirself in the crimson armor of Okiinamaa Lusaa… but they were changed by their rehabilitation at the temple. The prospect of being someone’s war familiar, did not resonate as it once had. Khaalikii had begun to imagine a life of freedom, of exploration, flight, and expansion. They dreamed of star light and magic and adventure. They shared with Naanii Khaalii that they’d seen theirself in an ancient form of sleek flexibility and calico, though they were not certain what they were discerning.

Naanii Khaalii, with her ancient memory and divine understanding, took Khaalikii to the roots of the bottle tree and its sacred spring. There, Khaalikii aligned with an ancient power, which manifested once in many generations of prime light incarnates. Naanii Khaalii then presented Khaalikii with a gift box, which Khaalikii opened to reveal an artifact; the Indigo Star Scarf; Dark River, heirloom of the Malaanii. The second gift to find, was a suit of calico armor, beaded and shimmering, laid with crystals and imbued with prayer, which had been sewn by Rakshah and Shonii. Lastly, there was a note, written by Khaalikii’s mother, whose grief over Khaalikii’s loss of the swords had settled into forgiveness,

Fight, with all you are.

Naanii Khaalii affirmed further,

“The swords were only ever an extension of your power, never the source.” Khaalikii took these blessings, and went forth from Omoyaa, to commit to their own freedom.

Chapter Seven

The coming of the days of the dead thinned the veils between worlds, and Khaalikii voyaged to Naas Durell. They arrived at the Tower of the Big Falayaa, where a tournament was being held for the star swords. Kasaii had managed to defend the swords across the course of the year, defeating every challenger who attempted to claim them. When Khaalikii went to face the Teshiikaana warlord though, they found Kasaii much different then how they’d left them. Kasaii was riddled by mania and rage and possessiveness over the swords. The weapons were of such power, that they corrupted Kasaii, who could not use them as Khaalikii, but only hoard them. It pained Khaalikii to see Kasaii in such a state, and the Teshiikaana did not embrace Khaalikii with love. They’d become bitter and resentful, and they no longer fought on Khaalikii’s behalf. Kasaii’s tormented spirit wanted the swords for theirself.

Khaalikii had not believed theirself to be powerful enough to face Kasaii without the Star Swords before. But they were changed. Their armor gave them strength, and the indigo star scarf flowed as starry liquid, static with electricity and elemental force. Khaalikii and Kasaii battled, first in their human forms. They were both very powerful, and Khaalikii struggled, but held their own against the Teshiikaana. They coursed water, fire, wind and lightning, using the scarf like a whip against Kasaii’s rapier sword. As they fought, Khaalikii could feel the pain of their curses breaking and their soul tie severing. Khaalikii had made vows to Kasaii in submission, under the impression; or the internalization rather, that Kasaii was the greater and more dominant warrior. Just as with Sam, Khaalikii had given such energy, to make theirself small, amiable, and passive, taking pain and discomfort, and accepting an existence of subordination, so these warriors they loved would feel large and confident and secure. But Khaalikii was no longer responsible for Kasaii’s ego, and they did not reduce their strength to cure the Teshiikaana’s emasculation.

As Khaalikii’s power surged across thresholds, they felt their heart changing. They accepted that their might was of such profound magnitude, that there may be no warrior they would ever truly submit to, that there was no love they would ever preserve through suppression of the primelight…and the more they accepted it, the freer they felt, and the greater their strength was. Their battle with Kasaii shook The Underworld at its core, and even the Big Falayaa grew nervous to witness this duel of epic proportions; a great force of the universe had been unleashed through the form of Khaalikii. Kasaii, succumbing in their human shape, changed into a silver scaled giant viper. The form was imposing, and certainly, almost all other warriors may have shrunk beneath the might of that serpentine form. But Khaalikii met Kasaii’s change with their own, and light burst with a super nova’s brilliance, before Khaalikii’s truest shape was revealed. The sleek, flexible, sharp toothed, curve clawed, and long tailed Calico Star Lingsang. They met Kasaii’s coils with tooth and claw, and still, they wielded Dark River, cracking lightning, wielding water, coursing wind, and torrenting fire. With a final strike, Khaalikii’s might severed their binding to the Teshiikaana, and Kasaii could not overcome the Star Lingsangs ferocity. The battle won, Khaalikii reclaimed the star swords, and Kasaii was freed from the exhaustive weights of their stewardship. When Kasaii’s spirit returned to stability, they were released from the karma of Khaalikii’s bondage as reparation was achieved. Khaalikii and Kasaii separated with no desire to merge their spirits again, but no ill will or regret either, for the lessons they’d both learned and coursed, made them who they were, evermore. .

……

The assembly at Okwaa-Tii-Kaa was stunned as Shonii called forth her champion. No one had considered that she might have objections to the choices of her elders. Sam BlackBird and the others looked to see the figure moving through the crowd, and there was a collective breath of near disbelief, to see Khaalikii Yaaknii, the exiled Shaman, step forth, dressed in their calico armor, and wielding Dark River and the Star Swords. It was revealed that not only had Shonii asked Khaalikii to refuse armor making for any warriors who asked, but also, that they would fight on behalf of Shonii’s dowry. Why? Because Shonii and Khaalikii were blood siblings, both of them were children of Shaastaa BloodMoon and Silver Lynx.

Sam had never seen Khaalikii in such a state; glowing with the light of the cosmos, hard eyed, and statured with esteem. Khaalikii was no longer a familiar. They were a force of nature. Khaalikii asserted that they were there to fight for Shonii’s dowry, and again, Prince Nooka looked to Kasaii to face his challenger. But Kasaii, having recently battled Khaalikii in The Underworld, knew this was not a battle they would win. They told Prince Nooka that he’d need to fight Khaalikii himself. The Sky Fire Prince armed himself then, with his garfish handled sword, and faced Khaalikii at the dais, and just as Kasaii, he was not able to surpass Khaalikii’s might. So, according to the fair victory, Khaalikii was awarded Shonii BloodMoon’s dowry, but instead of holding it, Khaalikii transferred rights back to Shonii, thus establishing their sister’s inalienable and indomitable sovereignty over her body, her inheritance, and her descendants. If any individual or faction felt such a strong opposition as to protest Shonii’s sovereignty in independence, then they would have to face the wrath of Khaalikii to sway her destiny. Through strategy and willfully purposeful refusals, and the hard work of prayer and practice, and honoring of the sanctity of responsibilities held between siblings, Khaalikii and Shonii were able to free themselves from generational strongholds and spiritual bondages.

Shonii BloodMoon left the destiny of submission in marriage behind, to join the wolf women in their journeys across the plains and forests of their territories. Khaalikii chose the shape of the Star Lingsang and was free across cosmic, spiritual, and elemental dimensions.

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Earth-Sun 

Have you ever fallen so deep into sleep, that when you woke up, you had to remember who, why, when, and where you were? That was the sensation, of opening his eyes to the grey air of his bedroom, lifting his head from his arms that were folded over the white cloth of his prayer altar, where he kept his journal, pictures of his family, friends, and ancestors, holy water, candles, crystals and other trinkets. His ears were ringing and he touched his chest, like he was catching himself from falling from a high height. A sudden knock at his bedroom door was startling… his hand reached for a weapon that wasn’t there…strange. 

“You good?” The voice was familiar, and nostalgic, like it had been a long time since he’d heard it… His mind was still making sense of what it could see, smell, and hear. He must’ve taken too long to answer, because the voice proclaimed its intention to enter, and the door was opened. 

“What are you in here doing?” Jaheim asked, as he stepped gently into the bedroom, coming to sit on the edge of the bed. 

“I was praying…”

“For two hours?”

“I… I fell asleep…” Jaheim took a deep breath, 

“Did you decide?” He turned around to look Jaheim in the eyes…recalling then, the meeting held between himself, his father, Jaheim, Jaheim’s father, and the Gong Chichumba. He was all the way back there? On that pivotal day. He could not yet answer the anxious Jaheim. He stood shakily, and went to his dresser mirror…he touched his face, his arms, and his chest…he was not transitioned… he braced against the top of the dresser, as the flood of visions coursed in his mind, of the years of life he’d experienced, all reduced in that moment to a dream? He felt nauseous. He could still hear the whispers of that other dimension, the smell of stagnant water still strong. He felt strange all over, hard of breath and shaking his head…maybe this was the dream? Strange trick of the universe? Was he dead? 

Jaheim, sensing that his lover was in a quiet distress, stood, to place his hand on a shoulder. The touch was like rain water after drought and there was a sharp breath, before he exhaled, 

“Jaheim…what, what is my name?” At that, Jaheim had turned his face up at such an odd question at a pivotal moment, 

“What is your name? D…D…” Jaheim’s hand lifted, as he processed the strange sensation of not being able to recall his lover’s name… “I don’t know…I…I can’t remember…” 

“Neither can I.” Nameless admitted, hopelessly, and he struggled to take exhausted breaths, as he flopped back onto his bed. He was overstimulated, trying to make sense of what hadn’t been a dream… he’d just been in a different world, a different time, and now he was inside of the past…a man stood before him whom he’d grieved ...a man his own sword had slain… Not a dream, it had not been simply a premonition…he was, all he’d been, in that parallel dimension…as he was now, merged with this self, cast back in time, to reconcile the past with the prospective future. 

“I don’t understand, how can we not remember that?…” Jaheim asked, perplexed and worried. He glanced once at Nameless’s altar…at the candles that were lit, at the journal that was open with a pen resting on the pages. Jaheim went to check the journal, and the ones previously filled. He checked for any place where a name might be…he found only the absence of one where he was certain it should’ve been. 

“What happened…did you do something…what could you have done in the last two hours… I don’t understand.” Jaheim said again. Nameless, still breathing through his overstimulation, placed an uneasy hand on Jaheim’s arm, 

“And I don’t think you will… at least not for a while…not until I've reconciled everything myself…” 

“What about what we talked about? What should I tell Steel Skull?” Jaheim asked, ever fixated on that task at hand. He wanted that reassurance so badly. He wanted Nameless’s agreement to the challenge. He wanted to know that he could remain a Spy-Boy, without sacrificing his love. 

“I can’t answer that for you right now…i want…i…i need you to leave.” Nameless said, and Jaheim, concerned and wanting to remedy Nameless’s disorientation, struggled to abide the request, but Nameless insisted, 

“I cannot be responsible for you…not for your mind, your heart, your body, or your strength…until I at least reconcile all that I am owing to myself. I know this is sudden…or, maybe it’s not… look, just, don’t burden yourself, trying to make sense of me…you won’t.” As the words left his mouth, Nameless felt himself go faint. His body was weak, sweating and overheated, dizzy… he would’ve hit the floor if Jaheim hadn’t caught him. Jaheim called Daviida, who realized that just as Jaheim, he could not remember his own child’s name. Whelmed by grief, and at a loss for energy, Nameless shed tears at the sight of worry in Davidaa’s eyes. He suffered nausea and hallucinations…seeing all manner of demonic figures and shadows in his room, trying to pull him back to the realm he’d been delivered from. His vision blurred and his words slurred. He was hounded by the curses of sinister entities through the veil and he endured the flashing of memories…he could smell the tinge of blood and felt the shadow of rot all around… he was vaguely aware of his father’s voice and his hands, trying to pull him back. But Nameless was not truly free from the danger of the other place. He could not see her, but he could feel the presence of Naaktii in the shadows. She still possessed his name, and no teleportation of his soul would so easily sever that tie. He was still in danger…

He did not have the sword Onyxis anymore. He did not have the body he’d grown accustomed to. He felt called back to that place though, and he resisted with all his might. Everything became blurry, and once again, Nameless lost himself to the darkness.

……

Sabaa Daviida was restless with worry. His son was stricken with a sudden and strange illness. He’d been fine that morning of their meeting with the Gong Chichumba, but something happened between getting back home and when Jaheim checked on his child, whose name, no one could remember. Daviida had asked Jaheim directly what had happened, had he done something, said something to trigger his son so terribly? Jaheim insisted that he’d done nothing, and that Nameless had simply succumbed to some force. 

Daviida contended with a chest tightening guilt…they’d pushed Nameless too far…they proposed too great a challenge and he’d been spiritually overwhelmed… Daviida felt lost and beside himself. His son was in and out of consciousness, refusing water and food for several days. His room was shrouded in a veil of static and darkness. Daviida tried everything; holy water, incense, candles, prayers to banish evil…but none of his own power seemed to have any effect. He called on support from another Hard Head, an older warrior who was a proficient oracle and spiritualist. In his youth, when he still fought, he’d been known as the Mockingbird Brawler, and where he lived was kept by many of the feathered songbirds. His name among those who knew him well, was O-Paa Ko, and he dressed in grey, green, ivory, and gold. He visited Sabaa Daviida with a chain of shells in his hand. He wore rings on his fingers, and his hair was cut in a low gray fade. He entered Daviida’s house, and sensed immediately that there was a disturbed presence in the house… the air was saturated with static and buzzing… 

O-Paa Ko was not rushed. He sat with Daviida for a spell, though Daviida was anxious to see his son treated, O-Paa Ko insisted on a game of dominoes, usually played with loud outbursts and competitive squabbling… but this game was calm, not purposed to victory, so much as calming of the nerves. O-Paa Ko lit herbs and inhaled and exhaled medicinal silver smoke. As his buzz settled, he said that there were many battles being waged across dimensions, over the fate of this nameless child. He prayed over the space and lit frankincense, wafting the smoke over Nameless. When O-Paa Ko touched Nameless’s hand, the young Sabaa tensed, and groaned in a drowsy discomfort. O-Paa Ko felt a surge of dark energy. He breathed in deep and instructed Daviida to brace his spirit in case of any projections. He spoke to Nameless, evoking bravado through an intentional and inherited power of speech, as he took his hand in his own. 

“Know that we are here in peace, and support. We are loving, and caring for you. Whatever entity has taken hold of your spirit, we intend to free you from it. Help me, to understand what has happened,” O-Paa Ko tightened his grip on Nameless’s hand, and reached for Daviida’s with the other. The Hard Head Oracle inhaled deep, and he saw a flash of light, and felt the sensation of saturation, and he saw a story materialize through the veil. He witnessed the course of events in a parallel dimension, where Nameless agreed to what was refused, in their own world, only days prior. He saw the fish woman; Naaktii, steal the name. He saw the death of Jaheim, and the conquering of the Temple of the Mysteries, the fall of the Gong Chichumba, the rise of the army of the dead, and the sword; Onyxis. When the visions were coursed, and the portal closed, O-Paa Ko breathed back into his present moment. He looked at  Daviida, and they shared a knowing revelation; they were blessed, that in their universe, Nameless had the strength and sense, afforded to him by immense pain and grief, to refuse the challenge proposed by Jaheim and Daviida. They were able to diagnose the sleeping sickness, however, they reconciled their combined inability to cure it. They had no way to retrieve the name that was lost. Daviida suggested finding the fish woman called Naaktii… asserting that he did not fear any demon on behalf of his child. O-Paa Ko stilled the Bone Collector’s impulse to rally… knowing that if Daviida riled up the Hard Heads, then so to would be the Gong Chichumba; and once a Dragon was roused to reprimand a misbehaving entity of nature, the battles could prove paradoxical. And further, if the combined might of Steel Skull and the Hard Head warlords saw an end to Naaktii’s existence…there might be no way to ensure that she wouldn’t take Nameless’s soul to the underworld with her, lost forever. O-Paa Ko affirmed, that before reckoning was unleashed upon Naaktii, that they should call on the one person, of whom Naaktii’s magic may not have been able to touch. 

She arrived early in the morning. She dressed simply in jeans, tennis shoes, and a baggy white t-shirt. She was adorned with silver and ivory jewelry. Daviida had not seen her in person for some years. O-Paa Ko sensed the entities that swarmed around Nameless, shuddering in the presence of the daughter of Kolaa; Owuro Dalaanii, the Miino of Faith. She did not reflect the stressed tension of Daviida, but her eyes were set and her disposition fierce. She acknowledged O-Paa Ko respectively, he’d been a friend to her, when she’d been bonded to the Bone Collector as a familiar. She sat with them, and O-Paa Ko transferred the visions of context through touch. After seeing all that Nameless had experienced, Owuro took a deep breath. She shook her head and shed a tear, 

“That child was born from grief… I was depressed throughout my pregnancy, grieving the loss of my mother…” She glanced at Daviida. Though she’d bypassed him years ago, she still loved him, for the war they’d endured, the intimacy held, the child manifested… They tried to make things work a lifetime ago, but… her postpartum was a greater challenge than anything the Bone Collector had faced… “he’s been hurting all of his life…but…the pain he’s in now…it's different…he’s lost himself, near completely…” 

“Can you deliver him?” Daviida asked, and Owuro crossed her fingers, 

“I cannot,” She said, and Daviida’s heart dropped before she continued, “but I have something that may help him to deliver himself.” Owuro reached in her bag, and retrieved an ivory carved case, laid with emeralds and onyx. O-Paa Ko felt a chill up his spine. That case was connected to an energy…an ancestor, present as the three of them in that house…though they could not see her visually. Owuro stood, and picked up the case, 

“Take me to my son.” 

…….

When Owuro stepped into her son’s bedroom, there was an illumination at the retreat of shadows in her presence. She walked with the energy of her lineage. She went to sit at his bedside, and she touched her child’s temple. At her touch, Nameless breathed awake. He was surprised to see his mother. He struggled to meet her eyes, ashamed. But she nudged his chin up, and she said, 

“You look terrible.” At that, Nameless laughed, with what energy he had. He started to explain where and how he was, but Owuro hushed him, 

“Reserve your energy. I know. You are Nameless.” The absolution of that statement, spoken by her voice, rocked him to the core. 

“You don’t remember either?” He asked, and Owuro replied,

“Naaktii’s magic is strong, but I am your mother, she could never take my memories… but your name… the truth is that, I did not give it to you, your father gave you the name you offered up… I am sorry.” Nameless reconciled this, and they sat for a quiet while. 

“I can’t say that I understand your struggles,” Owuro said, with specificity to Nameless’s transness, “but I do know, what it is to hold a spiritual longing, that can feel compromised by your physical reality…to be limited… I know what it is to want something so badly, that you can hardly see anything else… Do you remember the stories your father and I told you about your grandmother’s death?” Nameless affirmed that he did, 

“I never told you about the trials that followed. Myself, and my sisters, set it upon ourselves to reclaim the Temple of Kovaango. We were certain we were ready, that we were strong enough, wise enough… but when we entered the fray, we encountered darkness beyond anything we could’ve imagined or prepared for. We fought with all we had…I, within an inch of my life, but it was not enough…as much as i wished it so, God did not will for it to be time, to complete that mission. My sisters and I lost the temple, so we felt sure….we were the ones to deliver and reclaim it….but my sister, Kalaafiia, was lost. Hekima could not bear the grief. And I reconciled the death of a hope that was…like losing my very identity, like losing my heart… I had to stop chasing what was lost, to begin to pay attention to all I did have, before I lost that too.” Owuro shook her head, and Nameless looked at his mother with a profound curiosity, as he was not used to such vulnerability from her. She continued, 

“The Hard Heads pride themselves on their connection to the Gong Chichumbas. The river dragons are born from their bloodlines. To incarnate as Gong Chichumba is the greatest honor…a power that is deeply yearned for and aspired to. Those who are not born as dragons, but are proximal, reconcile purposes of service and fellowship. Your father was born into a league of warriors, who for generations have given everything…their own egos and ambitions and their wills and their blades, to the Gong Chichumbas. He was trained, and groomed, to serve, absolutely the will of his chief, to fight ferociously, and die in service, if so called, with no greater honor to achieve. I waited for your father to choose me, as I see you now, waiting… I used to watch you as you watched your father, as he beheld the Gong Chichumba…. You lost yourself, trying to emulate men who are striving toward dragonhood, basing their standards of achievement on their nearness to that level of power which touches, very few, in every lifetime. My dear, I will say what no one else may have the heart or wherewithal to tell you… you will never be a dragon…you will never be a Gong Chichumba, as you will not be Spy Boy, and as you will not inherit your father’s mantles, as it will not be supported or respected…” Nameless processed the truth of his mother’s words…but there was still this deep grief, like being trapped between a rock and a hard place… should he just give up? Disassociate from his culture… turn his back on his father’s legacy? All his years of work to earn the mantles of warriorhood… to walk in manhood… his mother’s words were cold on his spirit. He closed his eyes, as tears streamed, and Owuro reached for his hand, 

“You will never be a dragon, but that is not the same thing, as being destined for nothing at all. The legacy of Shujaa and dragons runs in your blood, but there is more to you than this.” Owuro presented the ivory case, and she placed it on Nameless’s lap. 

“I know, it’s been difficult for you to recognize me…because i remind you so much, of all that obstacles you from your missions…but i implore you, my own child, to remember that the inheritance that is yours, through my blood, and the blood of your grandmother, does not define you as man, or woman… it is, just, there, for you to make of it what you will… not a dragon,” Owuro placed his hand on the case, “but something…beyond what I think you’ve ever graced yourself to see…” 

“I am Nameless.” He said, with a defeated absolution. Owuro arched her brow, 

“Perhaps.” She said, meeting her son’s eyes, and she said to him, “when you were young, and we could see that you were different, that despite your flesh, your spirit was inclined to your father’s form, I sensed that you’d come to face challenges that would be beyond us. Your power would attract entities who would play on your grief, and your struggles to reconcile your identity. I let your father name you…but I sat one day, alone, as the birds were singing…and then it started to rain, and as the thunder boomed and the lightning struck…I heard my mother’s voice…she sent a name for you, for me to hold…” At her words, Nameless felt a chill of resonance up his spine, and there was an electric pulse from the case his hand was on. He had a vision of a roaring leopard, black as pitch, bringing forth the earthshake of a storm. The name Owuro had received was Oshaaka. She then told Nameless to open the case, and inside were the cherished mantles of his grandmother, Kolaa. A black gemmed Gen Nyame medallion necklace, and the ring named Solianamayaa; Earth Sun, gold banded and emerald stoned, radiated a warm pulse. Owuro placed the ring on Nameless’s finger. Hekima had given it to Owuro, to steward, after their failure to deliver Kovaango. Owuro had held it, for all those years, toward that moment of transference to her son. She told him that the name, and the ring, were to be held with utmost care, that they were priceless, and no matter what fear gripped his heart, to never ever, exchange either mantle for any cost. She said for him to take his time, to settle into both the name, and the power of the ring, to pace himself in the manifestation of his new reality. Owuro’s words were a blessing of power from a core of pure faith, 

“You will know power now, Sabaa Oshaaka. Be well with it. May you never lose yourself again.” Owuro embraced her son, and bid him well, leaving him to rest.

……

Sabaa Oshaaka was etched across a piece of notebook paper for the tenth time in a row. It had been some time since Owuro Dalaanii had visited her son and delivered him a new name, along with his grandmother’s mantles; a gen nyame medallion and the ring of power called Solianamayaa. He sat on the front porch of his father’s house, burning incense as the mockingbirds chased each other out front. He watched green anoles bask on the concrete porch steps. He closed his notebook at the arrival of Jaheim Akamaa. 

Jaheim came up on the porch and reached out to hug Oshaaka. Oshaaka did not reject Jaheim’s display of routine affection, but he also didn’t resonate with or submit to the embrace gracefully. It had only been weeks ago, in that dimension of Oshaaka’s conscious past, that he and Jaheim had engaged as secret lovers. But Oshaaka carried in him the memories of the world he’d left behind to be sent backward into this one, and he could not disassociate from the intensity of his memories. When Oshaaka was his prior self, he’d held Jaheim as a priority, from the moment he opened his eyes in the morning until he went to sleep. He gave himself up to the fulfilment of Jaheim’s needs. He cooked for him, cleaned for him, checked on him, supported him, prayed for him, listened to him, cared for him, compromised for him and submitted to him. It was jarring across the last few weeks, for Jaheim to reconcile Oshaaka’s absence. But Oshaaka knew it was cruel to keep the Spy Boy in eternal suspension, so he invited him over once he felt stable enough to communicate about the complex matters at hand. Jaheim sat down and asked, 

“How are you feeling?” Oshaaka studied Jaheim’s eyes for a moment before he said, 

“I’m better than I had been. How are you?” Jaheim shrugged, 

“Aside from worrying about you, I’m pretty alright.” Oshaaka took that in, remembering empathy. This man loved him…or at least, he loved who he used to be. He would do his best to be kind. 

“I guess you want my decision about your proposal right?” Oshaaka asked and Jaheim looked him over like he was the strangest thing he’d seen. Oshaaka was so different…in his posture and the set of his eyes. There was an absence of the warmth of curiosity he’d grown so used to. Jaheim thought to make a joke or flirt, to draw out a laugh or a smile, but he was afraid of this figure, who was stoic as a storm. 

“Yes, I’d appreciate that.” Jaheim said, and Oshaaka replied with little hesitation. 

“No.” Jaheim adjusted in his seat and asked, 

“No, you won’t give me a decision?”

“No, is my decision. I will not participate in the trial proposed.” Jaheim took a moment to reconcile Oshaaka’s words, 

“Are you sure? It may be the only way for us to be together? The only way you might ever be initiated as a Shujaa.” Jaheim said and Oshaaka replied, 

“It’s not the only way for us to be together. It is the only way for us to be together while you maintain your rank as Spy Boy.” 

“Are you suggesting that I forsake it? I’ve trained my entire life for this…my family has held Spy Boy for generations, you can’t expect me to just give that up?” Jaheim asked, and it was clear by his sneer, he thought such a prospect was ludicrous. 

“No, I’m not suggesting that and I don’t expect that, I would never ask that of you.”

“Then how could you say no? How could you reject the opportunity to elevate your station? How could you just refuse the chance to become what you’ve always wanted to be?” Jaheim asked, and Oshaaka replied, 

“Jaheim, you could’ve said no to Steel Skull. You could’ve chosen to be with me, as I am, but you didn’t. You chose Spy Boy because you hold it sacred over all else. And so be it. We can’t be together unless I submit myself to an intentionally near impossible challenge… So be that ultimatum, as will be my own absolution in refusal to endure. Jaheim, hear me now. I do not want to be a Shujaa. I will not earn the right to my own father’s mantles. Just as I will not prove my worthiness of your hand in marriage. I do not want to wear my father’s armor. I am not a Hard Head, and I never will be…at least not in the way you and my father are. The opportunity to fight you is not so, it is a trap from which none of us will ever escape. If being Spy Boy is what you want above all else, then that is fine. I don’t pray for you to change your mind, I pray for your to reconcile within yourself what it means…if it is to mean, absolutely, that you will not marry me…that you will either marry who the council chooses or take no lover for as long as you serve…because that is the way of the faction you choose to submit to. I pray for you to reconcile, that after years of playing in the dark, so you would not be burdened by the inconvenience of loving me in the light, that you make peace with the impossibility of holding the mantles of Spy Boy and having me in your spare time. You will not have both, Jaheim. And I pray you would not resent me…I pray you would not syncretize me with the guilt, and the rage, and loneliness, as you lay in the arms of women you do not want, in loyal service to the men who rule your will. It will not be my fault Jaheim, if you are not happy…it will not be because I refused to fight you…refused to earn you, it will be because these men forced you to subject me to an impossible challenge, so you might maintain that which you were indoctrinated to chase, and measure yourself by a capacity to capture… and further, i’d not have you choose me, over your heart’s surest desire, because if you did, sacrifice your purpose, just to hold on to me, I know you would punish me for that sacrifice. I’d be forever locked in a cycle of breaking myself to be worthy of what you left behind…and I am certain that I will fail to fill that void.” Oshaaka’s words were clarifying and exorcizing like the rage of a river. Jaheim heard Oshaaka’s words, and felt the vibration of his voice like thunder. Oshaaka continued, 

“I’ve committed my life to manifesting a place among the Hard Heads, all in a subconscious veneration of men like you. I’ve served, emulated, and subjected myself to every standard of ritual and measurement. And across these years, I have failed, again and again, to situate myself in the light of Chichumba's eyes… The dread of the rigor…” Oshaaka shook his head and stood, reaching for incense that he lit, and wafted smoke across the proch. 

“I thought, if I would not be a Miino as my mother, and I could not be a Hard Head Shujaa as my father, that i might just dissolve into nothing at all…. That always seemed so rational and absolute. I thought I might change your minds…please you into tolerance, be the first of potentially many to come, after me. It was always rigorous, but I never believed it was impossible, so even if my chances were slim, it’s like, well, if i am that exceptional force to achieve victory, then that makes me valid right? Without a doubt… but now I just see that sliver of possibility as signifying over two decades of the lot of you ignoring me…making no effort to make it easier, resting ever comfortably in not wanting me, and never lying about it.” 

“I’ve wanted to serve you, to honor you, to belong with and to you…and it’s like…the more you reject me, the more I try, the harder I fight…and that has made sense to me…but it doesn’t anymore. I have no interest in belonging where I'm not wanted. I have no interest in trying to be what the lot of you vehemently do not want me to be. Now I ask myself, if I want to fit in at all. If I  fight tooth and claw, to break down a wall, and insert myself into something which had not considered me in its foundations…then what? Would it be my responsibility to foster tolerance among the warriors of our ethnicity? Would I become responsible for cultivating their mercy and their respect? No one wants me to be what I wanted to be so badly… So I’m done trying. I’m going to be something else…soemthing that makes sense, to me.” 

……

Sabaa Oshaaka began his days with God. He proclaimed gratitude to the Most High for his blessings, and called on the wisdom and capacity to maintain and cultivate those blessings. He’d initiated a routine of visiting with O-Paa Ko, the Hard Head oracle. The elder did his work at the Okaliqii shrine located at the base of the Temple of the Mysteries. Many in the community went to see O-Paa Ko, who gave them medicines, incense, and talismans against the forces of sickness and evil. As a demonologist, O-Paa Ko was sought to perform exorcisms, bless homes, and pray over children. Many Okaliqii; warriors and civilians alike visited O-Paa Ko when they were in need of advice on challenging matters. O-Paa Ko would use his cowries in meticulous discerning rituals. He could look into the past, the present, as well as the future. His hands were also blessed, with both medicinal and martial power. O-Paa Ko, who’d been known as the Mockingbird brawler in his youth was a master of hand to hand combat, legendary among the Okaliqii for his seldom use of bladed or firing weapons; his choice was a set of brass knuckles, and fingers adept at triggering pressure points. Even at his old age, O-Paa Ko’s hands were certifiably deadly. But they were also full of restorative power, guided by his intentions. He could soothe, mend, and purify tension into ease. He could diagnose and remedy ailments of the bone and muscle. He allowed Sabaa Oshaaka to study under him at the Temple of the Mysteries. Sabaa Oshaaka aided O-Paa Ko across his aging years. He tended the shrine by cleaning it, replacing sacred water, burning incense and candles, logging in patients, engaging them while they waited. He swept the floors and honored the artifacts of the shrine. He always felt the presence of ancestors in that space. He would listen to O-Paa Ko’s testimonies of his own youth. He was old enough to remember when Steel Skull’s grandfather was the Gong Chichumba of the Okaliqii. He taught Oshaaka histories of their people, of the land and the waters he might have never learned otherwise. He taught Oshaaka how to spiritually preserve shrine space, and what was necessary, to effectively serve as a hand healer. 

Oshaaka had to keep his mind, body, and spirit as clean as possible. He had to remain always reconciled with his ego; honest and vulnerable as he was sovereign and strong. He trained in alchemy and transmutation, to take negative energy out of people, absorb it, will it into a higher frequency, and direct it like soft lightning back into their bodies, purified by intention, deliberation, and skillful touch. Oshaaka listened, and observed, and served, and learned, and practiced, until the days came when the Okaliqii visited the shrine not only for O-Paa Ko, but for Oshaaka as well. 

Oshaaka reconciled his capacities as a psychic medium. He developed a foundation of trust in his own intuition, seldom questioning it or ignoring it. He became effective in his reception of messages through the veil by way of dreams, visions, patterns, and witnessing of miracles. He served as seer and speaker in his community, and the more he committed to rootwork the more potent and clear his visions were. The more he saw and heard, the more he knew, and the more knowledge he held, the more responsibility he held. The ring of power served to amplify his abilities as it heightened so many of his senses.

He took time to engage the natural world. He knew sanctuary within the somewhat veiled space of urban wilderness. He was attuned to so much around him; grass was a complex ecosystem of small dramas between insects and worms and roots. His imagination wondered about the vast dimensions across the dark scape of the underground. The trees were elders, purifiers of air, temples for wildlife, and sentries; many species and every specimen of its own unique shapes and characteristics. He particularly resonated with the high cypresses and looming moss and fern covered oaks. These towering organisms did not speak with words but Oshaaka sensed knowledge, memory, and emotion. He touched their trunks, and he glimpsed into their memories of the swamplands before deforestation and irrigation for the sake of space for man made structures. Their stillness was not passive…their roots rebellious in the buckling of concrete, spanning beneath houses. The trees were essential in the prevention of flooding and wind damage when hurricanes and other foul weather passed. They kept the air clean. They offered shade from the southern heat. They were necessary, even if they were inconvenient and challenging at times, they would not be rid of.

 His sight drifted to the sky above the tree lines, making out images in the clouds and marveling at the saturation of hues at dawn and dusk. The sun was sovereign in its brilliance and its heat. He was like the reptiles he searched for, happy for the warmth and the light, grateful as the green and brown anoles, eager to charge beneath the heat of the celestial fire sphere. He would walk, and find sacred places hidden in plain sight.  One day, he came to a canal, where there were many aquatic plants along its walls. There used to be a natural bayou in that place, but it had long been consumed by civilization… but the water remained in a different container and so did many of the animals the ancients knew. 

Oshaaka sat where he was for a while, on the edge of the great stone wall that isolated the canal ecosystem from the surrounding neighborhood. He did not sit, to find anything in particular, but he found himself among miracles anyway. First, he heard a familiar sound, a rapid call. His eyes followed his ears, and there was the caller; a Belted Kingfisher of navy blue, black, ivory, and russet, intent on fishing but unsure of Oshaaka’s presence in his place. He flew back and forth from one spot to another, watching Oshaaka, watching him. So focused on the bird, Oshaaka barely noticed the presence of an angel…or at least, he interpreted as much. The sun was at a point, and just adjacent to it, was a rainbow…not a great and splendid arch, but as a simple jewel in the clouds, like a marble in white. 

Oshaaka then looked down, at the water of the canal, and he witnessed a great school of fish, though they were small, and so they were all in his sight. Their fins glinted lightning blue in the sunlight. They were a small native fish, called sailfin molleys. And so focused on the molleys, he almost missed the grace of a large turtle, a spiny softshell, stalking the school of molleys and minnows and young perch, before it went to submerge into the dark water. He saw, just beneath him, on the bank of the canal, a large alligator that darted into the water, before coming to its surface and watching him. He saw, out in the deep channel, many spotted gar of varying sizes, stalking and catching jumping mullets. The gar would come and grace the surface and Oshaaka glimpsed their dorsal and tail fins. He saw black and turkey vultures circling, many crows battling a red shouldered hawk. He saw whistling and wood ducks, ibises and egrets and herons. He saw a water snake. He saw an eagle fly toward and right over his head…. God spoke to him, through the revelation of these beings of the wild, who persisted. Civilization grew, and concrete was laid…but still, they found a way, they found their place, they made sense and kept peace amidst a sprawl of chaos and development. Oshaaka thought, how profound it would be, to persist, as these animals, despite every obstacle to their survival in a contrary dimension.

Some years after his rejection of Jaheim’s proposal, Oshaaka sat in front of his bedroom mirror. He adorned his wrists with beaded and gold and ivory bracelets he’d collected across the years; some purchased, some found, and some gifted. He could hear the intensity of drumming beyond the walls of his father’s house. It was St. Joseph’s night, and Sabaa Daviidaa had already gone out, attended by others in their family, to proceed to the gathering of warriors for their ritual dancing, chanting, and war games. Oshaaka was content to arrive later. He placed diamond studs in his ears and clasped the latch of his gen nyame necklace. He looked at his reflection in the mirror as he stood, and he was pleased with who he saw. Oshaaka had committed to hormone replacement therapy, discipline in his wellness, and exercise. His body was solid with muscle, and his shape pleased him. He’d undergone top surgery once his beard was well grown in. 

Sabaa Oshaaka wore a suit of black and ivory. At his forearms were jade gauntlets etched and emblemed with native animals and sacred symbols. He wore gold gar pieces over the black silk of his sacred regalia. He’d sewn this armor himself. It was laid with crystals in the fabric, to create a shimmering affect. He wore a needle-like bone accessory in his nose, accented by 4 feathers. His teeth were capped in gold. His hair was cut in waves. He’d inked his skin with tattoos across his form, and some of the black images peaked from under his collar. He wore a uniform emblematic of the Black Leopard. He adorned his grandmother’s golden mantles at the arm and thigh, and of course, the ring; Solianamayaa; Earth-Sun. He took a deep breath, nervous to engage his first night of publicly masking…he’d been intentional; he was not presenting as a Miino and he was not presenting as a Shujaa. He was simply, Sabaa Oshaaka. He grabbed some incense sticks, his chain of cowrie shells, and the feather of a cooper’s hawk he’d found on a walk. He walked to where the warriors were gathered to witness the mighty Gong Chichumba. 

Oshaaka stood at the fringes of the ceremony, not in fear, but in intention. He lit incense as he prayed for his father, who he saw, through the swirling of feathers and bodies as the war chants commenced to the beat of drums. The ancestors were evoked through the veil. Sabaa Oshaaka saw Jaheim too, and prayed for him as well. As far as he knew, Jaheim never did marry that princess, but he’d not returned to Daviida’s house looking for Oshaaka either. He maintained Spy Boy, and when a young warrior got up the courage to challenge him on nights like this, Jaheim would release his ferocity, as was his right and honor. Sabaa Oshaaka wafted his incense with the steady fan of his hawk feather. He passed through the shadows like the leopard he emulated with his suit, and he spoke prayers of protection over his people and over the land. He left offerings to ancestors who may have been forgotten. Took time to acknowledge the passing of crows at dusk. He thanked God for all that was a blessing. And as the drums rolled, he danced, content in the company of his own shadow. There were some drifters, who noticed him, and passed lingering glances. Oshaaka did not taunt or mock them, but he did not shrink before them either. Beneath the bridge on the neutral ground, the Hard Heads held their space of sanctity and masculinity. But the sidewalk was all Oshaaka’s own. It was known, more and more across the years, of Oshaaka’s private practice. Some challenged it privately, but no one, not even the Gong Chichumba ever summoned Oshaaka for discipline. Perhaps it was mercy? Tolerance maybe? Or maybe it was a sense of what Oshaaka knew within himself. All the skills he’d developed in that other dimension, training with Jaheim, was still with him. And his training with O-Paa Ko developed his prowess further. 

Oshaaka did not boast. He did not challenge. He held absolute boundaries to competitive sparring by hand or blade. He knew that after everything, he was as proficient, if not more adept in martial art than many across their community. But, by his release of the ambition to become a Shujaa, he’d freed himself from the burden of developing his strength and proving it on behalf of the favor of the men in his community. He did not need to show the world why and how he was a man and a warrior. Sabaa Oshaaka was a warrior. Sabaa Oshaaka was deadly. But his path was not that of a conqueror. He was not a chief, he was not as the Gong Chichumba or the Spy Boy. Sabaa Oshaaka made peace with his realm of overlooked matters. He saw, felt, and heard things which were often missed. He engaged those who might never be noticed. He accounted for much that the Shujaa were too occupied to sit or settle with. Oshaaka possessed the quiet but profound capacity to protect himself and his people, if such necessity arose. No one might ever know that his strength was parallel to the Gong Chichumba… Except, the Gong Chichumba himself. 

One Day, after about a decade or so since Sabaa Oshaaka’s re-entering into the world, he was visited by the Gong Chichumba at the Okaliqii Shrine. O-Paa Ko had passed on, and stewardship of the shrine belonged to Sabaa Oshaaka. Steel Skull, who also neared retirement, came to consult with Sabaa Oshaaka. It was surprising to Sabaa Oshaaka, because the Gong Chichumba had not spoken directly to him in many years. Steel Skull acknowledged and honored, that Sabaa Oshaaka had cultivated a niche for himself in their community. Many of the traditionalists were still weary of him, but none could deny the proficiency of his practices, nor the value of his knowledge of their ecosystem. Steel Skull said, 

“You are the Gong Kolukuu.” Sabaa Oshaaka had paused the pouring of tea for the Gong Chichumba, and met Steel Skull’s greying eyes. Sabaa Oshaaka’s identity as Gong Kolukuu was not something he liked to publicize. His power was sacred, but it could also attract the wrong sorts of attention. 

“You thought I didn’t know?” Steel Skull asked, and Sabaa Oshaaka conceded, that he’d not suspected that Steel Skull was privy to the power of birthright inherited from Kolaa. 

“I always knew, before you knew, I knew…” Oshaaka shifted, unsure of what to say or do, 

“Why are you telling me this now?” Steel Skull crossed his fingers, before he replied, 

“Because, I want you to know, that your ostracism from the Shujaa was not merely a matter of your sex… though, I leaned into that, to make the work of keeping you from it easier.” Steel Skull’s words were stark and honest…strange, 

“I promised your grandmother to honor her successor.” Steel Skull said, and Oshaaka asked, 

“You knew my grandmother?” Steel Skull replied, 

“That medallion you wear,” Steel Skull pointed to Oshaaka’s gen nyame resting against his chest, “was a gift to your grandmother, from me, on her sixteenth birthday. It is an heirloom of my father’s lineage.” Oshaaka thumbed the necklace, processing for the first time the absence of such a medallion around Steel Skull’s own neck, as so many others of the warrior class. “You were told about your grandmother’s final years at Kovaango. But, historically, the Gong Kolukuus have not served at Kovaango.” Steel Skull gestured to the space they sat in, 

“They served here, in this very shrine. Koala was born among the Okaliqii. She was raised from birth to serve the Bone Clan and its dragons. You see, to be Gong Kolukuu, is to be counterpart to Gong Chichumba. Your grandmother was bonded to me, and she kept this temple for years.” Sabaa Oshaaka looked around the shrine, and then at his own hands. He thought he’d been manifesting all this, from a space of personal gravity. But in that moment, he felt his grandmother more than ever. She’d been leading his intuitions, steadily, toward this moment.

“Why did she leave?” Oshaaka asked, and Steel Skull continued, 

“The Ghokaans came to Bulbancha when I was just a child…They met the dragons, as well as their familiars. United, The Gongs and their Kolukuus were more than a match for any trespassers to the basin and the delta… but the intensity of their emotional, spiritual, and sometimes physical bonds made them vulnerable… The Ghokaans began to intentionally separate the Kolukuus from their Dragons… and, well, warriors as my grandfather were not strong enough to defeat the Ghokaan conquerors, so to preserve our land and our people, many dragons, my grandfather included, submitted sovereignty in exchange for peace. My grandfather’s familiar went to serve Uluga Khaan, until her passage from grief. And there was peace, for a good while…and it seemed, the Ghokaans were not as terrible as others who have oppressed these lands…but your grandmother came of age, and fate saw us bonded, intensely. We were strong. We gave people hope. And I want you to understand, your grandmother was a force of nature…an incarnation of the elements…fluid as water, free as air, stable as earth, and bright as the sun… but, Ulugaa Khaan was jealous. He’d witnessed your grandmother, and he decided that he wanted her, and she of course, refused him. I was recently initiated as Gong Chichumba after my grandfather’s passing. I was primed with power. I was ready to rally the Hard Heads and the Okaliqii to battle for her honor… but she forbid it. She said that, even across vast distance, our familiarity would still function… if we focused on our purposes and our commitment to the Most High… she left Bulbancha, to make clear that, Ulugaa Khaan would not have her, but, she would not challenge his wrath by giving herself directly to me either…she went to live at Kovaango…and i never saw her again…not until the day she passed. She visited me in my dreams, and she made me promise, that i would watch over you, until you’d reconciled your station.” Oshaaka processed the magnitude of revelations. 

“It’s by no coincidence that you inherit this shrine, Oshaaka. You are my familiar… you have been, since the day you were born.” 

“You rejected me, all my life… you made it impossible for me to integrate…why?”

“Because I didn’t want history to repeat itself. I knew that if I’d had you raised at this temple, you would’ve been vulnerable. I would’ve been challenged, constantly, over your dowry. And though I’ve been certain of my strength in all else, I couldn’t bear to, by some cruel chance of fate, lose, and see you taken by the Ghokaans or who knows else…I could not bear to see your father endure such a grief… I felt you were safer, away from this temple, away from me, away from the Hard Heads…where you might develop naturally into your prowess, and you have…all on your own, with little to no help from me…”

“I may have known peace…I may have served well…” Oshaaka said, and Steel Skull pointed, 

“And that, there, is where you must understand a degree of context…why I am here before you now. I sense an end is near…I will not be Gong Chichumba for very much longer. When the next sits the throne of this temple, Oshaaka, you must know…know why I refused your union to Jaheim so harshly… as Gong Kolukuu, you may or you may not serve this temple. You may or you may not bond to a dragon. You may or may not honor the hard heads…remember the difference that your choice in all directions make. You were near to making Jaheim your entire purpose, and the universe would not stand for it, why? Because your purpose is beyond mere submission to a warrior’s favor…even my own, I encourage you to bypass Oshaaka. Understand that your position, though you are not a chief, is subservient nor inferior to any who do not match your prowess. I do not need to see it demonstrated, I know the might of that ring…hear my words…you are not a chief of men, you are not a conqueror, you are not a king…you are not as I, a Gong Chichumba, you are a guardian of nature itself. Your realm is the fertility of our people, our harmony, our spiritual equilibrium. Not alpha, but neither are you beta, you are omega. Where the Gong Chichumba and his court stand at front, in full sight of the world, you Oshaaka, you keep the back… you set pace from behind. You will not know glorification. Many will never know the importance of your work. Many will engage you, as if you are inferior…so long as it is not of consequence, let them. Let fools be fools, so long as they do not challenge you…and when and if they do…assert yourself, but with proper direction and sense. Do not fight to prove or convince. Fight to preserve, to protect, and to defend. As the Gong Chichumba is sovereign of one realm, you are sovereign of another, light to shadow, yin to yang. Your freedom is crucial, for when the Gong Chichumba and all else fails, it is your strength that may succeed. You are our greatest, but most reserved defense…I fight for honor, for order, for the glory of the Okaliqii, but you fight for the Earth itself, for the waters, the trees, the animals…you fight for ecosysten…that is the difference, and the balance." Steel Skull clasped Oshaaka’s hands in his own, and looked him the eyes, 

“Your grandmother is with you, and when I pass on, so too, shall I.” With that, Steel Skull left the Okaliqii Shrine and Oshaaka in it. From that day on, Sabaa Oshaaka would be Gong Kolukuu as well as the Omega of the Hard Head Okaliqiis. 

……

I  read a post one time; it was probably on Tumblr or Pinterest about the dynamics of hierarchy in wolf packs when they are crossing territory. When the alphas, usually the parents of the entire pack, are in their prime, they are the largest and strongest members. However, when the alphas get older, and their first born litter matures to full adulthood, those offspring may become the largest and strongest wolves in the pack, however, they maintain their positions as Betas to their parents. This zoological insight was particularly interesting to me because it sparked a domino sequence of thought. I thought of how the grey wolves of North America’s Great Plains were historically proficient buffalo hunters, especially in very large packs. I consider the sacred relationship between Plains Tribes, Buffalo/American Bison, and the grey wolf, historically. I have Southern Cheyenne ancestry on my mother’s side, and I am very intrigued by the relationship that Indigenous ancestors had with the wildlife of Turtle Island. I note that, before the indigenous people of the Great Plains began to hunt bison on horseback (before the arrival of European horses to North America) though i have heard some speculation that horses may have been on Turtle Island already; some vestiges of the Ice Age, but not to trail off, Indigenous people, pre European arrival, would have been hunting the buffalo on foot. And who was hunting the buffalo alongside these people? Wolves, of course. Now, what does this have to do with anything? Sit tight, because the point is coming. 

I am a native Black Indigenous Culture Bearer of Bulbancha/New Orleans, and here we have our Black Masking Indians, who walk in coordinated processions, structured according to a strategic hierarchy. The structure of the wolf packs when they are walking, is reminiscent of the Indians to me. And it is so interesting because Buffalo hunting tribes, like the Atakapa Ishak, were present as far south as Louisiana’s prairies, where there were both bison and wolves, and as the masking culture references these groups, it all just sings of serendipity to me. So, to paint the picture clearer, 

The Big Chief, though he is the head and leader of the tribe, it is not he who walks the front of the procession. The Big Chief, like the alpha wolf, walks behind any number of Betas; who are strong, powerful, and protective, younger, more agile, and ready for battle, as the Wild Man, Flag Boy, and Spy Boy, who all serve as obstacles between enemies and their Big Chief. The Spy Boy is symbolic of the most powerful and fiercest warrior of a tribe, hence why he walks the very front, far ahead. In The Omega Jaheim’s rank as Spy Boy positions him as a sort of prince, and prodigal son among his people. He is a living incarnation of masculine power and divinity. It is he, like a shining prince, that his people look to in times of war and diplomacy. The structure of the Indian Tribe’s procession, as far as I know, is derivative of African Traditional war and ceremonial hierarchies, however, I’m sure there must be some Turtle Island Indigenous influence in their somewhere, if not consciously, then by intuition of the blood. The similarities to wolf pack structures in movement, may be coincidental, but it is resonant and interesting to me, nonetheless. 

So, I will explore further, because, no, we have not reached our point, lol. There is further context on the wolf pack structure I'd like to note. While there are the Betas who walk ahead of the alphas at the front, there is another wolf, who walks the very back of the procession, behind the young, the old, and the sick, to watch out for ambushes that may come from behind. These wolves are the Omegas. Omega wolves have been characterized by researchers as being the lowest ranking members of a pack, however, their niche functions may be more complex, as might their status as low ranking. An Omega wolf may serve to ease tension in a pack by initiating play, and demonstrating submission. They serve as sentries and also act as diversions during hunts. Though an Omega may be low ranking, they may also be as betas, in size, strength, and age, and simply keep the flank of the pack. This phenomenon intrigues me deeply, and influenced me in the manifestation of The Omega; which chronicles the transformation of Sabaa Doriaan, a warrior’s son who is denied the inheritance of his father’s war mantles because he is trans. I consider that I've never heard much about any of the Black Masking Tribes holding a space of honor for a warrior who walks the back of the procession, a sort of counter part, a yin, to the Spy Boy’s yang. While the Spy Boy’s rank is to be earned and maintained through victory and domination in battle, the phenomenon of the Omega is preserved through the opposite. The Omega, does not earn his or her position through brute strength, or victory over all challengers. The Omega’s position is not necessarily noticed, they are not heralded…they blend in, at the back of a crowd… but they are important, aren’t they…for what is a first place, if there is not the balance of the last… and, though our capitalistic paradigm certainly paints last place as an infinite negative, what if, being last, could be just as fulfilling as being first, what if there was just as much to do, in the shadowy space, as there was to do, in the light of a mighty Spy Boy’s glory? 

The Omega is a dedication to Black Masculinity among the warriors of my ethnicity. It was inspired by one of my favorite films; The Grand Master (Wong Kar Wai 2013). It unpacks the complexities of the rigorous aspects of capitalism that influence our reality. This story reminds us to foster grace, as well as strength. To remember, that victory is not always as narrow as the trophy that everyone strives for, sometimes, victory is winning a prize no one else can see; the development of a character that only you, as an individual are inherent to. 

That’s all for now, because I could type all day. If there are more questions, I am happy to engage! Thank you for reading my story! Stay blessed, and true to you, 

Keyshia Pearl xoxoxo

The Ruin of Khadiijah 

A warlord’s son was raised to inherit the rule of a great city on the Great River called Zion. To Rule Zion was to maintain a powerful position in the great war class of the Gokhaan Empire. It was assumed that this noble son would naturally grow into the likeness of his father, as his father and grandfathers before him and function as a greater warrior than all before him, and perpetuate their dynasty forward. But, the son of Ulugaa Khaan had always felt in himself…different from the identity projected onto and expected of him. He did not resonate with roles and functions of manhood, the standards of strength, the rigor of warcraft, or the destiny of husbandry to an honored wife. He felt more suited to feminine pursuits and situations of life. He gravitated to the women of his father’s court, not with sexual intent, but in admiration and familiarity. He found solace in the company of his female attendants, cousins, aunts, and female elders. He enjoyed their stories, their customs, their fashions, and he emulated them. There were many, including his parents, who tried to change him, with force. They wanted to shape him up, to be the great inheritor of their family’s legacy to command a great army on behalf of the Galactic Empire which had seen his lineage seated to power over the Indigenous of those river lands…but there was no budging in his truth, despite his father’s insistent disapproval. He did not join the men of court in athletic training, nor compete in the war games the Ghokaans were so known for. He was well into marrying age, and the lord’s court, and all the war clans of that Empire became so alarmed…who would be War Lord of Zion? Produce heirs? Lead their armies? This child of their great general had absolutely refused masculinity and the projected roles of manhood. He adorned himself with makeup and women’s clothes, he refused to have relations with women or participate in male rights of passage. He insisted that he may or may not have been a woman, but  he was  certainly no man, of that he was absolutely sure. 

She, then lived, as Khadiijah, as a feminine, for years, with no desire for power or rule, or the authority afforded to her if she so chose manhood. She lived as she was, all the way to the passing of her father, when she was in her early thirties. Suddenly, the matter of his succession was the crisis of a century. The Shujaa and Ghokaan clans were absolutely divided, behind whether or not Khadiijah, as she’d named herself, should inherit the mantles of War Lord of Zion, or if the rights should pass to her younger brother, Nkuruk Khaan. The warlords were at odds, and near up in arms, some of them arguing that, if Khadiijah chose to walk in femininity and womanhood, then it was a mockery to their traditions, to make her their monarch, and others argued that, though Khadiijah was different, and these circumstances were particular, that she was still a better candidate for the rule of Zion, than her brother Nkuruk. See, Khadiijah was not a warrior, but she was very intelligent. She’d studied at university with cosmic scholars and she knew many languages, mathematics, literature and art. Khadiijah was a great diplomat and tactician, and she was full of charm. But the Ghokaans were stuck in their ways, and so loyal to their concepts and parameters of manhood, that they could just hardly bear to see such power passed to someone like Khadiijah. The thing about her brother, Nkuruk, was that he was a warrior, he was a man, and he was certainly enthusiastic to court women and make sons. More than anything, he aspired to the power which Khadiijah disassociated from. Nkuruk was arrogant though, and reckless, with a deficit in sense and patience. The Ghokaan Lords threatened mutiny across the empire if Khadiijah was given rights to her father’s status and authority. Khadiijah’s supporters threatened retribution…the empire was on the verge of civil war, and Khadiijah had to make a decision…a very difficult one. She knew that if she accepted the throne, that war would ensue, and her people, common people with no determination on the matters of Ghokaan High Court, would suffer most for it all…and they would hate her, for her inability to fight on behalf of their suffering or remedy the chaos, inevitable either way. She may have been a better ruler if she chose to accept the mantles, but at what cost? To others, and herself? If Nkuruk was chosen as the War Lord of Zion, it might mean doom for her line’s dynasty by her brother’s inability to sustain it…but at least, the country might be spared from immediate and sure war. And furthermore, a deeper truth was that Khadiijah just didn’t want to be a General, she didn’t want the power or the responsibility and in the end, she did not sacrifice her peace or her identity, for the sake of the world. It was a controversial decision, and some judged her for it, though no one judged her more than she judged herself, for choosing herself; for being selfish. But that was the path she chose to take, away from the power. It was a scary thing, to leave the palace and her family, all she knew, to make space for her brother, with no assurance that he would be just in his position. But she channeled courage, despite fear, and met a destiny that was all her own, and not projected or imposed by anyone else. 

It was years after Nkuruk had inherited the throne from Khadijah’s forfeit. He’d already had a child by his first wife, from before he’d become warlord, who he named Bo Khaan. With that first wife, he attempted to have more children, but they struggled to see the infants to term, and at the end of one pregnancy, he lost his first wife. Nkuruk then announced his desire to remarry, and the great noble houses all came forward and  presented their most beautiful daughters to the Lord of Zion. A scholarly house, that of Salisaii, presented the daughter of one of their warriors for choosing. Her name was Hekima. She was beautiful and very soft, and she possessed a passion for knowledge that all agreed would make her an adept wife. Nkuruk demanded that it be this woman he married, but Hekima had her reservations…she did not desire marriage, or the weight of Gokhaan nobility….but her family pressured her to not dishonor them, to fulfill her duty for the greater good of their house. She did not love Nkuruk, but they proposed that by the power of her status so near him, she could enact change to the world in a way many people only ever dreamed of. She agreed then, and they were married. Nkuruk and his court had hoped that a younger woman would fare better in producing heirs, but the years proved barren for them. Nkuruk grew frustrated with Hekima and mistreated her. He would flaunt his affairs with concubines, and have little shame for the children he had with them. He would embarrass Hekima publically and ridicule her shortcomings. Hekima found solace in her studies and her spirituality, and sought respite from Nkuruk’s ways at the sanctuary of his sister, Khadiijah. 

Khadiijah lived away from the palace, in a house she’d manifested on the other side of the river which coursed through Zion. She’d taken the resources she was left with, and had a home built for herself, and there she studied metaphysical arts like alchemy, manifestation, magic, and rootwork. She called the place The House of Zion, and it became a sanctuary for misfits; orphaned children, disabled people, battered women, men of softness, and people like her, whose identities existed beyond the gender and sexuality binary. Lady Hekima had gone to the House of Zion, to sit and talk with Khadiijah, who was herself an intellectual. This particular time though, there were visitors to the House of Zion, from down river, from Kovaango. They were warriors, like Hekima had never seen. Women, fems, and gender fluid beings who wore mantles of gold and silver with tattoos on their skin, gold caps on their teeth, and hair worn in intricate and bold styles. They wore armor that accentuated their athletic figures. Hekima was fascinated by them, and she talked to their leader, who was a warrior named Kolaa. Kolaa told her about their life at the Temple of Kovaango. When Hekima heard of their reality devoted to freedom, fearlessness, and adventure, she was filled with sudden despair…she’d never known or imagined such an option as freedom…she could’ve chosen something other than wifehood and service to the empire? She couldn’t bear to see these women go without her. Hekima appealed to Kolaa to take her with them. Kolaa hesitated, looking at Khadiijah. Khadiijah had reminded Hekima of her husband, and his notorious possessiveness and jealousy. Hekima was sobered by this, but still, she asked Kolaa to give her some time, before she and the others from Kovaango departed. Kolaa, who sensed chaos, felt the wiser thing to do was to say no, but she also knew that it was not the way of her or her kind, to leave those in need behind. She told Hekima she would have three days to figure something out. 

Hekima went back to the Palace of Nkuruk, and she spoke forwardly. She said that they had failed in their attempts to have children, and that Nkuruk did not love her, and neither did she love him. She asked for divorce. Nkuruk had scoffed at her, asking how she thought it would look, for a man of his position to be divorced by his wife? He waved her foolishness away dismissively. She pressed on, speaking her desire, to be free, to explore and study the world, to be more than just a wasted thing at his court…the war lord still refused her, and then threatened her, saying that if she left without his consent, that he would have her captured and publicly executed for treason. 

Hekima knew Nkuruk’s words were not a bluff, and that he might even take some satisfaction from her insubordination, just to have a fair reason in the eyes of the noble class, to be rid of her. But her longing for freedom was greater than her fear. She’d waited, until the final day, to wait for everyone in the palace to be asleep. She undressed her fine garments, and put on simple clothes. She left her jewelry, except a few pieces to exchange for transportation and lodging if need be. Hekima snuck from the place under cover of darkness, and went to meet with Kolaa and the others of Kovaango. Kolaa was suspicious, but she would not force Hekima to return to an abusive house. Kolaa allowed Hekima to leave with them, and they journeyed to the sacred delta. 

Of course, it did not take Nkuruk long to realize Hekima had disappeared, and he’d raged. What sort of warrior loses a wife? People would certainly say, a ruler who cannot hold a woman, certainly will not preserve a dynasty. Nkuruk was terribly insecure, despite his arrogance. He sent out his soldiers, to search Zion high and low, to question and intimidate many. He went to the House of Zion himself, and called on Khadiijah. He asked her if she’d seen Hekima, and Khadiijah said she had, some days before, but not since. She made no mention of Kolaa or Hekima’s desire to leave him. By this point, Hekima was probably already, or nearly to Kovaango. Nkuruk began to threaten Khadiijah, as he’d threatened Hekima, but Khadiijah reminded him, without fear or hesitation, that it was by her own consent that he held the power he did. She told him that, though warcraft was not her preference, she maintained her strengths, and had established them decades ago, long before their family’s mantles were considered for either of them. She had allies in high and low places, and assured Nkuruk that the House of Zion would maintain its security, through any storm he presumed to summon. Nkuruk had felt the power of Khadiijah’s speech, and had stepped back, reducing his arrogance before his older sibling. He told Khadiijah, that if she had any information, to bring it to him. 

More time passed… several years, and no one knew where Hekima was. It was a great mystery to many. All that time, she’d been at the Temple of Kovaango, studying and earning her mantles. By the time a traveler to the Delta did coincidentally come across Hekima, he was not sure it was her. Her hair was locked, her skin inked, and her form adorned with armor. She carried a changing spear dagger at her hip, and she smiled with the light of life in her eyes. When Nkuruk received word that his wife was at Kovaango, he’d sent a group of soldiers to the Delta, to bring her back. They’d arrived at Kovaango and called from the outside of the temple, for Hekima to be brought forward. The leader of these men, was a Gokaan warrior named Lo Pongii Khaan, a great fighter and commander, who’s ancestors had served Zion for generations. He proclaimed that he and his men were there for Hekima, and that if she was handed over, they would leave peacefully. 

Two women stepped forth from the Temple then; one was the one named Kolaa, and the other, was Hekima, who’d become lean and fierce eyed as a lioness. She met the eyes of Lo Pongii, and did not avert her gaze. Lo Pongii recognized a warrior’s glare. Kolaa spoke, that if Lo Pongii wanted to take Hekima, then he should do so, and she stepped back, to offer the space and opportunity. Lo Pongii was confused for a moment as he glanced at his other men. Hekima stood there, impassively. 

“Will you come willingly?” He asked, and Hekima spoke, 

“No.” Lo Pongii understood then, the weight of a challenge. He turned, to his second in command, a young warrior who fought with a machete. He directed him to dismount his vehicle and the soldier did so. He was cocky in his eyes as he looked at Hekima, twisting the handle of his weapon. He went and circled around Hekima, who stood steady as an oak. When the soldier raised his machete with a war cry, and attacked, Hekima had moved with an unfathomable speed. In one fluid motion, she’d grabbed her dagger, willed its transformation into a spear, and had brought the blade across the throat of the soldier with her own battle cry, like a lioness's roar. Lo Pongii glanced at his men, after his lieutenant fell. He then dismounted, and drew his own weapon. He raised it to Hekima, who shifted her stance in preparation to meet his attack. Lo Pongii advanced, with more skill than the soldier she’d just fell, but in the end, Hekima’s spear proved superior, and she brought this warrior down as well. The soldiers left then, to return to Zion and report news to Nukuruk, who was furious. Rumors were quick to spread, and there was almost immediate talk of how Nkuruk’s wife had abandoned him, joined a league of rogue women, and had killed his own soldiers…the city held its breath in anticipation for what was next. If Nkuruk left it be, he risked appearing weak, emasculated by Hekima’s insolence…and as for these temple keepers of Kovaango, blasphemous witches in his opinion, he could not stand for them to assume such wilderness as to disrespect his power, unchecked. 

And this was the seed of the great conflict that brewed. Nkuruk appealed to the Emperor, who permitted him to rile up  the Shujaa war lords at his command, encouraging the persecution of allies of Kolaa caught outside of their sanctuaries. He ordered that their temples be destroyed, their hair cut, their weapons and mantles taken. He had the captives chained and walked to the slaver’s castles to be sold across the galaxy. He warred against them, and decimated them, before setting his attention on Kovaango. This sanctuary was not so vulnerable as the others, and he could not simply barge his way through the delta to take the temple. His army was a mighty force, but he would need a greater power to take the temple where Hekima was hiding. His intentions were so full of malice and vengeance, that he attracted the attention of agents of darkness. He was approached by a league of demons; Vampires, who’d once dominated that landscape in ancient times before the settlement of the Gokhaan Empire. They offered to aid him in capturing the temple, but only if he agreed to turn over the land which surrounded the temple to them. Nkuruk, who thought often with his ego, and not with his sense, had agreed, not seeing any value worth fighting for in the land of the swampy Delta itself. He signed a deal in his blood with the demons, who lurked in the night and consumed the blood of innocents. 

They took the blood of Nkuruk, which held much power, and used it in a dark ritual to summon forth a demonic horde from the pits of chaos and despair. The Shujaa clans were not aware of Nkuruk’s enactment of sinister magic, and they gathered at Zion, to coordinate war against those who were regrouping and resisting. Meanwhile, the vampires began their conquest of the Delta, attacking Kovaango in the night, and setting marsh fires, poisoning waters, terrorizing animals and people. They waged bitter war against Kolaa, and after years of conflict, Kolaa’s people had been so diminished, their temples and lands destroyed and soiled. In a story all its own, the Temple of Kovaango was sacked, and Kolaa was defeated by the mighty Sabaa Daviida. Before this battle however, Kolaa had done something of the greatest, yet secret importance. In her daughters were different powers, but in herself, had been held, the very life force of the Delta…her influence was over the waters, the earth, the sunlight, the rain, the fertility and great forces of that place. She was its keeper, its guardian…but she knew her time was near, and that if she died holding that power, that it might be lost. She’d ventured out, long before the army arrived, to a wild place, a secluded island in the marsh. This island was populated with bison, and was the home to a pride of lionesses. She went to this island and called on the lions, and they came forth from the high grass, and when they came to Kolaa, they transformed into the full heights of women, dressed in armor emblemed for the sun. These were not just lionesses, they were Nyabinghii, shapeshifters and warriors of the rain, lightning, and thunder, fierce eyed and ancient in their power. They preferred the isolation of the swamp island, where they were free to live in total union with nature. One of the Nyabinghii stepped forward, older now than she’d been at her arrival to the Delta. Her locks had grown very long down her back. She was Hekima. Kolaa touched her heart and proclaimed, 

“From Jah.” And Hekima did the same. Kolaa wore a ring on her finger, a band of simple filigree gold. She proclaimed that it was a sacred heirloom called Soliianamayaa; Earth Sun. This ring of power wielded the warmth of sun fire, the course of rain and fresh waters of rivers, the fertility of earth, the freedom of wind. She said that this ring was the conduit of all the Delta’s power, and that it belonged in the hands of a worthy carrier. She offered the ring to Hekima, insisting that she keep it safe, warning the Nyabinghii of the war which was to consume their sanctuary. Hekima took the ring, and when she placed it on, she felt the might of nature rest in her spirit, and she was brought to tears, for the honor, and the heavy embrace of such a responsibility. She and the Nyabinghii agreed to keep the ring, and fight on, for as long as they could, to protect the Delta.

The Lion Women 

So, the battle of Kovaango occurred, Kolaa fell, and her daughters were captured. Kalaanii and Oyin were lost. Owuro left with Daviida to grieve and carry their child to term. And Kalaafiia went with the Ghokaans to Zion, to advocate for the Miino who remained. The Delta itself was left behind and the vampires came for the Temple of Kovaango in the night. They inhabited it with their darkness, and from there, much of the delta was brought to a terrible sickness. The vampires called forth demons like themselves, and slavers and traffickers flocked from across the galaxy. The sacred temple grounds were turned into a place of revelry and commerce for gold, silver, substance and bodies. Dark entities arrived from realms of shadow and despair, to feed on the sorrow of the land, and to rave at huge balls and festivals held at the temple, defiling its sanctity with dark rituals in the nights. 

It was on such a night, some years after the temple was sacked, that a shape slinked through the night shrouded grounds. It was a black footed ferret moving unseen toward the lights of the Temple of Kovaango. There had been a party there, which had run through the night, but the Temple was quiet then as the ferret stalked forth. She passed the Vampire’s minions; hog and hound demons knocked out on the front steps. She was pleased to see that things were going according to plan. She climbed up the steps and into the temple, where many party goers had fallen asleep, with drinks spilled, glasses broken on the floor. There was excess food laid across feast tables; the carcasses of wild animals, cooked and hardly eaten. The ferret sneered at the wastefulness of this foul group. She passed through the halls, following her memories of maps she’d been shown of its architecture. She didn’t have all night; the sleeping potion which had knocked this demon horde out would wear off soon. She made her way through a corridor, and found a stairway that went down beneath the temple into darkness. She descended the stairs until she reached the doors of a chamber, which used to be where the spring baths were, but were now used for different means. There, waiting for her, was a warrior, dressed in spotted armor. Her name was Shaak Tii Khaalii. She stood over two catcher hounds, with needle darts sticking out of their necks. Shaak Tii had blow darted them with the same poison that she’d put in the whiskey the demons loved so much. She’d snuck in under the guise of one of their slaves, and had laced their drink and food with a powerful potion strong enough put a herd of mastodon to sleep. Administered to humans, the drug would’ve been lethal, but to these demons, it was only enough to drowse them. The ferret transformed then, into her own human form. She was a fierce figure, dressed in silver, black, and ivory. Her hair was braided in two long plaits. Her name was White Moon. Both women were Miino warriors. 

“You took long enough.” Shaak Tii khaalii had said, and White Moon said she’d had to make sure all the coasts were clear before she came. Together, they pushed open the door to the dark chamber. Inside, were a number of sarcophagus, etched with designs of gold and gems. They were lined in a circle of twelve. White Moon and Shaak Tii glanced at each other, chilled by the dark energy of the space. Resting in these tombs, were the ancient bloodsuckers who’d manipulated Nkuruk into conquering the Delta. They were resting in their caskets, as was common for elder demons such as these. White Moon and Shaak Tii stepped across the space. Shaak Tii could smell the lingering of water in the air…this used to be a bath house but the sacred spring water had been drained. She could still sense it though, coursing beneath them. 

They went to analyze each casket, marked with names etched in the text of hell to find a specific one. They did not speak the names out loud. One of the caskets looked promising and White Moon said, 

“This is it ,Shaak Tii.” Shaak Tii stepped back, grabbing her set of daggers; The Bright Fire Sais. She readied her weapon, as White Moon took a deep breath, before she unlocked the casket, and thrust its top open, before she hurriedly went to White Moon’s side, to aim her own blades at the open casket, which immediately released a foul odor, and a hissing sound emitted from within. A shadow of smoke wisped from the casket, before suddenly, a demon sprang forth. It moved so fast, flying across the room, that White Moon and Shaak Tii could barely move out of the way. The demon whirled around, wailing and hissing, before it came to settle as smoke which then became physical. The creature was like a woman, but not so at all, its skin was grey and lacking pigment, its hair was thinned, and its eyes were blood red. It smelled of death and ash. It bared its fangs at the wolf woman and the Sun Cat.

“Who dares wake me from my slumber.” The demon asked, and White Moon and Shaak Tii did not grace it with their names, 

“You have something that does not belong to you. We’d like to have it back.” White Moon said, and the demon hissed, before calling to the guards. No one answered, and she tensed with aggravation, 

“Tricky witches you are…you’ve gotten this far…let’s see you get yourself out once whatever spell you’ve casted wears off.” The vampire was looking past the warriors, to the door, considering an escape, but Shaak Tii pointed her dagger, 

“Don’t even think about it.” The vampire hissed, because she was vulnerable without the rest of her coven, and without her minions. She would not defeat White Moon or Shaak Tii in direct combat, at least not without a filling of blood to aid her strength.  

“What do you want?” The demon asked in aggravation and Shaak Tii said, 

“The Amulet of Truth, we know you have it.” The demon hissed, 

“All treasures in this temple are my coven’s by right of conquest.”

“You conquered this temple through deceit and sorcery. The amulet was crafted by sacred magic, it belongs in a proper sanctuary.” Shaak Tii brought her  blade to the casket, and applied pressure. The edge made a burning cut in the casket, and the vampire writhed in pain. 

“Aaaggghhh enough! Wretched wench!” The vampire stepped forward, and reached into the black abyss of her casket. She pulled out an ankh necklace, laid with a garnet stone at its center. It glowed faintly against the darkness of its holder. Shaak Tii felt her heart pulse. The necklace was a conduit of ancestral energy, a vessel of channel for generations upon generations. She could feel the longing of the necklace’s energy, to be free of the vampire’s consumptive hoarding. 

“Give it to me.” Shaak Tii Khaalii said, and the vampire hesitated before she applied force to her speech, 

“I said give it to me, demon.” The vampire hissed as it was compelled to do as told, and gave Shaak Tii the necklace that she placed securely within her armor. At that very moment, White Moon could hear the demon’s they’d knocked out, shifting back to consciousness. The vampire began to laugh, 

“Foolish women. You will not escape this place.” The vampire taunted, as she crawled back into her casket, to close it back shut as the temple boomed with commotion as demons woke from their trance. 

“The potion’s not supposed to wear off yet.” Shaak Tii said, and White Moon replied, 

“Well, clearly it wasn’t strong enough to hold them, come on we have to get out of here.” White Moon and Shaak Tii ran then, as the demons woke. They were near escape from the temple when the hogs and hounds filed in from the halls to try to intercept them. 

“Go White Moon,” Shaak Tii said, throwing her friend the amulet of truth. In an instant, White Moon transformed herself into a falcon, caught the necklace in her talons and flew from the temple. Shaak Tii stood to face the demons who surrounded her. They bared their fangs and barked and squealed their taunts at her. She took a deep breath, and brewed warmth from her core. She called it forth as the demons rushed in. The halls of the temple were illuminated by the burst of fire cast through them. At contact with the flames, the demons disintegrated and burned, wailing with agony. She ran ahead, and out of the temple. Ahead of her, White Moon flew as a falcon, and circled back to Shaak Tii Khaalii, to transform once she was at the ground into a wolf once she dropped the amulet back in Shaak Tii’s hand. Shaak Tii phased to her Sun Cat shape as well, and the two of them set to racing across the swamp as the demons began to file out of the temple in pursuit. Shaak Tii and White Moon ran through the night, toward the smell of cleaner land and fresher water. They crossed a water channel which was deep, to where the grass grew high. The demons came to the edge of that water, but did not cross, they just watched in anger, baying and barking at them with their weapons raised. They would not brave the water or what was on the other side of it. Shaak Tii and White Moon were safe, for then. 

They walked on, across the island, to where a large herd of swamp bison were resting beneath the moonlight. They paused when they sensed presences. They heard rustling in the grass, and White Moon looked out with her wolf vision to see feline silhouettes closing in. She readied her teeth, and so did Shaak Tii, until, from the grass, figures of women rose. White Moon and Shaak Tii relaxed as a warrior approached, with long locks. Her armor was black and gold and ivory and red. 

“From Jah,” She said, and White Moon and Shaak Tii replied in turn. 

“You’ve brought unnecessary attention to our island, I hope it’s for a good reason.” The head Nyabinghii said, and Shaak Tii looked around at the others. She’d heard of these lionesses who remained in their isolated wilderness of the delta, 

“You are the Nyabinghii; lion women?” Shaak Tii asked, and the woman affirmed, 

“We are. I am Hekima, who are you?” Shaak Tii and White Moon introduced themselves, and Hekima told them to follow her and the others to a secluded place at the heart of the island. They lit a fire, and sat around it to share stories. Hekima asked, what had prompted these warriors to come, and disturb the vampires. Shaak Tii had raised the necklace for Hekima to see. Hekima asked, 

“Who sent you? Kalaafiia?” Ungo shook her head, 

“No, we were sent by Owuro.” Hekima glanced at the necklace for a lingering moment. 

“With what purpose? Certainly she didn’t send you all the way here for this amulet?” Shaak Tii shook her head, admitting that they had not come simply for the heirloom. They’d come to meet the Nyabinghii. 

“We need your help, Hekima. Nkuruk has died, and his son, Bo Khaan sits the throne of Zion. He is wiser than his father. He seeks repentance for his Nkuruk’s crimes against the temple.” Hekima stared into the crackling fire for a long minute before she spoke. 

“So, why do you need me?”

“Kalaafiia wants to reclaim the temple of Kovaango. She’s appealed to Bo Khaan for support but with little success to spur his allies at court to urgency. But we’ve seen the circumstances here, the dire state of the delta. We know the vampires amass their armies, for when the delta is run dry, they will still thirst. They will come for Zion eventually, and perhaps, all else. We need you to advocate for this place, to give your personal testimony of the circumstances of the delta and its people, the oppression they are facing.”

“As if the Gokhaans do not already know…as if they will care, once I explain myself.” 

“Bo Khaan has allies, so does Kalaafiia, she,”

“Do not speak to me of Kalaafiia,” Hekima said, “ she left, to prostrate before the Gokhaans…And now you would ask me to leave too? You would ask me to help? To do the same?” 

“We ask that you help yourself,” Shaak Tii said, bluntly, her eyes dark against in the light of the fire, 

“The vampire’s power will eventually grow greater than what the Nyabinghii can withstand. You will need help to hold these last swamp islands. The Gokhaans might not care about the Nyabinghii or the delta itself, but they’ll care about an imminent threat to their own stability. Appeal to their interests with your own. There are survivors of the war who persist in mass at Zion. White Moon and I bring support from our own factions. Along with Kalaafiia’s supporters, we might have the strength to expel the vampires from these lands, and reclaim the temple. But we need to be united, and we can’t do that without a Gong Kolukuu…or at the very least, the bearer of Earth Sun.” Hekima breathed deep in thought to Shaak Tii’s words. 

“I won’t press you further. Just know that we leave at dawn to return to Zion. You are more than welcome to join us.” With that, White Moon and Shaak Tii left Hekima to consider their appeal for aid. It was her fellow Nyabinghii who told her she should go. That to stay, would be to fight in the face of an inevitable loss, of all the delta. At least, if she left, there would be a chance for a different outcome, a chance to survive and restore things. At dawn, Shaak Tii and White Moon prepared for their voyage back to Zion, and they were pleased that Hekima met them. The dragon flies and butterflies gathered to see the keeper of Kolaa’s ring off. And so, the three of them left the island of the Nyabinghiis, to engage with the destinies ahead.

The House of Zion 

Hekima struggled to reconcile a complex resentment in her heart for Kalaafiia’s abandonment of the Delta. She despised the Ghokaan war Lords and the Shujaa who served them, for their part in the death of Kolaa. But she knew as well, the role her own past had played in it all, and the consequences of her decisions, when she was still the Lady of  Zion. She prayed for God to take the feelings of resentment away from her, and for the ability to accept all things, so she might engage this mission with sense. She was nervous, to return to Zion, and face the shadows of her past, but she felt brave as well, by the assurance of her form which was so changed.

Hekima, Shaak Tii Khaalii and White Moon journeyed across the land, to the course of the river where they boarded a boat that took them along its course, west, until they reached a train station. They boarded the train to Zion, and Hekima prepared herself along the journey. She had not been to Zion in many years, and she imagined how it may have been the same or changed. The train crossed heavily forested and tributary crossed terrain. Hekima knew Zion was near by the sight of the fishermen and merchants stationed along the banks of bayous and rivers and lakes they passed. They rode further, through Zion’s farming outskirts, then past its markets, its residential areas, all the way to the district of the Noble Class. She remembered sitting next to Nkuruk Khaan in the throne room, and looking east, to see the winding river and the sprawl of civilization at his jurisdiction.  Now, she looked at the hustle and bustle of the city; everything had gotten a little faster, the city had grown some, with the influx of travelers and immigrants and refugees after the conquering of the Delta which had ravaged the coast of many resources and stabilities. The train reached its station in Zion, and the passengers stepped off. Hekima was a bit conscious as she stepped into the urban environment, weary that the citizens would recognize her…but she looked so different than the noble woman from long ago. To those people, she looked only as those she stepped off the train with. Hekima, Shaak Tii, and White Moon went from the train station, across the city, and Hekima found she recognized where they were going by the sight of landmarks. They went to the river, where there were ferry men at a wooden dock near a market. Shaak Tii handed him some cowries to take them across the river, to the large building on the opposite bank. The man had warned them that they were going to a house of witches, and Shaak Tii had smiled mischievously, 

“Then we’ll certainly fit in.” The man had looked horrified by her teasing, but he was not so weary to deny her payment. He promptly ferried them across the golden green waters reflecting the sunlight like diamonds. Hekima took a deep breath at the sight of her past sanctuary from the strain of her former husband's intolerable personality. When they reached the front steps, the three women stepped from the ferry boat, and walked up to the front doors, which were carved in the depiction of flying ibises, like the ones who were gathered at the reeds near the edge of the river. They’d reached the House of Zion, the sanctuary of Khadiijah; she, who was never king. They walked across the great stone corridor, into a wide indoor garden, sky lighted and opened with large windows to let in natural light. There were green plants and flowers everywhere. One of the keepers of this house went to fetch Khadiijah, who came down to meet with the visitors. Hekima had touched her chest at the sight of her old friend, whose face had aged. Khadiijah wore her hair wrapped, and her nails were long. She opened her arms to Hekima, and Hekima went to her in embrace. 

“I had not known for a long time if you’d survived the sacking of the delta…oh…” Khadiijah smoothed her hands over Hekima’s face, “It’s been too long sweet sister,” She shook her head, before clapping her hands for those who served the house to come and make the three warriors at home. White Moon and Shaak Tii Khaalii had insisted that they couldn’t stay however, that they’d only come to drop off Hekima, and needed to go prepare for the long awaited meeting with Bo Khaan. White Moon and Shaak Tii said they’d be back in the morning for her. Khadiijah and Hekima were left to talk, and they both caught each other up on years passed. Khadiijah was so pleased to hear Hekima’s story, and had her old friend fed, and shown to the baths and to her rooms, where she rested. 

In the morning, Hekima dressed herself in cleaned armor, and stepped out with Khadiijah to meet with White Moon and Shaak Tii, who’d arrived with a host of fem warriors in red, black, and ivory. After being a fugitive for so long, it was very strange to her, to be led to the palace of the Ghokaan War Lords. They walked, across the large and sprawling palace grounds, to a structure she didn’t remember being there when she left. It was a large podium, built at the center of an open courtyard. Its entrance was guarded by golden gryphon statues, and above the door, a golden ankh was hung. White Moon and Nashoba led her and Khadiijah inside the space. Incense burned past the door, and Hekima walked through the red hued gathering space. There were many here, Miino and Shujaa, merchants, and spiritual men. Ahead, at center, was Lord Bo Khaan, the eldest of her late husband’s children to his first wife. The last time she’d seen him, he’d still been a child. He looked much like his father, though his eyes, thankfully lacked Nkuruk’s arrogance. Sitting to Bo Khaan’s right, was the brown skinned Kalaafiia, dressed in armor of crimson, emblemed by griffins similar to the ones outside. A great number of the women gathered here wore the same colors. They wore Miino Mantles as well. Hekima was led through the crowd, to the raised dais where a higher council sat in formation before Bo Khaan. White Moon and Shaak Tii stayed with the rest of the crowd. There were some, sitting at the very front of the crowd, cross legged and veiled or masked, all except by their eyes, dressed in white, silver, and black. The entire space looked at Hekima as she was helped up the dais by Khadiijah’s hand, and directed to a seat in the formation. She came to notice another Miino she knew, the one called Lady Faith by Shaak Tii and White Moon; Owuro Dalaanii, dressed in white, black, and grey. She bowed her head with respect to Hekima, but Kalaafiia did not. She just held her eyes steady. Hekima had learned some context from Khadiijah the night before, that since the death of Nkuruk, not long after the temple was sacked, Kalaafiia had made an ally in Bo Khaan. With intentions to preserve the Miino legacy, and maintain a secure sanctuary in Zion, she’d agreed to serve as a chief guardian of his majesty. What followed was the pursuit of service to the Ghokaans by other women, seeking the warrior’s path, under Kalaafiia’s tutelage. They’d become the Miino House of Kalaafiia, and their sacred symbol was the golden gryphon, their colors were crimson, ivory, black, and gold. They were a fierce band, scar faced and hard handed. They were respected by some, and feared by many. They were Bo Khaan’s primary guard, making their martial rank higher than many shujaa as well as lower statused Gokhaans. Hekima did not know how to feel about such an alliance…the Miino served God, they did not serve Lords like Bo Khaan. 

And then, there was Owuro. For some years, she’d served as a familiar of Daviida and the Hard Heads of Bulbancha. She and Daviida did not remain together though, and she transitioned into the role of spiritual counselor to Bo Khaan and his court, serving as an oracle and demonologist for Ghokaan War Class. 

Bo Khaan was dressed in armor of brown, black, ivory, and gold. He directed the lower crowd to be seated, before he greeted Hekima, welcoming her, after so long, back to Zion, assuring her that she was welcome in the city. Hekima glanced at the Shujaa War Lords of this council, as well as the Ghokaan ones, the merchants, and medicine men of the court, the high scholars…she wondered how wide the sense of welcome was truly spread. Bo Khaan thanked her for coming. He spoke on the stain of his father’s reign, the travesty of Kovaango’s vampire infestation, and how he wanted to deliver it. He gave the floor then, to Owuro, who spoke softly, 

“Hekima, it is good to see you after so many years. The Okiinamaa Lusaa and the Wolf Chiefess hail from Bulbancha, and have shared with me the circumstances of the Delta, and the rapid increase of vampires in those swamps. These chiefs and noble men,” Owuro gestured to the warlords, merchants, and courtesans, 

“Have agreed to come and hear testimony as to the nature of danger on the horizon, from a first hand witness and survivor on the land. We hope that once they understand what is happening, that they will be swayed to ally with our own forces, to lead an army down to the Delta, and set it free.” Hekima held Owuro’s gaze for a moment…then she glanced directly at the Bo Khaan, before she shared tale of the vampire’s trespasses. She expressed how they’d genocided the people, wiped out many animals, soiled the earth, polluted and dammed rivers. She expressed to them what the minions of these demons looked, sounded, and acted like. How they fought and killed. How they were bred in the likeness of hounds and pigs. She told them how they enjoyed nothing more than human blood and flesh, and sustained their own lives with sorrow and consumption. She challenged the Ghokaan nobles to consider the threat to their children, their wives, and their cultures, if the vampires amassed enough strength and boldness, to advance on their kingdom. She said that another year or two of breeding in the delta, and they would probably advance, and that Zion would not likely stand against them. She spoke concretely, not with much effort or emotion, just simply and factually. The nobles asked her more questions about the nature of Nyabinghii in the swamp, and she gave them some answers, keeping the context of the Kolukuu power, as well as their relation to the weather, to herself. She said only that the Nyabinghii were guardians of the land, till their last breaths, without compromise. 

The court of Bo Khaan signaled to him that they were ready to negotiate a course of action, and Bo Khaan turned his palm up, and waved once, for the gathered Miino to depart. Hekima was almost shocked that Kalaafiia and Owuro stood as well, until she remembered where she was. The Kaskizini Palace was still a place of men’s rule, two decades would not change that. The two daughters of Kolaa rose, to leave Bo Khaan and his council to speak, and the great gathering of Miino filed out into the courtyard. This congregation, was not like those of old days, when they would convene at Kovaango in ceremony and community. These new houses were distinct and separated. The Miino of Faith stood, stoic and isolated from the others. The crimson armored Kalaafiias filled up much of the space, and kept their hands on the handles of their weapons, warningly. The Miino of Bulbancha mingled together, but they were a small group of no more than seven, and they stayed near their leaders. Hekima found it strange. When Kalaafiia stepped from the gathering hall and into the courtyard, all the Miino of her house bowed their heads with respect, and so did those of Faith. When she approached where Hekima, and the Bulbanchan Miino were, Shaak Tii had whispered, 

“The Kalaafiia’s are similar to the Shujaa and Gokhaans in their observations of hierarchy and rank, especially the Kalaafiias. It is customary to bow before an older Miino, or one of higher rank, or else, your eye contact will be taken as a challenge.” Hekima heard Shaak Tii’s words, but she had no intention of bowing to Kalaafiia. When Kalaafiia approached, the others inclined their heads, but Hekima did not, and though she was sure Kalaafiia took offense, the hard eyed eldest daughter of Kolaa did not address iit. She did, however, glance down at Hekima’s hand. On it was the ring called Soliianaamayaa. 

“You wear my mother’s ring.” She said, like an accusation. Hekima tilted her head, 

“As I have for years now.” 

“I was there, when my mother fell to the Bone Collector. I was fighting on the same field. You hid in the wilderness, and here you are, after all this time, wearing what does not belong to you.” Hekima arched her brow,

“It was given to me.” 

“Because she thought we’d all perish in the fight. But Owuro and I survived, therefore, it is our inheritance to contend with.” By now Owuro was walking over, to place a stilling hand of Kalaafiia’s arm, 

“Sister, now is not the time.” Kalaafiia glanced at Owuro, who was the least confrontational of her sisters, the most neutral, but her strength was great, and her direction respected. 

“It is just a piece of jewelry.” Owuro said. Kalaafiia held Hekima’s gaze, and Hekima held hers in turn. The two had never forgiven each other, one for leaving to serve the enemy, the other for staying out of the fight for the temple, and remaining so long in isolation, when the rest of them needed her. The tension was that of sisters. Though Hekima was not related by blood, she’d come into the lives of Kolaa and her daughters when they were still just teenagers and children. They’d all seen Hekima as an older sister or an auntie. It had broken Kalaafiia’s heart when Hekima had gone to live with the Nyabinghii, and even more, when the Shujaa and Gokhaans arrived at the temple, and Hekima and the other lionesses did not arrive to fight. Owuro encouraged her hot headed sibling to disengage and take a breather, before she turned back to Hekima, 

“I truly am happy to see you, sister.” Hekima looked over Owuro, whose eyes were not of the same wild freedom they used to be. Faith was still there, but it was tempered, tethered by changes and responsibilities she’d come to carry. Hekima knew that Owuro’s spirit thrived most at the temple of Kovaango, and it had been taken. She knew, even if Owuro smiled, and stood firm, that her mind was forever anxious to return home. Hekima touched her own heart, where her armor cradled the butterfly and lioness emblem. 

“I am grateful to see you, still fighting.” It wasn’t too much longer until the Miino were called back inside, to hear the decisions of Bo Khaan’s council. 

“Thank you all for your patience. My council and I have reached a conclusion I believe will serve our collective interests. My House, along with the houses of the council members, will rally and campaign on behalf of the delta’s deliverance. We will coordinate strategies with Miino Kalaafiia and Miino Owuro to come to the greatest and most efficient way to expel the Vampires from Kovaango and reclaim the land surrounding. The Miino will once again reclaim their sacred Temple. As compensation for their service, Shujaa and Gokhaan houses who fight with valor will be granted land to settle in the Delta, under the parameters of peace treaties and regulations signed beforehand to ensure the coexistence of the Miino, Shujaa, and Ghokaans.” Bo Khaan said everything with such surety, as if he expected no challenge at all, as if he’d offered so much…did he truly feel so entitled as to grant himself and his warriors that sort of access to land that should never have been stolen to begin with…Hekima was speaking before any sense could still her tongue, 

“The Delta is not up for exchange, or settlement. It is wild space, free and uncultivated, as it is meant to be. Your soldiers may not come to carve it up like some consolation prize.” Kalaafiia and Owuro glanced at Hekima, one with shock, the other with anger. The council stiffened and Bo Khaan tilted his head, and raised his palms, as the Miino gathered below shifted with unease, discussing whether they agreed with Hekima’s objection. 

“Lady Hekima, I understand your reluctance, given the nature of the past. But I assure you, the delta will be kept pristine…have you not noticed the new innovations to our own great Zion, to accommodate the forests and the rivers. Pollution is down 75% since my father’s reign, the rivers run clean with many fish, our forests are populated by many animals, our soil is healthy…we live in harmony with our land.”

“Yes, your land…you live in harmony with your own land, as Kolaaa’s people lived in harmony with their’s, before your own father sent the vampire hoard to wipe them out. You speak of reparations, how you want to deliver the Delta, but it seems to me you just want an excuse to colonize it. And I am not a lady, I am a Miino, a Nyabinghii, a keeper of the Delta and I do not consent to your price. If you want to help us, then you should just do so, it shouldn’t be in exchange for our land…”

“Enough!” Kalaafiia’s voice boomed, and she spoke directly to Hekima, 

“You’ve spent too long living in the swamp. You forget how this world works, that nothing can be earned without sacrifice. Bo Khaan speaks truth, his reign has prioritized ecological innovation every step of the way. He will not destroy the Delta, he intends to restore it.”

“Only if he owns it, Kalaafiia…think of your ancestors, think of all who died because of his father’s greed, think of our order destroyed.” It was at this moment that Kalaafiia pounded her palm against the hardwood of the dais, 

“Do not speak to me of what was lost! No one knows it more than myself and my sisters, NO ONE. You project blame onto him, well then place it on yourself as well…you brought war upon us! You evoked the Nkuruk Khaan’s wrath by placing a target on our temple…a temple that in the end you did not even stay to keep! And here you are now, daring to disrespect the grace of Bo Khaan, daring to interfere with the deliverance of the temple we have spent years fighting for! And you dare, further, to come here wearing the ring of the Gong Kolukuu, my mother!”

“I wear the ring because I vowed to keep the Delta, not just the temple that was built upon it, but the delta itself…the truest temple to keep, or have you forgotten that? While you sit here and defend Bo Khaan for his grace…for what? Because he proclaimed you a head of a house to stroke your ego with one hand and rob you of the land of your ancestors with the other? How far I have come, to see the fierce Kalaafiia brought so low to lick the heel of a master’s boot and call it sacrifice.” What happened next was so quick…quicker than a breath. Kalaafiia had shifted from sitting, to kneeling on one knee. Her dagger had been willed into spear form. Five and half feet of polished blood red steel, with its point aimed at Kalaafiia’s throat. The Spear of victory vibrated with hot electricity. The gathering held its breath, and Hekima did not flinch. 

“Kalaafiia, still yourself.” Bo Khaan commanded, but after years of such restraint and obedience, the sight of Hekima and the endurance of her insolence was just too much. Kalaafiia would not abide by Bo Khaan’s authority. This was a gathering of Miino, and their ways were law. Bo Khaan had become a bystander in this space, where such fierce and powerful warriors had converged. 

“Your majesty,” Owuro said, with a voice as calm as water, though her eyes flashed anger. Bo Khaan gave the Lady of Faith his ear. 

“I’d advise for yourself, and your council to remove yourselves from the dais.” Owuro had, in all ways but directly, given a command to Bo Khaan. He was wise enough to follow Owuro’s lead, to let this play out. He and the others moved, and Owuro rose, to calmly push Kalaafiia’s spear aside. She looked into her sister’s eyes, as Kalaafiia demanded, 

“I want her stripped of her mantles, and her spear confiscated. She does not deserve to call herself Miino, she is not one of us.” Owuro thought to console Kalaafiia, but she recognized the darkness…all that anger, resentment, fear, grief…Kalaafiia had kept it in…from the moment of surrender she’d gone deep inside herself, to cope with the loss of Kolaa, the temple, the delta. She’d endured displacement and to survive she’d alchemized herself to serve in submission to Bo Khaan…at first with intentions to go back home to reclaim the land…but overtime she’d lost some of her resistance to the man, too old and tired to struggle so…the thought of returning to Kovaango, even if it was to be ruled by enemies, had seemed, better than nothing at all, better than utter defeat and total ecocide…but here was this woman, from the past, projecting her attitude, her ferocity, her rebellion…in reflection of all that power Kalaafiia had held…it felt like a mockery, a twisted joke of faith…she’d snapped. Her anger found a vessel to direct itself, an opponent she knew was worthy, appropriate to challenge…she felt valid in her wrath to Hekima’s disrespect and had decided, through and through, to break the Nyabinghii’s spirit, as payment for triggering her so. 

Hekima felt the press of a hand on her shoulder, and turned to see Shaak Tii Khaalii, 

“We should leave.” She said, and Hekima agreed. She stepped from the dais, turning her back to Kalaafiia’s rage. They began to walk toward the exit when Kalaafiia called out a command and the red armored Kalaafiias moved to block Hekima’s way. 

“Do you all see her nature? She arrives, brews chaos, and then she runs away, like a coward!” Hekima paused at the force of Kalaafiia’s words. 

“She wears the ring of a Kolukuu! The ring of my mother. She wears our mantles, and carries one of our spears, speaks to our plans, but what has she earned? Certainly not the Kolukuu’s rank. She is no Dragon Familiar. She has proven nothing but her insolence.” Hekima then turned to Kalaafiia.

“I challenge you, Hekima, for the rights to my mother’s ring.” The crowd shifted as Hekima looked into Kalaafiia’s eyes, considering the challenge. If she attempted to leave, she would have to cut down the Kalaafias to do so. She silently cursed Kalaafiia for her need to prove herself above others. Kalaafiia was clearly hurt that Kolaa had passed on the ring to Hekima, but it had been for sense. Kalaafiia’s great power was marred by her notorious temper, and the power of Soliianamayaa would likely be too much for her…power that should uplift its bearer, would corrupt a warrior like Kalaafiia, who was prone to losing control of her own fire. Hekima glanced at Shaak Tii and White Moon, then at Khadiijah. She passed a look over the Bo Khaan, and then Owuro. She hadn’t come here for this, but she’d spoken her mind, and meant what she’d said. She’d not consent to the Gokhaan claim over the Delta. If that meant fighting Kalaafiia, then so be it. Hekima walked back up to the dais, and stood on an opposite end from Kalaafiia. She drew her own changing dagger from her hip, and willed it to its spear form. It was golden down its length, laid with sapphire, lapiz, and tusk ivory. If she lost this battle, then Kalaafiia was liable to take her armor, her mantles, and the ring of power. She took a deep breath as Owuro stepped from the dais, and a long moment passed in silence as the two Miino readied themselves. When Owuro called out to begin, Kalaafiia sprang forward with ferocious speed. She lunged and drove her spear forward, and Hekima dodged it, spinning and bringing her own spear curving to Kalaafiia. The two miino fought like two lionesses at the prime of their strength, full of speed and experience. They shifted and leaned and swung and dodged and pivoted and twisted. They fought with their whole bodies, throwing kicks, curving uppercuts and hand strikes as they spun in and out of each other’s reach. The crowd assembled looked on in breathless anticipation. Kalaafiia fought with superior offense and strength of aggression, while Hekima’s speciality was her composure and control over her emotions. She moved with thought, and focus, and she used Kalaafiia’s own strength against her. She worked the red armored Miino out, letting her exhaust herself, before she began to deliver her own strikes. She was sure Kalaafiia would’ve severed her head from her shoulders with the chance, but Hekima restrained  her spear’s edge. She knocked Kalaafiia with the weight of her spear’s gold, at her thigh, her side, her arm, her shoulder. Every hit weakened Kalaafiia more and more, until one strike knocked the red spear of victory from her hand. The gathering gasped as the spear hit the floor. Kalaafiia was about to bend to reach for it, and then, Hekima delivered the slight cut, across the base of Kalaafiia’s neck, before bringing the blade back, to the other side, to press it against her skin at the return swing. Kalaafiia shook with adrenaline, where Hekima stood with the stillness of spring water. Kalaafiia glanced at the gathered crowd, and spoke loud enough for Hekima to hear her, 

“Finish it,” Hekima raised her brow and Kalaafiia clarified, 

“Kill me. You cannot spare me and leave me to shame. Give me the honor of a warrior’s death.” Hekima looked into the raging eyes of Kalaafiia, and decided she’d reached the max of her consent for this performance, 

“That is more than what I agreed to.” She removed her spear from Kalaafiia’s neck, and stepped back, before turning to the crowd of Miino, who bowed their heads in respect to her victory. Kalaaafiia was still shaking, when Hekima turned around, to walk away…even after everything, she had not imagined the lack of control in Kalaafiia…the height of the rage. She heard Owuro cry out Kalaafiia’s name, as from behind her, Kalaafiia reached down for her spear. There was a moment then, like shifting into a dream…Hekima’s consciousness expanded, as time seemed to slow down. She recognized a sensation, like a familiar embrace, as the entire space went dark, as if the sun was blocked, and all the candles were extinguished of their flames. The crowd gasped, as where Hekima stood, a form manifested, through the energy of her own flesh, glowing with blue-green light that cast its hue across the room. Kalaafiia paused her lunge, as she looked in awe and fear, at her own mother, Kolaa, manifested there for all to see. 

Kolaa had burst through the boundaries of the veil, and taken form, in protection around the body of Hekima, projecting her own spiritual might around it. She looked right into Kalaafiia’s eyes, with anger, and disappointment. She stepped forward, to emphasize the magnitude of her strength there, and Kalaafiia dropped the spear of victory to the floor, before she dropped to her knees, shedding tears in shame. Kolaa, the mighty panther Gong Kolukuu, familiar of dragons, turned to address the crowd, 

“You have all witnessed Kalaafiia’s defeat, by fair trial of combat. Respect this reality, as it is respected on the ancestral plain, or face the severity of consequence. I have watched in spirit the many changes of this order, just as I have seen the destruction of the delta unfold. Stand together, united before the darkness brewing, or you will all certainly perish.” With that, Kolaa’s light faded, and the sunlight returned, and the candles flickered their filames again. Hekima became visible again, but as Kolaa left her, she felt all the energy leave from her body, and she lost consciousness, passing out to the floor. 

……

Hekima woke up in a bed, being tended to by Khadiijah and Shaak Tii Khaalii. She’d been brought to The House of Zion after passing out at the Palace Grounds. She accepted some water from Shaak Tii, and spoke to Khadiijah who sat near her, at the edge of the bed. 

“You certainly leave chaos in your stride,” Khadiijah teased and Hekima sat up in bed, 

“Chaos was already brewing. I can’t help if I’m fire to the pot.” She took a sip of water and asked about Kalaafiia. Khadiijah lifted her brows, 

“She dishonored her house, Bo Khaan, and her mother’s memory…she didn’t wait to be stripped of her armor, she did so herself. She turned over her mantles, and surrendered her spear to you.” 

“To me?”

“Yes, that, as well as her command of the Kalaafias. They belong to you now.” 

“What…no, no one belongs to me, i didn’t come here to take anybody’s position from them.” 

“Didn’t you though. You wore that ring, for all to see. How did you imagine Kalaafiia would react?”

“I don’t know…not like she did, i didn’t expect her to challenge me…” 

“Well, whatever your intentions were, when you made your outbursts, it landed us in our current predicament. The Miino have rejected Kalaafiia’s authority, and question all the work she encouraged to manifest alliance. They wait for you to direct them in their next move with Bo Khaan.” 

“Me?” Hekima questioned and now it was Shaak Tii Khaalii, who wore a ring of power; Nguailii, who spoke, 

“You wear the Kolukuu’s ring. You defeated the eldest of Kolaa’s daughters, who was held as the fiercest of Miino, until that moment. You are the strongest amongst us. They see you as their new queen.” Hekima was so blindsided by that…she’d not anticipated this when she consented to fight Kalaafiia…she shook her head, 

“I’m no one’s queen…I left Zion, to get away from such mantles, and a war was started behind it…a war we’re still fighting. They forced me into a marriage, and I rebelled to rest with the Miino, and now it is the Miino who want to put me back on a pedestal…” Hekima began to shift out of bed, shaking her head, when Khadiijah pressed her at the shoulder, 

“You cannot dictate the fate of the delta, serve as a Miino, and run away from responsibility…you cannot have all three…maybe none of them, without their weights. No one can force you to stand as a Kolukuu, but you should not possess the ring if you cannot live up to its mantles. The Miino need you now, to negotiate with Bo Khaan…Damn it Hekima…Owuro and Kalaafiia put so much blood, sweat and tears into this…I feel your pain, for the delta, and i understand your fear that it would be compromised by the Empire…but what if this alliance proves fruitful, and healing? What if the world will not end from your submission? Think of all there is to lose for your pride? The Miino will hold your lead as law, they will follow the path you choose. I’m asking you to go forward with the deal Bo Khaan has presented.” 

“How can you, of all people, lecture me Khadiijah? You who turned down your father’s mantles in the first place. What do you know of sacrifice? You could not choose the world over yourself, so why should i?”

“I’m not asking you to choose, I’m only asking you to think! I know about sacrifice as much as the next, because I did not make it in my youth, because I chose myself, and though I do not regret it, I will never deny the weight of its consequences. I’m asking you to consider things now Hekima, as you act, and make these decisions…before you thrust yourself and your sisters into battle for your pride, truly consider what is and what is not worth it. You are in the deep end of this now…The Miino convene again with Bo Khaan at dawn, and they will await your presence. You have much to decide and little time.” Hekima processed Khadiijah’s words, and took the afternoon to process. She came to her conclusions, before she went back to Khadiijah, and asked her where Kalaafiia had gone, because she needed to speak with her. 

Hekima retrieved Kalaafiia’s mantles and her dagger, and she followed Khadiijah out from the House of Zion, across a green estate, to where a smaller house was located beneath the height of a looming oak. There were other small homes surrounding it, and gardens grew around them. Hekima recognized the Miino stationed around the place as the Miino of Faith. She and Khadiijah passed them, and they bowed their heads in respect to the wearer of Soliianamayaa. They went to the home of Owuro, bathed in natural light, and a design of ivory tones. Her space was open and airy. There, they found Kalaafiia in meditation. She’d cut her hair down to the scalp. Owuro and Khadiijah left Hekima alone, to speak with Kalaafiia. She went to sit next to her, and Kalaafiia said, 

“Grand Miino.” Hekima drew a deep breath, 

“Please don’t call me that, Kalaafiia.” Kalaafiia opened her eyes, and turned to Hekima, 

“I call you what you are. What you have earned.” Hekima processed that, before she pushed forward Kalaafiia’s pieces and her dagger, 

“You do not deserve to have these taken.” 

“I was defeated after challenging you, you know our laws.” Kalaafiia said.

“There are exceptions to all of them.” Hekima insisted and Kalaafiia shook her head, 

“I’ve thought, since yesterday, perhaps more than I have across two decades…about my dedication to this order, to my mother’s legacy…” Kalaafiia breathed deeply,  “I have been stressed.”

“I know this, sister.” Hekima said and Kalaafiia did not reject Hekima’s consolation. 

“Keeping the Miino together has been hard work. Protecting them, and preserving our culture, while also being realistic to the sacrifices necessary to sustain it. I know you turn your nose up at our service to the Bo Khaan…but it’s kept us alive, fed, sheltered, and together.” Kalaafiia said, and Hekima nodded, 

“I understand that.”

“Your objection felt like a criticism to everything I’ve poured my soul into…all my efforts here…at the moment, I couldn’t see past the trigger, but…I have thought, and I admit, you are right. Bo Khaan should not lay claim to the delta, as compensation for remedying the sins of his father. We should not have to give so much, to receive so little.” Hekima nodded, before she reassured, 

“Perhaps I am right, but that does not make your decisions wrong either, Kalaafiia. I understand the potential of Gokhaan innovation in our land. I understand the power of their support, to drive off the demons and heal the delta. I understand the appeal of taking a chance. I just don’t think we should take it to such an extreme as is suggested…” Hekima thumbed over the emerald of the Earth-Sun ring; Solianamayaa,

“But, I do not speak for all Miino. Even if there are many who would allow me, or designate me to do so. I’m not comfortable with that kind of control. I may be the Delta’s keeper, as you and your sisters are the keepers of the temple…but that land is not my own, it does not belong to me. I won’t assume such control over its destiny, at the cost of shutting you and Owuro out. Please, Kalaafiia,” Hekima presented Kalaafiia’s dagger to her, 

“Do not forfeit your mantles, over one mistake. Don’t submit to such shame…it is not the Miino way.” Kalaafiia looked into Hekima’s eyes, and they were sincere. She took a deep breath, and took her dagger. 

The next morning, the Miino went to meet Bo Khaan. Hekima, Kalaafiia, Owuro, Shaak Tii Khaalii, and White Moon walked to meet his council in the presence of all the Miino present at Zion. Bo Khaan asked them if they’d come to peace on his proposition, and it was Kalaafiia who spoke. 

“Your offer is generous, Lord Bo Khaan. I appreciate your efforts in manifesting this deal. But my sisters and I, must decline your offer, for the sake of renegotiating. The cost of our ancestral land, for your allyship in its deliverance is too steep a price.” The warlord shifted in his seat, furrowing his brow with disappointment, but he remained respectful as he asked, 

“What about the fate of the Delta then? The vampires will destroy it if we do not act quickly.”

“The Miino will act, on our own accord. We will fight, in honor, and fearlessness. You and others who respect our legacy and our land, are welcome to support us in battle, but we will not pay you for your service. Hekima’s decision to leave your father may have been the catalyst for genocide, but the weight of its course is not on her shoulders. Responsibility was with your father, and it is your own ancestral karma to heal. A wise man might understand that the fulfillment of a karmic cycle is reward enough to deliver the delta from the grasp of demons. If not, then my sisters and I will put up a fight the demons will never forget.” Kalaafiia turned to the gathered Miino, 

“Many of you are too young to remember the old ways…most of you have never known the magnitude of true battle against the great darkness which lays claim to our mother’s temple, but I offer you this chance, to face it with us now. Say your goodbyes, write your letters, kiss your children, if you intend to fight. We will leave Zion at Dawn.” 

“Kalaafiia…you serve Zion, you have made vows.” Bo Khaan said, at the understanding that Kalaafiia would no longer serve as his chief guardian. 

“I did, with my back to the wall, however. I have served you, and well, I think. As my sister has served your city with her faith. Now, it’s time to take our strength, and use it, no? While we are still young enough to try.” With that, the Miino went, without looking back, to embark on their return to the delta of their past.

There was a temple in the Delta of the Great River, standing over the marshes ahead of the sea. It is a sanctuary for waterfowl of many kinds. The marshe protected and isolated the temple. The keepers of this structure were spiritual warriors whose ancestors were long standing in the region. However, the land was under the jurisdiction of the Ghokaans. The Ghokaans were a league of warriors from an extraterrestrial world. Their empire spanned the galaxy. Those who ruled over Earth oversaw the Southern River Lands from the capital of Zion, north of the Delta temple, which was called Kovaango. The Empire and the Temple were at odds however, and a bitter conflict boiled. 

The rains had brought flooding which had kept the temple safely isolated from enemies for an entire season, but the rains eventually lessened, and the waterways dried, making the wilderness less treacherous and easier to travel across. The Ghokaan commanded an army of Shujaa; warriors of earth, to campaign against Kovaango for over a decade, and they were now encroaching on the temple with intent to conquer. The Ghokaans were not characteristically bloodthirsty as much as they were insistent upon dominion, of those they deemed lesser, and their leaders had manipulated the factions of subject shujaa  into participating in this effort to rule over the keepers of Kovaango, who were seen as feral and unchecked by any authority. They were branded as witches who were easy to use as scapegoats for any misfortunes or struggles which befell those ruled by the empire. They marched across the delta to the perimeters of the Temple of Kovaango, where they laid siege to it, steadily starving the temple keepers out until they were forced into the open. The queen among them, was named Kolaa. In days long passed, she’d been honored by the very warriors who laid siege to her sanctuary. She held out for as long as she could, but it was clear to her that there would be no soft end to this siege, and after much council and deliberation, it had been decided that if the temple could not be saved, then at the very least, her enemies would be given a fight their descendants would never forget.

Kolaa sat before a shrine dedicated to her God, the spirits of nature, and her ancestors. She prayed with a breath of incense, to the spirits of the delta, promising to fight to the last breath to protect the land and the waters, but that ultimately, its fate beyond her would be according to the most high’s will, and beyond this ritual of preparation, she forgave herself for what she could not control. Kolaa felt sadness for the course of those last years; the betrayal of the Ghokaan Warlord, Nkuruk. She remembered life before the war and missed it. But no tears fell, and her heart was steady with immunity to the fear of battle. Kolaa had placed around her, five daggers, each unique in shape and composition. In front of her was a bowl of sacred water, and the cloth she used to soak up the water, and wipe over the daggers. The daggers were magical; legendary changing spears as carried by many of her kind. These were particularly sacred because they belonged to her four daughters, who each entered the shrine room near the setting of the sun which shone ochre light into the space. From outside, Kolaa could hear the ruckus of the army which surrounded the temple. Each of her daughters came to sit around her in front of their own spears. They’d been raised in this temple and had each been born as incarnations of spiritual might, all divine in their nature.

Her eldest daughter, black haired and fierce eyed, was Kalaafiia. Kalaafiia was the protector of her mother and her sisters, a general and the defender of the temple. Her colors were red, black, and ivory. Her element was fire. Kalaafiia was an incarnation of Warcraft, which protects peace and secures harmony. 

Her second daughter was Owuro Dalaanii, whose birth had attracted every white bird in the delta to that temple. Owuro was an incarnation of faith. Her colors white, black and silver, and her sacred animals were the white ibis and egret. Her body was as the temple itself, and her strength was the tranquility of its halls. Owuro’s element was air. 

Third of Kolaa’s daughters was Kalaanii, incarnate of truth, and aligned with water, for water and truth are alike in nature, both fluid, coursing, and nourishing to life. Kalaanii’s colors were gold, blue, and green and her nature was soft and reserved, tuned to the responsibilities of honesty, which must be kept by one who is strong enough to bear, but also to defend it. Kalaanii was the most mutable of her sisters, but she was the fiercest when provoked. Her father was an old spirit of fresh water, who ruled over the delta for many eons before giving stewardship to the keepers of the temple. 

Fourth and youngest of Kolaa’s daughters was Oyin Ewe, the incarnate of home, for in their heart resided the power of fertility and the sanctuary of ancestral power. Their colors were green and black, and they knew the secrets of bees and the art of growing things. All four sisters sat with their mother as she blessed their spears and placed each in a daughter’s hand.

Kolaa was a mighty warrior and medicine woman, whose waist circlet was emblemed by a scorpion as a mark of her placement in one of the most esteemed factions of Miino scholars and healers. She wore black, as a signifier of her status and her warrior prowess, of her eldership and her ferocity as the black leopard of whose form she took, inherited from her mother’s people who maintained shapeshifting abilities and command over the forces of nature. With their combined strength, the five warriors sitting at this shrine were some of the most powerful in all the world, but even still, they were facing  an army, whose caliber had always matched, and perhaps even surpassed at times, their own. The Ghokaans and the Shujaa were just as old, just as disciplined, just as layered with divine blood as their feminine and submissive counterparts. Kolaa held no resentment to them as a whole, knowing the demands of war and allegiance to tribe and nation to be complex, and that many warriors fought as a duty, and not always personally. Nkuruk had grown powerful, and his control  of the Shujaa army had been many years in the making. Many Shujaa had not been able to choose peace, and those who did had been met with punishment inflicted upon their families, tribes, and communities.

Kolaa embraced each of her daughters and spoke courage to them. Kalaafiia and Owuro had known some tranquility in their lives, but the younger Kalaanii and Oyin had been raised with war perpetually in the air, prepared since birth for the fight of their lives. Kolaa wished she could have raised them with softness and tender care, but reality had demanded her stern love. Her tender touch at that moment, had sent a shudder through Oyin’s body, and suddenly, the danger outside was realer than ever. Kolaa turned to her second eldest, Owuro Dalaanii, who was most emotional to the upcoming battle, for the secret she’d shared with her mother, only just that morning. Kolaa touched her daughter’s face, assuring that she had a plan for what troubled Dalaanii so. The sun eventually set, and Kolaa sent her teary-eyed daughters to rest and waited for dusk to become starry night.

She knew it unwise to walk as a woman, so she took the form of a black leopardess, and crept stealthily to the temple’s perimeter where the Ghokaan and Shujaa army had surrounded it, their campfires lighting up the landscape all around. Most of the men were foot soldiers or officers of fluctuating rank. Nkuruk had spared no expense and had sent his very best to seize the heart of the fertile delta he wished to bring into his fold. Her leopard form moved through the shadows, unseen, dangerously deep into the camp of her enemies, until she reached the tent of a Shujaa she knew well. The two guards in armor stepped aside without a word, and she slipped inside without announcement, because the Shujaa, sitting alone in meditation in his tent, had been expecting her arrival. He opened his eyes as Kolaa transformed back into her human form. He bowed his head respectfully,

“From Jah.”

“From Jah.” She said back, and Sabaa Daviida, a high ranking warrior of the Bone Clan; a Hard Head, gestured for her to sit. He rose to pour her some herb tea, but she turned it away, insisting that this meeting would need to be quick. Daviida was not the commander of the army, but he was of the deadliest of its warriors. His tribe dedicated themselves to the veneration of the dead, and the care of the dying and elderly, as well as service to the Gong Chichumbas of the Okaliqii ethnicity. His people were masters of the art of burial and rituals of passage and spiritual cleansing. Despite his reputation on the battlefield, and the fright manifested in his enemies at the sight of his bone armor, off the field, Daviida preferred quiet, peace, and diplomacy. It was this capacity for softness which had attracted her daughter’s heart to this man. Owuro Dalaanii and Daviida had met in war negotiations, and through a series of exchanges across years, had realized that they were tragically in love with each other, despite their loyalties to opposing factions. Kolaa could barely believe the secret her daughter shared with her at dawn. She could see in Daviida’s eyes that he was troubled by the inevitability of battle as well, but he could not reveal himself as Owuro’s lover, or he would be marked as a traitor and condemned to death, and worse, dishonor. 

“If you’ve come to ask me to persuade these men away from sacking the temple, then you are here in vain. I’ve done all I can to sway this war from your doorstep, but when Nkuruk offered you a truce, you refused...there’s nothing I can do.” Daviida said and Kolaa replied, 

“The Ghokhaan’s offer was hardly acceptable. He offered nothing but the sparing of our lives and the pimping out of our lands to his loogaroo allies, but that’s all besides my point of coming here, I’m not asking you to stop the battle from happening. I’ve had plenty of time to accept my fate.” She said.

“Then why have you come?” Daviida asked, and Kolaa answered,

“To make a deal.” Daviida tilted his ear, and she continued,

“You are not Emperor, nor king, nor general… but we both know that it is you these men respect most, you whose sword is truest. You are the best among them, and they will be looking to you throughout this battle. As it stands, I will be the fiercest opponent your men will face tomorrow, with nothing to lose or gain, I intend to die in defense of this temple, and I will take many lives by my spear before I fall. My daughters and the keepers of the temple rest with the same sentiment in their hearts, and though I do not see a victory for us, I can promise heavy losses on your side. I propose an alternative to the bloodshed, however. When the battle begins, find me, and you and I will battle with all the might we have. If I win, then you will die as many others, until the temple is eventually overtaken, and my daughters and I will ascend as nature in our courage, and the fate of the Delta will become the responsibility of another by God’s choosing. But if you can defeat me, it will be witnessed by the Shujaa, and though the battle will still be bloody, they will owe you a debt for your defeat of a Gong Kolukuu.”

“Why would you suggest this? How does my glory serve you?” He asked, and Kolaa said,

“Not me, my daughters. If you can achieve such an act of valor as defeating me, then the Shujaa will have no choice but to respect the weight of your voice in the post battle deliberations. Convince them in whatever way you can to spare the lives of my daughters should they survive, and demand that the keepers of the temple, and those captured from previous battles, not be imprisoned, mutilated, or abused. Use your influence to advocate for the preservation of what is left of my legacy.” She said, and Daviida shook his head,

“You overestimate me, I can’t...”

“She’s pregnant.” Kolaa said, and Daviida’s sentence caught in his throat,

“My daughter is pregnant with your child. Her life force is connected to that of our entire order, to the standing of the temple. She may survive its occupation by another entity, and she may survive the grief of losing me, but she will not persist if the temple is all together destroyed, she will not make it if she is imprisoned, or defiled. She is not built for bondage. I know what has happened to the tribes who opposed Nkuruk, how they were captured by their neighbors and sold off to pale demons. Those poor souls may survive, but my daughter will not, you understand? Her body will not endure, and the death of the child she carries will weigh forever on your soul if you do not make a way. I’ve offered you assurance. I will find you on the field, all you have to do is meet me there. If you are strong enough to defeat me, then you may be strong enough to save my daughter and her sisters. This is my request, the duty I will hold you to in the afterlife.” She said, knowing well the sacredness of the dead to his clan. Daviida took a deep breath in consideration of Kolaa’s words before nodding his head and agreeing to her proposal. They would tell no one of the deal between them.

......

Like thunder, the drums of the offensive army had rumbled before their advance onto the temple, and the Miino of Kovaango met them fiercely. A single Miino fought with enough ferocity to bring down twenty Shujaa and foot soldiers, earning at the very least hesitation and reconsideration of hasty advances and careless attacks which could cost a hand, an arm, a leg, an eye. The screams of men filled the air as weapons clashed as the two hundred or so warriors of the temple fought against the thousands of Shujaa and Ghokhaan warriors. Kalaafiia led the charge, and the flash of her red armored form struck fear into her enemies who witnessed her move with the quickness of wind, summoning elemental power down from the sky, darkening with her rage. Kalaanii and Oyin fought as a team, pushing Shujaa back from their mother, who reserved her energy, waiting behind a wall of fatales for the arrival of Sabaa Daviida. Eventually he did find her, dressed in black armor and wielding her golden spear. He wore his fierce skull helm and bone armor and raised his hammer to Kolaa who met his gaze with her own fierce and challenging eyes. Their deal had been struck, but Kolaa would not give the Shujaa an easy fight, he would have to earn the right to keep faith in Kolaa’s place, or else, Owuro and her baby were as good as dead. Space was made by Kolaa’s command of her army, and by the intimidation of the Shujaa, who knew better than to get in the way of a duel of titans like Kolaa and Daviida, nicknamed by his men, and feared by his enemies, as the Bone Collector, for the relics of his most fearsome enemies he wore on a string around his neck, keeping pieces of them bound in the physical world, subjected to his clan’s rule, as price for their challenge of his hammer and sword. The warriors crossed the space, and Daviida swung his hammer, and Kolaa dodged it and sliced with her spear. 

He pivoted to block the strike and drew a dagger from his hip with his free hand, but Kolaa, despite her seniority of over two decades, was quick as a panther. She evaded his strikes and kept him back with the length of her spear. There was no advantage held between them though, because when Daviida got close, his hammer struck so forcefully that Kolaa needed all her strength to brace her blocks. They battled on, each drawing blood here and there, wearing each other down, moving slower with each blow. Kolaa’s eyes were fierce, and it was not lost to Daviida that where he wore a full suit of armor, her arms and her face were bare, yet she’d done significant damage to him. She’d cut him on the leg, making it difficult to push strength into his attack, and he’d cut her spear arm, and she’d had to switch to the other, less adapted one. They took quick breaths of preparation before they were at each other again, and they exchanged a flurry of blows, so fast, but each one registered. It was like time slowed down a bit, every swing was a flashing of a lifetime before their eyes, as at any moment, they knew that one of them would fall to the other. Kolaa swung her spear and cut Daviida’s arm, and his hammer fell from his wrist, and she moved in, but by some stroke of lucky fate, Daviida was able to grit through the pain in his leg, and he yelled out as with all his might, he pulled her spear, and her body moved forward, into the momentum of the dagger thrusted by his uninjured hand...there was a puncture felt by the blade, and Kolaa’s body stilled, and her spear fell to the ground. Her three daughters on the battlefield were still too occupied in battle to sense their mother’s end, but Owuro was struck with a sensation in her chest, like part of her own soul leaving her body, as a gust of air stirred through the chamber she prayed in before her altar.

Herself, and the white armored priestesses who along with her, remained always at the temple, and stood within it as its last defense, were awaiting the inevitable pounding down of the doors to the chamber. She sat with the young to be, children and teenagers who were not yet initiated. She kept herself planted firmly between them and the door. She cried out though, when she felt the sensation on her spirit of her mother’s death, she reached for her own throat, because she’d felt the phantom sting of the slit across it. The cries of battle grew louder as it raged, and Owuro prayed for who knows how long until it was clear the army of men had broken past the entrance and were marching through the temple, to the shrine room. With tears streaming fierce down her cheeks, Owuro placed on her helm, and rose up, readying her spear to defend the temple with her last moments. The doors pounded from the other side, until they were burst open, and the priestesses of faith roared a war cry as the light of the hall filled the chamber...but the Shujaa did not rush in, commanded to hold back by a powerful and familiar voice...Like a terrible and miraculous angel of death, Sabaa Daviida entered the chamber, cut and bleeding, limping forward, still catching his breath. He’d immediately gathered his men from the battlefield, so they would be the first to enter the temple and

block the rest of the army from killing the priestesses and children inside. He did not take off his helmet, but Owuro met his eyes, which drifted to her stomach, and she knew then, that he must’ve known about her pregnancy. She shook with shock, as he threw down her mother’s spear before her.

The battle of Kovaango was over, and the Shujaa laid claim to the temple and the delta, and Daviida did as promised and advocated for restraint to be had with those temple keepers who survived. Kalaafiia, and Owuro were taken into custody, but they were not killed. The third and fourth sisters, Oyin and Kalaanii were missing, however. They searched for them after the battle among the dead, but did not find them, nor were they found in the temple. The missing sisters were not seen again.

Showdown at the Temple of the Mysteries 

“I demand justice!” Malik Akamaa snarled pointedly at Sabaa Daviida, before turning his eyes to the Gong Chichumba; Steel Skull, who sat his great seat in a private room of the Temple of the Mysteries. The Okaliqii Chieftanf, well into his sixties, had been a leader of his people for decades… he’d witnessed many strange things… After all, those who served him were the Hard Head warriors of the Bone Clan… there ways were intimate with the dead and the dying… he knew, the veil was thin in Bulbancha, and that there were many instances of supernatural occurrence across its past and present. But nothing could’ve prepared him for the abduction of Daviida’s son by the fish woman after the death of the  young  Bone Clan Spy Boy; Jaheim Akamaa, Maliks prodigal son. Steel Skull, as the others, could not recall the name of Daviida’s child…not even Daviida himself could find the syllables on his tongue…out of reach like the haze of a dream one can’t remember. 

Malik Akamaa had requested this council meeting of the heads of the Hard Head Houses. His grief had burned into wrath after realizing that Jaheim was not defeated fairly, but by means of witchcraft. 

“I understand that you are in pain Malik, but your anger is misdirected.” Daviida said, steady eyed. He was the most martially prowessed of the warriors in service to the Gong Chichumba, and he did not shutter at Akamaa’s roar…he did empathize however.

“My anger’s course is clear Sabaa…your son…killed my boy, with a curse on his blade… and then disappeared to some rancid corner of hell to escape penalty ... your own house must be held accountable… someone must pay…or else…” The council tensed, and Steel Skull breathed in… he’d not interject too early, seeing if Daviida; The Bone Collector could calm his long standing brother in arms down on his own. 

“I was not aware of…” Daviida pursed his lips, unable to recall the name he’d given to his own child, “of my son’s treachery. I would never have allowed the battle to ensue… Malik…I loved your son, like my own…I trained him…” 

“Your sentiments are not of consequence to me. Jaheim was my own… no matter how wrapped up in your image he was…He was mine…” Malik’s eyes welled with hot tears and he croaked out, “you encouraged your…your spawn…to think they could be something they were not, and my son paid the ultimate price…” 

Steel Skull processed the clasping tight of Daviida’s fist, and was just about to speak, to settle the space, when there was an anxious knocking at the council room’s door. Steel Skull nodded to the stationed guards to check who it was, and as they opened it, the sound of alarm bells and horns sounded from the sentry posts of the Temple. The messenger relayed, and Steel Skulls' temple guard crossed the room to whisper news of trouble. Daviida and Malik stilled their negotiations of violence, to await Steel Skull’s clarification…Steel Skull’s eyes passed over both men, before he sent his guard and the other to stand on the other side of the door. Before the guard left, he retrieved a weapon from an altar, and placed it in Steel Skull’s hand. It was a bladed club; ancient, from the time of Helottah and Nahinii. The Chief looked at Malik Akamaa; 

“Enough of your quarreling Akamaa… your wish for violence is about to be granted.” The warriors of the council began to hear the commotion of battle from across the temple. Steel colliding and men crying out as they fell. Steel Skull, who’d been the guardian of this great structure at the edge of the River for decades, was spiritually attuned to its energies. He closed his eyes, and took a deep breath, allowing his mind to absorb a vision of what was coming. His heart began to race, but he maintained composure, 

“Prepare yourselves.” Was all he said, and the council of seven warriors drew their steel and formed a protective barrier between Steel Skull and the door. Daviida and Malik went to either side of the chief, their differences aside.

“What’s coming?” ‘Daviida asked, as they heard violence erupt in the hall outside the door. 

“What do you think?” Steel Skull said, before all got quiet… Steel Skull watched as blood pooled past the bottom frame of the door. The door was pushed open then, and in walked two warriors…their armor was ancient, and their weapons were old and chipped with rust…but wet with blood; still sharp. They looked like they were supposed to be brown skinned… but they were a strange greenly-grey. Their eyes were ghostly…they smelled of rot… Steel Skull could see more of them were out in the hall… he heard screams from other areas and outside… There was a troop of these ghoulish warriors… a chill went up his spine, when the grey skinned soldiers stepped aside for the entry of a warrior in ivory gator leather, jade and onyx armor, with a horned war helm. He carried a sword that Steel Skull had never seen in person; only pictures…but at its sight, he knew its name, even as he’d forgotten the name of the damned one who carried it. He understood then, that this army of the dead was controlled by the wielder of that sword, called Onyxis; the Soul Reaper. 

Even the mighty bone collector’s hands shook, as he witnessed for the first time since the battle under the bridge, his son, dressed in different armor than what he’d been dragged away in, carrying a sword of grief and ruin.

“You…” Malik was the first to break the silence, “you kill my son… and now you dare to desecrate this temple? Have you no shame? No trace of honor in your heart … I’ve known you since you were a child… the clan did not raise you this way…” Nameless glanced at Malik, dismissively, as if his words were nothing more than some distracting noise. He looked ahead, not once even meeting Daviida’s pleading eyes… he raised his sword to Steel Skull.

“You,” When Nameless spoke, Daviida shuddered, because his voice was so unlike what it was before…there was an echo of something else in it…Daviida shed tears, but tightened his grip on his machete, “are in my way. Move.” Nameless addressed the Gong Chichumba with not even a sliver of ceremony or respect. He was not flirting or negotiating. His command was simple, direct, and absolute. 

“Why… Why are you doing this? Why do you bring the dead into this temple…why do you kill your own… What demon possesses you?” Nameless released a chuckle, rooted in some foul space of the Underworld… Steel Skull’s ancestral memories were triggered by the sound…he glimpsed a flashing of a scene…of a crawfish armored warrior; a Choupic, dying in defense of a young Prince, fighting a massive scaled beast with slitted yellow eyes.

“My own…” Nameless said…. “My own, forced me to earn that which was unattainable…content to steal the keeper of my heart from me…to leave me with my shattered pieces and put myself back together…I may have dragged the blade through the Spy Boy… but it was you, Steel Skull, you in your own stubborn pride, who would not allow us to be as we were…. Now, I am changed, now I am strong, stronger than all of you… Maybe I should thank you…” Nameless chuckled, but the Hard Head warriors remained stone eyed…

“Move.” Nameless said again, with finality. The Hard Heads maintained their positions…for five, four, three, two… steel sang. Nameless moved with a quickness that was not natural. Swords clashed, briefly, and blood was spilled…the smell of iron was in the air. One, two, three, hard heads were incapacitated…. But not killed. They screamed out in agony as limbs were cut, clean. The ghoulish warriors of the dead army stepped impassively out the reach of the spilling blood. Nameless was making a show of strength, it mattered little to him if these warriors lived or died. 

He fought two more, before Malik Akamaa dared to charge him with a cry of vengeance…. Nameless did not spare him…putting him out of the misery of his grief. His last opponent was Sabaa Daviidaa. 

“Move.” That one word… all he offered his father who struggled… Daviidaa was whelmed by this terrible reconciliation, he’d chosen Steel Skull before….he chose Steel Skull now… he said nothing of it, but somehow he knew, Nameless was thinking the very same thought. Daviida did not move, and steel met steel. The Bone Collector was mightier than the others, not as easy to conquer…but alas, Nameless’s sword came singing… but Steel Skull cried out, 

“I submit!” The blade of Onyxis stopped just at Daviida’s throat…

“No, Chief…”

“Silence…” Steel Skull spoke, exacerbated…grief shaking him…he threw down his weapon, and shook his head…the mighty Gong Chichumba of his generation, brought to tears…

“Some traumas….” Steel Skull spoke to the unspeakable… the death of Daviida by his own son’s homicidal steel…in his defense… Steel Skull could not deny what Nameless had said…it had been his own willful refusal, to let the young men marry, simply, that had manifested such bloodshed…such possession… he continued, “are not to be endured…not on behalf of my survival… we are in the heart of darkness…so dark that i submit… I have no means of resolving it…” Steel Skull met Nameless’s empty and remorseless eyes, 

“The Temple of the Mysteries is yours… your father and I will not stand in your way.” Daviida, full to the brim with emotion, wanted to insist on his own death, rather than face the dishonor of this defeat, but Steel Skull, with the last of his authority, cast a commanding look at the Bone Collector… Daviida, ever loyal, conceded his ego, to abide by his chief’s wishes. 

The other hard heads were seen out, but their limbs and their weapons remained in Nameless’s possession. He went to the marble carved seat of the Gong Chichumba, made in the image of the wild creatures of the river. He sat there, and established himself, beyond spy boy, beyond his father, beyond the limitations of men… darkness settled, and the Temple took on an eerie quiet, disturbed by nothing more than the churn of the river’s current, carrying whispers of the woeful. 

The Sun Cat 

Shaak Tii Khaalii was roused from her prayers by the entry of the Sun Chief into her shrine space. She’d been deep in meditation with her forehead pressed to the floor in front of a marble carved pool of lilies, kept by two golden statues of cheetahs, and hovered by the spread wings of a golden phoenix. The shrine smelled of incense and many candles burned. A calico cat scurried past the chief and his guards in accompaniment. This Chief of the Sun Tribe was Lomanjaaro, he belonged to House Lomaasii, a long standing dynasty that had ruled Bulbancha for centuries. He went to kneel before Shaak Tii Khaalii who looked upon him with amber eyes. Her skin was cocoa brown and her hair was midnight black. Her beauty was legendary. She served the Lomaasiis as a Sun Cat; a familiar to keep their house’s spiritual shrine, to pray for their warriors and honor their dead, and oversee temple keeping. She was unique, in the long line of sun cats however, as she also wore the ring of dawn, Nguailii; signifying her as the familiar of the Sun Phoenix; Naanii Khaalii. Lomanjaaro Lomaasii was known for his aversion of spirituality and supernaturality…he did not visit her shrine often, she knew something tumultuous must’ve spurred his prostration. 

He explained to her his dilemma; a young warrior had risen to power in Bulbancha. An Okaliqii who’d come to be known as Nameless. He’d apparently deposed Chief Steel Skull and assumed the mantles of Gong Chichumba at the Temple of the Mysteries. He’d not been satisfied with his conquest of the river though. Nameless was said to have been afflicted by some strange lust for dominance…. He bullied the Hard Head warlords into submission by the strength of his cursed sword and his army of the undead. He’d then moved to force the submission of the seven feathers, and other tribes and small clans…it didn’t matter if they were a true threat to him or not, he demanded displays of submission and offerings of gold and other treasures. Those who refused were beaten or deposed by coups… Bulbancha endured a dark time… Some appealed to the Sun Tribe, who maintained security on the ridged land. Their reign was sovereign and their army was the largest in Bulbancha. For ages, the Okaliqii and the Sun Tribe functioned as allies, but under Nameless’s command, the Sun Tribe was designated as an enemy to himself and his people. His subjects beckoned the Sun Chief to face Nameless, to fight and defend the land, for the Sun Chiefs were known to be of the fiercest warriors there are; the blood of phoenixes, dragons, and fire foxes coursed through their veins…. But Lomanjaaro was a chief raised by his wits, not his brawn…he could not fight Nameless. There were warriors of his house though, such as his brothers; Sitkaa, the Sky Fire Prince, and the Sun Dragon; Gong Solii Kong…. Shaak Tii Khaalii pressed that the Princes could handle Nameless ... .surely…along with the strength of the Skyfires and the army of the Sun Tribe. But Chief Lomaasii insisted, that many who were subjugated to Nameless’s power were not their true enemies, and if he sent the Princes to fight, then the collision of armies would see many Bulbanchans slain, and long orchestrated and sustained alliances destroyed … it was then, that Shaak Tii Khaalii deduced, 

“You’ve come to ask me to fight?”

“I have.”

“You know I am forbidden to take action against mortals in this dimension.” She said, and Lomaasii clarified, 

“Nameless is not genuine in his power. He is possessed by an ancient demon and commanded by a fish woman, an old time monster of our tribe.” Shaak Tii Khaalii contemplated. She knew of this fish woman, Naaktii. She knew, what Chief Lomaasii did not, that Naaktii had not always been a monster… she supposed, so hadn’t Nameless. 

“I am not to fight in civil wars. As Sun Cat, my loyalty is to this temple. As Okiinamaa Lusaa, my responsibility is to every realm and faction.” Shaak Tii Khaalii said, and Lomanjaaro replied, 

“I am not asking you to choose sides, I’m calling on you to defend this very temple.” Shaak Tii Khaalii met Chief Lomaasii’s eyes, amber as her own.

“Where is this Nameless, now?”

“He marches onto the ridged land as we speak. He is offended that I nor Sitkaa or Solii Kong have engaged his challenges. He intends to storm the Sky Fire palace with his army of the dead…they will come here…” Shaak Tii Khaalii processed these details, and breathed in deep, and as she did, the candles of the shrine flickered and increased in volume. 

“Saliimaa,” Shaak Tii Khaalii spoke, and the calico reentered the shrine. It flicked its tail before its form bursted with light, and changed into a fem warrior in red armor. She carried a machete on her hip. She was one of the Kolukuus, women who could take the form of cats. Shaak Tii Khaalii was of their lineage, which had served the Sun Tribe’s royals across dynasties. 

“Prepare my armor.” She said, and the young temple warrior nodded her assent. Shaak Tii Khaalii turned her eyes to the Chief, 

“I will fight him,” She said, and the chief moved to fuss about commanding a war party to rally at the base and all around the temple, “alone. Keep your warriors still. I will not meet him until he is within sight of the temple.” The Sun Chief gritted his teeth; it was his intention to send Shaak Tii Khaalii with a force, to keep Nameless from getting anywhere close to his palace, to avoid any destruction to his meticulously kept residence. But he knew better than to challenge her direction. He bowed his head in respect, before rising and leaving the Sun Cat to prepare.

…….

The cry of a cooper’s hawk announced the approach of Nameless and his army.  His forces had swarmed the Ridged Land, and had surrounded the Palace of the Sun at the High Mound on all sides. They’d met less and less resistance the closer they got to the palace, which was strange as he’d been expecting a battle of proportion. With the high mound in sight, Nameless felt rage boiling in him, as there were no warriors rushing to defend the palace, no shots fired, no alarms…it was just quiet, save for the footsteps of his own army and the rustle of trees in the wind. Like salt in a wound; first, the Sun Tribe refused to engage him in ritual combat…now they were so arrogant as to not meet him on the field…  That was when one of his soldiers pointed ahead, to bring his attention to a figure sitting at the center of a green field… 

She was calm as she looked ahead at the approach of the army. Nameless led his warriors on, until he was close enough to see the details of this woman. She wore an armor regalia in the likeness of a king cheetah. Her hair was black and her eyes were amber. She stood, and she was not very tall, but her eyes were ancient. 

Nameless and his soldiers thought she might be an emissary. He held back the tide of violence at his command, in case the stillness of this scene was a trap. He sent a warrior to engage the lone woman, and they returned to him with word that Chief Lomaasii and the army of the Sun Tribe had either dispersed or were within the palace, and they would not meet him in battle. One of his warriors suggested that they burn the palace to the ground and destroy the mound and burn everything in sight… but Nameless insisted on some caution…He dismounted his black stallion, and walked to this unafraid woman. He drew his sword, and turned the steel in the sunlight that shone through pockets of heavy grey clouds. The woman simply glanced at the sword, before meeting Nameless’s eyes. 

“Do you intend to use that?” She asked. 

“If I must… not if the Sun Chief properly surrenders.” Nameless said. Shaak Tii Khaalii raised her brow, 

“That won’t be happening. He, nor his house will descend from the palace to meet you. And you will not get past me, to reach him.” She said, and Nameless’s grip on his sword hilt tightened. He did not recognize this woman… his ego processed the absolution of her intention. 

“Move out of my way, or I will cut you down where you stand.” Nameless threatened, but the women still did not flinch or falter. She looked Nameless in his eyes and said, 

“My name is Shaak Tii Khaalii, you are…without a name, I hear… why don’t you focus on finding one, instead of trying to fill the void of its absence by taking peace from others.” Nameless did not want this woman to take him for a bluffer. He spoke no more words. He brought his sword swinging to cleave Shaak Tii Khaalii in half. But she moved with speed he could hardly process. She leaned back, and the sword passed just over her, before she rose back up. Before Nameless’s return strike could cut her, she moved forward, blocking his forearm with her own, and striking his abdomen with her free hand. She hit him with a strength he’d not expected, and he shot back, hitting the ground hard and almost losing grip of his sword before springing back up….there was pain where she’d hit him. His grip on his sword’s hilt tightened, as he appraised this foe with a different reverence. She looked into his eyes with no fear, drawing a set of twin daggers from her hips. The weapons were ancient heirlooms of her station,  they were called the bright fire sais. She shifted into a ready stance, and Nameless did as well, before they were at each other again. More focused, Nameless was not as easy to strike, but neither was Shaak Tii Khaalii. They fought, blow for blow, dodging and weaving. There were many moments where their blades nearly had each other, but they each avoided major injury, sustaining knicks here and there. Nameless was invigorated by this challenge… but also perplexed; all the men he’d broken down…and here she was, five foot flat with not even a sword or a spear…but knives. At last, Nameless did land a blow. He knocked one of the knives from her hands, and drove a kick into her torso that sent her sprawling back. It knocked the wind from her lungs and she rolled across the grass. 

“I told you to get out of my way, you should’ve listened, my mercy is scarce.” Nameless said, as Shaak Tii Khaalii pushed herself up on her hands, before she stood. There was some blood out the corner of her mouth.  

“I’d not beg you for it,” Shaak Tii Khaalii shot, before she sprang forward. Nameless wasn’t expecting her flurry of movement, she somersaulted toward him, and he may have intercepted her, but she sent her dagger whizzing to his head and he blocked it with his sword. When his guard was open, her thighs suddenly wrapped around him, and then she used the momentum of her turn to pull back and throw him with all her might. He went to the ground, and the force of her limbs were like bricks thrown against him. That time, he did drop his sword, it ricocheted away from him. Shaak Tii Khaalii regained her bearings, and she placed herself between Nameless and the sword. He tried to bypass her, but she sent him back. He tried again, and she did it again. He growled out a breath of frustration, and he tried again, this time, he drew a knife and tried to destroy her, but she ended up knocking that from his hand too, and knocking him to the ground again. He coughed to catch his breath, raising up on bruised limbs… he looked at her hands… she held power in them…skill…skill beyond his own. He was monstrous with a blade…. And his skills in hand to hand combat were formidable, certainly…. But this Shaak Tii Khaalii was a master of some form beyond Nameless’s training. She summoned energy from the base of her feet, through her legs, into her hips, and she willed it to whip across her arms and her wrists to exit from her fists like bullets…. He tried, very hard, to get past her, to reach his sword, swinging with all his might, but she met him with such proficiency. He screamed out in rage…

“How disappointing, I was so hoping to meet your mercy.” Shaak Tii Khaalii, was not cocky in her every day, but in battle, her spirit was gleefully taunting. Her glory was to break down a challenger such as Nameless, who’d presumed to be all powerful, by his defeat of Bulbancha’s war lords… she was happy to remind him, that there were forces of nature who resided in sacred places across this swamp… he may have been the greatest among men, but she was not a man, and she was not in competition with him. She was a defender of her tribe, and his trespass had given her the right to execute her strength in a way she was more often called to reserve. Nameless was furious though, he was fuming with rage…his mind overtaken by the hunger for victory, he could not return to Naaktii, having failed. He called on his horde, and he commanded them to destroy the palace, and burn the trees, enter the waters and massacre the fish, aim their weapons to the sky and fell the birds, defile the soil. At these commands, Shaak Tii Khaalii’s cockiness wavered…she watched as Nameless’s army began to move, and she knew she would not be able to fight this horde as well as Nameless, who she was keeping from his sword…. She had moments, to make a decision, as the army rushed to infiltrate and destroy the high mound. Shaak Tii Khaalii moved…it seemed she was rushing to intercept the horde. Nameless went then to grab his sword. He turned around to see Shaak Tii Khaalii race to place herself between the horde and the high mound. As her back was turned, Nameless moved to destroy her…her vulnerability seemed obvious… 

Shaak Tii Khaalii was no fool though…she took a deep breath as her enemies closed in. The garnet ring on her finger glinted, and heat generated from her core. She waited until the ghouls and Nameless were just upon her, before she released the wrath of dawn fire. LIght burst and heat traveled, as a torrent of flame surrounded her. Her enemies were either incinerated or sent sprawling back by the hot force of explosion. She rose, on a tornado of fire. She drew in a breath, before she released a blast of fire from her fists, burning her challengers to ash. Even the undead army of Nameless, was woeful to bear the burning of dawn fire… they cried out the name of the ring like a curse! They had not known that the one who protected the Skyfire Palace was the familiar of the Sun Phoenix; the Okiinamaa Lusaa. Nameless could not even rely on his pride, to drive him against such a force of nature… he had only one hope…to reach the water of a nearby bayou, where the spawn of Naaktii might support his escape. But Shaak Tii Khaalii saw him retreating, and she intercepted him, blocking his way with fire. She crossed the field on her funnel of inferno, before she landed on the ground. Her amber eyes were wild like the flames she cast. She locked Nameless in a torrent, and she manifested a concentration of fire between her palms, before she released it toward him, with intent to kill. Nameless braced, for what would be his end….. But the flames did not touch him….they swirled around him…close to him, singing his hair from his skin…and charring his armor, heating his steel red… but he was not destroyed…. The next thing he saw was Shaak Tii Khaalii, walking through fire to him… he lowered to his knees, and gazed up at this wielder of sun flame…. She spared him, on behalf of an intuition she’d received, at the very last second…. But Nameless considered his mission… and the reality of failure sunk in…

“Why do you hold back…. Destroy me…I am defeated, let me die….” He said, but Shaak Tii Khaalii, though she wanted nothing more than to see this execution through…reserved. She said, 

“It is not your time, Nameless… at least, not by my own fire. Go back to Naaktii, and tell her of my wrath and my mercy. Make it clear to her that if she sends you again, I will personally deliver your head to her lair, and then I will take her own. These grounds are sacred, and are under my protection,” She fixed the nail of her pinky under his chin, “do you understand me, Nameless?”  Nameless nodded his understanding, before he and his army were sent running in retreat. 

Nameless

“You have failed me.” Naaktii said from the throne that was once sat by the Gong Chichumba. Nameless knelt before her, hanging his head in shame, and confusion. His defeat by Shaak Tii Khaalii had triggered an episode of existential crisis; his usual dissociative lust for conquest disrupted by his fixation on failure, and the ripple of visions and memories  that were brought up in the turmoil. He thought of the past… of his father and of Jaheim…he wondered about his name…and he lamented his inability to remember. 

“She was… like nothing I’ve ever faced…she reigned fire down on us, I…”

“Excuses.” The Fish woman hissed, “You should not have returned until you had the Sun Chief’s head.” Nameless was reluctant to meet the slitted eyes of Naaktii. 

“I… I am unwell Naaktii…” Nameless held his temple in his hand, feeling a wave of nausea as he remembered the smell of blood at Jaheim’s passage. He thought of his actions, the violence he’d inflicted upon the world….he recalled it, like sequences of a dream. He smelled his own odor of death and stagnant water. He’d been holding Onyxis in his hand, and it was suddenly heavy…. But he did not unclasp it.

“This has to stop Naaktii… You must release me.” 

“I must?” Naaktii laughed, “You signed away your soul to me, Nameless. You are mine. My bidding is your purpose…”

“I… was someone…i was someone before, i had a name…” He tried to recall… but he couldn’t…he tried to think of a way out of this bondage…he could not…he was filled with despair. His eyes streamed tears. Naaktii’s fins erected with alarm… whenever Nameless began to show such an emotion, it was a sign that her magic was waning. He was beginning to break down, when Naaktii’s hands coursed over his scalp, before she cupped his face,

“Shhhhh….there, there, my sweet one.” She wiped his tears, “you are weary from battle, and you need rest.” Nameless grew nervous at her softness…he knew this was how it always started; her manipulations and coercions. He tried to resist, he tried to look away from her…but she’d taken his name. She was in control of his will… he felt himself begin to lull at her soothing, before there was a bursting open of the council room door. A henchman of Naaktii, a humanoid fish creature called a gilgoonah, alerted her that unwelcome guests had come to the Temple of the Mysteries. 

“Dispatch them,” Naaktii growled, and the gilgoonah replied, nervously, 

“They are…beyond us…” It was only a moment later that Nameless sensed a familiar heat, and heard footsteps… he turned, to see four figures enter, followed by a host of  Naaktii’s minions, wanting to do their mistresses' bidding, but terrified to tread beyond their calibers. Naaktii hissed, as Sitkaa; The Skyfire Prince, Steel Skull; the former Gong Chichumba, Sabaa Daviida; The Bone Collector, and Shaak Tii Khaalii; The Sun Cat, entered. 

Nameless shuddered at the sight of Shaak Tii Khaalii…at once afraid, and enamored by her. Her amber eyes landed on him, and he turned away in shame… but she did not glare at him with anger or judgement. Sitkaa and the two hard heads had relayed to her the details of Nameless’s past; the context of his corruption by way of pressures to achieve victory over his lover… When Naaktii, who’d been sitting the throne of the Hard Heads like she belonged there, began to protest their interruption of her abuse, Shaak Tii Khaalii dismissed her by addressing only Nameless.

“Nameless…” He struggled to look at her, but she said again, “Nameless, look at me.” With what will he had, he did meet her eyes…it was uncomfortable, and he could only do so briefly, but it was enough for her to know he was listening. She addressed Naaktii, 

“We’ve come to take him Naaktii” 

“You may not, he signed his name over to me, he is mine.”  Naaktii said.

“You’ve bound who he was, but you do not own who he may become.” Shaak Tii Khaalii said. Naaktii hissed, not understanding Shaak Tii’s words, but bristling at the prospect of losing her most prized captive. 

“Nameless, you do not have to stay here… leave the sword behind, and come with us. I will take you where Naaktii cannot reach you.” 

“Do not listen to her lies… I gave you strength, I gave you power, I gave you victory…. You belong here, with me…” Naaktii said… Nameless shook with nerves, struggling to settle on a clear thought, 

“I…I’ve done terrible things. I deserve to suffer…I deserve my fate.” Nameless said, hopelessly and he brought tears to his father’s eyes. 

“I condemn your self pity Nameless… I am not here to absolve you, nor deliver you from your fate. Your karma is your own to bear… but there is a way to change your course from here… a way to escape this bondage to the fish woman…. You’ve done terrible things… so, make them right. You will not redeem yourself with Naaktii…and you are not paying for your sins with her either, you are only layering your karmic weight…the more you disassociate, the more she controls you, and the more you destroy. You need to face your pain…face your wrongs, not hide from them behind Naaktii’s control… If you come with me, there will be pain, there will be grief… but you may change, as you will….” 

“Nameless…” There was desperation in Naaktii’s voice, “We are so close to victory… so close to the power we've dreamed of… think of all you sacrificed… think of what you escaped…. The judgement, the ostracism, the betrayal by your own clan… they were content to keep you weak…ever waiting for their permission and approval to evolve… is this what you want?” Nameless processed these words… they struggled with direction. They looked to Shaak Tii Khaalii, for more words, more reasons…but she was not like Naaktii, she was not desperate to convince him of anything, she was not dependent on him…she gave him no more words, no encouragements or promises…she did not attempt to counter Naaktii’s statements; they may have been the truth… but truth was wide as an ocean…Nameless could find new truths, new ways, a new path… but he’d have to want it for himself, he’d have to decide for himself. He closed his eyes, and looked for something…anything, in the dark…. 

“Nameless.” Naaktii put venom in her tone, and nameless felt something grasp his heart…his grip on his sword tightened…he straightened his posture, and he looked over this group… they knew by the glaze over his eyes, that he was someone else than who they’d known. 

“Kill them all.” Naaktii commanded, and Nameless sprang forward. It was his father who intercepted him first, but he was joined by the others. Here, in the Temple of the Mysteries, Nameless was much stronger than he’d been at the base of the Sky Fire Palace. Shaak Tii Khaalii could not dominate him so easily, so near the river. The violence erupting was intense… it was when the old Gong Chichumba clutched his abdomen, that Nameless felt a pain in his own chest…. Daviida roared with anger and grief…the old chief went down to his knees, as blood spilled…Nameless shed tears… for his hands were hardly his own…they shook with grief…even in his possession, the very core of him knew this was so foul, so wrong…. But Naaktii’s voice spurred him on, to kill the rest of them…. He strained to summon will, to counter her control…

“It is the sword Nameless! The sword is a conduit for a foul monster who should never sway in this world again…you have to leave it!” Shaak Tii Khaalii pleaded with him… but how could he leave the sword…it was power, security, victory…all he’d fought for…all he’d sacrificed for was that sword… he was afraid, of the vulnerability that came from releasing the steel…the pain he’d have to face…. But this agony, on his father’s face…the grief of the ancestors and the river spirits…. The doom of his clan…it was already unbearable…

He’d long forgotten how to pray… but still, he closed his eyes, and he reached out into the darkness… he tuned out the stimulation of chaos around him…and he drifted, until he landed in a memory… he remembered Jaheim, before things got so bad between them… he remembered the press of his lovers hand… it had been so long…so long, since he’d understood the softness of contact, pure intentioned… he reached out his hand…to anything…the feel of a calloused palm, brought him back to where he was…a familiar scent, which had been comfort when it lingered on his sheets…he opened his eyes, and there before him, was a glowing apparition of Jaheim….Nameless caught his breath…Jaheim smiled softly. Nameless was not certain if the others could see as well… Jaheim did not say anything, he just reached for the hand Nameless carried Onyxis in, and gently unclasped his fingers from the hilt. The sound of steel clanging to the floor made Nameless startle, and as suddenly as he’d appeared, Jaheim was gone, and the commotion of Naaktii’s wailing, and the clash of weapons as her minions attacked Shaak Tii Khaalii and the others was deafening. The dropping of the sword brought on a silence though, before Nameless felt suddenly dizzy, as a tear streamed down his cheek. The grief was too much…the trauma too heavy…he felt a tightness in his chest…and a loss of air in his lungs… his release of the sword, was a release of life force…he felt his energy leave his body. His sight went dark, and he let himself go…

There was a community of fishermen, who lived along the winding of a black water bayou….

They grew their black hair thick and long, and covered their skin in tattoos of the same pitch. They were strong in their hands and their arms, from casting nets, pulling lines, rowing canoes, weaving, and mound building. They caught perch, bass, catfish, choupic, gar, turtle, crawfish, snakes, gators, waterfowl, deer, black bear, grey-fox, raccoon, rabbit, opossum, and squirrel. There was a crawfish farmer, who they called Flying Frog; the father of Silver Kite, the most beautiful and desired woman in a generation. The men of their community; fishermen, builders, hunters, warriors, all sought the hand of Silver Kite in the spring. They offered her seeds, gold, land, titles…even the sons of the Sun Chief came all the way from the Skyfire Palace in Bulbancha to meet her, and seek the favor of her heart. But none of them knew that Silver Kite’s heart already belonged to a quiet fisherman named Green-Gar. 

He sought honor nor glory, riches nor power. He didn’t pray for sons, or work for legacy. He was simply and talentedly, a fisherman of the greatest skill. He could go to the water, and it was as if the fish were drawn to his hook the way they would bite. He never once went to the water and left for home hungry. He was one man, who never sought Silver Kite’s affection, and perhaps, that was exactly why she chose him. She would seek him out in secret from her father, to find him at the bank of a river, a lake, or a bayou, fishing contentedly. He’d let her sit with him, and she would happily exist in the silence with something to occupy her time. Sometimes he’d ask her questions…silly and random prompts, always unserious and so out there…but they were always questions she liked to answer, questions that made her laugh. He could always make her laugh without the most effort. Green-Gar had her heart, and she had his. He began to miss her dearly when she wasn’t with him when he fished…and he missed her in the night, when she wasn’t beside him. But of course, with so much attention on Silver Kite, their love could not remain so secret forever, and one day her father was alerted to the affair between them. He was furious, how could his daughter, treasure of their community, give herself to a lowly vagabond fishermen like Green-Gar? He would not understand, he tried desperately to marry her off to the man he thought was most suitable, but Silver Kite was smart. She went to their chief and she demanded that if she was to marry someone, then she should at least decide the terms. She proposed a challenge, cleverly with Green-Gar in mind. Every suitor would have a full day, from sunup to sundown, to catch the largest fish in their waters, and present their catch for measurement. Whosoever caught the largest fish, would earn her favor. The chief agreed, and Silver Kite shared the news with Green Gar, sure that if anyone could be victorious, he would. 

So, two mornings after, the suitors; warriors, row men, builders, and fishermen alike all gathered on the black water bayou in their canoes. They were sent off at dawn, to venture as far as they could, with a reminder to be mindful that to win the challenge they’d need to be back at the starting line by sun down.

Green Gar went out, to a secret lake that only he knew, where a very large gar liked to swim. He started the day, a bit arrogant, casting his line in expectation of an easy victory. He waited, and the sun ticked, ticked some more, to very far indeed across the sky. He began to shift his position across the lake, nervous then. Not a single fish had bit his lure. He looked into the water and was amazed to see that the waters there were stocked, as usual, wth many perch and bass…but they all seemed to deliberately ignore his bait. He cast his line again and again, and was aware of the sun’s coursing toward the western horizon. He would not be able to stay there for too long…he waited some more, before he decided to try and hastily find a last minute place to try to catch something. He was just about to oar his canoe, when he heard a voice…it shocked him, because he thought he was alone, it said, 

“So quick to give up, Fishermen.” Green Gar looked all around and saw no one. He called out, 

“Who’s there?” 

“Do not fear me,” The voice was pitched like a hissing song, and next to his canoe, the water rippled and his boat rocked. He reached for his knife, and guarded himself, before a form rose at the head of his canoe, steady from the water, as if standing on its surface. The creature looked female, but was distinctly inhuman, with fish frills and scales, gills, and patterned spots across perch toned skin. Her eyes were slitted like a snake. Green-Gar shook as she leaned against the canoe, tipping it slightly and he held on to its side. The creature laughed a guttural noise from her toothy mouth, before she said, 

“Oh you sweet thing,” she lowered herself back into the water, and swam around the canoe to reach him, and he shifted to the other side as her head peaked over the side. She looked into the canoe and tsked her forked tongue, 

“Tsk, tsk, tsk, you have no catch, and the sun is falling down…your beloved will be won by another…” Green-Gar asked the creature, who he assumed was a spirit of the water, perhaps of the lake, how did she knew about that?

“I am Naaktii, I know many things…I could help you, to get what you want.” She said, and Green Gar said, 

“I don’t need help.” Naaktii laughed aloud,

“The fish avoid your hook like the plague and you say you don’t need help…perhaps not, maybe you will get lucky, and catch a great beast of a fish before it's too late…” Naaktii began to sink back into the water, and Green Gar registered the split second limit of his time to decide…

“Wait!” He called out and Naaktii’s head peaked back over the side of the canoe, 

“Can you really help?” He asked, and Naaktii smiled, and nodded her head. 

“For a price.” She said, and Green-Gar listened to her demands of exchange…they were strange to him, and he was suspicious, but he had no time to think, he needed to get back to the rendezvous in order to win the challenge…he agreed to what Naaktii asked, and she smiled before she sunk into the water. All was quiet for several long minutes, before suddenly, the water spirit returned, hauling the largest gar fish Green-Gar had ever seen into his canoe. After its massive form was flopped into the boat, she sent him off, with a reminder to keep up his end of the deal. He agreed, and went back to the rendezvous, to the astonishment of everyone, with the massive king of a fish in his boat. By the terms of the challenge, Green-Gar was announced the winner, and was bestowed the honor of marrying Silver Kite. 

Green-Gar lived with Silver Kite for many years, under the impression of Green-Gar being the fair winner of the challenge. But the cost of Naaktii’s aid was to be paid, at the height of every full moon. The fish woman would wait at the shallows of the lake, and Green-Gar would go to her, to compensate her for his wish granted. Naaktii, who was eternally lonely in her water world, demanded that Green Gar spend every full moon with her in her lair, and treat her as the wife he had on the land. Green-Gar would endure this for no less than twelve moons in a row. Every full moon lessened to every other, and then every other third, once a season, twice a year, and then, never more. Green-Gar’s children with Silver Kite grew, and their community prospered. He waited and waited, anxiously, for Naaktii to come seeking justice for his absence, but she never did…it was suddenly as if that exchange between them had never happened at all, that he would never see the fish woman again. Years passed, and Green-Gar’s eldest son, Yellow Perch, grew up strong to the blessed year of sixteen, and he fell in love, as his father did, with a woman of their community and plans were made for them to be married. All seemed prosperous as it had been, until suddenly a drought struck. The rains stopped, the bayous shriveled, the fish and game disappeared, the fishing community was plunged into hard times. Prayers and rituals were initiated to bring back the rain and the animals, and the wise folk of the community went down to the waters that remained, and that was where they met Naaktii, who admitted to her part in drying up the waters, as revenge for Green-Gar’s promises long unfulfilled. When the people learned of Green-Gar’s treachery they didn’t hesitate to find Yellow Perch, and deliver him to Naaktii, who held the young man ransom until Green-Gar brought himself in shame to the lake, and willingly offered himself up in exchange for his son, and an end to the drought. He apologized to his people, and bid his family farewell, before he followed Naaktii into the waters, never to be seen again by the dwellers of land…

Doriaan and Jaheim

Sabaa Doriaan was the youngest child of Sabaa Daviida; The Bone Collector. The Sabaa’s were a mighty house of the Bone clan; whose warrior faction were Hard Heads. These were the guardians of funeral rites and processions, builders of shrines and altars. Sabaa was specifically a house of male oracles and diviners. The lineage of Sabaa was ancient, and Sabaa Daviida was of it’s mightiest incarnations. He’d fought in the civil war which had brought the Kovaango Delta into the hold of the Ghokaan Empire. According to legend, his ancestors had once possessed the legendary Onyxsis; an ivory handled sword, which would own the soul of any warrior foolish enough to challenge its edge and lose. In his youth, he’d served as the Hard Head Spy Boy, but had since transitioned to Wild Man; primary protector of the Big Chief in war, ritual, and ceremony. 

Sabaa Doriaan was the child of Daviida and the Miino of Faith, Owuro Dalaanii. They assumed the child’s gender and assigned them as female, and for years Doriaan remained with the Miino of Faith, learning those ways, surrounded by women, and nurtured by motherly and sisterly energy. As the child grew though, he  began to gravitate considerably to men. He was interested in physical games and sports, in combat training and welding and horseback riding and rolling dice and raising dogs, driving cars and riding bikes. He was always seeking his father, Sabaa Daviida. 

Doriaan would not wear a dress, refused to have his hair pressed or plaited with borets. He’d take his earrings out and put on pants, step into his father’s oversized shoes, his too big baseball caps and snapbacks. Doriaan wanted baggy jeans and big T’s, jerseys and tennis shoes and chains. As a child, He emulated his father, so big and grand, fierce and stern. Daviida could see from early on, Doriaan was no daughter…he was a little nervous, not knowing exactly what to do with a child whose spirit was not as expected according to the body, but he knew he had no interest in forcing the child into conformity. He began to integrate Doriaan into boyhood. When Doriaan was about five years old, Daviida had taken him to the barber shop. Doriaan would always remember the smell of the hair, the buzz of the clippers, the television playing a basketball game on low, with the music on a radio bumping high. Doriaan was still so small, physically androgynous as many young children are, easily a shapeshifter in the clothes they preferred. Daviida had been nervous though, that he and his child might be judged, that the eyes of the men sitting with their black plastic capes around them, talking up a storm as the barbers of the shop went to work, would cast their eyes down at his child, and project that Doriaan didn’t belong…but the judgement never came. The clippers just kept buzzing, and Doriaan excitedly sat, swinging his legs in anticipation. Daviida hadn’t seen his son smile so big…probably ever, as when he looked in the mirror to see that first fade cut low and lined up. He didn’t even flinch when the razor was drawn, or when the alcohol was brushed against his lining. 

From that day on, there were no more questions, no more doubts, no more speculations or projections. Daviida took a more specific charge than he had before, and Doriaan no longer spent as much time with the Miino. Daviida raised Doriaan up around the Hard Heads, and the child absorbed everything he saw and heard. He was permitted to be around for ceremonies and rituals designated for men, and was given honors in playing the tambourine at practices, and beating the drum. 

Change was inevitable though, and it came like a quiet storm. Doriaan turned twelve, and he picked up weight, in his thighs and his hips. His chest swelled. He went through the motions of a monthly cycle, and battled the assault of hormones all adolescents face. It was terrible…He broke out across his face so severely…nothing at all made sense. He didn’t know who, what, why, when, or where, he just knew he hated his body…He hated the changes…the other boys his age were growing physically into young men, springing up in height, shoulders broadening, strength and speed increasing; they were on the cusp of their journeys to Shujaahood….and all their life, Doriaan had dreamed of that rite of passage; the inheritance of the sacred gen nyame medallion, the manifestation of first armor, the crafting of a first blade or, to a degree more sacred, having his father’s own sword passed down. He prepared for the rituals  to be held, to see which of the young men would pass on to apprenticeship under a fully realized Shujaa. Many in the community aspired to the rank of honor, but it was bestowed upon only some, across generations. Sabaa Daviida knew all along, that Doriaan dreamed of the achievement, he watched his son prepare day and night, in high hopes…but when the day came, Daviida felt it his responsibility, to speak truth to Doriaan, so afraid of the disappointment he would endure, if not. 

He expressed that Doriaan’s gender was understood in his house, by his family, but not all the Shujaa were so accepting. The rituals of the night would be overseen by the Big Chief, who had no patience for any disrespect of traditions and sanctity of the ritual space. No woman would be allowed in the initiation circle…it had hurt Daviida’s heart so much, to see that sudden and heavy pain in Doriaan’s eyes. He’d been able to shield him from much judgment, and exclusion…but here was an obstacle even the mighty bone collector felt insecure to see his child through. He could’ve presented Doriaan before the chief…but at what cost…the honor of himself and his son? His entire house? He could uplift many things about Doriaan, but in that moment he just would not lie or lead on an unrealistic expectation. Doriaan, whose spirit was as a man, but whose body was female, just was not strong enough, not quick enough, to keep up with the rigor of the Shujaa trials…and in that moment of truth’s delivery, Doriaan felt betrayed by Daviida, for denying him at least the right to present him self, to try. Doriaan knew Daviida was a man of tradition…but to that point…of reluctance to present him as all the other sons of Shujaa…Doriaan didn’t know if he wanted to understand, or if he just wanted to be angry, sad and hurt, or accepting and forgiving…he didn’t know anything then, except that painful reality of his body, against the truth of his mind. He would be kept from so much, because he’d not inherited the right shell…it was infuriating. Doriaan reclused, spending more time alone than with his family, more time in his room than around his father, who he’d admired so much for so long, but now when he encountered Daviida, the great strong man and notorious warrior…he was just reminded of all the things he’d never be. His mother, the Miino of Faith, was a greater trigger, because near her, Doriaan saw his own shape in hers, his own face in hers…she was the womanly form which the world would forever project onto him, no matter how he dressed, or practiced, or what he explained. He dissociated not just from his parents, but from nearly everyone with a pulse, and he spent a long time in a dormant darkness, taking himself to the places where his body didn’t matter so much. 

By the time Doriaan was nineteen, things got a little better. His hormones had regulated, and he’d adjusted to his reality. He was going outside again, exploring spaces, and finding his way as a young adult. It was on a summer day of that nineteenth year that a young Shujaa, about two years older than him, came to his father’s house. He’d been sent by the Big Chief, to shadow Sabaa Daviida. Doriaan had was quietly bitter to that, because he’d always imagined himself in that position…but he’d gotten used to the Shujaa’s prejudices, used to disappointment by then. He’d come to serve a different role with his father than what he’d dreamed of as a child; he kept their house clean, cooked food, sewed armor, studied, and prayed. He no longer raged against that reality and he cruised through his days in a functional detachment from his ego. When Jaheim Akamaa showed up to the front door of his house though, Doriaan’s spirit, dormant for so long, felt like an electric pulse had been circuited to his center. 

Doriaan opened the door for this young man, with bronzed skin and dark hair braided in geometric designs. He was lanky but lean, with rounded shoulders that curved under his tshirt. His forearms were strong and veined and covered in tattoos. His hands were large and calloused. Doriaan’s eyes met the visitors’, who smiled, politely, before asking if Sabaa Daviida was home. Doriaan knew the Shujaa by reputation, and thought to himself that Jaheim’s soft smile and cheerful eyes were misleading. At twenty-one years old, Jaheim Akamaa had risen up in the ranks of the Hard Heads, and wasn’t only remarkable among their own clan, but widely discussed and respected by the Sun Tribe and by the Seven Feathers of Bulbancha. He was positively deadly with most any weapon, full of both practical and academic knowledge, and a talented welder and ironworker….he was the pride and joy of the whole clan, loved by the community, but feared on the battlefield, where it was said he came alive with a different personality. His eyes would set, and his voice would change cadence to that of a commander, and he would not hesitate against any opponent, big or small, to break them down. Doriaan realized that he’d been staring and kind of drifting off at the sight of the young legend when Jaheim cleared his throat and asked again about Daviida, 

“Oh, uhh…yea, yea he’s home. Come in and have a seat, I’ll go get him.” And that’s how it started between them. Jaheim started coming over more and more, to learn and shadow under Daviida. At first, he wouldn’t have much time to talk with Doriaan, but somewhere along the line he started asking Doriaan questions. He asked Doriaan his pronouns, which he really appreciated, and made him more comfortable to open up. Jaheim was chill, he didn’t move with arrogance or project challenge. He was simply and positively himself. He liked to talk, where is Doriaan preferred to listen. Sometimes Jaheim would come over and they’d just watch movies, other times they’d go and work out or ride bikes. 

One day, Jaheim came over, and Doriaan, Daviida, and he were at the kitchen table when Jaheim asked Daviida to recount the battle of Kovaango. He’d been hearing tales about the battle for so long…Shujaa of all ages had heard the story of Daviida’s epic confrontation with the Miino Panther Queen; Kolaa. Daviida had glanced at Doriaan, who turned a ring he wore, gifted by his mother, who received it from her own…and Jaheim realized his carelessness in his excitement…he’d forgotten that obvious context…Queen Kolaa, was the grandmother of Doriaan. Jaheim started to apologize for his insensitivity but Doriaan waved away the trouble, saying, 

“My grandmother died fighting, by the sword of the only man on that field worthy of taking her down. Their truce is the reason I’m alive today.” Doriaan said, and told the story himself, in full, as it was recounted in two forms, by his mother and his father. Doriaan had more stories than that, collected over the years. He’d listened to elders, Shujaa, Miino and everything in between, tell their stories, and he held much in his memory. Jaheim would listen to Doriaan speak more than ever, in the recount of stories. 

It was a few years that passed, and when Jaheim came of age, he challenged his own father, in a ritual confrontation for the rank of Spy Boy, to walk ahead of the chief. Only the most formidable of their clan could hold such a position, to walk first, fight first, and potentially, die first, for the sake of the rest of the clan. The ceremony was glorious, and Jaheim’s father was full of pride, to see his son’s prowess surpass his own. He stepped down, and Jaheim took on the mantles earned. The whole community gathered, and there were women, daughters of Shujaa who presented themselves to him, flirting and batting their eyes. The Big Chief was not only a warrior, but a match maker as well, he worked with the honored mothers of Shujaa men to coordinate the most blessed unions. He encouraged Jaheim to marry a young princess from another house, but, Jaheim’s heart was drawn to another in the crowd, who blended in to the scene, sitting in the back of Daviida’s truck, waving at Jaheim as the drummers beat their rhythms and the medicine men danced all around in celebration. Doriaan smiled, prouder than ever. 

No one knew it, but Doriaan and Jaheim had become much more than friends. It started out with hand grazes, to hand holding, to long embraces, and giggling caresses, to kisses, to warm, sure, and electric love in lamplight. Jaheim loved Doriaan for the man he was, for all the masculine style and mannerisms that were so natural to him. Doriaan loved Jaheim for his energy, for his smile…they were always laughing. They talked about the future, daring to imagine union. They spent as much time in their secret bliss as possible, establishing their deep connection of mind, body, and soul. 

But, change was an inevitable thing, and one day, after some years of their secret affair, the Big Chief found out about Jaheim and Doriaan’s relationship. He summoned Jaheim's father, Daviida, and the two lovers to his house. Without his war armor, he was a simple looking man, though he still carried authority in his eyes, and his speech. He offered them whiskey, and sat down in his chair to discuss the matter at hand. He started off by reminding Jaheim and his father of what their position entailed….uphold of tradition, legacy, alliance…maintenance of the old ways carried out since the ancients. He reminded them that without tradition…held sound and firm, they were nothing. He turned then to Daviida, and offered his respect, recounting his valor on the fields of past wars, and the great honor he’d won for their clan. He iterated his respect, before he addressed Doriaan, like an issue, 

“Your daughter and Jaheim…together, is unacceptable.” Doriaan tensed, because the chief misgendered him with hardly any consideration…which was in a way, worse than if it had been with intention. He glanced at Daviida and Jaheim, who stiffened, but did not yet correct the chief. They, like all the Shujaa of the clan, held a deep respect for their warrior elders. It was not a recklessly trespassed. 

“The heads of our clans’ houses, the elders and the stewards of guilds, expect a sound union between a respectable daughter of a chief and the spy boy ... they want to know that the legacy of this clan will be preserved and propelled. Your engagement to the daughter of the Sun Chief has been in orchestration for years Jaheim…you’ve understood that since you chose the spy boy’s path.” The Big Chief said, and Doriaan glanced then at Jaheim, whose eyes stayed on the chief, 

“Is this relationship between the two of you serious?” He asked, and Doriaan left it to Jaheim to answer. Jaheim glanced around the room, knowing that what he spoke to that question, would be defining of the future. He said, 

“I have deep feelings for Doriaan, and I’d rather pursue a relationship there, than to marry the princess.” The Big Chief sat back in his chair, processing, and Jaheim’s father looked across the room at Doriaan, like he was a snake snuck into the crib. The energy of blame was all on Doriaan, for being that thing that was different, uncomforming, and challenging to the meticulously maintained system…He felt judgment in that room unlike ever before. 

“So, you’d want to pursue a union…as two…two…” 

“Two men.” Doriaan said, bluntly to the chief. Daviida placed a stilling hand on his son’s knee, before he spoke, 

“Would that be so bad?” Daviida asked, 

“Maybe not for a lower ranking Shujaa, but in this case, the elders aren’t happy. The heads of houses are considering stripping Jaheim of his mantles, they feel disrespected, that he would turn down marriage to a woman of a prosperous house, to engage with Doriaan, who by all means, would be a suitable match…probably first choice, if she walked as a woman, and accepted those roles and responsibilities.”

“He is still of the blood of Sabaa, he is of the Bone Clan through and through. What difference does it make the nature of the union…if it’s one between two honorable houses?” Daviida said, and the chief replied, 

“The nature of the union is everything, Sabaa. And as it stands, a bond of such a natureis unacceptable. It makes too much of a mockery of our standards.” The room was quiet for a moment, until Jaheim’s father, the former spy boy finally spoke, 

“I can’t say I’m pleased by your choice son, and less so that the two of you kept it hidden for so long….you’ve both complicated things to the highest degree for us. I agree with Big Chief, that our traditions should not be made a mockery of, and the honor of House Akamaa should be considered, most by you, Jaheim. But you’re a grown man, and I won’t force you into marriage with anybody, and I won’t tell you what you can or can’t do….if Doriaan is who you want, then you can pursue that son, and I want you to know that’s alright. But if you want to maintain your rights as Spy Boy, then son, there are rules you‘ll have to face…challenges, both of you will need to overcome…” Jaheim glanced at Daviida, who registered a silent message, remembering an ancient loophole, manifested for instances such as this, when two Shujaa wished to join in union, thus denying, in some cases, their houses the security of heirs to pass legacy onto. 

When a man and shujaa, or more specifically when two Shujaa of unequal rank, fell in love and sought marriage union, it brought into question all the potential consequences such a bond would manifest. If one shujaa, married another of greater strength, power, and wealth, then there was a possibility for the wealth and power of position, to transfer, in the eyes of many Shujaa, to a warrior or man who was undeserving of it, who had not proven himself worthy, as the other had to inherit the bounty of the greater house. In addition to the possibility of no children being born to two men, and the roles of a wife…to keep the house, act in diplomacy, host, and all manner of other things expected of a Shujaa’s spouse, the loss to a house was perceived as so great, that great friction and tension would manifest among the whole family. The elders would feud, the schemers would scheme…lives fell to danger as people who’d invested much into the marriage games of individuals since childhood, were forced to shift and pivot, to what would not serve them in the same way. So, the solution which was put forward, was that, if the Shujaa of a lower rank, could defeat their own higher ranking betrothed in honorable combat, then, by the standards held by the league of male warriors, he’d then earn the right to stand with the pride and joy of the other house, and since his victory would assure that he was not entering the union with hopes to increase his own status or wealth, because he’d already proven the lack of need through the victory, then the men could join, and two houses could stand as one. The two Shujaa would stand in power, and manifest prosperity for both of their houses, securing wealth for the children of their families to inherit, thus increasing the wealth of the houses in the long run, as opposed to depleting them. Daviida had suggested all this, and The Big Chief took a swig of whiskey as he considered, before he permitted the challenge, if Doriaan and Jaheim agreed. 

Doriaan imagined, for just a second, that Jaheim would choose him, over everything else. Being SpyBoy was an honor Jaheim had worked so hard to achieve…but their love was a sacred thing found, it had surprised them both, and changed them in so many ways…Doriaan did dare to imagine, until Jaheim spoke, and accepted the terms….he would maintain his mantle as spy boy, and he and Doriaan, would potentially marry with the blessing of the clan, if Doriaan could defeat Jaheim, naturally, against all of Jaheim’s effort and strength. Doriaan didn’t say anything, he was too angry, he felt like a fool…he rose from his chair and stormed out to nowhere at all, he just walked in a rage, so sick of the place he was in, sick of all its rules and it’s traditions, all of its obstacles and excuses…when he got back home, Jaheim and Daviida were waiting, and Jaheim blocked his entry into the house with his frame, forcing Doriaan to hear him out. He said he’d train Doriaan himself, he’d train him, along with Daviida. He said that, through hard work and practice, there was a chance. He reminded Doriaan that he was descended from some of the greatest warriors in their histories, that if anybody could defeat him, maybe Doriaan was it. Doriaan took his time to process, considering why this was worth it beyond Jaheim’s hand in marriage…he loved Jaheim, but he’d need a more personal motivation than that…he thought of himself, in Shujaa armor, carrying his father’s sword…he imagined the respect, the acceptance…if he could defeat Jaheim, there would be no questions ever again to his manhood, to his place among the hard heads….he could earn a type of permanence in the Bone Clan he’d only ever half imagined….suddenly it was beginning to feel real…really possible. He went to Jaheim, and agreed then, to try. 

They were given four years, to the date, to achieve what may very well have been impossible. Things changed, as Jaheim transformed from Doriaan’s secret lover, to his trainer, his coach, his teacher. Jaheim worked him out, made him study war strategies and philosophies. They trained in hand to hand combat, ground fighting, and weapons…grueling work that left Doriaan shaking and sore, bruised, blistered, bleeding. Jaheim would taunt anger, to evoke energy in Doriaan, channeling off frustrations at himself, so Doriaan would not lose the will to fight…they battled, over and over again, and Doriaan would lose, day after day…but never as quickly or easily as the time before. He was learning, as his legs toned to corded muscle, his thighs formed, his forearms grew solid as his hands calloused. His shoulders and biceps rounded….the training commenced, and Doriaan would look in the mirror and see a form, almost matched to his spiritual sense of self image. His time spent with Jaheim the spy boy, was drastically different from Jaheim the lover. Jaheim was much rougher, less compassionate, he did not comfort, he did not soothe, he did not speak with softness…there was only this war between them…Doriaan’s own softness waned, and he no longer kept his father’s house as he had. Everything was different, and there were times when Daviida truly missed the Doriaan of before, who was comfortable and content in who he was… this Doriaan who became, was of fierce stock…

There was one time, in training, when Jaheim cut Doriaan. They’d been fighting intensely, and Doriaan’s skill had increased so much that, even though Jaheim still won every time, it was through much focus and effort. When he’d cut Doriaan, he’d done so deeply, and Doriaan had stumbled back clutching his side…it was something in that moment, that brought Jaheim the lover back to center…he’d dropped his sword, and went to Doriaan, to help him, to see how deep the cut was…but when he was just about to reach him, Doriaan cast this warning glance at him…to stay back…the way Doriaan looked at Jaheim, was like he was a stranger, like his hand stretched out in affection was blasphemous….how long had it been….how long had Jaheim lost track of the change in them both….for Jaheim, this trial was for the sake of love between them, to have that love, without having to sacrifice his rank…he’d wanted to have both..but Doriaan wasn’t driven by love, he hadn’t, as Jaheim had assumed, endured the rigors of training, for their marriage…he knew by the fierceness in those eyes, that Doriaan’s motivation was on the achievement of Shujahood…his skills were developing every day, and, with or without Jaheim’s love, he was coming for the position…he was chasing Spy Boy. 

Jaheim felt strange, when he wanted to embrace Doriaan or kiss him. And Doriaan struggled to disassociate Jaheim from the pain, from the need to try so hard to change himself. Jaheim began to resent the work, but he’d given his word to train Doriaan, to see him through, so he would. Doriaan grew frustrated, with his closeness to victory, but inability to achieve it. He’d reached a notable peak, where he could outmatch every Bone Clan Shujaa….everyone except Jaheim, who was exceptional;y formidable. They trained, and Jaheim held nothing back…it was near the deadline of their course, when they battled, sharp steel against sharp steel, and Jaheim beat Doriaan back, wearing him out, and said, 

“Enough, Doriaan…enough, you’re not ready.” Doriaan didn’t concede he just kept swinging, and Jaheim blocked and shifted, and sent him skidding back, 

“Did you hear me? I said you aren’t ready!” Doriaan attacked again, and this time Jaheim knocked him hard on his back, knocking his wind out. He struggled to catch his breath, as Jaheim breathed out, 

“Do…I’m tired…I, I can’t keep…I can’t keep this up…you don’t even see me anymore do you? I’m just an obstacle for you now, to overcome…” 

“You could’ve said no,” Doriaan said, “you could’ve denied the challenge, but you didn’t. You didn’t love me enough to give it up, so don’t expect me to love you so much, that I don’t take Spy Boy from you…if you still love me after, then I guess, you just love me. If not, I’ll still have what I earned.” Doriaan said, close to motivated madness then. 

“If you step in that ring with me, Do, I won’t…I can’t hold back, you understand that? You get the difference between if you beat me, versus if I beat you?” Doriaan laughed, bitterly, sadly…he knew well. If Jaheim, as the higher ranking warrior, defeated Doriaan, he’d be obliged to end his life. 

“Jaheim, my love, I would expect nothing less from you. I don’t intend to live a day more of this life, in the shame, of just…never being as good as you…never measuring up….” Doriaan sat up then, their eyes were so lidded, their body so heavy, 

“If it be by your blade, I’ll at least die, a Shujaa, in honor. Better that than live a life wondering what would’ve or could’ve been, if I hadn’t fought at all.” Jaheim was brought to tears then, shaking. He couldn’t bare another minute in Doriaan’s presence. He left then, to pray, and grieve all that was lost, in the long effort to gain something so out of reach.

Siren Call

A night came, when Doriaan tossed and turned with anxious anticipation. He worked up a sweat in an uneasy sleep… he’d asked God in desperation, to help him win this battle, to help him achieve what he’d worked so hard for. His father worried day and night, because Doriaan was consumed by his drive to best Jaheim…so consumed that he had no regard for his own life, or the consequences of his death on those who loved him. Daviida burned incense and called on ancestral aid, to lift his child out of the darkness….he felt partly responsible, for setting Doriaan on that course…maybe if he’d challenged the chief more fiercely, then they wouldn’t be at such a crossroads then.

It was at the witching hour, when Doriaan was woken from the depths of sleep. His eyes opened, and he sat up….he turned to see his window open, and his curtains billowing from an outside breeze. He heard a sound…a music in the distance…sang by a pristine and lilting voice. The words were in a language he didn’t understand, but the melody was mesmerizing, and he pushed himself out the bed, and began to move, with little thought….he climbed right out his window, and walked down the alley, onto the night time street, barefoot, as a sleepwalker in the direction of the singing. He walked to where the bayou coursed, beneath a bright moon. He looked out to see the water ripple as a figure emerged. She was pale and black eyed, with jet hair sleek down her back, wearing flowing robes of lavender. She glowed like the moon, singing her way to the bank of the bayou. She walked right across the water's surface, to Doriaan. 

She said she’d sensed his dilemma, and that she had a way to ensure his victory through ancient magic; she could change him. She sang her song, and by the sound of her magic, Doriaan could see himself, reflected in the water, not as he was, but as he wanted to be…his jaw pronounced, his hands large, shoulders broader and widened, his chin and lips blackened by facial hair…he saw himself, physically, as a man. Naaktii said that she had the power to transform him. He asked her to, and she said there was a price to pay. Doriaan was weary, but his desire for the changing magic was so strong…he asked her what the price was, and she said that she wanted a vial of his blood, and the rights to the name given to him by his father…the name to leave behind with this current form…Doriaan, so consumed by his desired image on the bayou’s surface, agreed to the siren’s terms. He let her cut his hand, and take a vial of his blood, and he spoke his name into a shell she presented. When this was done, the siren told him to go, and sleep in solitude for 3 days and 3 nights. On the third morning, the same morning as his battle with Jaheim was scheduled, he would wake up changed. She ordered him to tell no one at all of how he’d managed his transformation. The siren returned to the water, and then Sabaa Doriaan returned home, as the night waned, to undergo the changes by the siren’s magic.

Battle Under The Bridge 

The beat of drums could be heard for blocks, as Shujaa in their armored regalia chanted their cry’s of war and ceremony and beat their palms against tambourines. The medicine men wearing their bead and cowrie adorned masks, danced low stances to the ground with arms waved, burning sage and incense, sprinkling holy water across the fighting circle. The Shujaa of the Bone Clan, the Sun Tribe, and the Seven Feathers had all gathered beneath the bridge that stood above the sacred portal axis. The neutral ground was where, in old times, when the motherland captives were subject to bondage by the demonic masters and the hog and hound minions, that the enslaved could run in courageous and uninsured attempts to escape from the demon master’s dimension. They could run, from Cobblestone, into the watery and green swamp, where the masters could not easily follow. If they could run far and quick enough, they’d reach a sanctuary with Indigenous people and maroons. On this day, the descendants of those courageous souls beat their drums and stamped their feet, hooped and hollered amidst the wide pillars painted with images of the grand past. 

Elders sat high, in the backs of their trucks, while the crowd around them shifted to reach as close to the fighting circle as possible. Young boys tugged at their father’s pant legs to see, and some were lifted onto their father’s, brother’s, uncle’s, and grandfather’s shoulders to see what they’d all come for. 

The Shujaa were gathered, with respect to honor and tradition. Some dressed traditionally, others wore their big shirts and jeans, gnikes and dickie sets. Tattooed skin adorned with gold like that on the caps on flashing teeth. Jaundiced eyes waited for the sight of the respected Spy Boy of the Bone Clan, and the entrance of the child of Sabaa Daviida, who dared to challenge him. Blue nose pits barked their excitement, as horses shifted by the reign of their riders. Pythons coiled on their owner’s necks and wrists. The smell of barbecue filled the air as men cooked out the backs of their trucks, and libation was poured onto the concrete as sacred as black soil. There, was a great gathering. 

Feet stomped the ground, and chests were pounded, as Shujaa Akamaa stepped forward, wearing his black and red armor. He made way, by waving away the banner of his house for the entrance of his son. Jaheim Akamaa stepped into the fighting circle carrying a solid, short handled hammer in his left hand, and on his right forearm, a shield rested. His armor was black, ivory, and green with crimson accents, and engraved and embroidered with roosters, black dogs, and rearing horses. He was cheered on by the warriors gathered, as he waited for his opponent. 

The sight of Sabaa Daviida’s helm drew the crowd’s attention, as The Bone Collector stepped into view, dressed in silver, ivory, and black. He and the other hard heads presented Sabaa Doriaan, who stepped forward in the armor of his house, in colors similar to his father. He stepped ahead, carrying his own sharpened steel sword. His hands were filled with strength like he’d never known, his body felt full of solid power. He wore a mask over his face, in the shape of a skull’s jaw, like the one his father wore. All that was visible was his eyes, that looked across at Jaheim. 

That morning, just as the siren had said, Doriaan had woken, changed. His physicality matched the reality of his mind, and he told no one. He denied Daviida the rights of dressing him in armor, for worry of his father questioning him on the nature of his transformation. He told Daviida he’d dress himself, and it had hurt Daviida deeply…Doriaan decided that he would share some of the truth with Daviida, but only after he defeated Jaheim. No one was wiser of Doriaan’s change, certainly not Jaheim, who, to  Doriaan’s  surprise, had called that morning. Doriaan had just been feeling the curves of a more pronounced jaw when his phone vibrated against the bathroom sink. He answered to the sound of Jaheim’s voice. 

“Hey Do,” His voice was soft, cautious but warm. Doriaan took the phone off speaker, and brought it to his ear, leaning against the sink, 

“Hey Jah.” Jaheim was quiet for a second, and Doriaan didn’t rush the silence to end…it was strange, how the memories were flooding then. Jaheim had called, without a plan of what to say…all he imagined was halted on his tongue…he just wanted to know Doriaan was there, on the line, for a little while. Together, they could pretend in stolen time, that the day didn’t have a battle between them in store. When Jaheim worked up that fragile nerve to speak, the words that came out went against all sense, and took all his courage…but it was from a deep truth, so long suppressed and hard to process. He asked, 

“If I gave up Spy Boy…and took a different path…would you take it with me?” Jaheim asked. Doriaan was quiet for a long moment before he said, 

“Are you saying you want to call off the fight?” 

“That’s what I’m saying.” 

“Is it for my sake or yours?” Doriaan asked, and Jaheim breathed out, 

“Doriaan, I can’t…I don’t want to take your life….I understand tradition and ritual…but come on…I mean we aren’t enemies on a field, this is me and you…after everything even after all that’s changed, I mean…you still mean so much to me…I know I’m supposed to be all hard to the bone and s**t but Do, this is a lot for me….it’s not a lot for you? Is it not too much?” Doriaan heard Jaheim… and he understood where he was coming from…but they were too close the edge of destiny. He shed a tear, then two, before wiping them away, 

“Too much work been put into this Jaheim. If you give up Spy Boy, you take away my chance to rise to it. If you spare me at defeat, then you’ll leave both of us to live a life of longing and regret. Me yearning to defeat you as I love you, and you always wanting to love me, as I’m broken and isolated, ashamed and ostracized, more after losing to you, then I would be otherwise. At least if I die, I don’t have to live with the shame…” 

“Doriaan, do you hear yourself? What shame? Shame brought on by the Shujaa’s judgement? I mean I understand wanting to belong, but I’m offering you a way out of that, a different course with me…I’m willing to give it up for you…if you just chose to live, I can choose you over everything else…” Doriaan heard Jaheim’s sincerity, his pained worry…but Doriaan just couldn’t throw away the years of training, the costs of all the changes. Jaheim may have wanted to understand, but could he ever, really? Could he know?

“Jaheim…I feel you, I really do. But I’m not asking you to choose me…as an option that you came to conclusions about in your head…too late now. I’m not…I’m not who I used to be. Your love is something that, I do hold on to, I respect it, I’ve cherished it, even as I’ve warred against you all these years…I know that your heart is a good thing, a worthy thing of me, and me of you…but it’s just not enough….I can’t rest in that?” 

“You could…you just won’t let yourself…”

“How could you ask me to! How could you build up this power in me, and then ask me not to use it?” 

“I know…Do, I know, I just…I’m sorry, I’m sorry I didn’t realize we were enough…I couldn’t give up Spy Boy then…I can now but it’s…its…”

“It’s too late. We will see this through now, for right, wrong, and everything in between. Thank you for expressing yourself now…don’t assume it doesn’t mean anything to me, because it does. But now, I need you to love me, not like you want to, not like you think I need you to…I need you to love me like I’m telling you to…honor me, as you would honor the greatest of opponents on the battlefield, meet me with your whole heart Jaheim, and bring your steel against my own, to the height of everything in you. Temper my strength with your own, and give me the opportunity to earn my place, earn my honor…and from that miraculous chance, maybe, we can move forward in union like we used to dream…but I won’t just give everything up, I won’t just submit to the challenge, I won’t submit and rest under you…not like that, not so easily, not after everything….especially not after everything. Do not dishonor me now, with weakness Jaheim…because I loved you and trusted your strength from the beginning…I trust you to do what is right, even if it’s hard as hell…you will see this through.” At that Doriaan had hung up the phone…and he broke down after, releasing tears held back for so long…it was too late, to think on philosophies and whys and why nots. He would not let fear or anxiety or grief hold him back from this. 

And so, the two warriors stood across from each other, as the drums beat. Their battle began at the cry of an elder, and they sprang into collision. Blade crossed hammer, feet shifted and bodies swayed. Doriaan fought with the full strength of a male body, and Jaheim could tell the difference. Doriaan was quicker, more forceful in his strikes. The two of them, fought ferociously, with no thought for any relational context outside that moment, they were foes, great wielders of judgement and decision, as to who lived, and who died, who kept strength and who was weakened. Their battle was so intense that the crowd was brought to quiet as they tried to keep up with the speed of combat. Metal clanged and a rooster crowed, dogs barked. The elders sat forward in interest…the child of Sabaa Daviida, who had been written off, excluded, conditionally accepted was showing out. Their form was like their father’s; precise and aggressive, forceful and without fear. Doriaan fought as a warrior with nothing to lose…they were in submission to no energy, except that of heightened warcraft. Doriaan was deep in that trance, of whirling and twirling, rising and falling, breathing and leaning, swinging and jabbing, low, high, side to side…the trance was a seance of the warrior spirits of his lineage…he could feel the flexibility of the panther, the strength of the gator, the vengeance of the dead, the might of the whole earth in his limbs. His body became a vessel of pure adrenaline and force, and when that moment of triumph came, he roared out like a lion, and he felt the course of his blade, through armor and his flesh, all through his hands, and to the very core of his soul. There was the briefest moment, as his vision came back to, and he returned to the edge of consciousness…his hands were shaking on the sword, dripping blood. All was quiet, as the elders rose…the children were wide eyed, at their first witnessing of what victory looked, sounded, and smelled like….it was a riddling thing, sobering…not so glorious as the knight tales and Shujaa legends made it out to be. This was real, so real, as Doriaan turned to see, the cut, made right through Jaheim’s armor. He saw the blood first, and then he looked into Jaheim’s eyes….Jaheim looked a little sad, but not hurt, not spiritually defeated or disappointed. He’d done as his love had demanded, fought with his all…Doriaan looked down at his sword, as sense returned and he realized…he remembered…if Jaheim had won, then his blade was owed Doriaan’s life….but Doriaan only needed to best Jaheim…disarm him, or get him to yield…he’d not thought, he’d lost too much of himself in the fight…the spirits of war had no consideration for their rules….to see him through to his heart’s desired accomplishment, they’d come, like red fire and slicing silver, into him, and fought with all their living glory through his limbs…they had no compassion for the minute details projected on that fighting circle….Jaheim had swung his hammer as a fighter, and so, Doriaan’s warrior soul had fought him as such….love, memories, rules…they were all considered too late. Jaheim fell to his knees, and his father, and the Shujaa of his house were standing to approach, to catch him…but the elders commanded them to stillness. It was none of their places to enter that ring…Doriaan alone had the right to engage with Jaheim, as he took his last breaths. Doriaan did not try to hold back tears for shame. He dropped his sword to the ground, and went to the ground, to hold Jaheim….he shook his head…he hadn’t meant for this….he hadn’t intended….Jaheim’s eyes were glazing over, and there was no way to save him…no time to regret anything, if after all, this victory had not been worth the prices…Jaheim reached up to Doriaan’s face…removing gently, the skull mask….he smiled, to see Doriaan, so changed…he prayed such luck on Doriaan that he would never know the worst of sorrows, and the rooster crowed, as Jaheim took his last breath. 

 Shujaa gathered around, prepared then to take Jaheim’s mantles, and pass them to Doriaan….but there was a darkening of the clouds then…a smell in the air, of stagnant water and algae…the gathering of men shifted, as water coursed, out from the sewers. Thunder boomed and lightning flashed, as the Shujaa reeled at the energy of a dark entity. The water rose, and manifested the form of a creature, fish scaled and gilled, slit eyed and sharp toothed; she was Naaktii, the disgraced fish woman of the dark waters. She looked at Doriaan, and reminded him of the price of his victory, somberly achieved. He did not recognize her until she changed her form to that which he recognized…dark hair and pale skin…she changed in an instant back to her true state, and said that his name and his blood were hers….and she reached for him with a terrible grip. Sabaa Daviida moved to save his son from this sudden beast, but when he went to call Doriaan’s name, he did not remember it, none of them did….Naaktii’s magic was in effect, and she presented images with her dark spells, of Doriaan’s mistakes, and he was weighted by it all, so heavy and tired of the fighting…there was no more fight left…already the ultimate price was paid…the truth exposed….the Shujaa could do nothing, as Naaktii dragged the son of Daviida away, to a realm out of reach of the honored and the living. 

SPECIAL THANKS TO RAINA MENNE/ NaNa Kailiwai for support in more than just styling, but in friendship and development! I love you Sissy!

The Tower of the Big Falaaya 

When Cleopatra arrived in Naas Durell with Kiiba, The Monkey King, and Mamushii, they rode into the city through the mouth of the bony skull, rising a small mountain’s height into the sky. They were perplexed by the quiet of the city. They rode their bikes through the streets, empty of all their usual ruckus and thoroughfare. Here, even the day was dark, as heavy, and thunderous, noxious clouds hung over the entirety of the city. They were passing through the streets, checking the corners and the shadows for any suspicious activity, but found no one, no monsters, no ghouls, no beasts...they pressed the brakes on their bikes to line up in a row at the center of the street, and Cleopatra turned to Mamushii, whose hair was cut low to her scalp and dyed lime green, etched with the symbols of her language by clippers. She carried her own prayer beads, similar to Cleopatra’s rosaries, around her hand and pressed against the bike’s handlebars.

“Not even the dead city is ever this...lifeless.” She said, and Cleopatra looked to the others for some sense. The days of the dead were well in sway, and there was no time to waste riding aimlessly across the city; endless in its twists and turns. They would risk getting ambushed, or worse, lost in the maze of concrete and shadow. Kiiba stepped off his bike and stood at the center of the street. He held up one of his hands tipped with claw like manicured nails, for silence, before he removed his brimmed hat from his head to reveal a pair of pointed ears, each moving independently as he listened, turning his head here and there, before he paused, and pointed,

“There’s noise to the south, though, I’m not sure if we should move toward it.” He said, and Cleopatra asked,

“What does it sound like?” Kiiba relayed that he heard guns, metal clashing, war cries and wails of agony and terror...the sounds of a fierce battle.

“I can smell the blood even from here.” He said, and Cleopatra adjusted on her bike, and revved it by twisting the handle bars..

“Let’s go.” She said, and the three other warriors glanced at each other wearily, but they were bound to their oaths to aid this woman who held the cards for their freedom. They followed, in the direction of the noise, passing beneath the arching bones of the fallen serpent’s skeleton, until they could hear the commotion ahead more clearly. The booms and shaking of explosions, the tinge of gasoline and fire smoke, the yells of rage and war. The streets were suddenly filling up with demons; all of them locked in chaotic conflict. They fought each other with the ferocity of the oldest enemies, and there were monstrous carcasses laid out through the streets trailing the ongoing bloodbath. The entirety of the city’s lower level was congregated in mass near the base of one of the snake skeleton’s arching bones, where along its ridges above, were the towers and grand palaces of Naas Durell’s demonic upper class. Cleopatra smelled whiskey as Mamushii took a long and hard swig from her flask. She was like Cleopatra, of mortal origins. She was not armed with super senses or cosmic strength as the fox and monkey spirits. She had only the trusted steel of the sword secure in its saya scabbard at her hip. Above them, winged bat demons, shadow dragons, and corpse birds were flying all around, picking off the many desperate souls who were trying to climb the arch to where the tower of the Big Falayaa stood above. Cleopatra took a deep breath before she heard Kiiba’s voice mock,

“Don’t tell me you thought we would be the only ones seeking the swords,” He laughed, “the whole damned city, from the highest tower to the lowest sewer rot has come to fight for their chance to attain or regain the painful miracle of mortal life...all of them desperate for that passage, maddened by the gamble.” He looked up to where the black stone pagoda of the Big Falayaa was just visible from their angle below. He said,

“We could try to fight our way through, with the rest. Our survival will be unlikely though, and even if by some miracle we were to live, by the time we forced our way through the streets, the days of the dead will have probably already passed.” Kiiba said. Cleopatra hated to admit that she was stumped, with no immediate solution to breaking through this obstacle to reach the tower...it was then that Son Goku rose his hand and pointed to the sky,

“Look there.” The group followed the direction of his gaze, to see a black aircraft descended from the arch. It was moving fast, blasting the flying beasts out its way with

explosives and missile bullets as it shot down to the ground level. Cleopatra and the others backed away their bikes to give the domed saucer, with a front welded to resemble the demon face of an Falayaa, space land on the street as it billowed dust and debris. The landing caught the attention of a band of werewolves and goblins nearby, who figured they might fare better if they could hijack this ship, and soon, others were noticing the same, and like a current, the demon hoard was rushing in from the surrounding streets. Without a second to lose, the ship’s guns emerged from their compartments at various spots across it, and bullets began to rain in a smoky onslaught against all those foolish enough to get within range. Cleopatra watched as the demons were brought down one after the other in bloody succession, before the front of the ship, the demon’s face which made the doors, opened by the lowering of the fanged jaws, mechanically to the ground. A moment later, a blue armored figure, with a mask like the ones which had been placed upon the three, stepped down the ramp, and called to Cleopatra and the others to board the ship.

“He works for the Big Falayaa, we can’t trust him!” Kiiba spoke through gritted teeth, and it was Mamushii who said, already in stride,

“We don’t have to trust him, but we do need to get up to that tower, or else we’ll be stuck here.”

“It could be a trap.” The Fox said, and Cleopatra said as she followed Mamushii’s lead to the ship,

“Most likely,” She and Mamushii walked ahead, and Son Goku followed, trailed by a reluctant Kiiba who could hardly bear the thought of stepping back into the Big Falayaa’s palace tower after spending thousands of years bound to his mask. But the verdict was in, trap or not, this was their surest and quickest way up there, be it a miracle, luck, or a potential sabotage. They all boarded the ship where there were two Black clad henchmen of the Big falayaa sitting at the flying seats. They raised the ship from the ground as the demon horde was rushing in, once enough of them had amassed to overwhelm the damage of the ship’s bullets. They flew into the air, and Cleopatra looked out the windshield at the full scope of the horde...the entire city was gathered like maggots at a giant carcass, fighting their way as far up the stairways of the arch as possible, before being beat down by the soldiers of the upper class.

 The ship flew over the still dark and twisted but opulent and decadent mansions and palaces atop the arch. The demons of the arches were the commanders of the riches, manifested by the trading and selling of stolen and captured souls. They turned their noses up at the violence of their subjects, without any real care for their own part to play in the misery which drove them to such rage and desperation to reach their upper levels. Cleopatra and the others were brought in the ship, to the entrance of the Falayaa’s multistoried pagoda tower fashioned with black gargoyles and jade eyed dragons. The tower was enveloped by shadow and heaviness which was felt as Cleopatra stepped from the aircraft onto the walkway leading to the tower’s entrance. There were many demons, of ancient and foul names who’d congregated at this palace, each with their own sick and twisted ploys to attain the star swords, so they might live as mortals in the world of the living...Many of them, carried on palanquins, and arriving in skeleton horse chariots, looking upon Cleopatra and the others with slitted eyes covered by dark veils, and all sorts of twisting and dark attire. Their language was a collection of inaudible hisses and clicks, harsh words of an imperial dialect taught by priests in the schools of Cleopatra’s past Sugar-Flow. 

Each of them was nobility in the city, high ranking lords of the shadow pit, emissaries of the ancient sickness, deliverers of plague, twisters of minds, liars to the core, murderers, and cheats to the bone. They’d arrived at the Big Onii’s tower with each of their own champions in tow, beings, who like the three had been, were bound to the subjugation of their master’s willful gambling obsessions. These monsters had arrived at this tower like rich men to the racetrack, as slave masters to the Mandingo ring, emperors to the gladiator arena, they slithered with anticipation for the competition, hopeful, that their own champions would win, and that they would be able to claim the ancient weapons and proceed through the portal to the world of the living to wreak what havoc they pleased there. At Cleopatra’s arrival, another minion of the Big Falayaa stepped outside to greet them, and they were led into the tower, through dark halls, to a room where they were told to wait for the next word.

Mamushii, Kiiba, and Son Goku were on edge, remembering the eons spent deep within the bondage of their own subconsciouses, as their bodies were used to inflict their skills and magics onto other lost souls in the Underworld. They sat stiffly, not wanting to touch anything. 

Cleopatra looked at Mamushii sitting with her eyes closed and humming deep and long chants to herself. Cleopatra looked down at the warrior nun’s sword, which she remembered from the past life, was called Sourukipa. The sword was enchanted and passed down through lineages of loyal and honor bound warriors before it landed in the hands of this woman. The mythos was that it was to remain sheathed except when most necessary, for when it was drawn it’s blade demanded a life, and if the blood debt was not paid, then by some stroke of fate, the wielder’s own loved one would inevitably fall by the very blade. Mamushii’s prayers were interrupted by the opening of the room’s bamboo door and the four of them were instructed to follow the tower’s masked minions through the halls all the way to a wide and open chamber; a dark and shadowy throne room where a council of slit eyed demons of various skin tones and snarling, hard featured and fanged faces sat around an open floor. Ahead at center was a blue skinned demon with horns protruding from his forehead and fangs curving longer than all the others. His eyes glowed like fire and he wore robes of ink black. There were veiled fems fanning him diligently before he swished them away with a flick of his broad and clawed hands. He was big bodied, broad shouldered, and thick necked with one hand pressed against his knee as he waited for Cleopatra and the others to make it close enough to his throne before they were stopped. The Big Falayaa made a low sound in his throat, and by some strange force still lingering over their souls, the three warriors bowed down, prostrating in unison, though each of them grimaced as if they were straining against the Big Falayaa’s magic. Cleopatra remained standing however, and when his minions moved to force her submission she shot them a look, fierce and subtle, and they recognized the protection of Jah Most High upon her form. They would not touch her without consent, for risk of bursting into damned flame. She looked the demonic warlord in his fiery orange eyes which narrowed at the sight of her mantles. He had not forgotten the sting of Oka Lusaa Ungo’s lightning and he wondered if this woman in red possessed similar power. He appraised her, still using his will power to force the three warriors into prostration.

“It is customary to bow before the lord of a house.” Big falayaa said, and Cleopatra replied,

“I bow to no one but God.” A shudder passed through the demon council and they hissed at the boldness of her words. But they saw the glint of her crimson dagger at her hip, and the shine of her gold jewelry. They would respect this guest, as would their master. The Big falayaa said then,

“You wear the face of the Kandakes,” He gestured to the three warriors with their palms and foreheads pressed to the ground by the heaviness of his shadow magic, “ yet you come with these insolent servants of mine; ancient enemies of your past life.” He said, and Cleopatra replied,

“Enemies of the past, accomplices of the present.” She projected her voice with intention toward Mamushii, Kiiba, and Son Goku,

“Rise.” At the utterance, each of them gasped as the weight of the Falayaa’s magic lifted from them, like pressure bursting through a torn seal, there was a gust of wind which flickered the candle flames and disrupted the rise of incense at the holders around the room. The Big Falaaya’s court gasped, though his eyes only narrowed, at the

force of Cleopatra’s voice overriding the will of his own spell, in his own house. He knew he would not subdue this woman by any force or violence of his own hand or conjure. He would have to evoke trickery and manipulation. He clapped his hands twice, and at once, the doors to the chamber were opened, and through them stepped a figure, dressed head to toe in veiled black lace. She walked forward, carrying a gilded silver case about a foot and a half across. She passed Cleopatra and the others and bowed steeply as she handed her master the case, which he took from her and dismissed her to walk out the room, shuffling backwards so as not to turn her back on him. It was only when the doors were shut that the Big Falaaya looked down from his raised dais and turned the case to Cleopatra. He opened it and the necks of all his court crooned to see the mystical keys to passage. Curve handled and silver, etched with intricate designs and laid with brilliant crystals, diamonds and stones, were the coveted handles of the Star Swords of Princess Niikanaaktkin. Right there, in front of her. Even Cleopatra could not help the thought...that perhaps she could destroy this whole tower and simply take the swords...her sense told her better though, and she dismissed that folly which had belonged to her primary lives. Her mind was ancient then, and dutifully wiser, more patient. She looked at the Big Falaaya and raised her brow,

“Are you offering them to me?” She asked, and the Big Falaaya closed the case and clasped the lock shut, before shrugging,

“I could be. I am a pillar of business in this wonderful disaster of a city. A destroyer and consumer of souls yes, but a breaker of my word, no. It is why I was entrusted by fate to hold the swords, though I was given no bounds on how I might horde or part with them. But since you are here, and you have brought treasures,” he glanced at the three, “quite precious to me, I will offer you a deal. Leave my servants here, within my rightful ownership, and the swords are yours.” He said, and the three shifted with a sudden nervousness. Even Kiiba’s usual smugness was replaced by a hard lined pleading expression.

“You would give me the swords just like that. No interference with my crossing through the portal or anything?” She asked, and Mamushii touched her fingers to her armor above where her heart was,

“Kandake...” Cleopatra ignored them all though, keeping her eyes focused on the Big Falaaya who nodded with a grunt of affirmation,

“Hmmm, not only would I not interfere, but I would personally see to it that you passed safely through.” Cleopatra considered this demon’s offer, and perhaps, in her past lives, she may have taken the deal. But her senses beckoned her consideration...what fate were these three warriors so connected to, what power was so intrinsic, that the Big Falaaya would trade them for instruments of resurrection? Cleopatra looked at who’d killed her past life, Shanakdekheto, for the very swords being used to bargain for their slavery to the Big Falaayaa. But, there was something about the ease he proposed, in that space as heavy as a mountain with darkness, that sent a tingle up her spine. She knew well that no triumph worth winning was to be earned with tainted and immoral ease. He thought to make Cleopatra into a cheat; compromise her spirit so he might gain some hold over her the instant a deal was struck. She stood with her head held high though, because even demons as big and rough as the Big Falaaya, with their reign supreme over dimensions such as Naas Durell, still had their limits when they challenged the sense God gave all his children.

“I was told there would be a competition for the Star Swords. I’ve not come so far just to miss out.” Cleopatra said, to the shocked expressions of the three at her sides. The Falaaya growled his displeasure but could not dispute.

“If you wish to die for petty honor and misplaced loyalty to these rats, then so be it.” He said, sliding the case with the sword hilts into the black folds of his robes.

“The competition will begin at midnight and will commence before or until the last second of the last day of the dead, depending on when the victor stands supreme over all other challengers. You may have thought that horde beneath us was a threat, but they are maggots and flies compared to the legion which has journeyed from all the corners of this shadow realm for the chance to taste the sweetness of a soul’s breath in true sunlight without disintegrating. They are all as hungry, as motivated, and as tied by destiny to the swords as any of you.” The Big Falaaya dismissed them with his ringed hand, and Cleopatra and the others were led from the throne room. As they walked down the hall, Cleopatra heard Mamushii say,

“Thank you, for honoring us.” Cleopatra turned to her, and said,

“I was not honoring you, Mamushii. I was honoring myself. I haven’t come this far just to be trapped in this hell by such a foolish mistake as a betrayal.”

“No,” Mamushii said, “no, I guess you wouldn’t. Not after everything.” Cleopatra drew a deep breath of memories.

“ No indeed, especially, not after everything.”

The Star Swords 

The competition for the Star Swords was held in a wide open room, with a raised wooden platform. All around, sat the most powerful demons of the Dead City’s upper class; fallen angels, the most ancient of vampires, world destroying extra-terrestrials, entities who craved blood and tainted innocence. They all sat around the room, dressed in black and watched as their own champions stepped to the podium, armored and armed. They’d chosen fierce figures; vengeful, war scarred and highly skilled in combat. The fights began and passed in blurs, as steadily, Cleopatra and the three fought with their sacred weapons against the demon’s champions. They beat every challenger, by the power of true ferocity and the light of their true souls. Opponents fell hard at the ark of Cleopatra’s spear and fear was clear in their eyes as they faced her, one by one, to be knocked down by the might of all her past lives balanced in this one. 

She was a warrior, with no anxiety of defeat, and no doubts that she had the power to at the very least, leave this horde with violence they would never forget. By her ferocity and calm skill, her name would forever more make this dark council shudder. The Big Falaaya had watched on as the fights progressed, tensed at the edge of his seat every time Cleopatra, or one of the three achieved victory and passed to the next round. Kiiba was formidable with his quick fox reflexives; twisting and turning, slipping in and out of reach, flexible to the ground, and acrobatically through the air, his butterfly knives sliced with utmost efficiency. Son Goku’s power felt like a ripple through the whole tower when he stepped onto the floor, adorned for the first time after thousands of years, in his true armor of red and gold, with his crimson and gold gilded staff to match. He was the Monkey King, with power now unsubdued as it had been under the Falaaya’s will. He swung his staff with enough force to crack skulls. One strike landed on his enemies, and every bone in the body shattered like dominoes falling. Then there was Mamushii, wielder of the katana of her fallen husband. She was practical in her movements, hypnotizing in her eyes like a cobra. She made few movements, drawing her sword only at the precise moment that her feet shifted with solid stamps against the wood, and she would cry out like a fierce dragon as her sword would sing the splattering of blood. Her blade was already returning to its scabbard as her enemies fell. The four of them could not be stopped by the worst the Underworld had to offer, until, after hours of fighting, with their muscles sore and their breaths hitching, all who were left to compete were the four of them. Big Falaaya clapped his hands, slow and resounding.

“Congratulations, you all have defeated every challenger worthy enough to step within this tower. Now, the question stands, which one of you shall claim the swords?” Cleopatra glanced at her allies, at this moment they all had known was coming, but had

not discussed. Fears, anxieties, and doubts, naturally passed through the expressions of each. Would Cleopatra keep her word? If one of the three won, would they free the others? Each of them had found themselves bound to this dimension by their pursuits in the world they’d been barred from...they each sought the star swords once, for power, revenge, and love...now they were at this precipice again. It was Cleopatra who spoke,

“The deal between us was that you’d help me to retrieve the swords. Well, to rightfully claim them, then I must win them, don’t I? Fairly? That’s the thing to break the Falaaya’s hold, I’m sure. Fight me, full might against full might, and win if you can, and honor the loss, if you can’t, as the three of you did not before. You want to be free,” Cleopatra said, rising to the wooden floor platform, still splattered with blood.

“Then fight me, with everything you have.” She knew this was the way, the warrior’s way. To feel secure in her passage, she would have to defeat these three beings with her own strength, only then could she be sure she deserved the honor that might otherwise belong to someone else, someone more worthy. Cleopatra raised her spear to the first of her challengers.

Kiiba battled her first, then, as in an age past, when he’d attacked Shanakdekheto at the mountain temple. As Cleopatra fought him, she saw his distant past flash as a vision; a young prince, hunting stags on horseback through a green forest, when he came upon a fox with fur, golden and shimmering like the sun. He’d strung his arrow in the excitement of the moment. He was so eager to show off his prize to his court. His arrow flew into the heart of the vixen, who cried out to the kits who were just on their first day out with their mother in the spring...too late, Prince Kiiba realized his error, and the fox’s spirit rose from her body, fierce with nine tails of fire, and plunged deep through Kiiba’s own soul. His form was cursed forever more, to walk the earth, half human and half fox, and die, one era after another, reincarnated across no less than eight lifetimes of varying years, until he could redeem himself by an honorable action...his curse entailed, that if he died in his ninth incarnation, without achieving redemption, then he would be bound to the mutated fox form for all time with no relief of death. By his eighth life, he’d grown bitter with immortality, and cruel with mischief. He knew a high court of Fire Birds were in search of the Star Princess’s lost swords and he set out to find the weapons just to spite the royals and sew chaos through the lands. He found the sword at the same time as Shanakdekheto, and he fought her for them, and was beaten. But he could not accept defeat, and in dishonor, he harmed Shanakdekheto’s form with sneakiness and malice, and in the ruin of his actions, his soul was found, and bound by the Big Falaaya. Now, he fought Cleopatra, this ninth incarnation of the Kandake spirit, to mirror his own Ninth life, and by the force of their blows, he felt truth pouring into his spirit again. The redemption of honor was bestowed by Cleopatra’s prowess in battle balanced by his bravery and courage to face it...as they fought for their own desires as well as in support of the each other’s destinies, not as hateful adversaries, but as mutually respected opponents, Prince Kiiba felt his spirit alchemizing at once. He began to glow with blue light as the fox's ears and whiskers and claws disintegrated, and made clear the body of a man...a man, who smiled, at peace when the mortal blow of Cleopatra’s spear landed. His body turned to glowing embers, and free was he, at last.

Next, was Son Goku; the Monkey King whose power was legendary and his wit mighty though his face, and his skin were furred, his mouth large toothed and his ears wide disks like the macaques he was sovereign over. He’d grown up in a jungle kingdom, trained by the grand masters for war, but still, this being of many talents and victories could not secure the affection of the Fem Phoenix who was a princess of the Ido Islands. She would not see past his looks to subject her flesh to the press of his primate hands, unless he could accomplish the impossible, and retrieve for her the Star Swords of Niikanaatkin so she might use them fiercely in battle. Only then would she permit him at her side. It was by this condition that Son Goku embarked on his mission to the mountain temple where he came upon the battle between the Fox and the Kandake, and as soon as the fox fell, Son Goku lept with his staff crashing down. As the fox however, he was outmaneuvered by the primed prowess of the Black queen; daughter of the Nile who walked as rainbow weaver and cracker of thunder. She pressed his form beneath her foot and demanded his submission, but he too, so distraught in his desperate love for the phoenix who flew high above his reach, betrayed her victory and harmed her form, before he too was found in the ruin of his wrath by the Big Falaaya. Now, at the tower, it was he Cleopatra fought, and their collision was as two suns converging and combusting. Their fighting styles between spear and staff were so similar, but this woman, with her darkened skin and amber eyes was strong with some old favor of fate, and she beat him, with a slash across his furred throat, and he rested in his defeat, easy as his form transformed in red embers, freed at last from his heart’s long suffering.

Next, was Mamushii, whose life had been fated to intertwine with the others as if written by a poet...She was born to a noble house in an Ido island kingdom which served the royal phoenixes most diligently. She was raised up for her beauty and her grace and the subtle pace of her practiced footsteps and soft words. She was a mistress of the arts and quiet knowledge appropriate for women in her time, and in her eyes did a young man of the warrior class find his desire for marriage. He took her hand and made her his wife and she went to live with him at his own family’s estate. But as the Phoenix's dynasty began to unravel, letters traveled by raven feather to her husband’s keep, and he was called off to war where he was brought down by his enemies, failing to serve the phoenixes he’d pledged his sword too. News of her husband’s death was brought back to her with his family’s sword, with no sons to inherit it, the souls which were claimed by its blade were now hers to mind. In her grief, she fell into heavy drinking and wandered wobbly to a praying and chanting nunnery. One of the nuns was a warrior who taught her to fight, and she renamed herself Mamushii; the viper, swearing to restore her husband’s honor when she caught news that the Phoenixes had set out a bounty for the Star Swords to be returned...By then she’d shaved her hair off and rid herself of her titles and earthly possessions...but she still had the sword and she still felt her husband’s spirit; restless...if she could just redeem his failure on the battlefield, then she could know without any doubt that he was at peace. So, her own journey brought her also to the mountain where she met the dark-skinned woman who said she was a ruler of a kingdom on a river where they mapped the stars with their pyramid temples. They talked and shared their stories and agreed to share the glory, that they would each have a blade to keep if they made it back down the mountain together. Mamushii agreed, making the pact, but when the time came, Mamushii thought of her husband and the details of the bounty...how could she bring back just one sword? She told Shanakdekheto she’d changed her mind; the swords would have to be claimed as a pair, or not at all. She fought the Kandake at the mountain temple, and she too fell at the blessed woman’s spear, but by her grief and fear, it was she who rose with her sword which demanded blood shed at the draw, and she took Shanakdekheto’s life...regretting it all too late, when she, Kiiba, and Son Goku all fell to each other’s desperation, and were gathered collectively by the Falaaya demon, to serve as his own coveted assassins and spies for all time.

Now, she and Cleopatra fought, with vigor and passion, neither willing to yield. Mamushii still had a husband to redeem, and Cleopatra had a life to reclaim. They battled, and both endured cuts and broken bones. They breathed heavily as they faced each other above the blood-stained floor. Mamushii tightened her grip on her husband’s sword. She shifted forward, but one misstep was all it took for Cleopatra to spin, and change her spear back to its dagger form, and through a chink in Mamushii’s armor was the dagger plunged. Mamushii’s face was close to Cleopatra’s at this last moment, and they locked eyes. She said she was sorry for her ancient betrayal, and Cleopatra insisted all was forgiven by the truth of her mirrored ferocity in this very battle. Mamushii placed the hilt of her sword in Cleopatra’s hand, insisting that her husband’s heirloom be passed to a worthy owner, before reminding Cleopatra that its blade demanded life at the draw. Cleopatra stepped back and with a swift and skillful cut, she severed Mamushii’s head from her shoulders and her form too, shifted in green embers. Free at last. Cleopatra stood there, breathing hard, with blood on her hands. She rose Mamushii’s sword to where the Big Falaaya sat watching her,

“The Star Swords, hand them over.” She said, and the Big Falaaya didn’t protest as she stepped forward. The demons who’d gathered to watch the battles cowered from her steps. The Big Falaaya, unhappy about losing his would-be slaves, handed over the case, grudgingly. 

Cleopatra was just about to take the box when she heard the doors to the chamber open, and felt the warmth of light on the back of her neck as the dark space was illuminated. The Big Falaaya and the other demons hissed and cowered to the cover of the shadows to escape the light emanating from the door-way. 

Cleopatra turned around to see, of all people, the one she’d least expected. Naanii Khaalii, dressed in their fire glowing armor, stepped into the space, carrying a sword with a golden eagle hilt. She walked into the chamber and the demons of the Underworld could not bear to look upon the brilliance of her form. Cleopatra was the only one to bear the light of that unsubdued radiance. She could feel the pulse of Naanii’s power on her own heart, and she was wrapped suddenly, as always, by the comfortable whelming of the phoenix’s energy, embracing her even before they touched. Naanii Khaalii looked at Cleopatra, the blood spilled, the sword in her hand and the dagger on the floor. She’d beaten them all, and she was beautiful as ever. Naanii knew this was not the shy Elaine of the past, this was Cleopatra, the Ninth Kandake.

“Naanii...” Cleopatra said, and Naanii looked at the box in Cleopatra’s hands, 

“You haven’t earned those swords.” She said, and Cleopatra raised a brow,

“Haven’t I?” Naanii Khaalii shook her head, slowly,

“Your strength was tested against everyone but the strongest of this realm.” Naanii said, before drawing their own sword, crimson bladed from its jeweled sheath.

“You cannot expect me to fight you Naanii.” Cleopatra said, and Naanii was all seriousness when she replied,

“Those swords belong in the hands of someone powerful enough to wield them, and to protect them. If you can defeat me, then you deserve them. If not, then I’ll keep them.” Cleopatra drew in a breath, looking over the face of the phoenix who she loved so much, and at that same moment wanted to hate,

“You know the swords are my way back. You’d take that from me?”

“This isn’t about us. It’s about cosmic law.”

“Sure, Naanii Khaalii. Certainly, it has nothing to do with you wanting to keep me from resurrecting, so I can stay here with you.” Cleopatra said, and for a second, Naanii’s eyes softened,

“Would that really be so bad?” Cleopatra’s heart was near to jump out her chest. Why was Naanii Khaalii making this harder than it had to be.

“No, it wouldn’t be bad at all. It would probably be so sweet, and calm, and peaceful, and safe. But I know, as well as you do, that’s not my destiny.” She said, and Naanii, rebellious to the end said,

“Then prove it,” She lifted her sword to the box holding Niikanaatkin’s blades,

“Don’t leave me here with any regrets for how I couldn’t get you to stay. Fight me, with all your might, and I’ll do the same, as did the three. Fight me, and we’ll know for certain, which path is your destiny.” Cleopatra shook with the tears streaming down her cheeks, and she turned around, pressing her hand to her stomach, and taking a deep breath. She sheathed Mamushii’s sword, and clipped her red dagger back at her hip, before she placed the box on the floor, and drew the swords. One hilt longer than the other. She felt the star energy inside of them, and by her will, they ignited; two curved blades of a longer and shorter length of glowing and shifting light. Naanii thought again, that Cleopatra was more beautiful than any being she’d ever seen. 

Without warning, Naanii Khaalii bound forward, swinging her sword with full force and releasing tendrils of flame that arced out and caught on the walls of the room. Cleopatra leaned back out the sword's reach and swung the star swords to match Naanii’s force with her own as the demons scrambled from the spreading fire. She blocked and pivoted, spun, and dodged, channeling all her strength which was left to counter Naanii Khaalii’s heavy blows. The Sun spirit was fighting to keep Cleopatra in the Underworld, and Cleopatra was fighting to get out of it. The blazing fire of the space reflected the torrent of their emotions raging. Naanii held back none of their spiritual power and Cleopatra moved with a lioness’s ferocity, fighting harder and better the more Naanii tried to force her into submission. The two swords, one long and the other short, made for a good maneuverability as she could ignite and retract the blades of energy at will. She moved like a twister, until she found her opening, and she brought the long blade whizzing through the air...she stopped it, a mere millimeter from Naanii’s throat. Naanii Khaalii paused; she’d been about to raise her sword, but wasn’t fast enough. She registered the heat of the star sword, and looked into Cleopatra’s eyes...Cleopatra had won, and she took shallow breaths with her whole body pulsing. Naanii’s fierceness left her eyes, as her expression suddenly became one of bittersweet acceptance.

 The Sun Spirit had been beaten, fairly and justly, by the shear force of Cleopatra’s power. She lowered her sword in yielding, and Cleopatra retracted the Star Swords’ blade, before she felt her strength slipping from her body. She was spent, and at once, she felt the energy leave her body as she went faint. She registered a flash of visions after that; Naanii Khaalii lifting her up into her arms, her change into a firebird, cradling Cleopatra in her talons, the sight of the Big Falaaya’s tower in flames, disintegrating and plummeting from the curve of the serpent’s rib cage...there was a long time of darkness after that, and when her eyes opened again, she was lying in a bed...her bed, at the Temple of Omoyaa. The room smelled of frankincense, and she registered the feel of a hand, grazing her scalp gently. She turned, to meet the eyes of Naanii, at her bedside, wearing a black tank top and sweatpants. Cleopatra narrowed her eyes and said,

“I beat you.” Naanii laughed and nodded her head in submission,

“Yes, you did.” Naanii stood, and went to the coffee table, to bring back some herb tea for Cleopatra to drink. Cleopatra pushed herself up on sore arms, before noticing the Star Swords on the nightstand. She’d done it, she’d really done it. She took the tea from Naanii and drank. The Sun Spirit sat at the edge of the bed and took a deep breath to know these were some of the last moments she’d share with her love like this.

“I’m sorry.” She said and Cleopatra looked at her for a second before saying, 

“You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“I tried to keep you here.”

“Part of me wanted you to succeed...that’s why it was so damn scary when you walked through that door.” Cleopatra said and Naanii laughed, almost in tears. She looked away. Cleopatra placed down the teacup, and shifted close to Naanii Khaalii, resting her head on her shoulder and reaching for her hand covered in tattoos, as was all exposed skin from their face, down their neck and across their arms, and shoulders. 

“Can I tell you something?” Naanii asked and Cleopatra consented with her awaiting silence. Naanii went on,

“I’m afraid to let you go, but my love for you overrides that fear, so I’ll let you fly, Red Bird. But you just remember,” Cleopatra was already shedding tears, shifting to

wrap her arms around Naanii Khaalii, who thumbed her shoulders, and stroked their fingers through her locks,

“When the sun rises, I’ll be looking for your smile in the light. When the cardinals sing, I’m sending you love letters. When you think no one loves you or wants you, know that I won’t stop. I won’t forget. I won’t lose this feeling, for as long as you live, and probably for ages after. I’m going to hold you so deep in my heart, that if you can find no other home, there will always be one for you within my temple. There is always warmth for you from my fire, always shining onto your crops and your trees. I’ll always send a bit of extra love to your seeds. Don’t think, just because you’re not giving me what I want, that I’m going to stop loving you, because it’s by that very insistence to do as you damn well please in spite of me or anybody else, that makes my heart beat for you in the softest way...when I have to be tough with everyone else, I know your heart is the safe space for my tender prayers. I got a little ungrateful, sick to have to let you go back, but I can’t say I don’t feel blessed, for the time we’ve had here...” Cleopatra rose, and held Naanii’s face in her hands and the phoenix asked,

“It was a good time, right?” Cleopatra laughed her tears, and rolled her eyes,

“The best.” She and Naanii kissed, long and deep, and their hands ran all up and down each other, shifting from firm presses to soft grazes. Naanii kissed her neck, and Cleopatra arched at the lick of fire. Her breath hitched with climax, before a long rest. It was sometime in the night when Naanii leaned over Cleopatra, sleeping so peacefully, and kissed her once on the chin, once on the cheek, and finally on her forehead… and just like that Cleopatra was sent coursing through a portal, like riding a boat down a lazy stream, into a bright light....

Elaine opened her eyes to an older man in a suit, standing over her. Her eyes widened with shock, and so did his, and he cried out, sprawling back. Elaine looked up to see the ceiling of a church chapel painted with fair skinned saints and angels. Her hands were cradling a bouquet of flowers she hated, and her ruby rosary beads were resting around her thumb and fingers. There was ruckus in the space, and just as she rose she saw the face of her father...he was rushing to her casket at the ridiculous suggestion by his cousin that his daughter was…

“Alive...you’re alive.” Her brown skinned father paled gray, and Elaine looked around...then down at her legs, tucked under the closed half of the casket. She didn’t know what was worse, the ugly bouquet, or the fact that they were burying her in white lace ruffles. She looked out at the pews of the church where the residents of Sugar Flow were bursting at the seams with fear and theatrics, many of them running out the church. Elaine caught sight of her mother, feinted against the front pew. She started to pull herself out the casket,

“You’re alive,” Her father was still repeating, and Elaine looked at him, regaining memories by the second...she crawled out the casket, pulling at the tight fabric, and wiping off layers of the heavy make-up applied by the morticians.

“No thanks to you,” she said, standing as the church cleared out. The priest had grabbed his bible and was praying in ancient Latin, aiming his crucifix at her.

“I’m not the one who needs it.” Elaine said, still regaining her bearings...she paused, looking her father in his shaky eyes,

“How did you lie about it, Daddy?” Elaine asked, and Idris’s eyes veered nervously at the priest,

“What...what are you talking about?” Elaine shook her head and laughed, stepping forward, and her father stepped back too as her mother slowly came to, her eyes wide at the sight of her just dead daughter, walking upright down the church aisle.

“The knife, you stuck in my side. How did you lie about it? I’m guessing you didn’t say I committed suicide or else I wouldn’t be having a funeral in this church.” Elaine’s mother began to scream, and the sound was disorienting. Elaine put her hand to her temple as her father called out,

“Witchcraft! I knew you was of the devil, I always knew it!” He said, and Elaine spoke back, still trying to recall her memories, resting in her mind like a vast dream one can’t grasp,

“It takes one to know one,” she said, and before she knew it, she felt her father’s hands around her throat, and she braced against his hold as he drove her backwards,

“Daddy,” She croaked out, hitting his arms, but he was strong as he choked her...he was trying to force her back into the casket,

“My daughter is dead...aint no voodoo bringing her back.” Elaine’s body was bent over the coffin side, and she struggled for air by the clasp of her father’s hands...she held on to her grandmother’s rosaries, still tight in her hand, as her blurring eyes found a statue of the Sacred Madonna, carved of marble, painted with pale skin, with a blond haired, blue eyed baby at her hip...but she prayed still, to that holy woman, that figure like her people’s north star through the darkness...she was losing breath, with her eyes on the statue, counting down the seconds before she would slip into oblivion...that’s when the church shook with a thunderous sound.

The doors of the entrance were knocked right from their hinges, and they flew right across the church and crashed into the statues near the altar, sending the priest ducking, and running out the way. Idris was so startled he let loose his hold on Elaine’s

throat, to turn toward the bright light, filling up the entrance totally. Elaine caught her breath, her hands on her throat as she watched a figure step through. She wore a fit of all blue, with blue eyes etched up and down the fabric. Her hair was spiked all around and she carried a star sword with a beaming blue blade. After her, was the entrance of another, dressed in silver hues, with a winged headpiece wrapping around the back of their head. She carried a sword of amethyst hue. They both glowed with shimmering light. Elaine saw the shadow of invisible feathered wings cast against the chapel by the light. Finally, a figure stepped through the entrance, dressed head to toe in deep blues, from her scarved and veiled head, to her long blue dress, fitted to her thick and tall body. She wore a golden crown, laid with rubies, sapphires, and diamonds. She was of dark skin like Elaine and carried on her hip a child of a similar complexion...a toddler, with calm eyes, hanging onto her. Elaine looked from the broken marble head of the Madonna statue, and then back to the face of this black woman, stepping down the aisle with her son on her hip. She stood at the aisle’s end, where Elaine’s father looked up at her, stupefied, and her mother had fainted once again. The woman looked past Elaine’s parents, to her, before the queen in blue said,

“What is your name?  Elaine shook with nerves, before she croaked out,

“E...Elaine...” The Madonna’s hand remained extended though her eyes reflected a waiting pause,

“I asked you, what is your name?” The Madonna repeated. At the second iteration of the question Elaine started to understand and she looked deep within herself. She took a deep breath, before she walked back to her open casket, looked inside, and  felt beneath the cushion and material for a large case which had been placed beneath her by who knows. She opened the case to find the pieces from her dream...remembered then, and she understood suddenly, to not be dreams at all. She placed on her earned golden mantles as her father watched her, illuminated by the white light still pouring in from the church’s entry and all the windows, of which the glass had broken. She held the star swords in her hands, looking over them, and suddenly it all rushed back to her. Her death, her passage, her spiritual alchemies, her battles...the love she’d known for the sun spirit. She turned back to the Madonna, and she felt the familiar weight of her earned awareness and her alignments. She closed her eyes and prayed to the lord above, and to the energies of the holy book by which these walls were founded, though its attendees may not always have been just in their delivery of its texts...she thumbed her rosary beads in thanks before she spoke,

“I proclaim my name,” At once, the white dress began to burn away with a fire which did not burn her skin. The fire burned still, and over Cleopatra’s skin manifested a suit of red scaled armor, “Daughter of the Nile, Mother of Kush, Holder of the Sun’s Heart, the crimson feather’s wing, guardian of Nubia, slayer of demons, reborn of the Underworld. I am Cleopatra Elaine Omoyaa, the Ninth Kandake.” By the speaking of her name, Cleopatra breathed in deep, and looked at her father and mother, before she

stepped ahead, to leave them to their own trials to pass. She followed the Madonna and her angel guards down the aisle of the church, and through the bright light, to the dimension of a different life.

Nas Durell came into view from a distance, a lonely glow of green light in an overwhelm of darkness. Elaine could make out the height of looming structures above dark tree lines. The nearer the train got, the clearer the details of the city became, as the swamp-scape dissolved into the edges of a city; its outskirts were shacks and bridges and boats stationed over foggy waters. The train continued on, and Elaine started to see the city was immense; a metropolis beyond anything she’d ever seen in the living world. Naas Durell stretched around, along, and alop a titanic center structure; the curved bones of a massive snake skeleton. The train entered right through the fanged maw and the tracks rattled as Elaine looked out the window at the dark mega city... Nas Durell was a realm of shadows and cutthroats, mercenaries and thieves, monsters, and ghouls. Elaine leaned against a window to observe the passing corridors of cobble stone and concrete carved up by the criss-cross of bridges over dark water canals. There was no sun or moon in this realm; all light in Naas Durell was gaseous, chemical, and electric. The smell of exhaust, swamp water, and waste permeated everything. Blood suckers walked the streets with no need to hide their fangs and cower from any sun. Changelings stalked about. Goblins and ghouls and all manner of terrors were settled there. Witches and fish folk and entities of ancient illnesses, the walking dead… swarms of rats and roaches in the sewers, wailing ghosts and demonic crime lords whose economy was the buying and selling of lost souls. It was a dreadful and woeful place. 

Elaine thought too late, that maybe she’d chosen wrong. Naas Durell was the city of the monstrous dead. Mortal souls like herself, entered at personal peril. Stakes were high for those vulnerable to damnation. Their frantic struggles made them susceptible to the pricks and prods of the horde of demonic aristocrats and warlords which ruled this festering sector of the underworld. Still, a place as hellish as Naas Durell was more bearable to some than the unpredictable potentials of oblivion beyond by the weighing of the feather on the scale. Souls unsure of themselves in death, fearing hellscapes found sanctuary in the shadows of Naas Durell. They stood their chances, even when they were ever slight, of forging their own destinies back to some vestige of control...Naas Durell bid them time to linger for as long as possible. Some who ventured to the Dead City were of such desperation to realize all too late that the troubles of their mortal lives were no worse than the wilderness of this dark dimension where the demons followed few rules and respected fewer prayers. A unprepared soul would find itself so riddled with fear, that it would sell itself to the first trickster to offer relief...and that was indeed a terrible reality, to be bound to the will of a demon in the city of the dead, where no one and nothing could save you once your pen signed a contract… 

All of this Elaine would come to learn for herself, but just then, she was pulling into the train station for the first time. It was all messed up with graffiti of ghouls and goblins. There was a mass of mischief makers getting on as she was getting off. They wore black leather and stark make up, spiked jewelry, and skull bracelets. Their skin was every hue except those natural for living humans; from blue, to pink, to green, and red; some of them had horns jutting from their temples, others had frills like fish fins, with fanged teeth and forked tongues. They laughed at Elaine as she stepped off the train at the conductor’s command with nothing but her rosary beads and the clothes she wore. The dead city was ironically busy with activity. Hustle was the great competition and pulse. The water ways were edged by merchants and traders, sellers and beggars. There were many brothels and fighting rings, auction blocks and gambling halls. Of Naas Durell’s occupants, Elaine noted that some she saw passing appeared like her, human…though their eye sockets were so sunken, their expressions so lifeless. She did not know it, but these were victims the slave trade of Naas Durell; a host of mortal ghosts who’d sold their souls to later be trafficked into bondage to the authority of the highest-ranking demons of the city.

Elaine trusted her intuition, to not ask anyone there for guidance. She clung to the shadows, and remained as inconspicuous as possible. She searched for nowhere in particular...she had no idea where she was going and the city was so big that so much looked different and simultaneously the same. She trekked until her feet began to hurt, seeming to be no closer to any salvation. She registered the glowing eyes which blinked in the dark as she passed certain streets and buildings...there were street lights but still, everything was so dark and the shadows so immense and powerful that the light barely illuminated the base of the buildings. She heard whispers and foul words in dark languages. There was the menacing laughter of troublesome children and the sound of feet dragging against concrete. She heard the heaviness of something big running through the dark. She heard growls and gurgles, moans of yearning and wailings of sorrow...but she kept walking in the light of the street, following the yellow rungs of the cracked concrete as behind her the shadows began to pierce the light. The monsters in the dark began to surround her as they smelled her growing fear. They were attracted by the now loud thump of her heart...she felt them near and heard them close. She was shaking as she hastened her steps. Between constantly looking back and the haziness of her adrenaline there was a moment where she tripped and hit the ground and scraped her hand...it started bleeding where the skin tore and she didn’t have to see them in the light to know the monsters were salivating...they were approaching and she felt their presences by the static on her skin. She watched as feet and hands, and the edges of faces were near to stepping from the shadows...before there was a rattling hiss of a sound…a the breath of a growling rumble. The entities who’d been stalking her suddenly retreated back into the shadows. Elaine held her breath, as a strange fog rolled in. She felt a tingle up her spine. 

She turned around to face the approach of a figure through the fog. This entity seemed no less than twelve feet tall. His hands were massive and his fingers were tipped with claws. He wore a helm over what seemed to be horns jutting from his temples. Across his face was a mask, the same crimson as his armor, in the shape of a fang and tusked mouth. He lifted his head to reveal eyes that glowed red like heated metal. He had long black hair, breaded like the mane of a lion behind his wide shoulders. Elaine thought the ground might shake when he stepped forward, but his gate was quiet…as the fog shifted, two more figures, similar in size and shape and uniform to the one at center revealed themselves, though one wore grey while the other wore bone ivory. They each held large weapons of sharp steel, iron, and wood as they made their bodies as obstacles to her escape. She was suddenly cornered with the shadows at her back and these demons which had scared them into submission at her front. She breathed in deep with nothing to arm herself but prayer and her rosary beads...would this be the end? The red armored monster raised one of his meaty hands to his face, and he lifted his mask, to reveal a face, just as terrible…he was a Falayaa, a fierce tusked ogre, one of many who dwelled in this realm. He looked upon Elaine in inspection before he spoke, 

“You pass through my territory human, yet I've not received such a tax as would earn you the privilege to stumble about without supervision or jurisdiction. Trespassing is no light offense here” his free hand came to rest on the hilt of his supersized machete,

“What is your business?” He asked, and Elaine replied, 

“I have none…i’m just…finding my way…” At that, the falayaa ogre chuckled, 

“None find themselves here without business…you’re finding your way? So are countless other unfortunates…” He took a stride forward and then half of another, and he was right in front of her. He smelled of musk and blood as he knelt down to inspect her. Elaine held her nerve and did not flinch as he lifted his clawed finger, as if he’d touch her… but his claw just came within inches of her, before he stood back to full height, and proceeded to circle her… evaluating her form. He hummed the pleasure of his invasive observations. Elaine felt like he was touching her fouly, not with his hands, but with his dark energy. 

“You do not find your way in Naas Durell girl, you earn it…” As he said the words, Elaine noticed a talisman worn as a necklace by the Falayaa…it was red like the rest of his suit, and it glowed faintly. She noticed the other two wore similar talismans, like marbles, one green and one blue. 

“With what?” Elaine asked…

“The currency of the shadows,” The Falayaa unsheathed his sword, and made a show of its blade’s edge…it had not been washed of the blood of its last victim, “submission.” The word in his voice was unsettling, and Elaine took a deep breath, as he continued, 

“You won’t last very long out here on your own. You need protection…protection which I could provide…for a small fee…tell me, what is your name?” 

“What is yours?” Elaine asked, and the Falayaa bared his fangs in a grimace she realized, was something like a smile…but full of warning and edge, 

“I am Ytkaa Tuk, son of the great Chief of Chiefs, Big Falayaa Kortuga. These are my brothers.” The two other Falayaa made subtle gestures of acknowledgement. Elaine was not certain of much, but her intuition was strong. She said, 

“I will not tell you my name.” Ytkaa Tuk’s grip on his machete tightened, 

“Mmmmm… I’m afraid i’ve no incentive to protect you then,” He took a step back, to signal to the horde of creatures who clung to the shadow, that they might creep forth once again… Elaine understood then, that the ogres would allow her to be devoured, if she did not submit her name as an exchange for their protection. She had no tools to defend herself. She prepared for her doom… that was when she heard from far off, a sound that pulsed the shadows with alarm. The three ogres shifted, looking up at the sky as clouds gathered, rumbling thunder and crackling lightning. Elaine turned her ear to the unmistakable long song of howling wolves. Elaine caught a glimpse of what lurked in the shadows when lightning flashed and she saw the horde of demons scurrying off like rats and roaches back to their alleys and sewer hiding places. They feared whatever was coming more than they abided the will of the Falayaa, who shifted with anticipation. The three demons readied themselves as they heard the snarls of wolves and and saw the flash of furred forms. Elaine remained still, as the pack materialized from the shadow. Large wolves with as many color variations in their fur as was possible revealed themselves. They surrounded Elaine and the Falayaa, in the same way they might trap  prey. The wolves bared their teeth and the hair on their necks and backs were raised. Elaine had just been preparing for one sort of violence, now she was anxious to be dismembered by the teeth of a wolf pack… she considered that there might be some sort of turf war here that she was caught in the middle of. Ytkaa Tuk and his brothers readied their stances for a fight… Elaine thought it strange though…the massive ogres were armed…they didn’t seem like they should fear these animals… but the snarls of the wolves made the three of them huddle close together… it wasn’t until one of the wolves stepped forward from the rest of the pack, that Elaine found some understanding. 

It was a golden eyed one among them, a she-wolf who walked forward, whose form glowed with star light as her shape changed into that of a standing woman. She wore mantles of gold, and her armor was beaded crimson and ivory. Her eyes were black in her woman form, but as fierce as when she was a wolf. 

“Are you alright?” She asked, and Elaine Calmly, she retrieved a glass vial filled with sacred water from a pocket on her suit. She dripped the water in a circle around Elaine. Elaine watched in awe as the circle’s perimeter glowed blue before the inside, beneath her feet, illuminated a Gen Nyame of the same hue, emanating a pulsing, and liquid light.

“My name is Ungo, I will protect you…” The wolf woman paused, “you haven’t given your name away have you?” Ungo asked and Elaine affirmed that she hadn’t.  “Good, stay in the symbol, it will protect you.” Elaine was given no explanation before Ungo stepped ahead placing herself between Elaine and the three demons who rumbled as she drew two golden daggers from her hip. The weapons were of profound and ancient magic;The Bright Fire Sais. The warrior held up the knives to the demons, who were repulsed by the blessed edge of her blades, which had slain some of the fiercest warriors of their own kind.

“What is your business with this woman?” Ungo asked, and the Ytkaa Tuuk responded,

“It is none of your concern skin changer. Step aside, and we may spare you.” Elaine was not expecting the wolf woman meet his disdain with laughter. She was not afraid. 

“If only I were just a mere skin changer…maybe then you’d have less to fear.” Every syllable spoken by this woman who’d emerged as silver light from the shadows, was filled with the frequency of truth and surety. Ytkaa Tuuk parted his lips to insist against fear, but Ungo used her voice dominantly,

“Keep that forked tongue behind your teeth and reserve your voice for one unworthy enough to hear it . Your curses have no permission. The seal around this child of God is kept by faith. Only the Most High might directly pierce the boundary.” Ungo spoke with surety; pure belief as forceful and potent as the rumble of thunder. The demons writhed at the warrior's brazen challenge. It had seemed at first that Ungo had arrived coincidentally, but Elaine had indeed been a lure. The wolf women had been hunting these three Falayaa across the city for days and had finally gotten them out in the open. This warrior was a nomad of the shadows, a keeper of light in the dark; a frightener of the frightening. She was of a league of warriors, who resided peacefully, in this realm of utmost chaos, and served purposes far greater than the demonic could hope to understand. Elaine heard a hiss through the air and a voice call out from the shadow,

“Kill them!” At the cry, Ytkaa Tuuk gripped his machete, and with a roar he attacked with more speed and agility than Elaine was expecting from his large frame. Ungo shifted into action, using her sais to block and parry as she shifted out of the way of the sword strikes.  Ytkaa Tuuk was a formidable warrior, and very fast in his strikes, but remarkably, Ungo was faster. She dipped, pivoted, shifted, arched on her toes and twisted, hitting pressure points with the weight of her spear at every opening. Her fighting style was one of reservation and precision strikes, quick and purposeful. She shifted slightly without acrobatics, stances low to the ground. She manipulated her opponent to stay at a distance where her spear decided sway. The demon managed only a single grazing across the wolf woman’s arm. There was a pause then, as each composed themselves. Sensing Ytkaa Tuuk’s struggle, his grey armored brother stepped moved to overwhelm Ungo. At that same moment, the brother in bone ivory started toward Elaine, and Ungo had just enough time to call out a name before she was in the thick of fighting the two Falayaa. 

Elaine braced herself as her assailant spraang toward her, but just before he could reach her there was a flash of golden and black fur, as a snarling wolf bound through the air and attacked the monster. The wolf was much smaller, but filled with supernatural strength, and her jaws clamped down and sent the Falayaa into a frenzy of pain. He grabbed the wolf and slung her off of him, as blood spilled over his white armor. The wolf hit the ground hard, but was back on her feet as quickly, and she moved to stand between Elaine and her enemy. The other wolves of the pack shifted forward to protect as well, snarling and snapping their jaws. When violence commenced, it was as a storm, as all the wolves rushed in to fight the minions of the Falayaa springing from the shadows to help their masters. Elaine held her breath as the fight reached climax, and one by one the Falayaa were incapacitated within inches of their lives. The wolf pack formed a protective barrier around their impromptu arena, baring their teeth and keeping the lesser demons at bay. The Falayaa were all clutching their wounds, bleeding all over the place. They were trapped by Ungo and the pack.

Ungo drew the glass vial once more. She sprinkled water at the Falayaa who hissed with agitation and snarled with rage. 

“I am Oka Lusaa Ungo, Okiinamaa Lusaa of Naanii Khaalii” at the proclamation of the title, the three demons yowled in agony with one terrible voice, and over them was cast a single shadow,

“The spirits you hold captive are no longer subject to you, Big Falayaa.” The demons wailed again, and Elaine watched as the shadow that loomed over them began to take a more discernible form; a smoky apparition of the head of a Falayaa, with glowing orange eyes and horns much larger than those of the defeated. The apparition spoke in a deep and rumbling voice

“They belong to me,by their failures, they are bound to my will and the will of my sons”

“Not anymore. Fate demands their freedom from your control. They are cleared to pursue their destinies once again.” Ungo said and the Big Falayaa roared out again as the shadow of its form took clearer shape; the details of its face visible in the shadow smoke.

“I will not part with them. They are mine!”

“They are not.” Ungo said, and the demon’s face was suddenly saturated with the color bleeding from the forms of his sons, who showed signs of an intense energy depletion to support their father’s shadowy projection. Each of them seemed to be deflating in their mass as Ungo spoke steadily,

“By Jah’s will, these souls are cleared for their chances at redemption. You fight against it, yet it was by your own greed that they were led to the one whose destiny  aligns with their own.” The Big Falayaa, whose body was now forming its own silhouette, no less than ten feet tall and armored; the great horned and fanged ogre growled as his eyes landed on Elaine. The demon roared out his fury, and drew his own great shadow sword in an attempt to break past the boundary laid by Ungo’s holy water. The wolf woman gave the demon no opportunity for a strike. In one fluid motion the cast their index and middle finger toward the entity’s head, and released a torrent of lightning to blast his form, incinerating him with a blast of light...Elaine had to shield her eyes, but when the light dissipated, she looked, to where the suits had evaporated with the demon, leaving behind only piles of ash. Ungo went to each pile of ash, and retrieved three marble amulets…the ones that had been worn on the ogre’s necks…three glowing stones of light; one blue, one red, and one green. Ungo collected and stored them in the pocket of her pants before acknowledging the other wolf woman before turning to where Elaine was sitting.

“If you come with us, we can take you to a sanctuary.” Ungo said, very simply, and Elaine nodded, without a doubt in her mind, that she would rather go with this warrior who’d struck fear in the hearts of the shadows, than to stay exposed and on her own. Elaine went with the wolves, to a safe place. 

The Temple of Omoyaa

Elaine followed Oka Lusaa Ungo, ushered by the host of wolves across Naas Durell. The inhabitants of the city witnessed them, but did not approach them, for fear of Ungo’s wrath. As they walked, Elained shared the details of her mortal life… Ungo was troubled to hear of Elaine’s death by her own father’s hand… She’d never heard of such a thing… She offered Elaine condolences. 

“Where I’m taking you is a sacred place. Never share its location without discernment. Do you understand?” Elaine said she did. They walked until they were at the outskirts of the city, where the urban sprawl became a swamp of looming oaks and cypresses, shrouded in fog. They passed grave stones and shrines, statues and altars. Elaine felt static on her spine. Ungo affirmed they were almost there. They went further, until the fog began to dissipate into a dimension, brilliant in its contrast to that which was left behind. Elaine gasped, as everything ahead of her was suddenly bathed in the light of a beautiful morning. There was a sprawling meadow, covered with the glory of wildflowers. There were dragonflies and butterflies and grasshoppers and all about the grass. In the air were barn swallows at song and play. The clouds were immense and ambling across a wide sky. The meadow was surrounded on all sides by the edge of a tall tree swamp, where Elaine glimpsed deer and rabbits at its fringes. She followed Ungo across the meadow, which stretched across a big hill, where gravestones and statues were erected in the embrace of  flowerbeds. Bees buzzed all around. They walked past willow trees, shifting in the wind. The place was a burial ground. They walked further until Elaine could make out the height of a structure, erected at the hill’s summit. A tall temple of multiple stories, black, gold, and ivory… Upon a closer inspection, Elaine realized that the tower was stationed by hundreds of turkey and black vultures, basking their unfurled wings in the warmth of the morning sun, before taking off to tend to their duties of decomposition. Before this temple was a pronounced and large and wide oak,with twisting branches that hung so wide and low they were touching the ground. Hanging from the trunk were large singing chimes, and a dazzle of blue, brown, green, and clear bottles reflecting the skylight. All about the entrance were roosters and hens, pecking for food in the undergrowth, at night they would climb the tree’s branches to sleep. 

Ungo said the tree warded off demonic entities and trapped demonic entities foolish enough to trespass within the glass bottles. The temple itself was of black and silver, each story a circular disk around a cylindrical tower. The structure stood tall, and its entrance, reached by a flight of wide and tall stairs, was guarded by black and gold statues of phoenixes with wings unfurled. Ungo presented the temple,

“Welcome, to the Temple of Omoyaa.” Ungo led Elaine through the entrance of the temple and through a series of halls with incense burning in holders along the walls. They ascended the stories of the temple until they reached its highest circular floor, where there was a wide-open room with a wall made entirely of crystal pane windows. Inside was a shrine space, kept by statues and plants, centered by an altar. They walked to where there was a figure sitting before the white cloth draped altar with lit candles and incense, laid with pictures of ancestors and other offerings. She’d had her head bowed to the floor, before she sat up at the sound of the chamber doors sliding open,  and Ungo and Elaine walking in. Ungo led Elaine to the woman she recognized from the train station; it was Naanii Khaalii, the Sun Spirit. She shifted to face them, and Ungo directed Elaine to sit opposite of the phoenix in fem form before she walked to the altar and drew the marbles from her pocket, placing them in a row on the cloth, before turning to leave the room with a respectful nod. Naanii Khaalii acknowledged the miracle of Elaine’s arrival, and welcomed her. 

“This temple is a station between the worlds of the living, the dead, and all in between. When the sun falls at dusk, I blaze into this world, to guide those who are lost with light in the dark. The wolf women are my warriors, they tend the burial grounds and defend my shrines across dimensions. This temple is here to host souls who choose alchemy over quiet passage; those who seek ascendance through peace of mind, and fortification by faith. We serve God, to balance the chaos. Here, at Omoyaa, we fear nothing but our own submission to frailty and weakness. Jah Most High has led you to my temple...” Naanii Khaalii said, before she stood, and went to the altar, to light some more incense. She looked over the marbles, hovering fingers over them, before turning back to Elaine,

“I’m sure you could use some rest, hm?” Naanii Khaalii approached to take Elaine’s hands, and as Elaine stood, the phoenix turned up her nose, 

“Oh no, you smell of Naas Durell’s rot...come with me.” Naanii Khaalii led Elaine through the temple, to a closet where fresh clothes were stored. She grabbed the changes for Elaine, before leading her to the base floor, and further still, through a doorway which opened to a dark staircase. Elaine hesitated at first, but Naanii Khaalii insisted there was nothing to be afraid of. She led her down the stairwell, until Elaine could see the faint glow of some light ahead. They walked to the end of the tunnel, before stepping through and into the wide-open space of a cavern in the earth. There were tree roots, massive and coiling, stretching from the cavern ceiling into the water of a wide pool, filled with crystal clear water glowing a subtle blue hue through the whole cavern. Elaine breathed in her awe as she stepped forward to look into the spring, which did not appear to have a bottom.

“This spring has existed beneath this bottle tree since long before the temple of Omoyaa was built…it is connected to a similar spring at the Temple of the Sun, where I live when I’m not here. The water is potent with spiritual energy and holds healing power. Please,” Naanii Khaalii gestured to the water, “take as much time as you need,” Naanii Khaalii sat down the fresh clothes and was about to leave Elaine in the cavern to bathe privately, but Elaine called out,

“Wait,” Naanii Khaalii turned around and Elaine continued, “What does all this mean? Now that I’m here, what’s next?” She asked, and Naanii Khaalii shrugged,

“There are many potentials… all depend on your own direction. There are no expectations for you here.” Elaine took a second to process those words, and Naanii Khaalii added,

“You’ve had a long journey. My advice is to take your time and not give yourself too much to think about. No one’s rushing you to decide or understand anything right now. Take it one task at a time. Your first,” Naanii Khaalii gestured again to the water, “is to wash yourself in the sacred water. That is all.” Elaine breathed in again and thanked the phoenix, who left the cavern. Elaine stood at the edge of the spring pool, kicking off her shoes to feel the water with her toes; it was perfectly warm. She took a deep breath, so self-conscious she couldn’t help but look around to be sure no one was watching her before she unshouldered her blouse and removed her head scarf. She was sure to check her pocket for her rosary beads, which she placed neatly where she could see them. She stood before the water, totally bare, before wading into it. The water tingled against her skin as her body was submerged, coursing a heavenly sensation over her. The water’s magic was felt instantly, its purifications cleansing the soot of the dead city from her without any soap or lather. She swam through the water and it was as if the liquid was coursing past her skin, through her chest, and out her back, flooding through her soul, washing clean all the lingering memories of trauma in her mortal life, alchemizing her emotions by the second...all which had weighed so heavily on her spirit; she suddenly found it hard to be sad or angry about...the bitterness of hurts committed against her form was for her own weaknesses...it all washed clean...she remembered everything, but she did not feel wrathful, or vengeful...there was only this soreness...a sensation of pain which was neither good, nor bad, it just was...it lingered like a small stone lodged in her heart, that bittersweet reminder, though she was indeed dead, to never walk the world of the living as she had. Her life had in fact been real, her family, her experiences...she knew it all true by the sensation of that pain which she carried with respect for her ability to have endured it without letting it break her soul into pieces...for those who’d subjected herself and her ancestors to suffering, she did not

feel the burden of disdain...there was just a quiet satisfaction, that such suffering would never be endured by her again...she was, strangely, free in this death. She swam, from one end of the pool, to the other and back again, rising from the water, and drying herself off. She put on the new clothes, and looked at the ones from her old world...now, disappearing before her eyes, fading from solid matter to dust...she felt then, at the sight of that disintegration, a swell of emotion rise suddenly from deep in her core up to her throat and out. She cried, for everything and nothing at all; the tears flowing as if from a well spring. She released the pain of all which had brought her there; the pain of that knife driven into her by her own father’s hand, the pain of her inability to change his mind or his heart and her inability to exist wholly in that world… yet feel so peaceful, and belonging in this one...she cried for an unmeasured time, letting her tears trickle into the stillness of the sacred spring, before she took a deep breath and stood to exit the cavern. She did not look back on her way up the stairwell and back into the halls of the temple of Omoyaa.

                    Kandake 

Elaine drug coconut flavored lip gloss, reflective like water across her brown lips, pressing them together before popping, mbaap! the completion of a small ritual. Around her was a satisfying stimulation. There was the mild weather of early autumn; subtle breezes, bearable humidity, and the softening gold hued light of the sun on her skin. She breathed in the smells of tires burning rubber, barbecue smoke, whiskey and herb burning, cigarettes and disturbed grass. Horse musk permeated as riders with hard faces passed. She savored the aroma of yakamein in a pot under a tent and crawfish out of blue painted corner stores. She heard the thrum of steps, the collective conversational chant of hundreds of conversations not to be understood by anyone outside of them, the laughter of children, and the gravelly pull of fresh tennis shoes across the street's concrete. She heard the snare drum, the base hum of tubas, trumpets, trombones...the sound of the brass band bound, getting ever closer, filling Elaine’s soul with its vibration, its truth, its sacred ancientness all mixed up with the new. She saw panting pits on leashes, maneuvering the shifting footsteps of a stretched out crowd up and down the streets, shadowed by the canopy of tall and wide oaks in front of houses as old as the neighborhood. She walked, dressed in black crochet; her hair, once worn silk pressed, had long ago been cut, and now hung down the length of her form, as true locs. She walked past entrepreneurs selling towels, liquor out the backs of trucks, cold drinks and water from wheeled white coolers, yakamein ladies and food trucks, and barbecue out the back of pickups. She passed all the corner stores and the halls, the houses and snowball stands, the parked cars along grass covered neutral grounds. Oh how she could live inside the sound still emanating from the bands, one, two, three, a group per division of the second line; second in procession after the progression of the dead ahead; an ancient rite of passage. She was walking in stride. She smiled at the sight of children dancing on porches, perhaps their own perhaps not.  There were brave men atop parked buses and bus stop canopies, bucking, stepping, feet planting into the concrete with enough passion to crack it. They were all dancing; cute women with curved figures stepping in their gnikes, glinting sunlight off of gold teeth. Hair done, nails polished, rings secured on fingers, earrings bouncing like their bodies in forward motion, moving to the beat of the drum across the concrete paved swamp lands. The feet still remembered the truth of the soil and the water; the holiness of sun fire, even as minds forgot. Elaine kept walking past the people...some of them saw her and they spoke with smiles and bright eyes, the truest words of kindness she’d ever received; affirmations and blessings of genuine care delivered by these fellow warriors of the sidewalk and the twined rope, keeping the social club sacred and separate from the mass of the crowd, moving, moving, moving, to that beat, so deep. 

Elaine marveled at the beauty of the people, the beauty of their eyes, full of truth and power. They were forces of nature, creators and sustainers, artists and survivors whose talents on these streets could not be reduced to entertainment for tourists and pleasure seekers. The holiness of their dance was the ability to self heal and capacity to deal with six whole days up until the relief of a sunny Sunday. There was the joy of collective memory channeled not by the mind’s sight but by the might of the feet, the lowly joiner of the body to ground; the channel, the sensor, the base which met the underground, where the spirits of the past were found. They danced for the joy of dancing, the freedom of physical exorcise... Elaine walked these streets on such a sacred Sunday, as the one day which she could come and voyage with the living down the old and sacred corridors, slowly past the burial grounds. The streets were filled with as many spirits of the ascending and transitioning as they were with the living, and she had become a guardian of that walk, an unseen force to travel, largely unseen, unheard, unnoticed. But for those few hours… she was close to alive, close to the sweat, the heart beats, and sensations of pain in the feet which were so insistent to keep on to the nostalgic high of those old songs. Elaine cherished these last minutes of the second line, knowing that at its conclusion, it would be time to return to the Underworld, to rest at the Temple of Omoyaa. The bands were playing their last songs and the crowd was gathered tight near where the clubs feather fanning, suit wearing members were heading inside to celebrate their day. 

Naanii Khaalii looked over Elaine; so changed from who’d found her way to the temple of Omoyaa years before. Her body had changed, toned from training and discipline. Her eyes were different; no longer full of fear and confusion as when she’d arrived. Naanii Khaalii had given her a nickname; Red Bird, because they’d often find her sitting beneath the bottle tree among the roosters, as red cardinals gathered above her in the branches. Elaine had said that the birds used to do the same thing back in Sugar Flow.

“Your call Red Bird,” Naanii Khaalii said, as she forked Yakamein out a Styrofoam cup into her mouth, “about an hour till sunset, where do you wanna go?” She asked, and Red- Bird looked down the long street, toward the destination she couldn’t see but knew was that way.

“You want to go under the bridge?” Elaine asked, and Naanii Khaalii smiled

“Come on,” They loved seeing the cars and hanging outside the seafood store and next to the pillars painted with images of their people. They loved the crowd and fading light. There was portal magic at that axis where there was once the passage from the slaver’s dimension to the freedom of the holy swamp. They lived for the cars and the motorbikes, though the smell of burning rubber was unsavory, they could live with it. They got there and joined the mass of gatherers at the curbs, watching cars, bikes, and four wheelers get shown off, while a good beat got played from somebody’s speaker. They walked along the corridor beneath the overpass, until they made it to where a host was gathered, straddling bikes.  Leaning against candy painted cars were Shujaa warriors from across Bulbancha. They were all dressed out of armor, the men in baggy t-shirts and jeans, racing jackets and hoodies with fresh kicks, cleaned and polished for the occasion. Some of them with their shoes tucked into little cloth pockets to protect them from the grease of the motorbikes. Elaine looked over Naanii Khaalii as they watched the cars race. The Sun Spirit was beautiful, with tattoos marking her face in the ancient fashion. Elaine knew that the black ink was etched across most of her body. She wore an orange, black, and white jacket, and their long, thick black hair was worn in a messy half up half down bun. They were dragging the smoke out of some herb when they caught Elaine’s eyes on their own. Elaine made no dramatics of this passing glance, averting her eyes, as if the sight of Naanii Khaalii, spirit of the sun, dressed in the fashion of the humans, did not stutter her heart beat. She felt the press of that familiar hand at her back; it sent goosebumps up and down her frame but she made no show of the tremor.

“Are you ready to go?” Naanii Khaalii asked, and Elaine tilted her head, blinking her amber eyes slow,

“Just a little while longer,” She said, and Naanii Khaalii looked her over, unbashful, but still with a degree of softness. Their eyes were always so hard though and their presence always solid and unwavering. In past lives they’d been softer, but trauma had made them like iron and steel. They were taller than Elaine and solid in frame. Their hands were strong calloused like a man. Naanii Khaalii’s nature was fluid, and she could present as masculine, feminine, or within the vast spectrums in between and beyond. With Elaine, they were often this; steady eyed, sure, and quietly seductive with the dominance of fire. They communicated much with their eyes which need not be spoken aloud. Elaine felt a great thrill of proximity to this being, who had long ago captured her heart, and had given her own in return. Naanii Khaalii thumbed Elaine’s gold necklace; a red cardinal with a sun bursting from its chest. A gift from Naanii Khaalii..

“How are you getting home?” Naanii Khaalii asked.

“Why?” She asked, knowing well why, but she liked to hear Naanii Khaalii speak her clarities. The sun spirit’s lips quirked slightly at the sides, the closest thing to a smile.

“I’ll take you home.” She said, nodding to her motorcycle and Elaine smiled soft though her heart beat loud. She got on the back of Naanii Khaalii’s bike and wrapped her arms around the sun spirit’s solid frame. The bike revved and they rode off from under the bridge, down a long street, turning once, turning again, and riding until they reached the winding curving bayou to cross one of its many bridges and parked on the street. Elaine said,

“This is not the temple.” Her arms were still wrapped around Naanii Khaalii, who turned their head halfway,

“The sun’s not set yet.” They got off the bike, and Naanii lifted up the seat to pull a blanket from inside with sticks of incense before she nodded her head in the direction of the grass clearing ahead. Elaine followed Naanii to a familiar tree which existed in this spot, as it did in others, through the layered worlds. The chime tree was singing heavy and soothing as Naanii Khaalii led Elaine to sit beneath it as they faced the west where the sun was lowering red to the horizon. The sky was full of shadowed hues. Naanii Khaalii laid the blanket and Elaine sat down and the sun spirit did too. Naanii took out a stick of incense, held it up to the sun, and by old magic, the stick caught fire, and she let it burn a second before blowing it out. They let the smoke wisp and stuck the stick into the ground before she let  Elaine rest against her. The air was getting cold, so they offered Elaine their black, white, and orange leather jacket, etched and embroidered all over. Elaine smiled at the scent of its inner layers and the warmth on the fabric left by Naanii Khaalii’s body, always pulsing with inner fire. Naanii looked out at the sun setting, breathing deep for their own responsibilities to attend once the sun fell beneath the horizon. During the day, Naanii Khaalii was a high and mighty spiritual sovereign of these lands; incarnate of holy fire by which all life was sustained. But in the night, she took her charge as a nomad of the underworld; wandering its shadows to deliver fire light to the course of many destinies.

She’d been the one to present the different road to Elaine and had watched over her as she alchemized her spirit to a fierce sovereignty against the heaviness of the underworld. She’d sat with Elaine many times at the Temple of Omoyaa, and they’d shared a deep love in development; a recognition of spiritual sense for affection and alignment which was pure and unconditional. They expected little from one another, but still, gave all they had, in the time they had, to each other. Naanii Khaalii had recognized with some quiet force, the memory of a past life, where they’d known one of Elaine’s own past selves from a delta of a far away river, but still near, strangely. Naanii had been Elaine’s first kiss, odd, Elaine thought, that she had to die to receive the freedom of affection...her heart had always been fluid, as was Naanii’s, but, Sugar-Flow was not a place to nurture queer intimacy; it was an environment that demanded secrecy. In the Underworld and in Bulbancha on those sacred Sundays, Elaine and Naanii’s relationship was not so taboo or dependent on external acceptance. It was strong by their shared will to do as they pleased for no one’s ability to force them apart. Elaine rested against the fire warmth of Naanii Khaaliii and sensed something radiating from the soul which had, overtime, begun to merge with her own. Naanii didn’t share what troubled her; whatever she knew, which Elaine did not. The tests of Red Bird’s destiny were close, as were great changes. Naanii Khaalii was holding a secret; she had been for a long time now, and she felt at once ashamed but protective of this secret. She hoped to hold it to her silence as long as it was possible. The sun was very near its passing as the sky turned amethyst, and Naanii rose to support Elaine, who became suddenly drowsy at the sun’s disappearance. They had to be helped to Naanii’s bike, and they rode all the way to the bone road. Naanii did not intend to board the ferry of the dead however, or cross through water or under earth. She accelerated her bike with a quick flame that ramped into the sky, rising up, until she was high enough to see the last sliver of red sun passing beneath the horizon. In that moment, Naanii’s form changed from its muted mortal disguise to the glowing warrior with fire eyes. She evoked magic and in a burst of light, the bike was gone. Elaine found herself suddenly supported by a bed of fire orange feathers, as she held onto the back of a great phoenix, which soared across the sky to a portal opened over the river. They flew through it and into the Underworld, where at once, Elaine felt her energy returned to her as they left the world of the living behind. Naanii flew all the way to the swamp forest of the Temple of Omoyaa and descended to its front steps, where Elaine was surprised then, to see a figure she hadn’t seen since her passage. Naanii Khaalii landed on the hard stone of the temple’s courtyard, talons clicking against the ground and her massive wings blowing the oak and cypress leaves. She bent her neck and wing for Elaine to climb off, before she changed to her armored form, radiating gold, orange, and red light. Up ahead, at the temple’s entrance, was Naanii Khaalii’s brother; Sitkaa, the Skyfire Prince and Oka Lusaa Ungo, who’d first brought her to this place. Sitkaa looked upon Elaine with a serious expression and Naanii Khaalii seemed uncomfortable to see him.

“What’s going on?” Elaine asked, and Sitkaa stepped forward,

“You haven’t told her?” Sitkaa looked into the fire bird’s eyes and felt, as always, an empathy for his sister’s intense capacity to feel so deeply. He knew, Naanii Khaaliii had come to love this woman. He saw, with his wide vision, the vast realities, and destinies in which the two of them were connected...it was a true love, but still, Elaine’s destiny was at hand, despite it.

“Told me what?” Elaine asked and Naanii could not speak.

“Elaine, years ago, you chose the path which led you to the temple of Omoyaa. You were told it would be filled with hardships, many which you have endured. You have learned the magic denied to your people in bondage and manifested the strength they knew before their forced passages across the waters. You have alchemized your spirit to an independence fierce enough to free you. You are ready for the next phase of your journey, if you so choose to go forward.” Elaine regarded Sitkaa,

“What is it? What do I have to do?” She asked him and Sitkaa went on,

“Fate has manifested an anomaly in this universe; a miracle of sorts. There is a chance for a soul of the Underworld to return to the realm of the living, to regain life, and mortality.” The words seemed so strange to Elaine that she blinked a few times,

“How is that possible?” She asked and Sitkaa shook his head,

“I cannot explain the nature of all miracles. But I am sure that you have a destiny which is tied to the opening of this portal, the details of which are not precisely mine to share. Naanii Khaalii,” Sitkaa looked at Naanii Khaalii, then back to Elaine, “was supposed to be the one to share the contexts of the challenge. There is an ancient artifact; a set of swords which once belonged to an ancient cosmic; the star swords of Niikanaatkin, lost princess of the Silver City. The swords are being held at the height of the Big Falaaya’s tower which sits atop one of the snake rib arches of Naas Durell. There will be a short window of opportunity to claim the swords which are the keys to crossing through the portal and reclaiming life by the last hour of the last day of the dead when the spirits of the Underworld must return from their wandering in the world of the living.”

“That’s in a few days.” Elaine said, and Sitkaa nodded,

“Indeed, it’s why you were supposed to have been informed already.” Elaine looked at Naanii.

“So we’re clear, you’re saying that if I can get these swords, then I can return to earth, just like that?”

“Just like that. You’d have a fresh start at a new life suited to the change of your new form manifested here. A life of power.” Elaine thought on her time spent at the temple, and though she was grateful for it, she was not sure that it was somewhere she wanted to spend eternity...she felt herself imaging what Sitkaa suggested...that she could return to the world of the living and have another shot at the life which was ended so early...before she’d experienced much of anything at all. She turned to Naanii Khaalii and asked,

“Why wouldn’t you tell me? I could’ve had time to prepare.” Elaine said, and Naanii’s face was a collection of hard lines.

“I can only love you the way I do because you are bound to this dimension. Our relationship doesn’t upset any natural laws here...but, by mistakes made in ages past, I cannot have you as a living mortal. You may not have me...we’ll lose each other if you cross the portal.” Naanii’s words were so full of pain, and Elaine felt the weight of them, and what it meant to her, to potentially lose their relationship...but how could Naanii keep such a secret? For how long had she known?

“You would’ve let the days of the dead pass without ever telling me?” Elaine asked, and Naanii had at least the grace to look her in the eye, as pained as the exchange was, they held onto Elaine’s amber glare.

“I couldn’t...I can’t let you go Elaine.”

“It’s not your choice Naanii. What if I don’t want to be held? This is enough when you have to accept that this is all there is, but not if there’s a chance to reclaim my life...” Elaine’s words were harsh but true, and Sitkaa breathed in a gasp, at the rare sight of Naanii’s tears from his hard bodied sister. He walked to them and inserted himself between Naanii and Elaine. Elaine suddenly felt a pit in her stomach as Naanii turned from them all. Sitkaa, the gentle skyfire prince, took Elaine’s hand,

“Your anger is justified, as is your choice, if you seek passage back to the world of the living. But, do be gentle with her,” Sitkaa said, “She is of the hottest fire and greatest strength but her spirit is also vulnerable to the deepest plummet.” He touched Elaine’s face, with his own tears in his eyes,

“A past life loved a mortal before...and the phoenix was much to him, like you are to her, and he to her, as she is to you. The Sun Spirit Nahinii allowed her femininity to swell at the Sun prince’s touch. When she lost him it nearly brought our world to ruin...” Elaine stilled her rage, and reached out for Naanii Khaalii,

“Naanii,” Her voice was soft now, and Naanii turned slowly. Elaine took her hand,

“I am thankful for the love you’ve poured into me. I’ve never known anything like it,” Now, her own tears were streaming, “but you understand don’t you...you understand that...” Elaine’s words were hushed, by Naanii’s fingertips against her soft lips. Naanii’s eyes were pained; swirling with the torrents of bitterness and deepest love. She said,

“I understand, Elaine.” She cupped Elaine’s jaw in her heavy hand, and kissed her once on the forehead, and Elaine, suddenly felt the cry burst from her chest as the flood poured from her eyes before Naanii turned away, and her form burst with fire light,

before she was flying off, away from the temple as a firebird. Elaine covered her mouth, and turned from Sitkaa, walking off to go and recover beneath the bottle tree and its chimes. Sitka let her be for a long while, until finally the prince came under the tree, and touched Elaine’s shoulder,

“Come with me,” He said, and Elaine followed him and Ungo into the temple, up to its height, where there was the shrine room. Sitka walked ahead to where the three marbles from Ungo’s defeat of the Big Falaaya were sitting in a row. He knelt before the altar, lighting candles and incense. He began to pray, and at the power of his words, the marbles glowed with light, before they each burst with tendrils of energy flowing out of them. Elaine watched in awe, as the marbles cracked open, and figures materialized from the shimmering dust. Each of them were different in their shapes, and they were glowing as they opened their eyes and gasped for air as they processed their surroundings. Sitkaa spoke soothingly to them like a trainer speaks to an anxious horse. Elaine took in the sight of them; each one dressed as their aura in the same hue as the marbles they’d been released from.

To the left was a warrior dressed in blue, with pointed ears and an angular, whiskered face, his lips revealing sharp canines. His eyes were fox yellow. At the right, was a woman...in green and black armor. At center, was a man with a face like a monkey, furred down to his hands, dressed in armor as well. Each figure came to look at Elaine in time, and when they did, they all looked at her as if they knew her, and could not believe their eyes at the sight of her.

“Kandake?” The woman in green said, and Elaine glanced at them, confused by the title. Sitkaa held out his hand,

“Please, everyone, sit down, we have much to discuss, and not much time.” Sitkaa introduced himself first, and then asked the three warriors to introduce themselves,

“I am Kiiba.” The one in blue said. 

“Mamushii.” The one is green said.

 “Gokaan.” The one in red finished. Elaine introduced herself, and Sitkaa and explained the nature of their situation.

“Elaine will need help in this challenge. I call on the three of you, to uphold your old debts, and serve her.” Sitkaa said and it was the fox spirit, Kiiba, who said,

“Why should we help her, when she doesn't even know who she is.” He spoke of her without looking at her, radiating his disdain which Elaine did not understand.

“Because, if she is freed by her reclamation of the star swords, then the three of you may be freed as well.” The three warriors looked at each other,

“How do we know it will work?” Kiiba said, and Sitkaa replied,

“There’s no way to know anything for certain in the Underworld, you know that well. But here is a chance you are offered. A better chance than you might see again for the next eon or two. Help this woman and free your souls from bondage to the Big Falaaya” Sitkaa said and a shudder rippled through the three warriors at the mention of their master’s name. Ungo had set their forms free to an extent, but even the wolf woman’s magic could not unbind their souls from the Underworld without a miracle strong enough to break the Big Falaaya’s claim. 

“It’s time to let you fly, Red Bird.” Sitkaa glanced at Ungo, then back at Elaine and said,

“Come with us.”

......

Sitkaa and Ungo led Elaine down to the sacred spring beneath the bottle tree’s roots and told her to lay on her back near the water’s edge. Elaine was curious, but they insisted it was best to just course through this action, and she’d understand everything when it was finished. She took a deep breath before laying down, and Sitkaa came to sit behind her, supporting her neck and head in his lap. Ungo’s voice was steady and powerful in the quiet stillness of the cavern,

“Close your eyes and take deep breaths.” The black water scorpion said as she lit candles and burned incense. She was dressed differently than when she’d first met Elaine. She no longer wore the red hues of the Okiinamaa Lusaa; then, she wore black, indigo, and ivory. She no longer wore the ring of dawn, it had long since rested on Elaine’s finger since she left Omoyaa to return to the mortal realm. Sitkaa began to massage Elaine’s temples as Ungo said words of prayer into the space. Elaine felt her own rosary beads placed into her hand, and she squeezed them for comfort. Ungo sat opposite of Sitkaa, near Elaine’s feet, and said,

“Let the water guide you,” Ungo drew a silver fan from its holder, and began to twist her wrist, willing the water of the spring to caress over Elaine’s body, from her feet all the way up to her head, leaving only space for her eyes, nose, mouth and ears. She was totally encased by the healing water as Ungo reminded her to breathe, to believe, and release. With a flick of the fan, the water pulsed its glowing blue ripple across Elaine’s form and suddenly she was transported through a tunnel of light filled with voices and images, sensations, and memories; memories she’d never known consciously, but as she passed them, lifetime’s worth, she found she recognized them.

She felt herself enter and exit the world eight times through the cycle of reincarnation. She lived lifetimes, feeling her mind flooded with the knowledge of the past...She saw the temples and palaces on the River Nile, the crocodiles in the water and the fish in the nets. She saw wise women walking in procession down halls, great monuments built, the painting of hieroglyphics and the stars aligning above pyramids. She coursed through chiefdom, generalship and queendom. The lives she witnessed belonged to warriors; each dressed differently across consecutive generations. She witnessed the ballads of different lovers, war trials and triumphs. All figures shared her own face. She fought their battles, cried their tears, and died their deaths...she heard and spoke their names; Amanipilade, Amanikhatashan, Amanitaraqide, Amanitore, Nawidemak, Amanishakheto, Amanirenas, Shanakdakheto...Shanakdakheto...Shanakdakheto, fierce wielder of sun flame, sole ruler of the throne whose husband was not her king but her consort. She was the ruler of the Kushites, foremother of the highland Kingdoms, bridged to the Judah Lions of Solomon by the blood held between them and Makeda of Sheba. She was the crimson Lioness; the eye of the sky, Elaine could see this mighty warrior journey across deserts, mountains and seas to an island mountain top where an ancient pair of swords had fallen, misplaced after the destruction of a cosmic city. 

She went to retrieve these swords with blades of pure starlight, but was intercepted by others seeking the same; a fox, a monkey king and a praying warrior. The fox sought to use the swords for their mischief, the monkey for love, and the nun to restore lost honor, but they each fell to the might of Shanakdakheto’s crimson spear. She showed each of them mercy for submission, and as they were beaten fairly, they were expected to honor her victory; but by greed and desire, which burns the spirit like hot and twisted fire, the three called on darkness and attacked she who stood in victory. They took her life for the swords, before they fell upon each other in violent destruction. Ultimately, the swords were lost because of their violence...never to be seen again, they’d dropped them from the height of the mountain. For their betrayal and dishonesty they were subjected to the will of the Underworld and the bondage of its masters. The Big Falaaya found them and forced his masks on their faces to serve him forever more...and as for Shanakdakheto, her own spirit had its journey to course, for she’d met her own doom by her pursuit of the sword, and across time and space, her soul had traveled, until it landed at last in the womb of a woman from Sugar Flow, in the Nile’s sister delta; and so, incarnated was Elaine, the child surrounded by the eight Kandakes at the confrontation with her lineage’s demons, she who’d braved across the underworld,

and made her form fierce at the Temple of Omoyaa … 

She gasped awake, and the water of the spring fell away as she caught her breath and pressed her hand to her chest. Sitkaa held her steady and Ungo felt her temple,

“Elaine...” Ungo waited as this woman settled back into her own universe, before looking up with eyes her own, but also someone else’s. She’d been filled with memories which had changed and rearranged her soul...present then, was the soul who’d always been there, but had been dormant within the limited shell. This woman said to Ungo,

“Call me by a different name. Elaine is the name given to me by the mother and father who took the most precious thing from me...my name, is Cleopatra.” At the utterance, the candles flickered, and Ungo breathed in before echoing,

“Cleopatra.” Cleopatra stood and thanked her guardians for their aid. Her voice and her posture were different now. She was more than who she’d been. Standing in the glow of the sacred spring, was not the young flower from Sugar-Flow needing direction and guidance...this Cleopatra was a warrior reborn; a general and queen. She was a mistress of magics, and ancient wisdom. She left company, and took the night to rest, before rising in the morning to change into a fit of crimson red, with a narrow skirt of cowrie shells and beads.

 She went to the temple’s shrine, alone, before anyone else woke, and thumbed prayers across her rosary beads; still a comfort to her evolved soul. She graciously thanked Ungo and Sitkaa when they arrived in the shrine room with her golden mantles and her red dagger/changing spear in cases lined with soft fabric. She allowed them the honor of placing the gold pieces over her skin, at her neck and her ears, and rings for her fingers. They placed her sacred weapon in her hands; The Spear of Victory. She took off the ring of dawn; Nguailii, and placed it in Ungo’s hands, to pass on to the next Okiinamaa Lusaa after her. She walked out with the temple keepers to where the three warriors; the fox spirit, the monkey king, and the warrior nun, were waiting. They knew by the sure cut of her eyes, that the spirit of the Kandake had returned to her consciousness, and they rippled with a bit of nervousness. She came to look each of them in the eye,

“The star swords are my way out of this dimension, back to the world of the living, which the three of you took me from, as did the parents of this sweet souled incarnation. Luckily for the three of you, I do not hold grudges.” She held out her hand to the monkey king, Son Goku, the most powerful of the three,

“Help me win back the swords and I will see your debts to me are cleared. No one will have a claim over your souls again.” She said, and the three warriors glanced at each other before agreeing with varying enthusiasm. She shook hands with each of them, pressing with a tad more force into the hand of the fox spirit, whose attitude was spiteful to her. She held his eyes the longest, because he was more twitchy than the others, more bothered by her power...she knew by his eyes that his soul was on the verge of demonhood, and her power under Jah Most High was triggering to his molecules...but demon or not, he cared more about freeing himself from the subjugation of the Big Falaaya, than he did about his long standing disdain for the Kandake.

Cleopatra looked out across the vast space of this dimension and even in this changed form, she still thought of Naanii Khaalii, the beautiful Sun Spirit whose light had kept her so warm in the chill of dark nights. She remembered, from the earliest lifetimes, a spirit, who was not Naanii, but who shared aspects of her being, who’d traveled from his own realm to the delta of her peoples, and had loved her past life with such intensity, which could not last...She asked Sitkaa to tell Naanii that she was sorry. They

wasted no time after that. The group of warriors mounted their vehicles and raced on toward the shadowy city of Naas Durell.

The Bone Road 

Elaine heard, first,

the cawing of crows…the sound pulled her from some far off memory, into sensory consciousness…she was standing on solid ground, and there was a cold chill in a breeze that tickled her fingers. She opened her eyes finally, and the world she was in, was certainly not the one she’d left behind. She was in a courtyard of cobblestone, sheltered by Oaks and magnolia trees. She looked up, to see the crows flying above…the sky in this place was a saturation of greens and purples and oranges….strange. 

“Are you lost?” The sound of a voice was sudden, and Elaine turned around to see who’d spoken to her. He was leaning his shoulder against the trunk of an oak, with his arm crossed. Elaine felt a chill tingle across her form at the sight of him…not because he was frightening…but because he was beautiful. He didn’t look like any man…like any person she’d ever seen. His aura was the same cosmic violet as his attire. He wore accessories of gold and ivory. His eyes were fire amber and his hair, long and plaited, was black on one side and silvery white on the other. He shifted from the tree and took one tentative step toward her.

“I’m not sure, I was…i was…” Elaine looked around…a dizziness suddenly whelming her… she did not know where she was, and she couldn’t remember how she’d gotten there…

“Take a breath,” The man said in such a soft tone, that Elaine felt herself relax at his direction….she breathed in, and she thumbed her earring to recenter herself. 

“What’s your name? Can you remember?” He asked, and Elaine relayed it, thankful to have a grasp on at least that. 

“My name is Sitkaa,” Sitka looked Elaine over…he’d seen her in a vision and had known to find her and help her, “Do you know where you are?” He asked her, and she shook her head no… she was just about to say that she didn’t remember how she’d even gotten there or where she’d come from, as her fidgeting brought her hand against her stomach, and she felt a sharp pain…. The memory of her father piercing her with a kitchen knife flashed, and she gasped…closing her eyes and grimacing.

“Take it easy…” The softness of Sitkaa’s voice was like an anchor, pulling Elaine back to stability. She asked Sitkaa to go on, and tell her where she was. He said she was in purgatory; Limbo; in between. She was no longer of the world of the living. 

A strange sound, was heard from a distance. It was a looming and glooming noise, like whale’s grief…a melody of odd whistles…. An eary steamboat song. Elaine turned in the direction, and there she saw a procession…. People walking in a large crowd…some calmly, some with gloom, others in confusion and contemplation, they were walking toward the ferry boat of the dead, painted dark indigos and blacks and green. Elaine could see the boat ahead, as she walked with these people toward the banks of a very still river…so still that its sediments had sunken to the bottom, and the water was clear through….

Elaine had shifted as if in a dream, from that man…Sitkaa… she remembered his name as a sensation of rest, she knew not to be afraid. She walked on with the others, toward the steam boat, which was manned by a skeleton crew….literally, skeletons dressed for boat work, their black eye sockets showed no sign of their invisible emotions. As the sun crept below the horizon, turning the sky an amethyst hue, the crew stepped onto the dock, and began to direct passengers on board the boat branded Mississippi Myrtle on its’ side. They did not speak as they helped the transitioning souls onto the boat from the dock of the river. One by one they went, most were quiet…some were not. There were some who departed from the crowd…turning to go another way… they may have not been finished where they’d been, and they weren’t quite ready to let go. They ran toward whatever they thought might bring them back, before they submitted themselves for judgement. 

Elaine did not know where she was going, but she knew she did not want to stay in that strange limbo place, where the shadows were alive. Elaine was helped on board, and she went with some others to an open and windowed lobby to sit down and prepare for migration. Elaine felt a sliver of anxiety in her heart, and she heard the voice of Sitkaa in her heart,

“Only the dishonorably dead need caution on the crossing. Leave your fear on this side of the river.”  had three stories, and inside there were halls full of souls, looking to be from every age in history, sitting quietly; some at the windows, others at the bar...she found that strange, but there she saw it, a skeleton bartender serving up what looked like whiskey to a smoky blue soul sitting at the bar, who gulped down the liquid which flowed into the smoke of his form to swirl and settle into his translucent chest. Elaine went inside and found a seat among the rest, all of them quiet for the most part, minding their business on their way to...who knows where. In all that time Elaine had not thought to ask. She watched up to the window of the ship, as the sky darkened totally, and the last of the souls seemed to have boarded. At this point, the ship’s whistles went silent, and the lurch of the steam engine was heard and felt, and after a moment, a voice came through the speaker on the wall, just behind Elaine,

“Good evening folks, this is your captain speaking, and I just want to say what an honor it is to be ferrying you all to the underworld, where you will be directed to your stations of transition. The bar is serving complimentary drinks, courtesy of our fine city’s libation pouring. Keep in mind that if any contraband from the physical world must be left behind, your own soul is all you may carry in passage. This will be a pretty quick ride, though I do insist on one simple rule; Please, remain seated and buckled in as long as this vessel is locomotive, keep off the decks until we have reached our destination, remain respectful of others and be respectful of your neighbors in transition. Thank you, and enjoy the ride.” 

The intercom went quiet, and after a moment, the ship was moving and Elaine watched out the window as the river boat moved away from the banks of the river, closer to the center where the water was deeper. Elaine wondered where they were going? The moon was rising dark yellow at the edge of the east as Elaine heard the doors and windows of the cabins lock shut, before the river boat began to sink...she startled at the press of bony fingers, still ringed and nailed with acrylics.  She glanced up to see the skull of the skeleton crew member.

“Don’t worry my love, it’s all part of the ride.” She said as the river boat sank beneath the surface of the water, plunging deeper and deeper below, until it was cruising just over the bottom. The ship’s fluorescent green lights were turned on and the water was illuminated...Elaine dropped her jaw at the sight of the sunken ships, sunken cars crowded by crabs and fish schooling at the bottom of the river...she thought that was the sight to see, until she caught the glow of something, countering the green lights of the riverboat. 

She saw a long canoe of glowing white, translucent like she and the other souls, except it was much brighter. It was a long raft rowed by ancient figures, centered by what looked like a chief, the details of the raft and its oars emblemed by sun bursts. She saw after that, a procession of beings of a deep blue, trudging along in practiced steps, disturbing sand at their feet...they were men, bound together by chains at their necks, marching to who knew where. She saw more still, as the Mississippi Myrtle progressed; cars moving along the river-bed, souls who’d died in car accidents lost in the water. She watched the swimming of those who’d drowned, looking like they were flying through air. So many, that the river was a mass of multicolored apparitions. Greater were the nature spirits which passed; a giant orange catfish and a massive red crab stepping across the river floor, picking up entire boats with its claws. A great alligator and a titan salamander swimming, bumping into each other and suddenly they were battling, their collision under the water sounding like a tectonic boom as they bit, scratched, and roared. Elaine watched in marvel at the hidden world existing in the black depths of the river water, before she sensed the swirl of emerald light up ahead and she peered out the window to see a circle of shifting light and water before the captain spoke for everyone to hold on as they went through it, and the boat lurched like a jet rocketing through the light which poured through the windows, casting everything in green hue. Elaine saw a flash of passing dimensions across the stretch of the portal. Elaine, as the others, saw her own life pass by until finally, the river boat returned to its steady speed, and Elaine sensed the boat rising until it suddenly breached the surface of the water again into a different realm than the one they’d left behind. The Mississippi Myrtle went to the opposite shore from which they’d departed, and pushed across the water to a dock, stationed by a row of benches at the edge of several railways with trains coming and going. The boat came to anchor at the dock and Elaine followed the others off.  This world’s night sky was a swirl of star-studded reds, deep purples, and indigos, and the water of the river was clear and glowing. There were signs at the dock that warned the passengers against jumping in, drinking, or attempting to cross the water to the side left behind.  

Elaine walked across the docks, peering at the various pick-up points. Her eyes caught sight of one train, going to Zion, another to the Silver City, another to Elysium...she was just beginning to wonder where she was meant to go, as the other souls seemed to migrate with surety to their afterlife destinations. She noticed something, far off but stark against the dark sky…it was a burst of orange and gold light, pulsating and growing….as she stared at it, she processed that it was a moving shape…flying in her direction on wings of fire…. She felt her breath hitch, at the realization of what this blazing being was… a phoenix. The great bird called out as it did figure eights in the sky above her. She felt heat emanating from its form of shimmering feathers. She paced backward, to make space for the bird’s landing. There were many crows at the train station, and they cawed a ruckus and and flew all about in excitement. Elaine looked to where the other passengers had been boarding their trains… most of them were already gone, heading down their tracks to resting places…. 

Elaine faced this creature of woah. Its eyes were like amber stones, and they locked onto Elaine… the Phoenix radiated light and warmth from deep within. Elaine vibrated in her bones…but she did not move, as the phoenix brought its head, as large as her body, to right before her. It’s beak was sharp and its talons were hooked sycles, and Elaine was certain…she had no defenses against it… but she did not budge. She did not flinch… her intuition told her to be still… it was well too, because the bird was indeed testing her courage… it took in her scent, before tilting its head, in a curious and inspecting gesture. Whatever it was discerning, must’ve satisfied it because it closed and its eyes softened, before it drew back its head, and took some steps back. Elaine watched in awe as the phoenix closed its eyes, and its form glowed and then blazed with orange light, before dissolving into a flurry of monarch butterflies.  Elaine covered her eyes from the burst of energy. When the light subsided, and the butterflies cleared from her view, there was not a fire bird, but a warrior, in an armor regalia emblematic of the monarchs. Etched across her chest were the angel numbers 444. Her eyes and her hair were the same raven black. Her hair, ears, neck, wrists, and fingers were adorned with gold pieces. She radiated a strong heat and a static gravity that activated Elaine’s spirit with nervous jitters. The warrior approached Elaine, and  introduced herself as Naanii Khaalii Lo Ku Nuu, the 444 Phoenix of Protection, A spirit of the Sun. She asked Elaine where she was going, and she admitted that she did not know. Naanii Khaalii reached out for her hand…she hesitated to give it, but Naanii Khaalii held her with a steady gaze, until she finally extended to her reach. Naanii Khaalii clasped Elaine’s hand in her own, and closed her eyes… the contact sent a pulse through Elaine, and she heard voices in her mind…her heart thumped and her eyes welled with tears…she could see the memory of her own murder, clearly… and so could Naanii Khaalii. The fire spirit’s eyes opened as they took a deep breath, before gently letting go of Elaine’s hand. 

 “Murdered by your own daddy… that’s cold blooded…your death was unjust…premature…” Naanii Khaalii shook her head, and then continued, “Yet, even in the face of such a terrible betrayal, you did not allow the demon’s bitterness to seep into your soul.”  Naanii Khaalii gestured to the rows of train tracks with a glance. “The others have gone to face judgement and course through passage… you linger?” Naanii Khaalii asked, and Elaine admitted that she simply was not sure where to go? She was dead… but she did not have a clear sense of any particular want… her soul had no compass…

“There’s a path you might take…one where you may decide who you will be, and how you will exist.” The firebird said, and there was a sudden shift, as seamlessly, they were transported from the dock, to a lonely train stop, vacant  and distant from the others…It was the last of them, and there was a sign on it that read Naas Durell. Naanii Khaalii did not explain where or what that was, instead she clarified context;

“This road will not be easy. It is fraught with pain, bitter work, and battles you are not promised to win. Your destiny is unpredictable, vulnerable to great danger to your soul. Still… Many fools have sold their souls to take the risk of this route. You may achieve vindication and retribution; a purpose you were robbed of by your murder. It is a hard way, but an alternate course, which might secure your soul, to never be lost again.” Elaine heard the train horn before she saw it, approaching alone from the east, rattling the tracks.

“You’ll need to make a quick decision,” Naanii Khaalii said, “but choose wisely, between the path of passage and that of alchemy.”  Elaine’s eyes were on the approaching train, and she was just about to turn to ask a question, seeking some details to this sudden offering...but Naanii Khaalii had already changed their shape back to that of a dragon and was flying off into the distant sky. The train reached the bench stop where Elaine sat, and she saw in the conductor’s seat, a skeleton man, just like the ones from the river boat. He stopped the train and looked down at her with his hollow sockets.

“One way trip to Nas Durell, city of monsters.” He said, waiting a moment for Elaine to board. She hesitated. Every moment since her death had been in a steady shifting momentum to this point...she had to choose, between the peace of the afterlife the others were heading toward...the realms most aligned with the heaven she’d always prayed to with her beads...her beads...she pressed the pocket of her pants, and she couldn’t believe it...she pulled out her set of ruby stoned rosary beads, passed down through her mother’s bloodline, inherited to her through her grandmother who’d first owned them. She couldn’t believe it, because the boat captain had insisted that nothing from the physical world would make it through the portal...unless perhaps, the beads had not come from the physical world...the thought was sudden but strangely sure...someone along the way must’ve come into this world...and made it out with the rosaries...she was staring at the stones of the rosaries when the conductor said,

“I’m on a schedule ma’am, you getting on or what?” Elaine held the beads tight, and whether it was from pure curiosity, or just the spur of the moment, she decided to board this train, with no security promised up ahead. She sat on one of its rows, absolutely empty, as the train sped ahead, leaving the station and the river behind.

* Seed Planting (Imagining a small starting point of a place, object, character, or thought etc.) with movements that mimic putting a seed in the ground.

* Acknowledgement of soil; getting low to the ground and feeling the earth with our hands, and considering the power of foundations. Reflect on the underground as a dimension we cannot see which is beneath us. Beneath and Low are not the same as inferior or less.

* Acknowledge the sunlight and warmth. Reflect on the Chitimacha and other indigenous groups who held the sun as a sacred and central figure. In relation to world building, we consider spirituality (or lack there of) and the role of religious or faith practices in a potentially manifested world/dimension/alternate reality.

* Bring down the rain with fluid movements that start high and end low. Reflect on the role of water in the shaping of culture. As we world build, what is the function of the elements in a society or place. How does water impact characters.

* The growth of the tree, exemplified by tall stature and widening of the arms. What does it mean to grow. Trees get so large; how do we feel about growth that leads to gianthood. What is the sensation of a tree’s slow growth. What is the niche of a huge oak tree, what purposes does it serve? What does a conceptual world do? What purposes or niches might it serve?

* A tree is cut or damaged by an elemental force. Tragedy or inconvenience strikes. Mortality must be considered. World Building considers vulnerability. What does it mean for a conceptual world to incorporate elements of mortality. How do we navigate a character or a place or an object being subject to loss, change, or pain. How does a world remain the same and how does it change? Does it shrink, does it grow? A 100 year old tree is cut down…suddenly it is small…but though it is made small, its age remains the same…its memories remain.

* Consider roots. Roots are lasting. Roots carry memory. Roots grow over time. We return back to the foundation of soil. Beneath the ground where eyes cannot see, as the tree was growing, so were the roots. The tree is cut, but it survives because of the roots which grew out of sight and mind. What are the roots of a built world? What is growing beyond the view of the reader/audience? What primordial force is unwavering.

Crow Brought the Fire 

A long time ago, back when the Mastodon still ambled across meadows, and sabertooths stalked the forests, human beings were at an ancient time. They’d emerged from the earth like saplings, and had since developed in their civilization. They looked to the sun for light and for warmth, and in the grace of day they learned all manner of things; hunting, gathering, fishing, building, weaving and sewing, building and planting, speaking and running, praying and drumming. 

Humanity was fully dependent on the grace of day though, and when the sun would set beneath the horizon at dusk, night would fall and the people could no longer see in the darkness. They had to return to their homes, shut their doors and wait out the pitch. Where sight left, hearing remained, and people were subject to the abuse of their own active imaginations, to make sense of all the strange things they heard ... .night was danger, shadow, and unknown space was death. Night was bearable though, behind the safety of walls built in the light of day, in the months were warmth lingered into the night…but when the chill of winter settled in, followed by the bitter bite of a vengeful cold, night was truly a trial…bones ached and teeth chattered where no amount of pelt or insulation would make a difference…food may have been scarce, medicine sparse, support absent….and by the time winter was ushered past by the grace of spring, it may have taken loved ones on the tail of chilly winds…elders and children would not live to see the flowers bloom… The Humans were filled with a palpable grief…how they wailed in frustration for their losses…they did not see how to preserve themselves through the vulnerability of night…they were stuck in perpetual cycles that rendered them stagnant and unevolving. 

There were many forms of life and matter on earth. The elements, primordial, held no pity for the humans in their grief. Fungi and Bacteria were also indifferent. Green Beings such as trees, may have been curious or concerned…but their heads were always in the clouds…reaching for sunlight … It was those who were closest to humans, in shape and gesture and emotion; the animals, who considered the plight of humankind too deliberate a course of action. 

From low and high, near and far, under and above ground, within and out of water, from sky and cavern, river and forest and plain came the many animals of Turtle Island. The great council was full of the chiefs of their kinds, and they all took their turns to speak and reflect on the matter of the human’s grief and sorrow in the darkness of night. Deer came forward, twitchy in her ears and her legs. She said, 

“The Humans are already well equipped with intelligence and tool making. They have made themselves rulers of the day. They enter the forest, and they shoot my kind with arrows, and snare others in traps…they catch many fish and birds. What warmth they do know, has come from the hides of my own kind worn over their hairless bodies. If they gain access into the night, what rest will the deer folk know? At least, as they are limited by the falling of the sun, we can graze in peace…why should we give them more access to the wilderness, so they might catch us easier?”  Deer’s points were valid…rooted in fear, as was her nature as a prey animal, always in danger, but valid, nonetheless. Many other prey animals affirmed deer’s discernement. Next to speak, was the Red Wolf, 

“Evolution is battle. It is grief. It is sorrowful. Every one of us has ancestors who were once small, weak, vulnerable in the darkness. Over time, we have evolved to be stronger, faster, smarter…we choose our strengths and submit our weaknesses. My kind chose stamina, endurance, and a clamping jaw. Panther chose strength in limb and claw over stamina and endurance. Gator chose dominion of the water, at the price of an exhaustible energy they must replenish by nothing but the warmth of the sun…we have all had to make sacrifices. We have all had to submit to the laws of nature…why should the humans be any different? Let them course through their era of darkness until they rightfully earn their freedom in the night as the rest of us.” Wolf spoke their piece, not out of fear of the humans, but out of respect to what he and his kind had went through, to earn their mighty rank in dark space.  And on still, the debates went, and different animals, defending or condemning the plight of the humans to receive aid from animal kind. They fussed on, until one emerged from the water, and approached the animal council. She moved very slowly, her large frame cumbersome. Every move was deliberate, and she was steadfast in the sovereignty of her time. Her mind was all her own. She was Snapping Turtle, and she was greatly respected by many living things, for though she moved very slow, her strike was as lightning. She did not often show herself, or speak, but when she did, all would pause to listen. The animals all hushed their bickering to listen to what Turtle had to say. She said, 

“Deer, I understand and I sympathize with your fear. The humans have taken many of my kind as well,” and to the wolf, 

“I respect your honor, and the sacrifices you have made to rule the night,” and then to all she said, 

“However, humans are irrefutably different from the rest of us… their charge is not this thing or that thing…they are the stewards and defenders of our world… when devours come from the stars…and have no doubt, they will come…we will need the humans to defend us… though i will not lie to any of you… they are granted temperamental wills…they may fail to protect us…they may rise to the challenge…even i cannot discern the absolution of such a vision. I am sure though, that their destinies are connected to our own. They are in need of support, to grow….and if we do not help them, they may seek aid from a more sinister place…” the animals shuddered, for they knew Turtle spoke of demon craft…the thought of the humans seeking the demons, ancient enemies of the animals, for help, was unsettling. Turtle spoke further, 

“I respect the opinions of all here. I respect deer’s anxiety. I respect the wolf's reservation. I will not impose the mission of aid to the humans on any of you. If you do not wish to help, be guiltless in your refusal. However, I would have all those who are not helpful, to be out of the way, and uninvolved in further deliberations. Let the council be furthermore concerned only on the execution of the mission … is that fair?” Turtle asked, and the animals found her wisdom fair. Those who did not wish to help the humans departed, and those who did, stayed to discuss further. 

“Now, I will call on you all to think,” Turtle said, “when it is day, the humans are well. When it is night, the humans are sorrowful. What is the maker of difference between day and night?” 

“The Sun.” The animals said, and Turtle hummed her affirmation, 

“Indeed…and so, to end the suffering of the humans, we must bring sunlight to the night.” At this, the animals were perplexed. They talked amongst themselves. No one wanted to offend wise turtle, but none could make sense of what she said, 

“Turtle…what do you mean? There can be no sunlight in the night??? That is contradiction…”​​ Turtle nodded…it was indeed contradiction, to such a degree that to manipulate such an ancient paradigm into flex would forever alter their universe, to wonderful and terrible degrees. But the moment in time was there, and Turtle’s intuition was decisive. Turtle did not over explain, she simply called on the brave to hear simple instruction, 

“I call on a warrior among you, to journey as far east as east can go. When you reach the sun, you will ask it for some of it’s light to bring back to the humans, and give them relief.” There was a moment of processing and consideration. No one of the animals was quick to step forward. They considered Turtle’s initiative, and wondered about their own security, as was natural. A journey all the way to the east would see them away from their cubs, chicks, and hatchlings. They would have to leave their waters and hunting grounds. They would leave their homes vulnerable. Furthermore, a journey east was dangerous, in general, for there were many demons to slay on the way, who would no doubt attempt to prevent the achievement of the mission. The animals were naturally afraid. Turtle did not judge them, she gave them time to contemplate their bravery, or lack thereof. 

Turtle lifted her head then, to see a shifting in the crowd. A warrior was coming forward. The crowd parted to let her through. Back then, this warrior had good sight. She walked with a most fluid sway, as her stocky legs were quite stable on the ground. Her fur was white as snow. She had a tail, that was the most beautiful tail of all the animals, more beautiful even than fox’s. She was not territorial, she went where she pleased, for her nourishment was many things which are found in the soil, and under root, which was in plenty, but not so desirable by other animals. Her niche was decomposition, and communion with the spirits of the dead. She preferred the solitude of night time and was most fond of the stars. She was of a warrior’s ego, and she was always interested in proving her courage, to herself as well as others. Her name was Opossum, and she knelt before the wise turtle to accept the mission to the east.

Opossum journeyed then as far east as east could go. Her journey was not quick, for Opossum was not the swiftest on foot. On her way she encountered demons, but they were no match for the might of her grounded sway and the balance afforded to her by her tail. She eventually made it to the sun, as it rose crimson above the horizon. She told the sun what the humans were going through, and that her mission was to bring sunlight to their nights. The sun, respecting Opossum's courage to make such a journey, obliged her and said she was permitted to take fire. Opossum, full of pride, went to retrieve the fire, however when she grabbed it with her paws, she quickly retracted them. The fire burned her, and she shook her paws in pain, blowing them off…she understood then…thinking to herself that she should have known, this mission would not be so easy. She stepped back from the sun, and considered the dilemma. She’d committed to this mission, and she was so anxious to prove herself…not necessarily to everyone, but certainly to Turtle, who she respected. She breathed in deep, and she looked at her hands…..her ego was strong in its desire for achievement….and she did indeed empathize with the humans, whose homes she dwelt near in search of food at night…they did not know that she was one of their protectors…but Opossum imagined life without the dexterity of her hands and she felt a wall rise to the mission…her hands were her own, her hands were sacred, needed…she was not willing to part with them, for anyone….except perhaps her own offspring…no, she would not give up her hands to carry the fire…but how then, she wondered…would she bring back the flame? It was then that Opossum glanced at her tail…it was so beautiful, as the rest of her…but specifically, her tail was her might, it was as a crown…the most striking and alluring part of her. She would not deny, the perks and privileges of beauty were many, and besides that, she was most secure when her appearance was full and complete…but she could not forfeit this task…she could not give up. Opossum's tail was very special, for not only was it visually remarkable, but functionally, it served her with the dexterity of a hand; prehensile. Opossum willed her tail to grasp the flame, and she went then, to return to Turtle with the fire. Opossum's journey back was not as well as the journey to. She was burdened by the pain she felt from the fire steadily burning down the length of her tail. She lost the clarity of her sight by the sooty smoke which plagued her as her fur burned. And still, even as she burned, she had to fight the demons who wished for her journey to fail…for Opossum was so lowly, grounded…she was not quick enough to run, and could hardly see well enough to hide…and even when she hid, the fire light made her obvious…her journey was so rough, but across her trek, she disassociated from the pain, focused absolutely on achievement. 

Eventually, Opossum did make it back home, and when she did. The animals gathered to witness her return and they were alarmed. Opossum no longer walked with her confident sway…she ambled, slow like a turtle. Her eyes were squinted almost completely shut. She fell before Turtle, and she began to weep. The other animals began to weep as well, for they saw with horror that Opossum's tail had been burned from end to end…it was bare and calloused…her ivory fur was stained grey and black by the same smoke that had taken her sight. The animals offered their condolences for the loss of her tail’s fur, and Opossum's weeping paused. She told the other animals, 

“I do not waste tears for my tail,” She said firmly, for her tail was without fur, but it was still useful, flexible. Opossum would miss her beauty, yes, but she did not value it so much as the other animals did, no. Opossum's sense of self worth was rooted in the validation of her courage and might as a warrior. She clarified, 

“Don’t you see!? I have not brought back the fire? It died when it ran out of fur to burn on my tail…. I failed the mission!” Opossum was so emotional. Turtle looked compassionately at the proud warrior, and told Opossum to stand up, straighten her back, and hold her head high. 

“Opossum, you have failed nothing…the test you thought you were taking was different from the true task and purpose of your mission. Your intention was to bring fire back, but your assignment was to travel all the way East, which you did. Opossum, you have failed no one, you have brought us revelation.” Opossum stood, and looked at Turtle, perplexed, and Turtle continued, 

“You showed us that a journey east is too far and long for a ground animal to make and bring back the fire. And therefore, by the offering of your tail fur, you earned us the right to see clearly that there is no animal who walks the earth or swims the waters who will achieve this mission of light to night for humankind. We will not send those who will leave and die in vain to try.” Turtle went on to address the animal council, 

“The fire must be brought back by one flight. I call the bats, the bees, the birds and dragonflies…who among you will accept the challenge of bringing sunlight to night?” 

And so, the birds and other flying animals turned their attention to who they felt was the obvious candidate. They encouraged him forward. Now, at this time, the vulture was full in the head with feathers, and his fabulous plumage was of the colors of sunset! Vulture was not cocky or arrogant, but he was confident, and sure. He did not step forward with any particular bias or motivation. He was just there, and he did not protest his nomination. He accepted the task from Wise Turtle with a lazy eyed acknowledgement, and then flew high into the sky on wings like sunlight. Vulture flew all the way East, in a decimal fraction of time that it took for Opposum to make the journey. Vulture reached the sun, and just as opossum he asked for the light to bring humans in the night. The sun obliged, and Vulture considered his feathers…all of them of his wings and tail needed….he knew the fire would have to take something…he empathized with humans. They often met at the carcasses of the passed on, looking for things. Vulture allowed himself the grace to forgive his offering, and he put the flame in his neck feathers. Upon his flight, the wind picked up…and though Vulture reached the sun quicker than Opossum, quicker was also the loss of the fire. Within a few gust of his great wings that filtered such wind, Vulture felt the fire crackle and burn away his head feathers, and then die. Vulture flew all the way back home, without the fire, and upon his return, his head and neck were bald of feathers, and what feathers remained were no longer as the sunset, but dark as the soil of earth, sooted by the fire smoke singe. 

So, the animals grieved then for Vulture, who was as calm as ever to change. Vulture and the others began to contemplate the next step in the puzzle…their greatest flyer could not bring back fire, however one of them going was a necessity? It didn’t make sense to them. They pondered, and Turtle did not have the answers to give them. While they thought, there was another bird, who was often near Vulture, but not quite as. They’d considered the dilemma of the human’s suffering more than any other. This animal was the friendly teacher who came to witness the great birth of humans from the ground of earth. This animal had taught them the power of speech, the tactics of wisdom, relation to the dead, hunting, building, weaving, sewing, rearing…MANY things. This animal had helped humans to evolve, and so they felt very responsible for their inevitable sorrow. This was Crow. Crow did not want for the humans to suffer. Crow saw with clear vision what to do, for they were very intelligent and quick witted. Crow at this time was all white. Ivory, cream. Their eyes were beautiful sky blue. They had the most beautiful singing of all the birds, with songs more complex than even mockingbird. They flew east, and did as Vulture and Opposum, asking for fire, and being permitted to take it. Crow, in reflection of the past, acted with surety. They placed the fire in their throat, and kept it safe from the wind. They flew back, and the smoke of the fire bellowed from her beak, and turned many of their feathers black as jet and pitch. When she got back to the people, she delivered them fire. When Crow let the fire leap from her throat, it took with it, her songs. She could no longer sing, she could only CAW CAW CAW. Crow felt a deep grief for what she lost, but she was also pleased by the joy of humans at the light of their camp fires. Feeling for the crow, the humans vowed that because she could no longer sing the songs she’d taught them, that they would sing those songs, particularly for her, so she might hear those wonderful sounds which her own throat used to make. And when the humans would sit at their fires, adults among them would intake sacred herbs, lit by flame…and these herbs would give them the wisdom needed to progress their people in evolution…however, at the cost of their own singing. They held respect for Oppossum, keeper of the foundations of decomposition. They respected Vulture, who flew as overseer of the many passages of the land. All three animals, regardless of their prettiness or lack thereof are worthy of respect, consideration, empathy, care, and grace…..

Ashe Shop Oshun Story

This episode is not intended for enjoyment so much as it is a textual rebuking of demonic energy and is not edited to be light or easy for consumption. It may be an intense experience for an audience.

Thank you,

* Keyshia Pearl

Amethyst dragon flies with crystal shimmering wings darted through morning mist, glowing gold as they passed through rays of eastern sun cascading over an open field bordered on all sides by tall cypresses where chickadees and mockingbirds sang, and red billed ibises walked the boggy undergrowth. Shadowed by the cypresses was a garden of herbs, fragrant at the touch of dew and pruning by a pair of dark and deft hands. Elaine cut basil and mint before she rose from the bed and walked to the house across the field cradled by a guard of trees. The house had white painted panels and a black gable roof. At the front was a screened porch with a wide swing. Elaine stepped onto the porch as the crickets chirped, before walking inside to the kitchen of the woman who kept the house and the garden which stood with its back to the winding of a still blackwater bayou.

The woman had waist length locks, turning grey where they’d once been black. She wore a loose gown of sapphire blue. She thanked Elane for the herbs in her deep voice. Her name was Hekima. She took the herb stems and rinsed them in the sink before moving them to a pot of water over the stove, which she set a flame to with a match before turning to Elaine and crossing her arms,

“I could never mind your company, but I have to ask...how do your people feel about you missing church this morning to come here?” Hekima asked. Elaine imagined her mother and father fuming to be going to mass without their daughter trailing obediently behind them. From the time she was born, Elaine had not missed a Sunday mass at her neighborhood’s church, until that very morning, when she’d woken up with the peaking of the sun and crept from the house without waking her sleeping parents. She left note of her departure and her abstinence from mass, but not where she was going or what time she’d be back. Her nerves were tapped with rebellion.

Hekima left the herb tea boiling on the stove and sat at the kitchen table across from Elaine, whose hair was covered in a silk scarf. The young woman of nineteen years had an ancient heaviness in her honey amber eyes. Elaine had met Hekima; a woman in her mid forties, at the public library, looking through the anthropology section for books on the past and its complexities. Elaine was just browsing, letting her spirit guide her to something where Hekima had been looking for something more specific. It was by a strange fate that their hands were intercepted on the spine of the same book on the ancient Kingdom of Kush on the Nile River. The touch of their hands coursed energy through them both, and one recognized the other for beings of power. They began a conversation, first about the book, and then, as naturally as all true friendships begin, one subject led to another, and another, until ritualistically, they were meeting every Saturday on the second floor of the library.

Hekima was a subject of profound fascination for Elaine, because in all her life she’d not met anyone like this stranger; steadily becoming a dear friend. Hekima’s life started out like Elaine’s, in a small river parish town where all which was known, was all that was told. Hekima’s interests dove into the expansive study of the human past, and every way it still manifested in the present to see how to apply that knowledge to the betterment of the future. Her studies eventually took her from the South of Turtle Island, across the big water, to the shores of the Motherland and beyond, where her own mind and hands were her wealth and her power. She learned agriculture in the lush gardens of the Western Coast, theology from the underground temples of the Eastern Highlands, magics from the mouth of the Nile, and cosmic wisdoms from the scholarly spirits of Tim Buk Tu. Her knowledge was as vast as her grace and as powerful as her natural reservation. She said she’d followed her heart back to this continent, with no specific goal in mind, beyond moving as the wind blew her. She’d been settled on the outskirts of the town called Sugar-Flow for several years then. Most in town weren’t aware she was there, by her own intentions. She was a hoodoo woman, a synthesizer of the ancient spiritualities and agricultures of the Motherland and Turtle Island. It was by her keen and learned senses that she’d been able to recognize Elaine, as like herself.

Elaine was born in the town called Sugar Flow, named so because through this town, nestled just off the flow of the great river and carved up by several bayou tributaries, that sugar had been king of all commerce for as long as its people retained memory. Sugar Flow was a small town by its size, but large and layered in its history; every corner, every doorway, every street, every bit of civilization had no less than centuries of stories to tell of tragic love, rebellion and ruin, schemes for power, layered with both triumph and trauma. Sugar-Flow was emblematic of the duplicitous nature of the south, soothing as a siren's song, but just as unpredictable and dangerous to the unwary. There were things about that town which were largely left unsaid, though, the dead never forgot anything. The spirits who lingered would not let go. It was in Elaine that the spiritual entities of Sugar-Flow found their conduit of attention, for she’d emerged from the birth canal with a skin veil over her eyes, and it was known, before she saw past that darkness, what she would see in the light forever more. Elaine had sensed the ghosts of Sugar-Flow constantly; by their shapes, sounds, and strained efforts to make differences in the physical world where their lingering forms no longer held sway. They appeared to her in dream visions, or as apparitions; one second there, the next, not. Other times they whispered her name where no one was seen, pushed open doors which had been securely closed, drug their feet across floors and thumped up steps. Sometimes, others sensed them, but most never saw through the veil which was Elaine’s own strange world of exploration and curiosity. With apparitions, she’d played in the dark without fear and with spirits of nature, she’d spoken at the fringes of thickets and fields and waterways. She’d grown up in her own private education of the land received in whispers, dreams, and intuitions. She carried the truths of the past in her blood. She was led to learn names of the tribes which had walked the swamps before foreign conquest and their secret survival through the bloodlines of her own people. She was told the names of those who were bound and the many who rebelled for generations against the imposed dominance of the kings and queens of sugar cane who ruled Sugar-Flow with a terrible and ruthless grip. She’d been guided by intuition to books, landmarks, artifacts, and people where vast truths were found by a heart unafraid to look in the dark. The people of Sugar-Flow had always thought her strange, but she did indeed find them strange in return...it had been such a treat to meet Hekima, who’d invited Elaine on those first Saturdays to see her little patch of land nestled among the cypresses. 

She taught Cleopatra the healing of roots and herbs within the vast knowledge of botany in balance with the practiced power of a prayerful tongue and intention. Hekima taught her the power of speech. She taught Elaine to set boundaries with the souls of the lingering dead so they could not drain her without her consent. She taught her the laws of altar keeping. The ever dormant Elaine was beginning to blossom with knowledge at Hekima’s tutelage but, that Sunday, sitting across from her dear mentor, she received news which had stunned her to her core. Hekima was preparing to leave Sugar-Flow.

“Leave...no, Hekima you can’t leave.” Elaine said, and the alarm that flashed in this young woman’s eyes pained Hekima. But Hekima was moved by her own intuitions,

“I’m a nomad by nature Elaine, when the wind blows for me to move, I always listen.” Hekima said, proud that she’d been able to aid Elaine as she had, but feeling it was time to bring her knowledge somewhere else now, somewhere more secure than Sugar-Flow. For several years she’d lived inconspicuously independent of many of the town’s codependencies, but she’d heard their whispers about her through the ethers; witch...sorceress...Lilith... Sugar-Flow was ruled by its own old magics, strong in their hold of the minds of its people. She knew better than to expect the religiously anxious to prioritize diplomacy if they accused her of witchcraft. Her survival would have to be preserved through wrath and violence she was certainly capable of, but preferred to avoid with proactivity. She would not wait for the storm to arrive at her doorstep with fire, bullets, and curses of ignorance. Hekima could not remain in Sugar-Flow in opposition to her intuition. If Elaine was to continue in her tutelage, then she would have to follow Hekima beyond the bayous of Sugar-Flow.

“I’m leaving this spot in seven days-time, at the same hour as now. When I am gone I will leave no trace. You may meet me here before the clock strikes its current time and I will take you with me to my next dimension.” Hekima said, and Elaine breathed in...seven days? Hekima saw fear and hesitation flash in Elaine’s expression, and though it made her sad, she understood it. She reached across the table to take Elaine’s hand softly,

“There is no pressure,” Hekima said, and Elaine wanted to believe that...but it just felt like such a sudden test; like this decision would decide her fate for all time to come. She’d learned much on her Saturdays with Hekima, but in the other six days, her life belonged to the eb and flow of her town, the customs of her people and her family...She’d manifested enough courage to learn more than what she’d been taught by her own people, but to leave them, with understanding of the price of that action...it was a lot to consider. She took a deep breath, and Hekima reiterated,

“You have seven days to make up your mind, and whatever decision you come to, I only implore that it be for yourself, and for no one else. Do not leave Sugar-Flow with me for a sense of service or obligation to me. Leave Sugar-Flow because and if that is your desire, do you understand?” Hekima asked Elaine and she nodded her assertion. They spent the rest of the morning talking about lighter things; of gardening and history and of Hekima’s vast stories. It was around 3:00 in the afternoon when Elaine summoned her courage to venture back home. 

She thought it ridiculous that her absence from Sunday service felt like an act of such an extreme and stressful rebellion, but alas, the rituals of her town were downright biblical in their demands. She walked about forty minutes from the cypress woods, through the streets of town, until she got to her neighborhood, then her street, and eventually the front of her family house. She walked through the doorway stationed by a silver crucifix and into the still and quiet house to find her parents and siblings still weren’t home yet. They were spending their Sunday, as usual, at the church grounds with the rest of their community well past the resolution of mass. Her heart beat in anticipation as she watched the clock and the light outside steadily shifted and began to fade...her heart jumped when she heard the front door unlock and open and her parents stepped inside. She summoned her courage and went downstairs, determined to behave firstly, as if she’d done nothing wrong at all. She reached the bottom of the stairs as her mother, father, and siblings looked at her with a shared pause. She told them good evening and went to the kitchen to get some water. She could feel her father’s eyes on the back of her neck. She knew her mother was looking at him, as always, for some direction. Her father, whose name was Idris, told her mother, whose name was Sula, to

take herself and Elaine’s two younger sisters out to the backyard for a little while. Elaine still had her back to them as she listened to them step out the back door. She drew the glass of water to her lips, taking it in, before summoning the courage to turn around and face him. His suit was still hanging over the white sleeve of his button-down dress- shirt, ironed and tucked into his pressed black pants, his bible in the hand of that same crooked arm. He looked at Elaine, and asked where she’d been,

“A little bit of everywhere,” she said casually, “across town, to the welcome sign and past it, to the hunter’s trails for a walk in the woods.” She said, keeping her explanations minimal, and making no mention at all of Hekima, the hoodoo woman. Her father sucked one of his teeth, turning one side of his lip up with his tongue as he created the sound on his incisor. It was one of his many cues of dissatisfaction. He crossed the room and Elaine stayed by the sink as he draped his suit over the chair, before resting one his hands on its back. It was amazing how calm he could look, even when Elaine knew without a doubt how furious he was.

“And I guess, this was just so important that you took it upon yourself to miss church.” He asked, and Elaine couldn’t help but think, was the issue that she’d missed church, or that she’d missed something he demanded that she and the rest of the family attend, because he said so. She kept the thought quiet as she watched him from across the room like a deer watches the bayou water’s edge for an alligator stalking beneath the surface.

“I needed to take the day for myself.” She said, and his brow lifted, because that was far from what he understood or could empathize with. She saw his thoughts in his eyes...the audacity of her, to make such a decision, without any consultation or permission?

“Sunday is the day of our lord, the day we come together as a community and praise our savior for our blessings. You think you bigger than that, that you better than that, lil girl? You know something more worthy of your time than God himself?” Elaine was cautious with her words, because the questions were loaded, geared to his favor, to his domination. She minded the level of her sight, the movement of her eyes, the position of her posture, lest it be misunderstood as a challenge, though she supposed, the challenge had already been initiated by her letter in the morning.

“I don’t think that.” Her words came out low and her father’s tone shifted with the turning up of his mouth,

“I aint hear you, speak up!” The sudden force in his voice was like a strike in itself, and she felt herself sinking within her own soul, averting her eyes in submission,

“The floor didn’t just ask you a question, I did, so look at me! I asked you, was whatever you did today more worthy of your time than God himself?”

“God was with me Daddy,” Elaine said through the thumping of her heart, and the fear chemicals coursing through her body at the rumble of her father’s voice, not even close to its full force, “I’m always with him.” Elaine said, but her father was already speaking over her, always, asking questions to hear a response to correct rather than to truly listen, he was already on,

“God was in his house today, at the church you decided to pass on your way.” He said, and Elaine did not bother to refute, because she knew this man would not hear her. Elaine was the oldest of her parent’s children, and though she’d spent her whole life beneath their roof, she was as estranged to them as ants and fish. When she was born with the veil, her mother had cried from deep in her chest, because she, like her husband, saw this birth defect as a curse which had been planted into their bloodline, as opposed to a blessing of power. The faith they belonged to did not denounce the existence of the metaphysical realities which were undeniable in the deep thickness of the south with all its layers of the past, and complexities of practices...but they did however, demonize most everything, except that which they deemed worthy of understanding. If it was not through the savior’s name and the rituals of their church, then it was witchcraft, paganism, and revelry laced with wickedness. The old ways, they believed, had been suffered out of them to lead them to true salvation, reached by one way, and one way only. 

From childhood, Elaine had always seen the dead, spoken to spirits, heard their whispers and been surrounded by the unseen. Her father’s apathy to his daughter came after years of trying to purge this power from her, through many methods, few ethical or practical. 

He tried to pray with the force of his speech, this second sight from his child. They called on the priests and preachers, the prophets and the readers of the one book of truth to rid her of the curse of her birth, but none of it worked to any avail...and when Elaine was merely five years old, her father had looked at her, and proclaimed by his frustration, that she must’ve wanted the demons within her to stay, that she was of a spirit which enjoyed the wickedness of the psychic phenomenon, so taboo to his perceptions. She’d looked at him, even back then, and registered the strangeness of his judgment upon her, and did not reject his projection, because her reality had always been her normal; what was taboo to her father was simply a function, an ability, demonized then, where their ancestors may have cultivated this power and trained her from her earliest youth to use the gift and protect herself and aid others...but those motherland days were long gone, and here were the times of deep confusion and resentment for naturality and acceptance of conformity and obedience to imposed structure and a somewhat toxic likeness across the checkerboard of an entire town, following the beat of a single docile drum. Elaine’s singularity in this environment of practiced regularity had bred such a shame in her father’s heart, who’d descended from the very men, who’d been bound by chains and subjected to illiteracy, before they were granted the privilege of mobility and education in their oppressor’s words, for the sake of relaying the manipulations of misinterpreted, misrepresented and mistranslated texts to their own people, to save their souls, where they were not allowed to save their bodies. He came from that long line of devouts who’d found sanctuary in the chapel, and so insisted that everyone else’s salvation must be the same.

Elaine looked at this man, who she knew would not, or would simply refuse to understand, that across her life, she had seen, heard, read, experienced, and understood more than what she expected to simply accept, because it was what everyone else did. For some, acknowledgment of the spiritual complexities of the human experience was optional. Many could ignore what they did not sense.  A disbelief to what could not be proven or explained ever enabled. But Elaine had always seen them, heard them; she knew their names, she knew what made a ghost a ghost and a spirit a spirit. She had done the research and connected the dots between her family’s religion and the religions of those which they deemed heathens. She saw in many places, spirits reincarnated across dimensions and perceptions of thought. She was positive that despite her father’s insistence, there were options to explore, choices to be made, and further, that she did not have to choose between one faith and another, as much as it was to be learned; the power of balancing between the spiritualities of the world. 

She could hold her rosary beads close, and pray with utmost respect to sacred Madonnas and holy children and to powerful figures of resistance, while also learning the growing techniques of her ancestors, which cannot be separated from the respect of the spirits of the earth. She could still speak and commune with the ancestors who were not abstract in her life, but made of matter she could sense and speak to...but all of this, her father would not resonate with, because, to acknowledge that there was more, that there were options beyond what he believed, was to face the truth that he’d always subjected himself to the limitations of his own rigid system...to acknowledge that his senses of right, and his perceptions of wrong were not the ruling force of the entire world...and maybe, a man like him could accept, that the world would not submit to his will, though he would certainly judge and condemn it to damnation...but what he could not accept was the rebellion of his own child, away from the covenants which ruled him so, he could not accept that this child, his child, might have the audacity to step away from his rituals, away from his teachings, away from the very channels which had manifested her form into the world...his world, of Sugar Flow, population 6,457, of a single dominating religious demographic. A steady attire of button downs and ties and loose dresses past the knee cap, policed hairstyles, and enforced behaviors, appropriate and eloquent speech and proper language, politeness and niceties to mask a vast incapacity for true kindness. A general consent to following leaders in blindness, allegiance to the very forces which had bound them at the root, stolen language from them, and changed them into obedient subjects. Now, they needed no external masters to rule them when they could rule over each other so well in the master’s stead. Authority to be respected, traditions to be minded without objection, acceptance and love conditional to compliance of the rules and attention to the details of delicately cultivated reputations through prostrations to the system, preaching a judgeless gospel with utmost judgment and insistence on the direction of wayward souls to fiery pits of damnation...Elaine’s father could not understand, after living a life of his own submission to all these invisible systems, that his own child’s rebellion, his daughter, that one object he knew to be truly of his own flesh…. If nothing else could be subjected to his dominion then it should have been her! It had to be her; his soul to save, his mare of legacy to breed with a foal who fit into his ideal of fine stock, to continue the pattern, the way of life, the path of existence, so insistently on a mission to reproduce itself and make its presence clear in the world. Destiny was to follow the taught words of indoctrination, the ways of the cult of that nation which could lead men and women beyond their stations, by their belief...or perhaps, by their obedience, by their submission to what insisted that they must live to dominate over others, make the heathens of the world bow down, for they are unworthy to chose that which is not aligned with the mass comfortability of church on Sundays, and work on every day, raising your children in the same way and beating and screaming out all which even dared to ask the question...Why? In that moment, Elaine heard the words leave her mouth before she truly thought whether she was ready to speak them,

“Why? Why does it matter so much whether I attend church with you or not?” It was such a simple question, to Elaine at least. To her father it was clearly the most intense trigger, by the turning up of his face as he simply shouted,

“Because as long as you are my child, you will do as I say, and it is not up for discussion.”

“I am not a child anymore daddy, you can’t...” Elaine’s words weren’t even out her mouth yet when her father shifted from the kitchen table chair, across the tile floor to the sink, all in two long and intentioned strides, and in his rage he brought his heavy hand across Elaine’s face, and she heard the glass of water shatter across the floor as she plummeted with the sudden stun in her body. Her father stood over her, speaking the curses of a bruised ego, as she struggled to regain her vision, blinking away the specs in her sight, as she lifted on her palms. She vaguely registered her mother coming down the stairs to see what had happened. She heard the thrum of her father’s voice and registered her mother’s own uselessness at the base of the stairs, herself, complacent and fearful of her husband’s wrath...and in her own ways, disdainful too, to her daughter’s rebellion against the authority which she had so dutifully submitted to all her life. Elaine spoke something, hardly even conscious of what it was, and barely audible to her father,

“What did you say to me,” he asked, and it was then, that the words were clear in her mind, as she felt a sensation coursing through her...subtle at first, a slight static across her arms and over her chest, before she felt it, more sure, through her whole body, this pulse of something...an anger perhaps, though it was not rageful...the furrow of her brow not one burdened by tears or frustration, it was a wrath inside of her, old and long dormant, and when she stood, she felt at once like herself, and someone else. The lights in the house began to flicker, as the power began to shift, on and off, on and off. Across Sugar-Flow, the electric grid was spazzing, as Elaine stood, with the force of some electromagnetic frequency at her command, as a wind seemed to pick up in the house, though there were no windows open. Her mother cowered against the railing of the stairs, as her father kept his nerve, but took a step back, his judgment more present than his acceptance of fear in that moment. Elaine had had tantrums before, when she was younger, she would scream and the lights would flicker just like this, and the air would fill with a static. Her mother, Sula, gasped from the staircase, as she saw, with the sight she had inherited as all of the women in her family, though she often chose to ignore it and mute it. In that moment it refused to be pressed down, and she saw as clear as day; the glowing figures of women standing in a semi-circle of protection around Elaine. Her husband could not see the figures, though he felt their energies. Sula could do nothing but scream and call on her savior, but even as she spoke the words, their sound was so weak, so faithless, with nothing to fill them up as judgment usually did. Her fear had shook her courage from her tone, and she could barely get out the sounds at the sight of the warriors, glowing in rainbow spectrum around her daughter who stood with eyes harder than she’d ever seen them. Elaine looked up at her father, like David facing the Goliath. The wind was reaching a sharp howl and whistle, not just inside, but outside as well, lightning flashing was seen from beyond the glass windows, and thunder boomed outside. Elaine’s voice came out, simultaneously her own and at once, belonging to many. She said,

“I do not belong to you.” She felt that she was not alone, sensing the glowing figures near her, but that other part of her consciousness was dominant then, and she did not bother searching for answers for what was happening. In that moment, as if she was in a dream, she understood all things for their great complexity, and she knew it was her

power to command it, as the dishes rattled, and the shelves shook, and the pictures fell from the walls. She heard her siblings screaming from upstairs and her mother calling out against the force of the wind in the house. Her father spat out,

“Witchcraft!” Elaine did not avert her eyes when she spoke to him,

“Do not reduce me to such trivial exploits.” She said, with that voice of her own, but of a different cadence, a different vocabulary and lithe, accented almost.

“By the blood of the holy redeemer I command you, whatever demon has infested the spirit of my child, to be gone! You are not welcome in the house!” Idris said, reaching for his bible and holding it out at Elaine, who did not flinch at the sight of the book. Her father’s rebuking was mis targeted, lackluster, as its potency was tainted by its fear. Elaine, and the guardians around her, whose forms shared different variations of her own face, were no enemies of those sacred texts or of the most-high which they homaged, it was indeed the opposite.

“If any demon is to be purged from me, then let it be fear, the fear which has bred itself in you, and festered within me, like a pathogen of the blood. I say again, that I do not belong to you!” Elaine looked around the room before she closed her eyes, as the thunder and lightning still raged outside, and car horns went off in alarm, and the TV in the front room turned into a static screen, before it started flashing through the channels, and then fell over, crashing to the floor. She breathed in,

“I sense it,” She said, “in the shadows of material,” her words triggered a pulse throughout the house, in all the space that was dark behind objects, which blocked the light.

“I sense the entity, as old as time but weak as flies,” Elaine began to shift, to some quiet and deeply rooted drum beat, the push and pull of water flowing in her shoulders as she spoke fierce words, but knew across her body, the sensation of grandmother’s hands, and sister smiles, of grandfather’s protection, and brother’s love, she was feeling the magnitude of lineage and family, which extended in its true force, across time and space, in the realm which could not be seen by the naked eye, but felt and understood by the truth of the heart. She began to rock,

“I draw you out, foul festering cockroach which sneaks, rats squeaking in the crevices, I call you out!” Again, the shadows pulsed, and it was like a hiss emanating across the house, through the rattle of all the objects. Elaine’s attention had left her parents, for they were no more than ignorant conduits of a darkness they did not understand themselves, and she wasted no more time than in the instant before, being afraid or hurt by them, for she understood that the root of their division was the tension of poison administered long ago, by the ropes over their skin, dragging them away from their villages like caught fish, by the bleeding of the feet as they walked across the land to the shores, by the darkness of the slaver’s castle overlooking the water, by the rock and lurch of the ship, the press of the sailors fingers into her for mother's hip, she saw the rot of the root on the healing herb which had become as poison, and she spoke again, with the force of thunder on her lips,

“I call you out from the shadows which you lurk, sewing discord between mother and father, sister and brother, friends and lovers, I call you out into the open where you can be seen and read for filth, your ilk no match for the potency of this purging I prepare for you from the deepness of my soul. I demand your obedience to the command of a holy tongue in more truth than your manipulation of fear could ever coerce our wills, I said to come out, dark beast of rot and foul nature, which stole my people and told us we were of the devil, that our blackness was sinful, that we knew less of our own continent’s religion than you who appropriated and mistranslated its original texts found in the underground of the old highland temples! I said come out, because for too long you have not known me, she who is of the frequency of the three sisters, I said come out! So I may deliver the lash of my words like your whip across my people’s flesh when we spoke our own languages and prayed to our own spirits, and into us you beat fear of damnation, you told us....you told us,” By now, Elaine’s eyes were spilling tears, not of sorrow but of purging, cleansing and release, she imagined her tears as the great river rolling through the space of her home,

“You told us we could have nothing but the pale son of God, no salvation but the worship of your own convenient figure, no salvation but our contribution to the system of capitalism founded off our own backs, no retribution beyond what we might earn through quiet prayer and singing in chapels, waiting on the day when your religion which speaks to unconditional love but enforces unlimited conditions to receive it...it’s not adding up! I’ve researched the mythologies, theologies, and spiritualities and they told me that the truth was older than you! That it was wider, and deeper, higher and steeper, I heard that the messiah was an energy to emulate, to respect, to walk in the light of, but there’s no light here in what you’ve spread, you couldn’t speak on him outrightly, so you had to change his face, and his name. You made his mother, a fierce warrior and protector of a woman, powerful in her faith and her courage, into a conduit of nothing more than veneration for her chastity as if her highest mark were not the fact that she raised a man strong enough to speak the devil off his back. I said show yourself and stand back!” Elaine was suddenly at the kitchen table, she’d passed her father, whose petrified awe of the moment, rendered him too scared to touch or reach for her, and she pounded on the table with the lights still flickering and the wind still whistling,

“You saw us sickly and deprived of nutrients from slaving in your fields, starving and jaundiced eyes from harvesting your sugar, stealing the force of our souls to grow yourself, you took everything...everything and demanded still that we bow before your own perception of God, that we accept submission as testament to our sins, a reprimand of our own worship...Demon come out from the shadows I said! You had us turn away from each other to look up to you, wolf in sheep’s clothing, pied piper of lost children! I do not belong to you, you do not own me. I am subject to nothing but my own will on this earth! I choose nothing which pushes me up against the wall in assault, before I ask the most high to show me a better and more efficient option, I submit to nothing a man or woman demands that I must do before I decide for myself. I do not belong to you! I am not subject to you! You project witchcraft onto my power, but this power I wield is of my own soul, while all of yours is derived through the worship and submission of my own so you tell me, who is truly the witch, the conjurer, and the shapeshifter! Come out of the shadow, ghost of the masters, demon of the missionaries, deceiver of women, and destroyer of our men, homewrecker, and destroyer, manipulator, and ill twister of the truth of the gospels, show yourself!” At Elaine’s words, the house shook, and there was a sound like nails against a chalkboard as she looked upon a mass of black static, making a silhouette around the shape of her father’s body. They’d switched sides, and he was not by the sink, and it was Elaine who stood close to the table. The entity which Elaine had drawn out was one of such heavy trauma and confusion, risen from the darkness of ages of the reign of egos, unchecked, and undisciplined. Her father had preached to them of commandments, covenant, and sin, all while ignoring his own darkness, raising himself, by bringing them down, constantly. It was a sickness; the weight of that judgment. Elaine stood looking at him, she felt only pity, for that shadow in him, which she could recognize, because it had existed in herself. In this moment, seeing her father cower and shake, with the demonic shadow, trying its hardest to hide behind him, anything but to face the wrath it had always feared from one like Elaine...she channeled gentility. 

She went to her father and knelt before him, though she saw only fear in his eyes...all she’d said, and it was if he’d heard none of it beyond his own repetition of his labels onto her form of witchcraft and blasphemy; the force of his emotional triggers blocking out his senses....Here was the truth of that rage which spurred violence against the vulnerable when it was clear there were forces bigger and stronger than its own misplaced dominance. It was so small at its root; so fearful of being harmed, damaged, abandoned, judged, jailed, enslaved, stolen away… so afraid of the losses of the past; those terrible losses, processed as punishments which were earned, for paganism, and disobedience to the master standing as a savior...her father was a hard-working man with goodness at his core. He was weighted by the responsibilities of his manhood challenged by the demands of his environment. Elaine looked into his eyes and glimpsed a heart which wanted to preserve his family and love his daughters, but was so triggered and destabilized by his inability to accomplish that. He felt pain in himself, for causing the hurt in his daughter’s eyes at the raising of his voice and the strike of his hand...but not knowing what to do differently nor how to stop when these actions of trauma had been for so long understood as cultural discipline...practices going back to plantations where the rule was to beat your children bloody enough so the master would not be the one to beat them worse, or to kill them...to align them as you had learned to align yourself, with the master’s fate and faith, to recite the chants and the songs and the gospels taught, to know the sins and the punishments, by heart, and the triumphs only as an aspiration to reach in death, by sacrifice of one’s own wants and needs…

Elaine wiped her father’s tears from his cheek...so terrible that he could not fathom her decision to choose herself, over what she was told to do. She realized in that moment, that the demon she’d called out, had been purged from herself the second she’d decided to no longer fear or submit to it… Her verbal lashing of its form, had been, after everything, her attempt to banish this demon from the house of her family...to free her father from the pain of its grasp...but she realized then, that it was not her place. She could make herself light and be so fierce and full of fire that this demon which plagued her bloodline would shrink itself to the smallest of shadows in her presence, but there was nothing, absolutely nothing she could do, for her father, or anyone else, beyond what they would do for themselves. The spiritual doppelgangers which had surrounded her were gone now and the wind had settled in the house, and the thunder and lightning outside was lessening. It was in that moment that she decided to leave Sugar Flow with Hekima. There was nothing left for her in that town...but then, she felt it, this sharp pain in her side that made her gasp...she registered too late, the open drawer above where her Father had his back against the sink cabinet, and the knife he held in his hand. Its length was plunged into her side...the pain was a shock, but honestly, the action was not...as Elaine felt her vision blurring at her mother’s scream as she finally found the will to come from the stairs. Elaine was calm, and cast no judgment out at her father’s still shaky and shocked eyes...she could see that still...he was not there, blacked out, his body willed by the entity his fear made him vulnerable to...she looked into the eyes of that demon, and did not give it the satisfaction it sought; of fear mirrored by the amber of her irises. Elaine’s vision went out briefly before there was a flash of the brightest light in her soul’s sight. She was transported far off, to a distant place.

Little Sister

When Nahinii was found in the field at the sacred dawn, she was not alone. There was another child, standing shyly in her shadow, clinging to her sister’s arm, peeking at the spirits of the Sun Temple. Nahinii did not hesitate to put herself before her sister, who shed crystal tears. The little sister, with hair pale like the moon and eyes black like space, cried, because she was born knowing, born aware, of so much that was and so much that would be. When she was asked her name she did not immediately answer as Nahinii had. It took her until that night, when Nahinii went to rest, and she was able to go out and witness the rising of the moon. It was then that she heard her name in the singing of crickets and frogs and the clicking of bats; Tehekuma, the little sister. 

Tehekuma was born in reflection of the moon; of a brilliant light, though not so bright or strong as her sister. She was forever tempered by a dark side, as the moon itself, which was immense as the cosmos within her subconscious. For much of her early existence, Tehekuma was overwhelmed by the knowledge and power of her birthright. She would succumb to headaches and vertigo at the flashing of her visions. She was filled with much caution and sensitivity, ever timid in contrast to Nahinii’s constant boldness. As the sisters aged, Nahinii trained for war and explored the glory of the daytime, whereas Tehekuma found comfort in her books, her crafts, her songs, and her stories. She preferred the exploration of the night where she could fade into the safety of shadows which evoked fear in many, but brought her to peace. Her sister’s shadow remained for an age, her safe enclosure, as she knew Nahinii was of such power to protect her, to defend the temple, and reign over their dimension. Nahinii never guilted Tehekuma for her softness and never attempted to change her, never shamed her, or abused her. She understood Tehekuma, for her quiet strengths, even before Tehekuma understood them herself.

At the cusp of adulthood, Tehekuma was warned by the keepers of the temple that the day would come when Nahinii’s shadow would no longer be her safe place. They warned her that one day, Nahinii would venture out at a fiery dawn beyond where Tehekuma would be able to follow. They told her that she would have to learn to defend herself. Tehekuma hadn’t understood then, why or how such change would manifest. She felt squeamish at the thought of taking life, weak before violence, and submissive beneath dominant tempers. She was ever content to do as she was told and rest in her prayers and her dreams. Nahinii called on her sister though, and with a heavy heart, she sent Tehekuma away from the temple to outgrow her fears. Tehekuma was heartbroken in the beginning, as she was forced from all she knew; cast from the temple and made to wander the world full of chaos and danger, hunger and cold. She went to places where there was sanctuary and she met allies who would become her teachers and remain forever after, her friends. Tehekuma crossed rivers, climbed mountains, walked plains, sailed seas, danced on islands, sang in temples, hunted in forests, survived in deserts. She journeyed to temples which stood at the merge of deltas with the sea, she went to swamps, and she explored jungles. She pilgrimaged to meccas, and studied at institutes of high knowledge. Tehekuma wandered as a nomad for many years, until she circumnavigated back to the Temple of the Sun, where she climbed the broad stairs all the way to its peak, where she presented herself to her sister. 

Tehekuma’s change was clear by the difference of her eyes, held even as an undisturbed spring. She wore armor, adorned by sacred mantles of the order to which she now belonged; The Miino. She walked forward and presented her spear; Moonshadow, to Nahinii, who asked Tehekuma to share all the ways she’d changed and all the power she’d learned to wield. Tehekuma relayed, like a pledge before God, 

“I am, still, much as I was, Tehekuma, the little sister, who stands securely and loyally in your shadow, to tend to you, aid you, heal you, and keep your temple. I now speak far less than I listen and I fight far less than I forgive. I scar, far less than I heal. I have changed, in the way I now know how to defend those sacred aspects of my soul which are soft and submissive. I hold my tongue, not for fear, but for awareness of the power of my speech. I forgive, not blindly, but because I know what is worth fighting for, and what is not. I do as little harm as I can, not for guilt, but because I find joy and peace in patience and healing. 

I am your sister, Tehekuma, but beyond that, I am the Spirit of the Moon, Okiinamaa Lusaa; the holder of the dark in the day and light in the night. I carry wisdom and guidance beyond fright. I am mighty even if that might is dull next to the sheer brightness of the sun. I am second in strength to none but you, and the most high. I walk in spaces that even you cannot go. I face introspection. I filter the emotions. I embrace the visions of truth across time and space and I sort them. I hold the pain to overcome it.

 I remember the names, the stories, and the histories, told by fire light beneath starry skies. I watch over the young when they sleep and I bless the talismans of mantles while they dream. I beam bright, but not so bright to disturb the night. I fear no darkness, because I am the pitch, I am the unknown, the unseen. I am peaceful in mystery, I am the great sensing, sensitive being who tempers the fire, the heat, with the cool flow of water. It is I who pushes the tides. I am Tehekuma, the queen of night and the usher of dawn. I am the puma, the owl, and the leaping deer. I am intuition. I am a reflection. I am the clairvoyant messenger, the tester, the wielder of Moonshadow. I am a Miino, and I know the power of ferocity, which is not natural to me from birth, but earned and sustained through life, sharpened as steel. 

To no one, not even you, sister, will I kneel for I fear not destruction, as much as I distaste dishonor. I walk with those who must go into the dark to appreciate light that is found. I am demonslayer, shadow walker, daughter of the stars. I mend bones with my hands and I fade scars with my prayers. I am solid as I am fluidly layered. I am Tehekuma and I am at once the same, and much changed.” 

It was then a long time since Tehekuma’s return to the temple. She sat in meditation at a shrine space where she felt a strange tingle up her spine. It had been an age since the departure of her sister to the realm of mortal living. She had since taken charge of keeping and defending the Temple of The Sun along with the rest of the spirits there. It had not felt so long, in her dimension, as it was in the human world, since Nahinii had gone, but she imagined much time had passed. She hadn’t heard from her sister for a very long while, which is why it was so strange to her to sense Nahinii. Even within the temple she could feel the heat of Nahinii’s advance like the heightening of the sun. She rose and went to one of the temple’s balconies, and sure enough, she saw Nahinii flying as a fiery phoenix across the night sky to the temple. She called out to her sister, but she heard no response, as the bird flew to the orrery and disappeared. The spirits of the temple ascended its levels to the orrery, but when Tehekuma reached the doors, they were sealed shut by fire. Tehekuma passed the nervous temple guards as Taktiktmii reached the hall. 

“What’s happening?” Tehekuma asked and he relayed that Nahinii had arrived with an unconscious Helottah, and had sealed them both inside the orrery. The mechanisms of the temple were going haywire with Nahinii’s chaos. Tehekuma rushed to the door and called out to her sister, but she could only hear the torrent of the inferno. She started to ask more questions as more of the temple’s residents began to wake at the commotion, but then she felt a sudden force at her head. She squinted from the pain, and reached for her face, as she lurched over, bracing against the wall. 

“Lady Tehekuma,” the temple folk called amd reached out to support her as Tehekuma saw a flash of images, all tinged in red light,

“Something is wrong…” Tehekuma’s vision went in and out, in and out, until finally, she was pulled fully into her subconscious…the pain in her head suddenly went away, and she was no longer at The Temple of The Sun. She was standing at the Okwaata, where the moon was hanging red over the lake. She heard the commotion of chaos behind her, spreading across Bulbancha, and she could see the glow of fires across the land. Ahead of her, the lake was churning by the force of strong winds and a rolling tide, and she felt the earth shaking beneath her. That’s when the shore began to crack, the levees began to crumble, and the ground was burst open, and from deep in the earth glowed high fire light of molten lava. Tehekuma watched as sinister figures rose from the underground, ghouls of the dead, blood draining snake men, beasts and monsters emerging from the pits. She shook her head with alarm at the sight of a diabolical army rising from the earth….she did not understand why until she heard the caw of a raven who came to land in front of her before he transformed into Faala; the long haired spirit guide of the dead. Tehekuma asked him what was happening and he explained the conflicts between the humans; the battle between Helottah and the Black Sun, and Nahinii’s refusal to accept. She had interfered with the natural passing of a mortal, and so, had caused such a ripple in the fabric of time and space that the demons of the underworld were breaking through. Tehekuma reflected on visions she’d had long ago, and she registered with déjà vu, their passing. The demons were passing her astral form in an unending course, and she came to accept that this time had arrived, which she’d sensed when Nahinii asked her to look into the future. Tehekuma had not seen the details in totality, but she’d known then, that a day would come when she would have to fight in exchange for what she had offered Nahinii her blessing for…She was just about to turn to Faala when there was a great sound from across the lake. She looked out to see water rising and crashing in titanic waves before the water glowed with green light. There was a great booming sound as something sprang from the surface of the earth and a moment later, Tehekuma could see with her eyes attuned to the night, the clear form of the red serpent; fanged and terrible, titanic and merciless, rise from the water, roaring before the boom of thunder and the crackle of lightning. The great beast turned its yellow eyes toward Bulbancha and though it was far away, and Tehekuma was not physically there, she knew that the Blood Moccasin, whose name was Teshii, saw her, as it hissed out its sinister and menacing voice, 

“The laws of man and spirit have been broken, and now, blood shall be spilled for insolence. Go forth my children of despair and rot! Feast on the flesh of these mortals who have crossed the lines of fate! Bathe in their blood and revel in their sorrow!” The Moccasin laughed with a terrible glee as she dove forward, to race toward the shore. 

“Faala,” Tehekuma turned to the raven spirit, “I will hold off Teshii for as long as I can. I need you to travel to the Temple and reason with my sister. Make her see the weight of these consequences.” 

“But Tehekuma, Teshii is a primordial of the abyss, she is too strong for you to fight.” Tehekuma cast a fierce glance at Faala, 

“I redirect your doubts Black Bird, for I did not ask for them. Go, and be of use as I’ve asked you. I will handle the serpent with what might is my business to deliver.” With that, Tehekuma breathed herself back to her body at the temple, and she came back too, in the arms of Taktikmii. She wasted no time, insisting that the miino and spirits of the temple ready themselves for battle. She commanded Taktiktmii to blow the mastodon tusk horn over the river to summon the water spirits to fight as well. 

“But what of the temple?” A miino asked, and Tehkuma responded, 

“At this time, the temple is not our concern. We must defend Bulbancha from the wrath evoked by my sister’s mistakes, or else this temple will fall without the preservation of the physical world to temper it.” Tehekuma and the others went to armor themselves, grab their spears, and they went in forms of fur and feather, to cross the portals and enter the human realm. 

Tehekuma flew as an owl through the veil, commanding her sisters and the warrior spirits of the temple to fight the demon horde swarming the city below. They spurred the warring clans from their fights against each other to suddenly face the common enemy raging up from the underworld. Tehekuma continued on to where she saw the massive horned serpent, Teshii, slithering across the bayou corridors, crushing oaks and cypresses in her ruin toward the palace of the Sun Tribe. Tehekuma rose in the air before she folded her great wings, and dived at lightning speed, glowing with periwinkle light, to crash into the head of the snake who opened her fanged maw in hissing rage as she was knocked hard against the earth, her entire coiling body rolling from Tehekuma hitting her so hard. Tehekuma circled back around and came to land ahead of the serpent before she transformed back to her womanly form. She was dressed in armor of shell pink, periwinkle, ivory and deer skin, and she raised her blue hued diamond spear to the snake who shook her head as she regained her bearing, hissing with anger. 

“Who dares to strike me?” The horned serpent hissed as her eyes found Tehekuma.

“Call back your army Teshii. Leave this city at peace and return to your place in the abyss!” Tehekuma called out and Teshii hissed and slithered forward, her massive scales grating across the trees beneath her. She bared her fangs down at Tehekuma but was cautious of the glint of the blessed spear in the moon spirit’s hand. 

“This does not concern you, Lady of the Moon. This destruction is of your sister’s doing, and is hers to answer for.”  Teshii said and Tehekuma kept her spear raised, 

“I am my sister’s keeper, Blood Moccasin. If you do not pull back your army, then the House of Nahinii will have to fight you.” The snake hissed, and glared down at Tehekuma, 

“So be it, foolish girl,” Teshii struck with lightning speed to take Tehekuma in her jaws, but the moon spirit was quick. She leapt out the way and lashed out with her spear. The Blood Moccasin raged at the strike which caused her pain, but hardly left a dent in her. The snake struck several more times and each time, Tehekuma evaded her and struck with her spear. The snake grew furious and shifted from fighting with only her head, to her whole body, twisting and coiling to continually strike with fangs and the lash of her tail. The earth shook with the ferocity of Tehekuma and Teshii, as Tehekuma took more and more of Teshii’s scales, moving so quickly against the great beast. But every blow delivered by Tehekuma in this realm of humans, tolled a tax on her energy and her strength. She was fighting another spirit within their own right to enact vengeful wrath on the land by the breaking of the laws meant to keep it in balance…Tehekuma could not call on the Most High for aid over Teshii when she knew that their battle would have to be fair. Any victory would have to be of her own will and strength…but she was tiring, her senses dulling, and she was struggling, more and more, to brace herself for the quickness of Teshii’s attacks. Tehekuma knew herself to be outmatched by the serpent on this field, but she had to keep fighting, she could not submit, as a miino, it was sacrilege to consent when their were lives to protect, honor to uphold…at the least, Tehekuma knew she could buy time as she was knocked by the momentum of debris cast up by Teshii’s writhing. 

She skidded and rolled across the earth, before she braced on her palms…she did not know how much of Bulbancha had been destroyed, nor did she know if her miino sisters were alive or not in this battle, but she knew she would not back down to this demon. She pushed herself up on sore limbs and looked up into the eyes of the towering reptile. She called out a war cry and summoned the force of the moon across her form to course into her spear and she lunged with vigor, to beat the serpent back. 

Sister’s Keeper

Nahinii held tight to Helottah, whose body had been battered. His eyes were closed, and his armor was stained with blood. He was cold, despite all the heat of the orrery. Nahinii sustained his heart beat, faint, struggling, but there. Her own power kept the pulse by her palm against his chest, sustaining the part of him that belonged to her. She held onto him, dearly, for such fear of releasing him, such fear of the last heart beat. She cried as she looked at his face, so beautiful to her, after all those years. She thought and thought of ways she might preserve him, heal him, and bring him back to her…undo the injuries sustained in battle, but with anguish, she cried out for inability to counter fate to such a degree. She knew she was wrong for taking him, but she didn’t care…how could the humans be so cruel? How could they demand so much from her…she’d given light, warmth, nourishment…but they would not let her have this one thing, this one treasure so sacred to her. She was angry, and the farther she settled into that anger, the more blood red the moon turned, casting its crimson hue across all the night. The temple did not radiate light then, it attracted darkness instead, and all which was holy in that place was festering to demonic degrees. Nahinii heard maddening whispers and felt the caress of sinister fingers over her…but she struggled to pull herself out of the shadows…she struggled to find the will to fight. She was not used to such vulnerability as this, not used to such pain, and she could not imagine anything past it. She held onto Helottah, locked away from the rest of the temple until a visitor arrived who was able to make his form as a shadow. He traveled through the smallest space, into the orrery. He walked, dark and lean, to where Nahinii despaired, and his voice echoed, 

“Nahinii, why do you sink so low into sorrow?” Nahinii looked up at Faala, the raven spirit. She sneered at him, 

“Be gone Black Bird!” Faala did not run though, he knelt next to her, and looked over Helottah’s form. 

“Nahinii,”

“I said go! Do not test me!” She roared, but Faala could see, she would not strike him, for fear of lifting her palm from Helottah’s chest, and losing him. 

“Nahinii, you have to let him go.” She cried hard tears and shook her head, 

“I cannot.”

“You must, it is the cost of the love you have shared. You cannot keep him, Nahinii. He is not an object for you to possess. He must be released.” 

“He is my everything!” Nahinii sobbed, and Faala cast a hard look over her, and she was disturbed, because she’d never seen such disappointment in his eyes. 

“You have forgotten the temple Nahinii.” Faala said, and Nahinii replied, 

“Faala, I have no time for your senseless words. I am here, now, in this temple which I am so bound to that I may not know love. There is no way to forget it.” 

“I don’t speak of the structure.” Faala said, “You have forgotten the temple as you have forgotten yourself, your own power, your own purpose. You are the sun, holder of sacred fire, limitless and everlasting…blessed to live as you have, and you would claim that this man is your everything…your everything…and this place, your people, your temple keepers, your friends, your family….it means nothing then, nothing if you cannot have this man, this love, which you have had, for longer and truer than most would dream!”

“Do not speak at me Faala, I’ve not the patience of my ear. I don’t expect for you to understand what I am feeling. I don’t expect you to know the pain of this, none of you…I cannot, I will not let him go.” 

“You are wrong.”

“Then let me be wrong! Let me fester, let me rot, let me anguish, let me sit inside this despair…is that not entitled to me?” She cried out, but Faala shook his head, 

“You mistake the rights of grief for the dread of sorrow. Your actions have affected more than just yourself Nahinii…your despair is so focused on this love which has passed you that you fail to recognize the love that remains, that you are about to lose…just as precious.” He said, and Nahinii looked at him, exhausted, as she felt Helottah’s heart weakening, 

“What love could compare to that which existed between us? Who could or would love me this way again? How could I ever…after suffering this, how could I ever indulge in something as…vulnerable as love…to love is to be cursed.”

“To love is to be blessed!” Faala’s voice boomed, and his sudden force cast a shadow in the shape of raven wings across the orrery. “Think Nahinii…think of the one who keeps your heart, the one who fights in your place, who carries the weight you are not destined to bear! Who faces the darkness so you might be free in the light, safe in the night, and wise in the fight? Remember Nahinii! Remember where truest love is found!” Nahinii heard Faala and she thought, exploring her mind, her memories…she fought the darkness, pulling her way through the many illusions of its sorrow…until she remembered, faintly at first, the touch of soft hands on her back and the wonder of curious eyes, the laughter of a young child in a golden field…she saw…as if being woken from a long daze, the brightness of the moon and a young warrior, standing in its light…she remembered the pride, the joy, the peace…she remembered, the first love which had willed her sun to rise and fall…

“Tehekuma…Tehekuma…my sister…my sister. Faala, where is my sister?” Nahinii asked, and Faala looked her in the eyes, 

“She fights in your place, in the realm of the humans, protecting them from your own demons. But her strength wanes as the night progresses, and by the dawn she will be spent Nahinii. She is in need of you, we are all in need of you, now.” Nahinii trembled, her voice caught in her throat, she was stunned with the fear of letting go…until she felt a shift in her hands. She looked down to see Helottah with his eyes just barely opened. He had just enough strength to touch the top of her hand, resting on his chest. 

“Nahinii…” 

“Helottah, my love…please, please don’t go.” Helottah just smiled, faintly, and used what was left of him to say, 

“I can see them, Nahinii…all the lifetimes I’ve lived before this one…I knew you all the way at the beginning, and I know you all the way at the end. I will be with you, in ways you don’t yet understand, in ways you won’t see, but you will feel…you will feel. But I need you to let go, my heart, you have to let go or there will be nothing left, nothing at all but sorrow and despair…let me go. I’ve been ready for a long time, okay, I know where I’m going, it’s time for me to course through…” He squeezed her hand, 

“The one I gave my heart to soured high above all fear and dishonor…don’t dishonor us now Nahinii, don’t leave nothing but ruin for the tales to tell. Love me enough to trust me, love me enough to love yourself enough to be enough…your sister, your sister needs you…don’t give her up, trying to hold on to me…you’re strong enough to save her, but you won’t bind me Nahinii…I’ll never let you. Don’t hold on so much to what you cannot have, that you forget to pour your light onto all God wants to give you.” He said, as he gently lifted her palm from his chest and she gasped, like life was leaving her own lungs when the light emanating from his chest faded, and his pulse ceased, and he stopped breathing. Nahinii watched as Helottah dissolved into hundreds of glowing embers that rose into the air and then disappeared. She took a deep breath and wiped her tears, before she stood, and turned to Faala. 

“What demon does my sister fight?” 

Crimson Dawn

Tehekuma prayed, what she thought may have been her last words to the Most High. She braced before the great mouth of the horned viper consumed her exhausted flesh, until, as a miracle, she heard the cry of a phoenix. The sound halted the lunge of Teshii, who raised her head to look. The brink of dawn had arrived, and as the second passed, the sun was cutting fire into the edge of the eastern horizon. The cry was heard again and Teshii swiveled her great head nervously, looking every which way. She could sense the approach of a powerful foe, by the heat on her scales and the smell of fire. The army of demons below sensed the coming of the sun too, and they faltered in their battle against the tribes of Bulbancha. Tehekuma was near to passing out, when she saw a great fire feathered bird materialize across the sky, and crash into the serpent. She smiled with relief because her sister had arrived. 

Nahinii changed her form to an armored warrior wielding the red sword; Crimson Dawn, and she blazed across the earth, the sky, up and down the length of Teshii’s scales, beating the serpent with the force of her might. Teshii hissed and wailed, writhing and slithering, trying to fight Nahinii as she had Tehekuma, but the fiery wrath of the sun was a different power altogether. Nahinii cast fire by the swings of her sword, she broke bones in the snake with strikes of her fist. She changed back and forth from warrior to phoenix, slashing with her sword and then tearing with her talons and her beak. She beat Teshii until the great snake was bloodied and delirious, missing a fang and maimed across the eye. Faala called the attention of the chiefs to spread news that Helottah was indeed passed on and that his passing and his defeat by the Black Sun Prince’s power were acknowledged by all, and most sacredly, the sun spirit herself, who would not interfere in the reign of the new chief. The laws broken had been righted, and the power of the sun was welcomed back into balance. Nahinii released a call from her beak, before she gripped the eyelid horn of Teshii. She flapped her wings, and with unfathomable strength she lifted Teshii, by the horn into the sky, high above Bulbancha. The snake hissed in rage and hatred, but was helpless to Nahinii’’s strength as she was carried away from the city, far out, to the center of the lake where she and her horde of demons had emerged. The sun was rising higher and the many demons shrunk before the light of it. Those who could, retreated back through the cracks of the earth into the abysses from which they came, while others disintegrated on the spot. Nahinii hovered with the Blood Mocassin in her talons, before she transformed again, and brought her fist to crash against the top of Teshii’s head, sending the snake plummeting to the water, with such force that a giant wave surged at the impact, and the snake was plunged deep into the earth, through its layers, across the underworld’s portals, to where her body would plummet to its deepest reaches, and rot. 

The battle against the demon horde was won and the bloodlust which had swept through the humans was eased. Nahinii and Faala went to find Tehekuma, who was being tended to by healing hands. Nahinii went to her sister, and held her, stroking her hair and laughing tears at Tehekuma who smiled to reveal a lost tooth. She made no dramatic show of her pain, nor did she chastise Nahinii for her mistakes, or for taking so long. She knew her sister well enough to be sure Nahinii would come at dawn. Nahinii was grateful to have defeated Teshii in defense of her sister, but she admitted to the others that her heart was heavy as a mountain. Tehekuma smiled still, and Nahinii started to be offended, not believing that Tehekuma would be so insensitive to her pain. But Tehekuma shushed her, and shook her head, 

“He is here.” She placed her palm against Nahinii’s womb, and Nahinii did not understand at first…but when she did understand the gesture, she looked into her sister’s eyes, dumbfounded. 

“There is no way…no way, that is possible.” Nahinii insisted, but Tehekuma nodded slowly, 

“You let go of what was no longer yours to hold, and so you made room for what is new.” Nahinii looked at Faala, who nodded affirmation, and she cried still, filled at once with joy, sorrow, frustration and relief. Such was life, even for spirits of primordial nature. Fate was fate, rules were rules, and love was love.

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The Challenge

“Great Sun,” a chief’s guard’s voice interrupted Helottah’s deep thought at the seat of his throne. He looked at the warrior dressed in red crawfish armor who reminded him much of his old friend Cheech. 

“The Black Sun has arrived.” Helottah nodded his understanding, and took a deep breath. He’d been expecting the arrival of the young prince of the Black Sun Tribe for some time. He’d seen visions with his dream sight. He had told no one though, of all he sensed. He permitted entry with a wave of his hand. In walked the prince, led by a procession of Helottah’s own crawfish armored guards, down the length of the great hall to his throne, carved of a giant cypress knee which the sun palace had been erected around. The mass was a vestige of the ancient times when Bulbancha was pure wilderness and the trees touched the sky.. Niktinahaanin entered, trailed by an assembly of black, navy and brown armored warriors. They looked upon the crowd gathered in the hall with contempt across their faces. Niktinahaanin walked down the hall length rug, depicting the fish and game of Bulbancha on a golden threaded field. Helottah looked each of them over, judging their phenotypes to discern what tribes and clans they were from. They were of the black pelt wearing bear hunting clan of the east, gator leather clad of the caiman clans from the southern coast, crow feather mantled from the west, mohawked and tattooed from the north, ivory adorned and dark skinned from across the sea, high and wide statured and black haired from the islands in the far western oceans, moon faced seal hunters from the ice realms, and red faced archers from the jungles of the far south. Helottah had lived long enough to recognize a band of mercenaries when he saw them. He recognized the glint of challenge in their war hardened eyes. He shifted to look directly into those of the leader of this pack. His dark hair was cut in a mullet, and his neck was adorned by a necklace of yellow-ivory alligator teeth. He wore dark armor, emblemed by a bat which rose with the moon over a setting sun. He carried a sawtooth club at his hip. He stepped forward with enough audacity to show respect, as if this audience had even slightly respectful intentions; he lowered to his knees and prostrated before Helottah in front of all his men, before he rose, to kneel on one knee, 

“Great Sun,” The man greeted, and Helottah appraised him for a long moment before he acknowledged, 

“Niktiinahaanin.” The dark armored prince’s lips quivered in a smirk, cocky as ever. He was the son of the Chief of the Black Suns, who ruled the lands along the great river to the north. For generations, his family had sought rights to Bulbancha by claims of old blood ties to Helottah, and therefore, to the blood of the true chiefs. Niktiinahaanin was the champion of his generation, fiercest warrior of their region.

“What is your business?” Helottah asked, with an open palm. In truth, he was well aware of the war lord’s mission. For several seasons, he’d been causing trouble, up and down the length of the great river and across the basin. He commanded a growing army of tribes, who maintained residence in the bountiful swamps of the region. They were all, as the Black Suns, intent on the removal of the Sun Tribe from power, to instate their own control over Bulbancha; the key port between the flow of the river, and the tide of the Okwaata and by extension, the gulf, seas, and oceans beyond.. Niktiinahaanin’s supporters were a growing force across the city, and the empire at large, and he’d managed to turn many chiefs against the authority of the Great Sun. Helottah was well aware of the blockade of warriors on the waters of the Okwaata, interfering with trade and travel as much as he was aware of the many villages of his own people which had been sacked and conquered, marked by Black Sun banners, or burned down all together. His own court had even grown treacherous around him, with spies and false allies. But Helottah remained calm as spring water, awaiting Niktiinahaanin’s explanation for why he’d called on this audience. Helottah could tell that his nonchalant demeanor in the face of such inevitable catclysm unsettled and annoyed Niktiinahaanin, who may have manipulated a show of weakness. Helottah’s presence was a longstanding and sound force however, and he needed to do not much more than hold his peace, and sit in relaxed esteem, to convey his authority to these ambitious warriors. 

The hall was full to the brim with visitors, for a great council had been called, for all the chiefs of the Sun Tribe’s empire to converge in Bulbancha, to peacefully negotiate the arising conflicts, and bring their terms and compromises to the Great Sun. They had all become quiet at the entrance of the Black Sun prince, and awaited his proclamation to Helottah. They all needed him to speak the words which they all feared to. 

“My business is the birthright owed to me, by the blood of the ancient sun which courses through my veins. That throne,” Niktinahaanin nodded to the oaken seat, “should be mine.” The crowd was hushed save for a few bold whispers among the chief’s court, who would not yet proclaim out loud their support for this young prince, but whom Helottah knew were in favor of his abdication. 

“You are not the first to feel this way, prince.” Helottah said, calmly, as if much of the court’s displeasure and mutiny was of little consequence to him. 

“No, but I am the first to prove my power thus far. Bulbancha is surrounded on all sides, your house is decreased in number and your allies have all but sworn their allegiances to me. It’s time for you to step down, Helottah.” The Prince spoke surely, and Helottah considered his plight. In the past, other warriors had challenged him, some underestimating him, others with too much fear in their hearts to present more than a nuisance. Time and time again, Helottah crushed them with his might. They amassed armies to no avail, they made alliances which were of little consequence…and Helottah would sit, just as he did then, on his throne, entertain their speeches and their shows of force, before he was finally roused, as they so insanely wished, to bring them down by the sharpness of his steel inheritance. But, as he looked upon this prince, he felt an impulse for a different course of action. 

“Alright.” Helottah said, and the hall furrowed with confusion, as did the Black Sun Prince, 

“Alright?”

“Yes. You all wish for me to step down, so insistently that you would all gather here, in false respect, with schemes to overthrow me and my house.” Helottah rose then, to stand at his full height. Everyone saw him tower half a foot higher than the Black Sun Prince. He looked down at the Niktiinahaanin, with eyes which had grown as old as he felt, where he did not physically look it. He said, loud enough for all to hear, 

“Let’s not waste time on war. Kill no more innocents for your toils for power. Tomorrow, at dawn, I will go to the Holy Grove, where the crows gather. On that ancient cobblestone, I will wait for any warrior with enough courage to challenge me. Let the warrior who defeats me earn honor for his clan and tribe, and may that man or woman earn the right to sit that throne.” Helottah waited a breath for an objection, but none came, as the hall was so stricken with shock. Helottah then looked to Niktinahaanin, not with contempt, but with respect. He looked the young warrior in the eyes, and said for only the two of them to hear, 

“You are brave, and strong. You represent your family, as well as you might represent this Holy Land.” Helottah’s words were strange to Niktinahaanin, who’d only just challenged Helottah with a puffed chest and contempt on his own tongue, for all he’d been told of Helottah, and his tyrannical ways. He was grounded however, by Helottah’s calm and gentle tone. 

“We will respect each other, as I or you, live or die, win or lose?” He asked, and the Black Sun Prince nodded his head, with sudden respect he intended to carry. Helottah, strangely, wished the prince luck, of all things, before patting him firmly on the shoulder, and leaving the hall, dismissing all those who’d visited the temple, to a good and peaceful night. 

Helottah walked with his guards, across the palace, to a secret garden where no one else might reach. It stood in a courtyard, opened to the sky. There were oaks, cypresses and katlaha trees which made a brilliant canopy over the lush space. It was there that he went to meditate beneath the sway of a weeping willow. It was not long though, before he sensed the presence of the sharer of his soul, the keeper of his heart. In walked Nahinii, dressed as a palace servant, so as not to be discerned by the many power hungry warlords who were there. She’d not been at his side at the hall, but she’d heard everything. He could feel the heat of her displeasure as she came to sit next to him. 

“Do not,” Helottah said to her, so she would not immediately disturb his silence.

“I have not said anything.” Nahinii said.

“But you want to, you will.” He replied.

“You do not speak for me.” She said, and her voice was harsher than she meant it to be…but her frustration with him was of a fiery degree. Helottah was quiet again, and so was Nahinii. 

“My mind is made up.” Helottah said, and Nahinii repeated, 

“I’ve said nothing.” He looked at her, in her eyes, which told all that words would fail to fully express, 

“You’ve said everything.” Helottah said, and Nahinii stiffened, 

“And yet you will not listen…Do not go to the grove tomorrow, do not fight.” 

“I have a duty to my people Nahinii, to offer them a fair chance at their own governance, their own determination.” 

“Perhaps, but you risk much, Helottah, every time you leave this palace to fight them, you leave my protection; you become subject to such danger as might take you from this world.” 

“Would that be so bad?” Helottah asked, and Nahinii’s eyes brimmed with tears…and he grit his teeth, because he hated to hurt her, but also resented her sensitivity. 

“You cannot mean that?”

“I do, Nahinii. Five centuries, I have remained here. Five centuries of ruling, growing in power and acquiring wealth which no one could ever steal from me as such an obstacle to vulnerability. Five centuries of sitting on that throne, commanding and dictating…Nahinii my back is tight, my neck is stiff, my hands are worn, and my soul feels…stale…but I look in the mirror and I see the flesh of the young man I was when I first visited you at the temple, searching for my destiny Nahinii, searching for you, but…”

“But what?” Nahinii asked, for a true lack of understanding what was so obvious to Helottah.

“I’ve lost sight of that destiny Nahinii…I think, maybe it passed me by, as I’ve been too blinded by the light of…” he gestured to the grandeur of the palace, “all of this…all of this power Nahinii…I never wished for it, and now I have more than any man ever should. I will fight whoever is brave enough to challenge me tomorrow, and if I should win, then I will continue my charge, but if I should fall, then let it be a true and fair release.”

“NO!” Nahinii cried out, standing in frustration, “I cannot…I cannot even think…” She looked back at him, “Helottah, you are my husband, I’ve given you my soul.” Tears streamed her cheeks, and Helottah felt such heaviness in his chest and the largest lump in his throat…He remembered the night they first shared their love in consummation, and the magic which ignited into him. A portion of Nahinii’s own primordial fire had seeped into his own form and had changed him. He gained supernatural strength and senses. His prowess with a blade, already formidable, increased ten-fold, and his body became unaging. He’d found it all to be a glorious gift at first, for all the blessings he’d been able to manifest for his people, all the wealth and security in abundance. But it was strange, to watch his elders pass, and then, to watch those who he knew as children, grow, far beyond his own physicality, and then, his own nieces, nephews, and godchildren, all aging beyond him…elderly men and woman, looking to him, appearing to be of a spring twenty-seven, as an elder. But he endured it all, for the stimulation of his growing empire, and the love he had for Nahinii, which burned still like a hot fire. It was known among many that the Great Sun was no longer mortal, but as the spirit, which he’d taken for a wife. The port of Bulbancha grew and grew as people traveled from many places to see if the tales and legends were true. All the years had passed and at least once in a generation, challengers rose against his power, descendants of his siblings, and their children, and their grandchildren, who condemned his everlasting youth as witchcraft and blasphemy, a cursed stain upon their nation. He’d destroyed them all, however, with a heavy heart, which grew more like a stone with every sour victory. 

“Nahinii, my love…please understand, I cannot do this anymore. I have long overstayed my time in this world…” Nahinii shook her head, 

“Time is an illusion Helottah, we are not subject to it, just as we are not subject to the whims of mortal men, or the eb and flow of power struggles…We are free, to live in our love Helottah, free spirits…”

“I am a man, Nahinii! A man! Or have you forgotten, truly? I am not a spirit, I am not as you are. You remain, steadfastly yourself Nahinii, by the force of your own will to rise and fall as the sun, but I…I am not so strong, even with your power inside of me, I am not as you are…you have not seen the consequences of our prolonging my stay…but I feel it, I know it.” Helottah shook his head, trembling like a confused child, and Nahinii went to console him with her hands but he forced her back, 

“No, Nahinii…these lands are not as they were, they are changed. Our people are hungry for power, for money, for excess…they no longer care for the swamp or the trees… they no longer tread lightly or knowingly… I do not have reason to force my will in this anymore Nahinii…” She looked at him with pained eyes, 

“I am your wife, Helottah…and I am not enough?” Helottah said nothing.

“We could…we…we could try, again, we could try,” Nahinii brought her hands to her womb and Helottah shook his head, 

“No Nahinii. No! It will not work. Five centuries without luck will not end suddenly now because we wish it. And even if we could, it would be a cruel thing; an irresponsible work of magic to bring a child forth into this chaos just so I might find the will to stay…and truthfully, I don’t know if I would…I think…I think fate would punish us for testing it to such a degree…we have already crossed lines…” Nahinii could not deny his words, though they pained her. She was a spirit, departed from her world to reside in his. Her love poured immortality into his body, in direct opposition to the natural law of that physical plain. She’d kept her sister’s warning in the back of her mind for many years, but she’d ignored it…she’d ignored the encroachment of the consequences, to know, and feel, and hold on to all which was good and light, and beautiful. She held on in that moment to the memories, the smells, the sights…of Helottah’s smiles…she wished, as she looked at him, so broken with exhaustion and despair to his reality manifested in the light of her own sun, to see him smile just once more. But she knew that just as in war times before, Helottah would have to fight, as a man. He would have to exercise that portion of his soul, which was so like her own, but independent of her. He needed to pick up that sword, and do his best or his worst, to gamble his fate…only by the gamble, might he ironically feel the spur of life again, and return to her, ready to persist in their love, and their reign….she released a breath of concession,

“I am sorry, Hellotah, for what it costs to love me.” She said, and Helottah looked at her. He did not, as he never had, understood his reckless love for this being of fire…all he knew was that he felt it, insistently. It was by that love, that he would never simply concede in battle, or plunge a dagger into his side in suicide…he would fight, with all the might one man could muster, in spite of his own tiredness in their world. He would fight with his full strength, and bring down with a blood avenging blade, any fool brave enough to stand before him seeking to reign over Bulbancha without the due strength to keep it. He would not leave Nahinii unless he was taken from her, of that he could promise her, of that he was sure. He shook his head, 

“I have never sought your apology, Nahinii. I only wish you would not hold on so tight to me…whether it be tomorrow or a thousand years from now…I will meet death, Nahinii, and you will not be able to stop it, or dictate its course.” Nahinii glanced at the man she loved, before she turned away, to cope with all she could and rest across the night. Helottah was left alone, to process, and prepare for the dawn. 

The Wrath of Nahinii 

Just as the night shifted into the gray blue of morning, Helottah woke to a slight sound. He turned to the empty side of the bed where Nahinii would usually be next to him, but she’d risen early. Helottah went in the direction of the noise, through his rooms, to his shrine space. It was there that he found her, polishing and tending to his armor. He crossed the room to where she was, praying intentionally over every piece of his suit, splayed out over a white cloth. The smell of incense was soothing. He knelt next to her and she glanced at him, with more peace in her eyes than the night before. He didn’t speak to her. He only held out his hand for her to take. She paused from her tasks, to walk with Helottah back to their room. He sat on the end of the bed and Nahinii stood there for a long moment, just looking over her husband in the predawn dim. She took in every bit of what was in front of her, every curve, every scar, every tattoo. He just stared into her eyes, unwavering in that intimacy that nearly always overwhelmed her. She walked into him then, and they pressed together on the bed, intertwining, pushing and pulling, falling and rising. She touched Helottah like it was the first time, and he kissed her like it was the last. Nahinii did not toy with his power then. She did not press him back, or tease him. She submitted to the warmth of his fire, the caress of his palms over her sides, his thumb at her throat. She closed her eyes and focused on the feeling, and she could see, feel, smell, and hear, the brilliant infinity of his spirit, the truth of his form, which she’d tried so hard to bring forward into the physical, to exist, as she did…and she cried then, for her inability to make him as she was…but she felt joy too, joy for knowing him, for loving him, for being loved by him, for knowing this love…He rose into the expanse of her sky, and pressed the warmth of her sun, deepening his hold, affirming his care and his devotion. Nahinii basked in the ecstasy of that intimacy…that intimacy one could only know from loving a warrior, whose duty to battle, whose truth by the sword, was the one force strong enough to earn love, to protect it, and to make it true, but was ultimately the same force by which that love could be taken away. Love and war, they were truly as one…love had no substance without war to temper it. War had no reason, without causes for love to drive it, and fill one with the will power to try, to fight, to survive, to return, to commit to the struggle. Helottah’s love flowed like a raging river through the dark channels of Nahinii’s expanse, and with a final kiss, he left her, to pray privately at his altar, bless his sword, adorn his armor, and venture out, to the Holy Grove. 

……

The place was encircled by oaks and magnolias, and already, the people were gathering. The drummers were beating, and the feet were planting in rhythmic ritual, as the people of many tongues charged up the square. The grounds were a sacred place of ancestral power and reflection, celebration and passage. Helottah arrived and the crowd parted by the stride of his red armored guards. He went in his black and gold armor to the circle of cobblestone to meet any who were brave enough to face him in the light of the dawn. They came; warriors from nearly every family, clan, and tribe. Some fought well, others did not. Some believed they could win, others came under the weight of pressure to attempt to grasp that glory of defeating the mighty and everlasting Helottah, strong as a sabertooth, sharp as a hawk, wise as the gar. He delivered them all to death’s gate by the edge of his ancestral sword. The battles of the day lasted from dawn to dusk, and the entirety of the city gathered to witness them. It wasn’t until nearly every chief’s son had challenged him, that the Black Sun Prince finally came forward, when the sun was lowering to the horizon, as the crows were flying. Niktinanaahin stood without fear before the mighty Helottah, braced with his own quiet strength and power, prophesied at his birth. His people had been told that their dark haired heir would grow into a supernatural power, which would raise him above all other warriors. He was told that if he fought with faith, that he would stand a unique chance in battle against The Great Sun Helottah, who’d ruled over their lands for far longer than was fair or natural. 

At this moment, the crowd quieted with anticipation and though he did not see her, Nahinii had come to watch this duel between her husband and the young prince. Helottah looked across the dais and bowed his head with respect to his opponent. The Black Sun Prince did the same, and they each readied themselves. Nahinii did not fear Helottah’s demise at the hands of any other man, for she could tell by a quick glance, who was or was not strong enough to destroy him. But as she looked upon Niktinanaahin, and the steady look in his eyes, reflecting that of Helottah’s, she recognized the pulse of Helottah’s own lineage, and the power of that blood, the force of that shared spirit.. Niktinanaahin was not some meager warlord hungry with ambition for power, he was a true warrior, proven on the field and in council. She knew well, the frequency of spiritual support, to sense that this Prince had plenty of it. He was not alone as he lifted his weapon, invigorated by his ancestors and spirits of the land…Nahinii could hear them, she could feel their drums, their chants, their intentions, pressing against her own…but she prayed anyway, to the highest divinities…Do not take him from me…not yet…be with my husband… The battle began with the force of the weapon's collision. The men struck, and swayed, blocked, and dodged, shifted and spun. Niktinanaahin was not brought down in a quick and forceful flair as the others; he held his own against Helottah’s roaring tide. They were two warriors, matched nearly, fighting with everything they had. Helottah fought without reservation, letting his body command him, relinquishing the control of his mind; he did not burden himself with fear of injury or regret for demise. He fought purely, truly, and honorably. The Black Sun Prince fought with intention and purpose, for honor and redemption, for prosperity and change. He fought with the strength of his ancestors manifested at the portal frequency of the setting sun…back and forth, back and forth, they pressed…until Helottah was struck.

It happened so quickly…most did not catch it. The Black Sun struck with his shark toothed club, cutting across Helottah’s thigh. Helottah grimaced at the pain, stumbling back. He started to raise his sword…but The Black Sun was so fast, so full of energy, so driven by the pulse of destiny…and Helottah, for all his might, was tired, in so many ways. He was not quick enough to intercept the Black Sun’s strike….

Nahinii felt she was screaming, but her voice caught in her throat, as the Black Sun’s weapon pierced Helottah’s neck…her husband’s eyes widened with a sudden shock to the pain, as blood pulsed from his pierced flesh. He met the Black Sun’s eyes, with respect, before the Prince dislodged his weapon. It was then that Nahinii found her voice and cried out, fiercely, as Hellotah began to fall to his knees. Nahinii had reserved her emotions as much as she could. She had abided by the laws of this dimension for as long as possible… but she felt a raging grief, an anxious terror so deep and consuming that she could not remain still… she could not contain the fire which burst in her chest…her form emanated light as she changed among those in the crowd who parted around her transformation. Her form manifested armor, and the full might of her mantles. She grew to a man’s height, and her eyes blazed with fire. She willed herself forward, as a bursting flame, to pass her falling husband and spring upon Niktinanaahin. The prince braced against the arch of a crimson blade as the people of Bulbancha shrunk away from the brightness of Nahinii’s form, unmuted and ferocious. She said, 

“You may not take him from me!” The people of the crowd called out, 

She shows herself! The Spirit of the Sun! She changed him! She corrupted the chief! She should not be here!

“Silence!” Nahinii roared as her form blazed, 

“His power is mine, and mine is his! If any of you wish to take it, then you will have to fight not just Helottah, but you will have to destroy me as well!” Niktinanaahin looked upon the bright form of this fire spirit, and said, 

“Nahinii, you have to stand down, with respect to our ways and the laws of our realm. None of us are of such power to fight you, we are not supposed to be. You are the spirit of the sun, your place is among the spirits. Please, I understand your pain…” 

“You understand nothing!” Nahinii said, gripping the handle of her sword before she lifted it to swing down on the prince…but as she did so, she felt a sharp pain in her chest, and a restraint of her swing…she was locked in place, by an insistent and pressing force. She saw the course of visions in her mind…of the vast consequences of sacrilege against the sanctity of her power and existence…she wanted to destroy this prince, all the humans who had demanded such barbarity against the sharer of her heart…but it was too much of a sin, too destructive an act, to kill a human in the physical realm, as a spirit of primordial power. She screamed her wrath and frustration, before she transformed into a firebird and grasped Helottah’s limp body in her talons. She rose into the sky, leaving the dumbfounded tribes of Bulbancha to watch her flight, to the west. 

The tribes were outraged, and called for war, for destruction, for vengeance. Their champion had been denied the right of his victory. The Black Sun could not claim the right to Helottah’s title until proper burials and initiations were conducted, rites of passage which needed Helottah’s death to be confirmed, announced, accepted. Chaos was sparked like a flame as the sun carried the last of its light past the horizon. The warriors gathered turned their attention to the remaining members and supporters of the Sun Tribe who’d come to support their chief. Consumed by rage, they initiated battle, right there at the sacred sight of the Holy Grove. The city’s alarms were sounded and Helottah’s army rallied at the commotion of violence near the Bone Road. News traveled quickly, as the sacking began, and every war lord acted of his or her own accord, erupting chaos across the city.

 I will not detail the carnage, with respect to the dead, but may it be known, that many fell to violent demises and many temples, structures, and homes were destroyed. The Black Sun Prince shook himself from his shock and processed the chaos ensuing. This was not what he’d desired, not what he’d fought for. He knew, as he saw the crowds shifting in revolt that they were moving in the direction of the Sun Tribe’s palace. He knew the intention of the warlords he’d brought here because he’d heard them speak at council meetings, that they felt the best course of action was to wipe the entire tribe from the face of the earth, to ensure that their tyranny would never manifest again. The prince had proposed more peaceful and reasonable terms which were sure to be respected, until Nahinii’s wrath sparked the retaliation of all those who’d been holding back their own warring impulses. There was not as much time for thought as there was for action. Niktinanaahin ran to the nearest vehicle, and sped to the nearest shrine he could find to the spirits. He went to it, and bowed his head, placing his palm over the head of a statue homaged to the Spirit of the Moon. He spoke to her, as he’d spoken many times before, of all which was happening; the chaos which was ensuing. He smelled fire smoke and heard screams in the distance…madness was taking over…He looked up at the sky, suddenly turning red. The waters of the bayous began to churn with force as storm winds began to gale…the alarm bells rang fiercely…He called on the spirit of the moon, to hear him, to help him, as the ground shook and trembled with quake.

When Helottah spoke, Nahinii listened. It wasn’t just his words, but the very sound of his voice; a smooth and deep thrum like the breath of the Okwaata’s tide. She looked at his face, at the golden glint of his eyes, and the curve of his shoulders, high and wide. She kept pace with his stride as he spoke to her of Bulbancha and the people who lived there; the cultures sustained, the names, the songs, the stories, the monuments, passages, corridors, and water ways. He spoke of his homeland in a way which reminded her of her own heart’s sway, pushed and pulled by the buzz of bees past gold lit cypress leaves, dropping the last of their seeds at the solstice of winter.

 She listened to his thoughts, and his tales of battles fought, some by sword, but many more with his mind. He was a wise man, of a certain kind. She waited for the moment he would ask her for something or demand her aid or inquire for a wish…but it never came. He just walked with her down the length of the river, beyond the temple, talking and talking and talking. Helottah was intrigued by Nahinii’s own stories, though they were different from his own. She spoke of  natural and wild things; her subjects full of metaphor without intention. She made little to no mention of human beings or civilization. Nahinii illuminated  the wonders of the forest, the swamp, and the river. She felt blessed every time she saw the gar’s fins graze the water’s surface, everytime she looked up at just the right moment to see an eagle passing by. She shared her favorite time of the day, and the way it felt to lay her palms against warm grass. She had Helottah try it. Whelmed by the sincerity of her eyes, he understood suddenly, the magnitude of such a gift from God, to rest against warm earth, beneath a warm sun. 

They walked, and they talked, on that day and others, up and down the length of the river, across forest and swamp trails. Nahinii showed him around the temple to marvel at the stories depicted as art on the walls, she showed him the orrery on a starry night, and she even took him to experience flight, by transforming into a firebird and letting him mount her back. She soared into the sky and showed Helottah just how high, high could get…to where he could swear, he might’ve touched the stars if he’d only been brave enough to release his grip on her feathers and reach up. He and Nahinii lost track of time, of memory; so alike, they forgot singularity. They rose at every dawn, and sought each other to search for clues in the clouds of the great blue of the sky. They sat for ages on end, looking into each other’s eyes, looking, looking for something which they’d never even imagined to seek or find. What was behind the fire gold of Nahinii’s eyes? Helottah wondered well into the envelope of his dreams. They ran through meadows and sparred at the sandbar. They counted stars and skipped stones across the waters. They hunted deer, and fished for perch. 

Nahinii would look at him, and her chest would feel near imploding. It was so strange, the way she could feel about someone… he was so beautiful to her; round nosed, full lipped, heavy browed, thick limbed…but beyond that, Helottah was beautiful for the truth of his smile, the softness of his large hands, and his sensitivity to her own reach… He indulged Nahinii, to explore the ridges of his fingers, the hills of his knuckles, the rivers of his veins across his arms, because it was so clear to him, she’d not searched his skin with covetous lust and desire, but with a genuine curiosity, to understand, to feel, to learn. He thought she was beautiful, in the way fire was…awe inspiring, but whelming and dangerous if treated carelessly. He felt the inklings of desire…to touch her face, smooth back her hair, or caress the small of her back…he felt nervous to initiate more intense contact. Nahinii blazed bright with every look and every smile…Helottah did not know if it was alright to imagine holding or pressing her… might he offend her  to suggest her submission? Even as she smiled at him and held his hands, and sought him as he sought her, he felt this fear; that the mighty incarnation of the sun would reject him with a denouncement of his mortality. He did not imagine what he might give to her…it was at the seeping of that insecurity, that Helottah began to register once more, the rising and setting of the sun, as significant. He remembered suddenly, one morning, as the sun rose in the east, that time was a passing and affecting thing. He went alone to the river where he sat against a fallen cypress to reflect…he was having trouble recalling how he’d gotten to this place…he tried to remember where he was from? But he could recall little but the brightness of the Sun… It was then that the water of the river beat against the shore, and while Helottah was deep in thought, a figure approached across the sand. He looked up to see a man, dressed in gator skin leather, and ivory armor with jade and ivory jewelry adorning his nose, ears, wrists, and fingers. The stranger’s face was familiar. 

“I know you?” Helottah said and the man nodded, 

“And I know you, Prince Helottah, of the Sun Tribe.” The spirit came to sit next to him, and Helottah’s brow furrowed at the familiarity of his titles spoken. He muttered 

“The Sun Tribe?.... My people…My people…” 

“Your people are why you are here. You came to meet your destiny. You have forgotten?” The gator warrior affirmed, and a bit more of Helottah’s sense returned. He nodded, as the present became clear with respect to the past. He registered more firmly, the course of days, blurred now, spent basking in the Sun Spirit’s light. He remembered, by the sight of the warrior’s broad nose and prominent brows, that perilous journey through Lusatongaa to reach the Temple of The Sun. 

“Cheech…” Helottah said, struggling to believe his sight. As plain as day, there was Cheech, but he looked different, older in his eyes. His aura was green where he had once been saturated in red and black. Helottah was certain he was not dreaming. Cheech, who he’d long assumed was dead, sat next to him on the fallen cypress trunk, and nodded when he said, 

“That was how you knew me. Cheech, Choupic warrior. I lived in the reed house along the black waters…” He smiled, as if the memories were distant and sweet, 

“But I am no longer Cheech of the choupics, I am Chichumba, of the Okaliqii.” Cheech’s miracle had been the summoning of power over the waters, and strength in his hands, to defeat the Child Stealer. By summoning courage to leave one world behind, Cheech achieved passage to another in the spiritual dimension. He’d delivered heavy blows to Child Stealer, and reminded the scarred and disgraced beast of his own might. At the end of their battle, guardianship of the waters passed rightfully to him. Helottah processed Chichumba’s explanation, before he asked,

“How long has it been?” He registered the green of the river-bank and considered the warmth on his skin, and the power of the sun rising in the sky… the buzz of bees, and flutter of butterflies. 

“A full season.” Chichumba said, “your people grow restless for your return.” Helottah took that in, 

“No…no that can’t be right, I’ve only been here…” He started to count the days on his fingers, but realized suddenly that he couldn’t. He tried to distinguish where the time had gone, how it had been spent…but suddenly, it was all just a flash of images, sounds, and frequencies in his mind, like he’d just been woken from a deep, deep, dream. One thing was clear in his mind though; the Sun Spirit’s face,  and her long hair and fire amber eyes…Helottah turned to  Chichumba, 

“I don’t understand…how could so much time have passed…how could I forget so easily?” He asked, and Chichumba said, 

“The realm of spirits is different from the realm of men, Helottah. Time moves strangely here, and further, the mortal mind processes how it can. Here is the domain of Nahinii, where she is whole, supreme, adapted, and unaging. She does not know the past or future here, there is only the present. She rises, and she falls, she rises, and she falls, again, and again, and again. But you are not a spirit, and your human senses are only so attuned to the eb and flow of this temple. That is why you’ve been here for a season, but you process about as much as a week of time at any given moment, scattered across the stretch.” Helottah processed the spirit’s words, believing them. He did feel the stretch of time though, not by his mind’s recollection, but by the force of his heart’s pulse, at the thought of Nahinii…he may not have been able to recall or relay every moment between them, but he felt the immensity of knowledge he carried for this being, and a sensation of knowing for all he’d shared with her. Chichumba stood from the fallen tree, and said to Helottah, 

“You should leave this place soon, Helottah, or the next time I’m able to remind you of time, it might be too late.” Helottah held up a hand to still him, 

“Wait…my destiny, I was supposed to meet it here? Have I?” He half expected an answer, but Chichumba admitted that he could not answer Helottah’s question, and that by his advice to leave, had given all he was permitted. Chichumba went on, to walk into the river, until his whole form became water itself, and he was gone.

At dusk, only two days before the Spring Equinox, the Temple of the Sun came to life with light. The stars shone bright and the moon hovered full; illuminating the temple grounds and the surface of the river which glowed with ancient magic. From many dimensions, visitors arrived; ancestors from the underworld and the ancestral plain came from the water, along with river spirits and gilgoonah; fish people from Okaliqiidaad, the freshwater city. Among the most notable water folk was Oka Lusaa Ungo; the Scorpion Healer, and Chichumba; the alligator chief.  From the forest came the many animals and plant spirits, along with old guardians who took many different shapes and sizes. From the sky arrived spirits of the wind and the rain like Helomalathaha, the Thunderbird of the North and Faala, the Raven. Some brought drums and other instruments, others brought jewelry and other pieces to trade and sell. Some arrived with their pots and utensils, to prepare a feast for the festivities. Those of highest skill with their hands, arrived adorning intricate armors; jeweled, beaded, feather mantled. The leagues of warriors; Shujaa and Miino, arrived accompanied on this sacred night by shamans, mystics, herbalists, wise folk, scholars, writers, and storytellers. On this night, many mortals were permitted to cross through portals, to converge at the Temple of the Sun, where the Night of Obatala was held that year. 

Helottah was invited to a special ceremony commenced at the height of the moon in the great hall of the Temple of the Sun, which stretched from one end, to the other, opening up to the expanse of the great river ahead. There, Helottah sat with Nahinii among the rest of the visitors to the temple. He saw many people from back home and from other tribes he knew. They glanced curiously at his proximity to the spirit of the sun, but they gave nothing but respect to the prince as they all settled into their own groups. Ahead, near the altar dais of the hall, many candles were lit, and incense burned, as a group of women and fems gathered, dressed in an array of colorful armors. Their hair was intricate and styled, their frames mantled by gold, silver, and ivory pieces. They sat in a semi circle before the edge of the dais, cross legged and still as statues. At the head of the altar, Helottah watched as a temple keeper wafted incense smoke and sage with an eagle feather over a wood carved chest. Nahinii explained that they were preparing for a young Miino’s initiation.

Nahinii spoke of the Miino who resided at the Temple. Women, who upon commitment to faith, remained furthermore as spirits in that dimension, attuned to great degrees of power. The hall turned at the opening of doors to the back as Tehekuma, the Spirit of the Moon entered, dressed in pink, lavender, and deer pelt armor, accentuated by silver pieces. She walked at the front, and behind her, was a young woman. She walked down the candle lit corridor and the crowd quieted as she approached the circle of her Miino sisters. She was presented at the altar where they brought down a chest. They sat it against the marble stone. When they opened it, they called the initiate forward. Tehekuma spoke affirmations of power, and sacred water was soaked into a cloth, and wiped across her temple. 

She placed the ankh necklace around the young Miino’s collar, and golden hoops at her ears. She adorned her bicep and thigh with golden flame bands and presented her with a ring of power, before clasping the waist circlet at the sacral. Finally a sacred heirloom was gifted; a changing dagger, which she took with open palms. 

“The Miino live to serve their highest functions, no more, and no less. They seek no love, and covet no power. They submit to no force beneath God. This house is pledged to me, to fight beside me, should battle arise.” Nahinii said as she breathed in deep, thankful for the blessing of witnessing such moments. As the initiation was completed, the drums began to roll, and the crowd came to life. The new Miino was all smiles as she was wrapped up by the assembly with congratulations. Nahinii embraced the young woman affectionately before she beckoned Helottah to dance with her. She was all smiles, until she saw the seriousness in his eyes, and she asked him what was troubling him.

 He answered her truthfully and admitted that he needed to leave the temple to return to his people. Nahinii was suddenly weighed by the cold truth of reality which she had been disassociating from. Helottah was indeed a human…he could not stay at the temple, or else he might lose himself. Nahinii expressed to Helottah that she felt very deeply for him, and he expressed the same for her…what were they to do? He found the courage to ask, what he was sure was impossible…but he proposed it anyway, 

“I can’t stay here, but maybe, you could return to Bulbancha, with me.” Nahinii backed away from him, because the thought was whelming. Leave the temple? For a man? A human man? But she could not deny the truth of her heart, and though she dared not speak it, she submitted to the thought…she loved him, for all he was, so similar to her, but vastly different as well. Her complimentary fire. She considered if he might leave the temple, never to return…he would find new love, forget her as a dream and live…and then die, and she would be left to reside at the temple, forever waiting on someone like him to come again…but how long had it been…how many ages had passed, before she came to know these new sensations which he brought to her…Nahinii could not imagine letting him go. She asked for time to think, but Helottah insisted there was no time, that he would need to leave with the other humans and cross the portals in safe passage. He was going back to the realm of his people. Nahinii struggled to process her emotions; to forgive Helottah for his delivery of truth. She turned away from him. He started to reach out to her, but she kept herself out of reach and her guards sensed her tension. They swiftly crossed through the crowd to block Helottah’s way. 

“If you must leave, then I will not hold you.” Nahinii could not linger after those words. She was crossing the hall to return to her chambers. She dared not look back at Helottah, because if she did, the blaze of her sudden despair might torrent through the temple and disturb the holiness of the celebration. She would not live with herself to ruin the night, but she could not torture herself to stay, or to act sensibly. She fled. Helottah was left then, standing alone in the crowd. He didn’t linger either, he left, with the other mortal visitors to the temple to cross back over into the mortal realm. Nahinii’s smile did not leave his mind like a dream though; it stayed with him, for an age. He watched the sun and moon pass across time and his heart ached for what felt like its other half…

Nahinii was full of gloom, and she took much time to rest in the temple. She did not bring her sun shine out to the world. She instead gave consent for the rains to pour their water for the river, and its bayou tributaries across a wet season. She did her best to be satisfied with her temple, as she always had been, with the natural wonders of the spirit world, but she felt utterly dissatisfied with all of it. Her own sun seemed dull in warmth compared to the healing brightness of Helottah’s smile. How ridiculous she felt, ancient spirit as she was, to be so affected by a mere man to whom she’d been touched for only a season…but there was a pain in her heart so unremedied by herb or incense. One night, her own sister; Tehekuma, came to see her. She sat at the side of Nahinii’s bed and Nahinii rose to lean into her sister’s soft touch. She told Tehekuma what troubled her, and Tehekuma felt heavy for her sister’s pain. Nahinii had felt the frequency of a man’s love. It had been so powerful and true that the sudden absence of it had rocked her to the very core. Tehekuma had long ago learned to shield herself from such vulnerabilities, but Nahinii, who knew no fear or caution, had been blindsided by the underhand of love. Nahinii expressed honestly that she wished to leave the temple. 

“I want to know, sister, what it’s like there, where he is. I want to feel his heart in his world, as he came and felt mine, in this one.”

“It is unwise, sister. Our rules are in place for our protection, for our peace.”

“I am not satisfied with the peace, Tehekuma. It feels stale to me…the fire inside of me burns hot, my dreams are flooded with the fire of desire…I am not well. Do you understand what I am saying…Helottah said he was coming to meet his destiny…but I feel that when he left, he took with him a piece of my own which I never knew was mine to meet…there is something…something to reach in that realm.” Nahinii held out her hand for Tehekuma to take, and the moon spirit understood the gesture, 

“You want me to look into your future?” Tehekuma asked and Nahinii nodded seriously, 

“Look ahead, and tell me, tell me with the truth I trust only you to speak. What do you see, down the path I wish to take?” Tehekuma looked into her sister’s pain heavy eyes, 

“I am forbidden to share with you details of the future, you know that Nahinii…”

“I don’t need to know the future…tell me only…if there is love worth the risk.” Tehekuma breathed in, and took her sister’s hand in her own. She told Nahinii to calm herself, and focus deeply on the manifestation she sought. At Nahinii’s calming, Tehekuma saw a flood of visions course through her mind. She witnessed much of the past, present, and future before she returned to her stability with a deep breath, releasing Nahinii’s hand. Tehekuma touched her chest and caved deep as she caught her breath.

“Sister,” Nahinii rubbed Tehekuma’s back, “what have you seen?” Tehekuma was between her responsibility to power and her love for her sister. She considered all she had seen, and all which was both her own burden to conceal and her right to reveal, which would become Nahinii’s to carry. She said, 

“Truthfully, I see much danger, destruction, and war, in this future…much pain,” She said, feeling the sensation of the visions, and crying heavy tears…

“Sister…” Tehekuma held up a hand to silence Nahinii’s attempt to console her, 

“But I will not conceal, that I see love Nahinii…I see it so clearly, that I could not live with myself to hold you from it…love, which will pain you to earn, but will redeem you to hold…Is this still the path you seek to follow?” Nahinii breathed in a deep breath for courage, considering the seriousness of her little sister’s words. 

“Do I have your blessing?” Nahinii asked. As Spirit of the Sun, she was a mighty being of fire and war, passion and desire, courage and exploration. She knew that her course down this path, though it may have pained her, would not destroy her, by the invulnerability of her nature. She considered the only tether to which she was bound in the world, her love for her sister. It was Tehekuma who bore the burden of the farsight and carried in her the constant sensation of pain which went hand in hand with vast knowledge, held responsibly in her soul. She knew Tehekuma would not share with her the costs the moon might have to pay, so the sun might shine, unclouded. She knew Tehekuma would ask for no payment, no reciprocation, no sorrow…she was, truly, utterly, her sister’s keeper, and though she foresaw pain, she knew it was worth the love which was sure to prevail. Tehekuma looked into Nahinii’s eyes, and wished to permit Nahinii the joy of a journey through possibilities, that everyone, including primordial spirits, deserved to course without restriction of fear of the consequences. Nahinii had served this temple dutifully for many eons and Tehekuma did not need to consult much but her own strength to decide that the spirit of the sun would meet, learn, and achieve love.

“You have my blessing sister, go, guiltlessly. I will defend the temple in your absence.” She said, and Nahinii embraced her sister with grace, before asking with blushing enthusiasm, if Tehekuma might help her to make her presentable, to return to the one who’d lit a secret and sacred fire in her heart. 

When the morning came, Tehekuma bid her sister goodbye, before she settled to rest. Nahinii flew at dawn as a firebird, across the sky, to the north, where she flew along the shore of the Okwaata, until she reached the home of the one who was missed so dearly. She arrived at Helottah’s home at the height of the levee hill on the morning of the Summer Solstice. As soon as her feet touched the ground she felt herself wrapped up in mortal limitation; her powers muted…but she did not despair. When the man opened his door and his eyes widened at the sight of her face, she felt her soul become so full. He welcomed her with warm touches and soft kisses. He cooked her food and she swept his home, blessing it with the oldest prayers. Her presence attracted honey bees and eagles to roost, deer to graze outside his home. She dabbled in mundane things, which fascinated her. She learned from Helottah’s family to weave beads and baskets, to hold children, and to race with finite speed and stamina. She learned the pain of mortal flesh, that made her feel alive with bruises. Hunger, exhaustion, softness, were all peculiar to her, but she feared none of it. It all made her feel closer to Helottah, to live and walk and talk as he and his people did. She retained, however, healing in her hands. Whoever she touched, came to forget sickness. She sang and the soil burst with fertility. She spoke kindness and blessings followed. Nahinii spent time with Helottah and she learned that love was a complex thing, a rough thing, a challenging thing. He was not perfect and neither was she. They rebelled against each other, always. Nahinii never wanted to follow directions unless she understood absolutely why she was being told what to do. Helottah was kind, but he was not the most patient. Nahinii was bold and outspoken; she voiced her mind. Helottah held his tongue and was quiet, sometimes for longer than she appreciated. Helottah made mistakes in learning Nahinii’s love languages, and so did she for him. They offended each other often and made each other question their efforts to coexist…but threaded through the struggle was a pulse of devotion, an orbit of trust and a consistency of forgiveness, effort, and highest respect for one another. Nahinii never intentionally abused Helottah, and Helottah did not manipulate the sensitivity of her fire. They loved each other with an unyielding passion that both frustrated and exhilarated them. 

On a cold autumn night, after a full season together, the harvest moon was bright outside, and the cicadas hummed loud. He opened the windows to let in the sound, and the breeze of cool air. In all their time spent together, they had not initiated intimacy beyond what felt safe…but by a heavy lidded glance from Nahinii, Helottah dared to reach out, and touch her at the soft spots of her form. His fingers were firm on her skin, and hers were explorative on his. She was not simply submissive to his strength, she pressed against him, hovered over him, led him with her own presses. In the cool dark of the room, Nahinii shared her body with Helottah, and he offered his to her, and the heat of their fires spilled in and through each other. Helottah felt ancient power flow through his blood, and he saw visions of a far back past. Light glowed from their climactic peaks, and where they were two souls, they were forevermore as one.

Sacred fire broke the dawn, bursting the horizon with tendrils of amber, crimson, magenta, and indigo. Warmth ignited across all the land where the cypresses stood, illuminating the world of the crawfish, reflecting off the scales of the gar, evaporating the morning dew from the autumn leaves and moss of oaks. Through the portal of fire flew she, with fiery feathers and reaching sight, soaring as hot wind across the sky from her voyage of the underworld in the dark hours of her dreams. 

She soared into daylight to bask in all the glory of the Most High’s blessings bestowed within her to share across time and space. The firebird flew from the east, all the way to the Temple of the Sun in the far west. At every sunset, she rested for sleep, and her fiery soul astral projected from a fem form to travel in truest shape through the infinite underworld, until finally, it was time for the sun to rise again, and the phoenix returned to a mortal coil at the height of the temple. 

Nahinii opened her eyes as the morning flooded through her windows opened to the east. She rose from bed and heard not long after, a soft knock at her room’s door. She permitted the entry of her sister, Tehekuma; dark eyed and fair haired. As the moon still hovered in the sky at dawn, Tehekuma remained still, at every morning, to tend to her sister as she emerged from her dream travels to settle into her waking reality. Tehekuma crossed the room to aid Nahinii. Nahinii honored her sister, with this sacred ritual between them, where Tehekuma would care with knowing softness. She ran the bathwater, fetched clothes, made the bed, brushed and prepared hair, helped with dressing, and prayed over her sister. Her last task was to go to Nahinii’s altar and retrieve her sword; Crimson Dawn, and present it to her. Nahinii took the sword to place at her waist, and thanked her younger sister; her long standing keeper. 

“There is a visitor in the Temple.” Tehekuma said as she fastened and straightened creases and imperfections across Nahinii’s armored attire. Nahinii raised her brow, 

“Friend or foe?” She asked, and Tehekuma shrugged as she brought Nahinii’s sunburst crown to place upon her head, 

“Time will tell. He is human.” 

“A man?” Nahinii asked.

“A prince.” Tehekuma said, and Nahinii said nothing of her quiet curiosity. She and Tehekuma went from her chambers, and were trailed on their way through the halls by yellow and red clad temple guards. They went all the way to the temple’s highest point, where a glass orrery was nestled within the branches of a massive oak, and within the structure, was the council room, where Nahinii’s sun fire throne rested in wait for her return. The doors to the orrery were opened for her by the accompanying guards, and she and Tehekuma walked in and went to the throne to sit. Soon after, others who’d woken with the rising of the sun began to arrive; different spirits of various shapes and natures who resided at the temple and comprised its high council. Tehekuma sat just below and to the left of Nahinii. The little sister was fierce in her eyes, as Nahinii’s most trusted guard and chief counselor in all things. They waited until the eventual arrival of Taktiktmii who was followed after by the entry of the skyfire prince of that current age, who’d voyaged to the temple, as they all were sure to. 

Helottah followed Taktiktmii a little nervously, into the council space of the elemental spirits who sat in a circular formation before the height of the Sun Spirit’s throne. The Temple was a grand structure, larger than any he’d ever seen before. He was still unarmed but no one else was. He registered the weight of many gazes on him as he crossed the space. He looked to the throne and his brow furrowed. He’d expected to see the great sun, Kutnahaanin, but ahead of him was not the figure of legend, instead, Helottah saw a woman, with long black hair and eyes like fire. 

Nahinii evaluated the man who entered the throne room. He was tall and solid, covered as she was by black tattoos. He looked up at her as if he was expecting to see someone other than herself on the sunfire throne. 

The temple guards halted his progress with the length of their crossed spears, and it was Tehekuma, wearing silver mantles, with her dagger of sharpened diamond at her hip, who first acknowledged him, 

“From Jah.” 

“From Jah,” Helottah replied, as he placed his hand to his chest, “my name is Helottah, and I’ve come a long way to reach this temple,” Helottah explained why he’d come; to meet his destiny, and remedy the brewing plagues upon his people. Nahinii was intrigued, as the others, that Helottah did not ask for the most typical things; gold, weapons, power, and wishes. 

“I am Nahinii, spirit incarnate of the sun. Your people may remember Kutnahaanin, my predecessor, but I now sit the sunfire throne, Prince Helottah. You seek counsel with me.” She said, before she stood from the throne, radiating light and power across her form.

At the height of an eclipse, when the sun, moon, and earth aligned, and the moon turned blood red, divine energy from the cosmos manifested within the earth. Two seeds materialized within the soil coils of a towering oak’s roots, and they remained there, for many ages. Through the time of long standing ice, to the cataclysmic great flood, through the rise and fall of civilizations. On one holy dawn, the sun broke the veil of the horizon and shined light upon the oak and the ground surrounding its base. Beneath the surface, consciousness was achieved in the darkness, and a being was driven by a primordial need to see, feel, and touch light, to the surface. Her hand burst through the soil, and the lick of dawn fire coursed over her skin, ever stimulating, she dug her way out until she emerged from the underground. She rose from the earth, covered in debris, and stood with her eyes closed, breathing in as she felt the embrace of the world. She felt the warmth of the sun, like a caress over her soul. She felt the soft moisture of early mist, the feel of due grass beneath her toes. Most gloriously were the songs of the mockingbird, cardinal, and chickadee heard, as her first gift from the dawn; music. She looked at her hands, her feet, the grass, the trees, the sky, the clouds, and she felt pure wonder at all she saw. The rising sun was like a friend she’d always known, as dragon flies flew about, and egrets pecked across the grass. She looked out to the edge of the meadow and saw figures approaching. They were dressed in yellow and red armor. The tall warriors came to stand in front of her before they knelt, as she was only as tall and developed as a child of three years old, though her eyes were full of solid knowledge. The armored spirit introduced himself as Taktiktmii, and asked the dirt covered being her name. The child spirit furrowed her brow, before she turned her ear to the songs of the birds, the hum of dragonfly wings, the soft rustle of leaves in the breeze…she heard her name, in her own mind, at once, ancient and new. 

“I am Nahinii.” She said, and Taktiktmii bowed his head with respect to her, before he offered to lead her to a place where she might make a home. She followed him across the swamp lands, down a corridor landmarked by sights which were new, but at the same time, felt innately familiar, as the sun itself had. They went all the way to where The Sun Kisses the Moon, and there, Nahinii beheld the Temple of The Sun, which she was told, was her place to keep and defend, if she so wished. The temple keepers took Nahinii in, bathed her, combed her hair, dressed her, fed her, and told her their stories of the sun. They told her that they’d awaited her emergence from the earth beneath the tall Oak for many ages, and that they existed at the temple, to guard and serve her, as she was expected to serve the world. She grew there, under the protection of the spirits, but her eyes would always wander to the far beyond, to the swamp forest stretching beyond the temple. She did not ask permission when she decided to depart from the temple, and her keepers did not try to stop her. She wandered out, past the perimeter of the temple grounds, and into the forest, without fear in her heart. She felt no fear, because she had no reason to. She knew herself for all she was; a spirit of fire, power, life, and exploration. She knew the power of her hands, filled with immense strength, and the speed of her feet, which could propel her like the wind with invulnerability to exhaustion. Nahinii went to the forest, the meadow, the bayou, the bog, the lake, the river, the spring, the cave, the marsh, and the delta. In every place she went, she listened with intention, asking everything, from the tiniest insect, to the tallest and mightiest trees, what were their names. She learned the titles of the ants, the bees, the crawfish and the turtles, the mockingbirds and herons, the bears and the buffalo, the sycamore and the oak. She learned their names, and learned their languages, customs, and ways of existence. In return, she shared her own name, and she gave the organisms light, gracing them by her right to might, and she saw them, not with judgment, but with a caring and nurturing sight, tender with her exploration, she was careful as she walked, to not scar the earth by her presence upon it.

She learned to sing from the birds, how to dig from the armadillo, how to see from the hawk, how to hear from the fox, how to smell and search from the bear, who led her to honey, which she tasted on her fingers. She spoke after to the bees, who introduced her to their queen, who told Nahinii about sovereignty and responsibility; niche fulfillment within an ecosystem. She learned to run from the deer and the wolf, how to stalk from the panther, how to fight from the jaguar. She learned to swim from the gator, and how to play from the otter, how to sense from the owl, and how to climb from the squirrel. She learned to take her time from the turtle, and how to make use of it, from the beaver. Nahinii’s final teacher in the wilderness was the eagle, whose nest sat within the branches of an old dead tree, on the marsh at the western shore of the Okwaata; Wide Water. She learned about freedom from the eagle who taught her to fly.

Nahinii was of such might and brilliant light, that she knew no challenge in all the swamp. She knew no enemy of shadow form brave enough to face her, no monster of land nor water dared to tread with disrespect. She was Nahinii, bringer of the dawn, spreader of light, destroyer of demons, vanquisher of fear. She resided at the temple, where she grew from her childlike form to that of a grown spirit, fully realized and sovereign of her own self. She was initiated with a crown upon her head, and the placement of a sword in her hands, which was called Crimson Dawn, an inheritance from the reign of Kutnahaanin, who embodied sun fire before her. 

As she looked upon Helottah, it intrigued her, that he did not shrink from her might, nor was there a look of covetous lust in his eyes, to bottle up her light for his own gain. Nahinii walked down the steps of her throne dais, and gestured for her guards to step from in front of Helottah. She held his eyes for a long moment before she said, 

“Tell me your story.”

Helottah continued west as the sky darkened above the trees. He did his best in the fading light to follow the raven who led more by the sound of  its caw than by the sight of its flight. Cheech was no longer there to protect or guide him. Helottah was sensitive to the static sensations. He could feel the nearness of old souls and ancient beings. He felt watched as he glimpsed moving shadows in his peripheral vision. The clicking of bats replaced birdsong as walked with stiff, bruised and injured limbs from skidding across the gator’s armor scales after falling from the canoe. He heard the crunching of dead leaves and the rustle of palmettos. The whole forest was aware of him as he stumbled through, nearly blind in the night with a shiver of anxiety tingling up his spine. He was armed with nothing more than his chill stiffened fists. He thought of his dream and the great trouble he’d sensed in it, without sight to his destination. His fear of the unknown had manifested from his dream realm, into his reality. 

He’d inherited the destiny of the Sky Fire Prince by the course of his ancient blood, chosen and spoken by his ancestors who assigned many responsibilities to defend and protect the land and its people. He’d been raised to be a mighty warrior, but even for the mighty, vulnerability and uncertainty were frightening… He remembered Cheech’s command; to leave fear on the human side of the bridge. He overrode his anxiety, ignored the bite of the cold, and pushed onward. He walked until he reached a clearing in the forest, where there were deer who stomped and barked at him before they bounded away into the cover of the thicket. The sun took its very last sliver of light to set, and he crossed the field of autumn browned grass, to a landmark erected at a hilled center. 

Helottah walked up the ridge to a great totem pole erected at its height. The wide, cylindrical monument was carved in the shapes of biospheres, from the base level of the underground, to the river bottom, the water’s surface, to forest undergrowth all the way to the high canopy. The raven landed atop the pole, and Helottah went to it, placing his hand against the carved wood. At the touch, Helottah felt a thrum of energy coursing through the trunk and he stepped back with caution. Above him, the raven bristled and opened its wings to caw encouragement down at the prince. Helottah took a deep breath and inched the tips of his fingers closer to the totem pole, slowly, before he pressed. He let the energy course from the wood, through his fingers and into his hand, before he placed his whole palm against it. A steady pulse traveled through his whole body, before the eyes of the animals and figures carved into the wood glowed an electric spectrum of color, and the raven cawed in excitement. The wind picked up and rustled the surrounding trees as Helottah felt a chill across his skin at the sight of the magic. He took his hand from the tree and stepped away, but the totems remained illuminated and radiated across the clearing as the dusk settled darkness across the surrounding. It was not long after, that Helottah heard the unmistakable howl of wolves. 

Lusatonga was rumored to be the dimension where the megafauna of the ancient past; wolves, bears, panthers, buffalo and mastodon still roamed in the interior. Judging by the volume and diversity of the howls, the wolf pack was likely larger than he’d be able to fend off with his fists. Sense might’ve told him by the sight of the deer herd when he’d arrived, that predators were close too. Cheech might’ve known what to do, but he was no more, and Helottah was alone, with nowhere to run. He braced himself as he saw the first wolf emerge from the shadows of the forest, followed by another, then another. Red Wolves, with russet, ivory and black fur. They approached in a closing circle, to stand around Helottah, locking him in against the light of the totem tree. They bared their teeth, snarling and snapping their focus on him. He drew a breath, preparing for a fight, before the caw of the insistent raven caught the attention of one of the wolves, larger than the others. The raven’s calls caused the she-wolf to sheathe her teeth, and she glanced at Helottah, then back at the raven. He did not know what words the animals communicated with in their own language, but he prayed they were in his favor. The wolf looked back at Helottah, appraising him, before she snapped her jaws, and flicked her ears in a communication to the rest of the pack, which made them collectively pace back, widening the circle they’d formed around Helottah and the tree. A moment later, the wolf threw back her head, and howled up to the sky, followed after by the entirety of her pack. The wolves howled one deep, resounding and continuous note, before they each stopped and brought their eyes back to his form.

“You are lucky to have a friend in the old crow,” The voice was heard, though Helottah did not see who’d spoken with a woman’s voice. It wasn’t until he met the direct eyes of the alpha, staring into his own, that he realized, it was she who’d spoken, with a telepathic voice, “otherwise, my sisters may have made quick work of you for trespassing on holy ground.” The raven cawed down at the wolf, who bared her teeth before she stepped forward, ahead of the others in her pack. Helottah tensed, but the wolf did not attack. She closed her sky blue eyes, and suddenly her form glowed and then burst with blue light, that when dissipated, revealed a form, changed from wolf, to woman. She was dressed in a fit of shimmering beaded silver, shell pink, lavender, periwinkle and pearl, and spotted deer hide, with mantles of silver across her frame. Her eyes were set fiercely beneath arched brows, the same pink as her hair worn in a feathered mullet. She looked Helottah over, before she said, 

“From Jah,”

“From Jah,” Helottah responded, and the warrior woman looked him over further, like she was still deciding whether or not she should destroy him. 

“So, you’ve crossed the forest in one piece?” She said, and Helottah answered, 

“Did you expect me not to?” The woman smirked, glancing up at the raven, 

“I was certain you’d be challenged?” She took a step toward him, and Helottah became aware suddenly, that despite her fierce stare, Tehekuma was not a tall woman. She had to look up into his eyes, 

“You seek the Temple of the Sun?” Tehekuma asked, and Helottah affirmed that he was. She lifted her brow, before she expressed, 

“Few are brave or foolish enough to enter this forest, fewer still, are lucky enough to make it this far. With respect to this, you may follow us back to the temple, but be warned, the sanctity of the place is to be respected to the highest degree. Disgrace it, and you will pay with your life; understood?” Helottah glanced at the intentional glances of the wolves. He looked back at Tehekuma and said, 

“I understand.” With that, Tehekuma turned from the totem tree, and led Helottah on, toward the Temple of the Sun.

Healing Spring

Tehekuma led Helottah across Lusatongaa with minimal conversation. Their pace was slow, as the Prince was struggling to walk quickly from his injuries. She made sure he could keep up, glancing back occasionally to make sure he’d not straggled behind. The forest here was dim to his eyes, but Tehekuma could see clearly with night vision for all that was around her. She traveled through the forest of the spirits fearlessly, as was her role in this dimension. She served as a guardian of this great forest by keeping rogue spirits at bay, and warding off human encroachment. As Okiinamaa Lusaa, she kept these spirit wilds in balance, beneath the passing of the sun and the moon. They walked on, until they reached the ridge of the river levee, and walked along the path coursing the side of the river. 

Tehekuma led Helottah down the corridor of oak and cypress trees where shrines and statues were stationed at the base of tree trunks. The path was shrouded in fog, but Tehekuma walked on without hesitation. Helottah could hear the course of the river to his right, and the chattering of squirrels and song birds as they reached a break in the fog, at the end of the trail. The fog seemed to dissipate with respect to Tehekuma’s presence, revealing a large structure which Helottah might’ve never found without her. They stood at the base of a stairway, which ascended into an archway of two golden bears with their arms outstretched toward each other, as if in battle. Expanding beyond the bears was more architecture within the embrace of large trees. Beneath the bears, stood a lone guard, dressed in yellow, black, and ivory with his face covered by a mask beneath the brim of a high hat. He was sitting cross legged, but  rose at Helottah and Tehekuma’s approach. With a sword at his hip, and a lance spear in his hand which he lowered in silent command for them to halt. Tehekuma glanced at Helottah and said that the figure was a guardian spirit of the Sun Temple; loyal servant of the Spirit of the Sun. 

“From Jah,” She said, and the spirit guard pointed to Helottah, and signed communication with his hands he did not understand, but Tehekuma did, and she glanced back at Helottah, 

“Humans are generally not allowed access into the Temple of the Sun, at least not without clearance.” Tehekuma looked back at the guard,

“The human is injured and wet with swamp water. He requires shelter and healing, I ask your grace to let us pass.” Tehekuma said and the spirit signed again, 

“I will vouch for him.” She said, and the temple guard regarded Helottah with one more long look from behind his black glasses, before he shifted from in front of the entry. Helottah thanked Tehekuma as they climbed the steps, and she glanced at him, 

“Don’t make me regret it.” She said, and Helottah could sense in her tone, that the words were not a request, but a threat. Her energy was so different there than in Bulbancha. She was not as soft or reserved, but rather direct in her tone, and solid in her gate. They passed the spirit who Tehekuma thanked by name; Taktikmii. They passed through the bear arch, into a courtyard corridor of many plants, arched by large and low hanging oak trees. Tehekuma explained that this was the rear entrance of the temple, and that its front opened to the Great River. They walked from the corridor into a space filled with more plants, though it was enclosed by glass as a greenhouse, and then beyond that they entered a great hall, lined by carved and mosaic columns, with grand walls painted in fresco depictions of the ancient past. Down the marble corridor, the floor was also made to depict an array of images; ancient zodiacs, the swamp’s diverse ecosystems, and a figure of gold…Helottah found his feet moving before sense could still him, and he limped ahead of Tehekuma, to look upon the glorious depiction of the mighty sun spirit; Kutnahaanin, in intricate armor and wielding a crimson bladed sword. The sun was rising in the east, and Helottah felt the warmth of it on his neck, before he turned, to see the stream of light pouring through crystal glass windows above. He was astounded by the beauty of the space, though, judging by the height and width of the staircases ahead, he figured the Temple was much more than what he could then see. He registered the emptiness of the place though. There were no temple keepers, no one praying in the halls, no spirits and magical creatures and mighty figures traversing the corridors at the break of dawn as in the stories of old. The temple was loudly quiet and still. Tehekuma’s voice echoed off the walls,

“Follow me, Prince Helottah,” Tehekuma said, before she led him from the corridor, down a few hall turns, before she went into a storage room where clothes were kept, grabbed some pieces from the shelves, and then led him further, until they reached another opening, which led into a low lit descending stairway, down into the underground. Helottah was just about to ask where Tehekuma was taking him before he made out the faint glow of soft light down below. She told him to remove his shoes near the base of the stairs and he winced to bend down and remove them. Tehekuma turned then, and Helottah thought for a moment that she would ridicule him for his pain shown. But she did not, she reached out her hands to steady his shoulders, and aid him as he lowered himself. Her eyes remained even, undramatic, as she aided Helottah in removing his shoes. Helottah looked past her then, at where she led him. It was a wide and open cavern, covered in vegetation, moss, ferns, ivies, and all manner of green and flowering things. The cavern ceiling was cradled by mist clouds, illuminated by the glow of crystal clear spring water below. Tehekuma had brought Helottah to where spring water glowed with holy light, and healed with heaven’s power. There were fish who swam in the clear water, dragon flies in the air, and frogs and geckos who lived in the plants. Ahead, at the center of the spring, on a small island, stood a weeping willow, with branches swaying into the surface of the water. Tehekuma and Helottah went to the edge of the water, and she turned to attend to Helottah’s armor. He tensed at the reach of her hands. She paused, 

“You will need to remove these soaked clothes. You risk catching a cold or worse; infection from the bacteria of the swamp water.” Helottah met the eyes of the warrior, who may have been in her early thirties. He was nervous at her touch. 

“I can do it myself,” he said, and Tehekuma replied, 

“You are injured, Prince.” 

“Just bruised.” He affirmed, but Tehekuma raised her brow at him, 

“I think more than bruised…but I will respect your wishes. Remove your armor and soak in the water. Here are your clothes,” she handed them to him before she said,

“I’ll return when you are finished to tend to your wounds.” Helottah watched Tehekuma exit the cavern, before he set about removing his armor. It was painful, and he sneered with every flex of his shoulder and side muscles, to the point where tears welled in his eyes. But he was not so comfortable as to be bare before a stranger. When he’d removed all his layers, he stepped into the spring, blessedly warm as it coursed fizzing bubbles across his skin. He sunk in to his neck, and tread the water, as his heart rate steadied, and the pain in his body dissipated. He rested in the spring water, leaning against its edge…he realized after, dozing off a few times, how tired he was. Eventually, he finished scrubbing off the grime and letting the water disinfect his cuts, before he went to dry off and place on the simple brown clothes brought down by Tehekuma. It wasn’t long after that she returned to the cavern with some hot bowls of soup and rice, bread and vegetables, along with some warm tea. She sat the tray down, and went to Helottah. She asked for consent as she reached out her hands, to draw up his shirt. He was hesitant again, and she insisted, 

“My intentions are to help you Helottah, I promise, my fingers nor my eyes will linger.” Helottah drew in a breath, and nodded his consent. Tehekuma was fierce, but she was not cruel, and she was careful to mind Helottah’s apparent sensitivity. She raised the hem of his shirt, and pressed her fingers to his bruises. She hummed to herself, sensing the fractures in his bones. She took deep breaths, and began to chant, softly, songs taught to her by spirits, to transfer healing from the fingers into the flesh and bone of another. Tehekuma’s earliest lessons had been in hand healing, called upon by the warriors of water and night for generations. Helottah sucked in breaths, as he felt sharp pain at her touch, followed after by a sensation of deep relief. Tehekuma tended to his cuts, rubbing in ointments, before patting him on the shoulder and telling him to work his muscles. He was able to do so, with only minimal soreness. Tehekuma nodded her approval of her work, and gestured for him to sit in front of the tray she’d brought down for him. Helottah thanked her, and she insisted that he owed his thanks more to the spring water, and the magic it drew from the roots of the sacred willow tree. Tehekuma sat opposite of Helottah, minding him as he ate, and drink his tea, before she spoke, 

“I’ve been a guardian here for millenia, and as I’ve mentioned, this is a dimension where time flows very differently than the one you journeyed from. I can recall the faces of travelers, who would be ancient to you, but are as familiar to me as ever. They came from here and there, near and distant worlds, far away galaxies, dark portals…and they all came in search of something. More often than not, they seek the Spirit of the Sun, aspiring for wishes granted, treasures bestowed, power delivered into their own hands. They always have their reasons, for love or war, preservation or conquest. They brave the swamp forest, just like you. Few are brave enough to make it this far, fewer still are wise enough to make their struggles worth it. Tell me, Helottah, Prince of the Sun Tribe, why are you here? Do you seek power to rid yourself of your enemies, to gain more land, to win at love? You are a prince. There have been many princes to arrive here. They all wish to conquer the unconquerable.” Tehekuma said before sipping some tea, and Helottah said, 

“I am a Prince, but I am no conqueror,” He said, “I seek nothing except what I’m supposed to find.” Tehekuma raised a brow, 

“Then perhaps, unlike all the others, you might actually find what you seek.” 

“And you,” Helottah said, “what brought you to this temple?” Tehekuma drew in a breath, and her mouth twitched with a resemblance of a smile, 

“I was born, not far from here. I was gifted great power by the land, and neither was I, ever a conqueror.” She said, contemplating the strange league to which she and Helottah belonged to. People, born with all the power in the world, who did not wish to rule it, as much as they hoped, to serve it. She told Helottah her story of loss, exploration, and transformation. She spoke of how she’d lost herself in the rubble of tribulations, and through the rearrangement of those pieces, she’d come into a much deeper understanding of who she was. She told Helottah, 

“This temple, and the forest which surrounds it, are where I can serve others, in sovereignty.” Helottah placed down his own bowl after drinking the broth, meeting Tehekuma’s eyes to ask, 

“Can service and sovereignty coexist?” He wasn’t being facetious, he truly wanted to hear the woman’s thoughts, as he struggled in his own life, to stand with the power of his birthright as a chief, and also to remain balanced in who he was….to balance selflessness with selfishness, knowing well that in imbalance, there could be no prosperity. Tehekuma drew in another breath, 

“I believe they can…at least, within my own life, the two coexist. But I’ve coursed, as all my kind, through the darkness of blackest battle with the shadow, to know the force of that understanding.”

He reflected on his own sensibilities, as a Prince, whose goal was not legacy, remembrance, nor permanence. He felt very content, in the stillness of this temple. He asked her, 

“You have served him? The great sun, Kutnahaanin?” Helottah asked about the powerful figure who’d captured his imagination since youth. Tehekuma paused, as if Helottah’s question was a strange one. She didn’t answer him, instead she led him from the cavern and through the temple, to a room where he was permitted privacy and rest.

“Clothes will be sent with your breakfast in the morning. You’ll be sent for at dawn for your council with the Spirit of the Sun.”  

The autumn wind was chilled, beneath the grey of a misty sky. Ahead was the open mouth gape of a stone bullfrog, marking the arch of the Bridge of Tuktu. Cheech, a seasoned Choupic warrior, dressed in red crawfish armor, turned to the Sun Prince, Helottah, who wore armor emblematic of flying hawks, roaring sabertooths, and swimming garfish. The prince had asked Cheech to be his guide across the expanse of the Black Forest. 

Cheech looked beyond the stretch of the arching bridge across the blackwater bayou, surfaced by lily pads and bordered by cattails and other water grasses. Here was the western-most point of the Sun Tribe’s territory, which ceded here, to the dominion of spirits and animals. Cheech listened closely, drew a deep breath for any strange smells. He looked out for any erratic or alarmed movement of animals. The spooked flight of a water bird, the scurrying dash of a terrapin. Cheech glanced at Helottah’s hand, resting on the handle of his broad, single edged sword. 

“We should leave our weapons here.” Cheech said, and Helottah’s brow furrowed as he turned, 

“You can’t be serious?” He glanced back at the cypress line at the edge of the bayou, and the shadowy dark of the forest interior beyond. To assert his seriousness, Cheech unclasped his own weapon from his belt. 

“The spirits of Lusatonga are unpredictable at the best of times, and their patience for mortal violence in their dimension, righteous or accidental, is thin.” Cheech explained. The forest was a sacred and holy place, where human dominion was steadfastly countered. It was not a realm to be cultivated and changed for human ease and survival, no ground for houses to stand, no ground for roads to stretch and wind. The trees were to be uncut, the darkness of its shadows untamed. Lusatonga was sacred, for its primordial and natural laws, which favored nor cursed any one organism. Some people whispered that the forest was cursed, forbidden to human travel, but Cheech knew the reality to be less fantastical and dramatic. When he’d been a child, his own father, black haired and ink tatted, took him to this very bridge, to enter the forest with no more than a bow and arrow. He led Cheech across the bridge, and into the forest, to hunt the best game, attainable by only the most cunning and courageous of hunters.

“The forest belongs to no one but itself, it owes you no allegiance.” Cheech’s father, Caiman Eyes, had spoken softly, just loud enough for him to hear. His father walked silently across the dark ground, each step precise and deft. Cheech mimicked the stalk of his father, whose black tattoos were camouflage in the tree shadowed forest. The trees of Lusatonga were thrice as tall as any back home, the birds more numerous, the animal tracks more frequently seen. Cheech’s father emphasized utmost respect to the songbirds, for there were no kills made beneath their canopy without their quiet consent. 

“When you step from your world into this one, you must leave behind the ego which lies to you of superiority. In Lusatonga, you are not a god of earth, you are not special here. You are a part of the space, as the smallest ant, the lowly fungus, or the high standing cypress. You are as the deer, as you are the wolf. You may find good prey, knock your arrow and land it true, to bring home plenty of food for your family. Or, you may find nothing at all, except paths leading to nowhere, with hunger in your belly, bad luck of an injury, or the attention of your own predator…here, your manhood is not of such consequence to earn you favor or accessibility, no, here, you survive by your senses, your wit, your reflexes. You must know when to slow down, when to quicken your pace, when to rise, when to hide, when to kill, and when to still your arrow fire. Greed, lust, fear, hatred…they will lead you to your doom in this place, before you are very far. The spirits of this forest are not fond of our kind, my son, because where we go, we bring the darkness of our shadows, and where our shadows rule, destruction always follows. The forest will not permit us to remain past the setting of the sun, but if we are wise, respectful, and faithful over fear, we will accomplish our task, and exit this place, without leaving many scars upon its surface.” Cheech recalled his father’s words as he instructed Helottah, 

“The forest is full of mysteries, whispers and confusions. The bravest man may come to know fear as he steps further into its depths. If that moment comes, and you draw the wrong blood by the blade of that steel, the spirits will be within their rights to destroy you, and curse that blade. You’re more likely to survive to your destination without it.” Cheech insisted, showing Helottah his own willingness to leave his bladed club within the cover of the cattails. Helottah followed his lead, handing over his sword, dagger, and gilded pistol. 

Cheech and Helottah walked to the archway of the bridge, and before they went forward, Cheech reminded Helottah, sternly, 

“Address your fears, and leave them here. Lusatonga will not accommodate the weakness of them.” Helottah took a deep breath, and made the mental note before he stepped forward, but Cheech placed a stilling arm in front of Helottah, before he pulled a ring, in the shape of a gator with a green stone placed in its back, from his left middle finger. He held up the ring to the stone bullfrog, and Helottah watched with fascination as the ring glowed, and the eyes of the stone frog glowed with a mirrored emerald light. A moment later, they stepped onto a bridge, and crossed over the bayou, onto the opposite bank. When they made it over, Cheech turned again, rose the ring to the bridge, and then, placed it on the ground, to leave it there as an offering of respect. 

He led Helottah on, into the forest where the birds called in the trees. The space was shrouded in the shadows of the canopy, but there was much life in the place. They passed scurrying squirrels, troops of wild boar and peccaries, herds of  deer and foraging rabbits. They heard wolf howls and eagle cries as they trekked. Cheech led the way, on feet as quiet as his father’s, minding the snakes and spiders Helottah  may not have sensed otherwise. Above them, there was a black bird, a Raven, which seemed to be keeping pace with their progress. 

“Where are we going?” Helottah asked as Cheech minded the time by his sense of the sun. 

“There is a temple, at the westernmost reach of the forest at the river border. If your destiny is a spiritual matter, then the Temple of the Sun is a good place to start.”

“The Temple of the Sun?” Helottah asked as they walked past the trunks of ancient trees, and they passed a statue of a roaring bear, overgrown with moss, fungi, and vines, “Like the one from the old stories, of Kutnahaanin?” Helottah asked, and Cheech glanced at the Sun Prince, meeting his fire amber eyes briefly, before he nodded to Helottah’s question. 

“The temple must be rubble and ruin now?” Helottah inquired, as all his people knew the stories of the days when the great elemental spirits ruled all the swamp, serving their great fiery sovereign, Kutnahaanin; mighty warrior who wielded the power of the dawn, and the wisdom of dusk. Cheech was near an answer to the prince’s question, when the forest began to open up, and water was smelt ahead. They stepped forward, to where the water grass ushered the earth into the grasp of dark green water. They’d reached a bog in the forest, pocketed by islands of cypresses all across. It was likely water coursed across a depression from the flow of the Great River. 

“We can find a crossing.” Helottah said, as the raven cawed and circled above them. Cheech shook his head, 

“There isn’t enough time, we need to reach the temple before dusk.” Cheech was scoping the water from right to left, calculating a strategy to get across, when he heard the caw of the raven flying its way across the water. By some miracle of divine aid there was a canoe, crossing the still water toward them. Helottah looked for the canoe’s rower, but was amazed to see no one at all directing it. It came to land against the bank, and Cheech looked over the vessel with caution, but he would not disregard the miracle. He had Helottah get in, and he set to rowing the canoe across the water. 

The waters here were rich with fish, swimming at the surface; bass, perch, and gar. The last of the year’s dragonflies were darting through the air, as turtles swam to pick off those who fell into the water. There were cormorants and snake birds traversing the currents, and flocks of white egrets, green, grey, and brown herons, ospreys, spoon bills, and ducks in the trees, across the sky, and at the banks of the cypress islands. It was a place of serene and grey beauty, but Cheech kept his sense alert, as he brought the canoe further across the water. There was a moment when Helottah started to ask him something, but Cheech held up a hand for silence. He paused his rowing on the canoe, and his brow furrowed. 

The Choupic warrior had sensed something by a tingle up his spine, sharp eyes had registered a strange ripple across the water’s surface at a distance. Above them, the raven was still cawing as it circled at a quick and insistent pace. 

“What is it Cheech?” Helottah asked, and Cheech looked over the side of the boat. There were perch below the surface, treading the water, before they very suddenly darted away. A second later, they heard the simultaneous flap of many wings, as the egrets and ducks took off. 

Cheech felt a shudder through his body, sensing danger as the turtles submerged and the waters and trees around them became suddenly still and empty. Something dark was near. Cheech glanced at Helottah, 

“Listen to me, you’ll need to swim to the other side. Once you make it to land, you’ll have to get yourself to the temple.”

“What? Cheech…”

“I said listen to me, swim to the other side, follow the raven and get as far as you can by sunset.” Cheech’s demeanor was calm, still as he spoke, with deadly seriousness. He took a deep breath before he heard the deep rumble of a telepathic voice resound across the water, 

“Humans, in my swamp,” The voice was a guttural boom, like massive rocks ticked across the side of a mountain. Helottah looked around, seeing no sign of the voice’s owner. 

“Cheech, what is that?” There wasn’t time to answer before the voice continued, 

“Arrogant. Pathetic. Vulnerable things you are, crossing these waters without a sacrifice to its keeper.” Cheech reached in vain for the weapon he’d left behind, at the bridge of Tuktu. 

“It has been a long time since I have tasted man flesh on my tongue.” There was a surge of bubbles to the surface of the water, and Cheech and Helottah had barely enough time to react as the water surged and the canoe lurched as something crashed against its bottom, lifting it up with extreme force that knocked Cheech to the side, nearly out the canoe, and Helottah totally out of it. Helottah landed on the rock hard scoots of scaly back armor, sliding under him as the water churned before he went under by the force of movement. Cheech braced as he watched the back of the great beast pass beneath, tearing up the bottom of the canoe, before its tail made quick work of what was left, just an instant after Cheech had the sense to jump from the boat and into the water. The water thrashed and Cheech saw a flash of patterned scales as he rose to the surface to catch his breath. The water was just shallow enough for him to tread the tips of his toes against the bottom, with his head above the water. Helottah, who was taller, was able to stand, as the massive alligator who’d destroyed their canoe trudged through the water, turning its form to circle back to Cheech and Helottah. 

Helottah looked to the other side of the bog, still a great distance to swim across. He knew, as did Cheech, they would not outpace this giant reptile. The great alligator settled the sway of his body, easily sixty feet long. His head was massive and wide, scarred across his yellow eyes and broad snout. He rumbled a deep growling hiss as he raised his head above the water. Cheech shifted to place his body between Helottah and the alligator. 

“Brave, as you are foolish,” The gator spoke, and Cheech called out, 

“Great Alligator, we seek to bring no harm to these waters. We have taken no drink, nor flesh of bird or fish. We only want passage to the other side!” The alligator laughed a deep rumble, 

“Only passage. You seem to think the price is cheap.” The gator swayed, sinking down into the bayou bottom, bracing his muscular and powerful legs for springing. Cheech looked upon the creature, meeting his eyes; bile yellow and slitted, sinister and hungry…There was an odor to his scales and his breath over the water. Cheech saw visions by the frequency of the gator’s voice and the projection of his hatred…of children with brown skin, snatched from their chained and beaten mothers, dragged to the bayou and tied to cypress roots, to lure big prizes for alligator hunters. He saw the visions course further, of demonic slave holders, offering up children to the gator spirit who came at full moons for his compensations, to keep the water ways locked by the hunger of his children’s teeth, to prevent escape beyond for the enslaved. This spirit grew large and strong off the bloodied flesh of innocents, and whatever name he’d once had, was no more, for when his soul festered demonic, memories of his past titles were lost, and he became known thereafter, as the Child Stealer. 

“It has been an age, since I have felt the soft flesh of a youngling in my teeth, and tasted sweet innocence in my gullet. Bring me, such a proper sacrifice, and I will let you and the prince pass.” The Child Stealer proposed a heinous thing, and Cheech considered, would this beast even keep his word? 

“You ask an impossible request.” Cheech called out, and the gator hissed, 

“And yet, others have delivered sweet souls to my jaws. Conquerers, explorers, great warriors, who sought the Temple of the Sun as you. They at least knew to bring offerings of gold, cattle, and women, to fill my belly. Softest, was the flesh of their children to my jaws…You assume you are above such sacrifices as I demand, within my rights, as a spirit guardian of this swamp?” 

“You are no guardian! Your soul festers and wreaks of pollution. We will not bring blood sacrifices to a demon!” Cheech called out, and the gator rumbled deep, stirring the water with his sway and vibrational roar.

“Then it will be your flesh to fill me!” At that, the gator surged forward in a torrent of rushing scales and crashing water. 

“Go Helottah!” Cheech commanded, and Helottah broke past the stun in his bones to long stroke across the water at Cheech’s command. He swam a distance, before he turned to see the great gator rise in a terrible lunge, to crash into Cheech with his toothy maw agape. Helottah called out to his friend, but the alligator pushed Cheech underwater, bracing his iron strong hands against two of the Child Stealer’s teeth, prying his jaws to stay open. Cheech summoned a strength which had been reserved deep within him for much of his life. The Child Stealer thrashed and fought, and it took all of Cheech’s strength to hold on, before the beast lifted a third of his massive body from the water, and threw his head with extreme force, loosening Cheech’s grip, along with one of his teeth, far across the water. Helottah called out to Cheech; a mistake, as his voice drew the child stealer’s attention to him. The giant gator turned his body, and aimed his glare at Helottah, 

“Not as sweet as the blood of the innocent, but a chief’s blood will certainly fill me. It’s been a long time since I have eaten a prince.” The Child Stealer was suddenly moving toward him, and Helottah knew he’d not move fast enough to beat the alligator to the land. He braced himself for the great crash of teeth and the flood of water, just as a thunderous call echoed across the bog, 

“Child Stealer!” Helottah was shaking when the Child Stealer paused a mere ten feet ahead of him. He turned his great head back to where the voice called out, and Helottah looked out, to where Cheech had regained his bearings…and more than that, it appeared the Choupic warrior was risen above the water, churning at his heels. He’d commanded the water with holy prayers on his tongue. He summoned forth great power from the depths of his soul, knowing himself for a name he’d long ago let him self forget, in exchange for a form, ancient and unyielding. He let the strength course through him like running water through the tendrils of a delta. He was calling on the power of a miracle, to face the Child Stealer and aid Helottah in his journey. There was a price to pay for this flood of strength and water magic, however, it would not be paid to the child stealer, who turned to call out his challenge, 

“You want a sacrifice, then come and get it, you b*****d of a salamander! Take my flesh in your teeth by your strength against mine!” Cheech called out and the alligator rumbled at the challenge. Helottah glanced up at the circling Raven, beckoning him with insistent caws to follow him across the bog to the security of land. 

The Child-Stealer, infuriated by Cheech’s audacity, surged ahead, and Cheech roared a war cry as the water torrent churned with pressure and his eyes glowed with a burst of green light before the gator lunged from the water to collide with Cheech. Helottah could see only the great wave, before both Cheech and The Child Stealer were submerged beneath the water. Helottah waited a minute, two minutes, to see if either the Child Stealer or Cheech would emerge from below, fighting and thrashing…but there was no more to witness, as the water stilled and the bog returned to its prior calm. The Raven’s caw was Helottah’s reminder to not linger in the dark open water. He swam until he reached land, the water chilling him under his armor as he walked ahead, keeping pace as best he could with the black bird, racing the growing shadows at the approach of sunset.

If you haven’t already go check out my introductory blog post to understand the context of Can’t Hold the River and its subscription options :)

Welcome to my Blog

I have no clue what sort of fungus this is, but I thought it looked cool lol.

Loquats ( Eriobotrya japonica) we call them misbeliefs (I still don’t know the origin of our name for loquats) this tree was in Mid City. They are actually native to China.

A Mulberry Tree (Morus) there are numerous trees of this species fruiting across the city. There is a high density in City Park, Gentilly, the Lafitte Green Way, and other neighborhoods.

Black Berries (Rubus) are an indigenous to Louisiana and across Turtle Island. I imagine the Black Bears which were in Bulbancha before colonization feasting on these.

Skullcap (Skutellaria) is easy to walk past if you don’t know what you are looking at. American Skullcap has many medicinal properties and was used in the religious rituals of several Indigenous Turtle Island tribes. (I tried it once to help with sleep but it didn’t really make me feel too different. I may have needed more of it)

Wild Onion (Allium) grows near my house in Gentilly in a few people’s neglected front yards. The bulbs are tasty with a distinct bitterness while the root bottoms have a more chive like taste and crunch. Really good for cooking or to put in salads.

Black Bellied Whistling Ducks (Dendrocygna autumnalis) are a waterfowl native to Bulbancha. They have a very distinct call. I spotted a pair the other day diving for food in a shallow pond.