Glimpse of a time since long bygone (Write-off entry)

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“I’m telling you, Chief, the spirits have nothing to do with it!” The old man seemed to be a little tired of the constant flow of annoying, unpleasant or just plain stupid questions his tribesmen forced him to endure. But he couldn’t blame them, he thought. It was, after all, his job to find out the reason behind bad events such as this.
The men who sat around him in his hut eyed him in a way he wasn’t sure he really liked. The one he had addressed spoke up: “If it’s not the spirits, then tell us what, Sangoma! You surely cannot mean that men from our neighbour village are behind this? Or even tokoloshes?” The chief’s voice was on the verge to the mocking, which the sangoma noticed and ignored.
“Chief, you know as well as I do that there’s no way a mortal man can sneak into our village without getting seen. Besides, why would they? Just to kill our cattle, stab them twice in the side, and not make off with the bodies? No, but a tokoloshe on the other hand…” Seeing the other’s doubtful faces, the sangoma decided not to continue this line of thought, at least not openly. “Anyway, it’s a possibility, there’s no denying that. However, I fear that the only way to find out what’s been killing our cattle the last few days is to stay out during the night and watch.”
“But Sangoma, what you suggest is most unpleasant!” said a young man, almost stammering, and the sangoma replied immediately.
“Ha! And you call yourself a warrior? A warrior knows no fear, while you seem to be nothing more than a wimp!”
“A warrior doesn’t fight the spirits,” exclaimed the young man, “his foes are flesh and bone!”
“For the last time, it’s not the spirits! But if it makes you more comfortable, I shall consult the ancestors one more time, but remember that they must not be pestered too much, lest we bring upon us much worse troubles than mere loss of cattle!” When the chief had opened his mouth to talk, the sangoma spoke again. “But someone must still guard the cattle tonight, only then can we know the truth. Now go.” He was indeed tired, that was perfectly clear, so the men heeded his wish and left the old diviner alone.

A few hours later, two men sat on a wooden fence, surveying the resting cows inside. No stars could be seen that night. The only thing that broke the almost complete darkness was the occasional distant lightning that glistened in the men’s spearheads, and the ensuing thunder was the only thing that broke the silence. Not even insects were to be heard that night.
The darkness didn’t bother the men much once their eyes had adjusted to it, and nor did the silence, for that just made their job easier. They were M’bo and Kashu, the guards, the chosen ones whose task was to find out the reason behind the killings. They didn’t particularly like their mission, but they figured that someone must do it, and they sure had a lot more courage than the youngster from earlier today did.
As they sat there on the fence, it started to rain and the thunder drew closer. It was cold and wet, and the monotonous drum roll of raindrops hitting the ground effectively drowned other sounds, forcing the men to rely almost solely on their keen eyes.
Almost.
Suddenly, the sky was ripped apart by a giant bolt of lightning, followed by an unearthly, high-pitched scream and then by the stunning boom of thunder. The two men exchanged horrified looks, both faces soundlessly speaking the same sentence: The scream didn’t come from the cattle pen, but from the village!

The guards grabbed their spears and ran as fast as they could in the direction of the scream. The door of one of the huts was open. Upon entering, an awful sight greeted them; namely that of a little child who had bled to death from two deep wounds in the side, seemingly from spearthrusts or stabs with a broad-bladed knife.
They stared at the corpses for several minutes before regaining their composure. M’bo caught sight of something in the mud outside the hut. “Hey Kashu, have a look at this!”
Kashu turned around to take a look. What he saw was footprints the size of an infant’s feet, but noticeably deeper. “Tokoloshe!” he gasped, “so Sangoma was right after all!”
“Yes, it seems like the foul daemons are indeed the ones responsible, but look where the traces lead!” M’bo pointed at a hut on the outskirts of the village.
“Inyanga! Quickly, wake the chief and meet me at Sangoma’s place!”

A few minutes later they were again gathered in the sangoma’s abode. After having been told about the traces leading to the hut of the inyanga, the doctor, or rather the naturopath of the village, and some moments of heavy thinking, the old diviner spoke.
“Yes, that makes sense, somehow. The inyanga would be the only one, beside me, who possesses the skill and knowledge necessary to create tokoloshes… The ancestors seemed to suggest this as well, be it in cryptic and obscure ways that I could hardly decipher…”
“But why?” demanded the chief in despair, looking upwards as if questioning the sky. “Who would have suspected our own inyanga? I, and most of the others as well, I think, always thought it was the spirits, despite what you said. We owe you an apology.”
“Why?” said the sangoma. “Who knows, maybe he desires eternal life, and seeks to uncover its secret through unholy experiments upon newly killed creatures, maybe something else. Anyhow, we must take action at once!” An expression of determination crossed the old man’s grim face as he rose to his feet and walked out into the pouring rain. The other’s followed, exchanging anxious looks; they were going to face an evil wizard, after all.

Four shady figures made their way to the inyanga’s dwelling. They knocked on the door and demanded that he would open.
Nothing.
Kashu kicked it open, and he and M’bo entered.
“He’s not here!” exclaimed Kashu, “he must have heard us coming and fled!”
At that moment, the sky was again cleaved by lightning, and they could discern a silhouette the shape of a man atop a nearby hill.
“There he is!” yelled M’bo and sped towards the hill, but the sangoma held him back. “No, look!”
The figure atop the hill stretched his arms towards the dark clouds that seemed to gather above him and laughed a wicked, manic laugh that was perfectly audible even in the heavy rain. Then, all of a sudden, there was a blinding light, and the ensuing boom almost rendered the four men deaf. When they next looked upon the hill, the figure was gone.

The sangoma turned around and began walking back to the village. “He defied the spirits, the fool. They have wreaked their vengeance upon him.”

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Well, that's it! The story is based loosely on the superstitions of the Zulu people.

(Gaaah! Why can I never find a good name for my stories? )

[This message has been edited by Namuras (edited December 15, 2001).]

 

good on ya. i havnt actually read it yet but ill do that off-line but the fact thta you actually read my post aand took some notice of it is good enough for me.

ok now that ive read it id have to say that it looks pretty interesting. is the tribe from a book by any chance?

wait a second. IS THAT IT. come on. we want more. at least i want more
[This message has been edited by zaknafein (edited December 19, 2001).]

[This message has been edited by zaknafein (edited December 23, 2001).]