It marked one week Bayaad lost a soul and Astur a mother. She roamed around the street begging for job—regardless of how menial it might be—however, no one gave her one. They believed she was probably infected with the fever that killed Ayesha. Astur was therefore warned by the village chief to never come into the village again and stay at her hut (which was at the far edge of the town) till further notice.

Astur looked around her hut, and she cringed at how meager and poorly furnished it was. This was a reason why she had no friends because in Bayaad, people talk to others in the same financial position and social circle as them or someone wealthier than they are. And as far as ranks go, Astur and her mother, Ayesha, were at the very bottom. Therefore, they had no friend.

She thought in her mind of all the things Ayesha told her about her destiny and how she is supposed to leave for the city. Baweys was 20 miles away and she does not have any means of transportation except her foot. She finally decided, that if she had no life here, she might as well make a journey to the city. Maybe life will be better there. Moreover, she kept feeling a pull towards the city, and that pull got stronger every day.

Scuttling off the floor, she rushed towards her strewn clothes in the corner of the room. She packed everything into an old animal skin bag that was bought by Ayesha some ten years back.

“I won’t fail you mother,” she said to the empty gloomy room.

And in the early morning of that day, Astur fled the village of Bayaad without looking back.

*

Waziyya was in deep concentration as he flicked his scanty beards looking far into the distance. His subjects sat left and right in the courtroom shivered in their flowing golden robes. And, no, the weather was not cold. However, it was as a result of the fury they felt emanating from their king. Even his stature did nothing to dilute the potency of his power.

“I heard some news. Some news spreading about me and my son,” he gritted his mouth hard at this as it pained him to call the heir his son, but to the sitting subjects, it seemed like he was angry at them, “A rumor that is a high treason to the royal family.”

The court was filled with noises of the various royal subjects whispering and talking in thousands, their golden caps glittering in the warm yellow light of the courtroom.

“Quiet!” the king thundered and even a pin drop could be heard in the room.

“Luckily enough we were able to get the idiots spreading this rumor,” he said with an evil smile, his beady eyes gleaming wickedly. “And I have decided to make an example of them.”

“Bring them in!!”

Two men were dragged into the courtroom by four hefty prison guards, their eyes were swollen shut and their fingers already mutilated. Collective gasps went throughout the courtroom as the sight of these two was totally gruesome.

“Kill them!!”

Blood splattered in the middle of the courtroom as they were beheaded, their body jerked and juddered before they finally gave up the ghost. Most of the royals could be seen with pale faces and open mouths, some puked at the unenjoyable sight lying in front of them.

“Did you see that?” Waziyya bellowed, as he was quite pleased with the fear he saw on their faces, he needed to remind them constantly that he is the one with power and it will stay to remain that way forever and ever, “That is just a tip of the iceberg. Anyone that carries rumor about the royal family will be beheaded immediately. Not only that, his family will be killed and all his properties confiscated.”

The “tap-tap” sound of his polished boots on the tiled floor rang clear and resounded in the minds of the subjects adding to their terrors. 

“It will be to the advantage of every one of you to bow down to my will. Do I make myself clear?!” he barked as he glared every one of the hundred subjects seated in the eye.

A collective “yes!!” was in the air as all of them were shaking and quivering in their boots.

However, in the corner of the room sat Ahna Batwa, the ruler of the Ahna house, glaring at the king with unmasked contempt. His daughter, the late queen, was dead, and now two of his most trusted men have been beheaded by the king. Ahna has been building a fortified army for ten seasons now, and he wanted nothing more than to maim the current king. He strongly believed that the Ahna house was unjustly cheated of its natural right to the royal throne. And with his grandson—the heir—he believed that it was now time to make the royal throne theirs. And to fight for the shed blood of his beloved daughter.

*

Hunger, thirst, pain and frequent dizzy spells became the norm for Astur on her tedious journey to the capital. She owed her wellbeing to the different generous strangers that she met along the way. On her stopover at the village of Vaznia, she worked for twenty days as an assistant butcher before she made 50 cowries to continue her journey to the capital. It took her 38 days to get to the capital and another 21 days to find her bearing. Citizens in the capital were not as nice as the villagers as she was duped of 30 cowries. She found a shack in the ghettos of the city to live in after she paid a rent of 5 cowries to the ever-scowling land lady.

“You may look down on me and think this is just a shack, but I’ll let you know that this is my source of livelihood and I will not have you destroy it,” she kept on repeating, with her venomous anger directed at Astur.

Astur wondered and thought of what she has done to deserve such an unjustified emotion directed at her.

“Look, I’m not from the city. My mother died in the village and I had to move here, maybe I will find a better life. I’m not a troublemaker and I promise to take good care of your shack like it’s mine,” Astur assured with a tight smile on her face. She felt uncomfortable telling a stranger about her dead mother.

“Oh no! I’m so sorry child,” the old woman sympathized, her scowl has immediately transformed to one of pity. Astur did not even know which she preferred. “In fact I want you to stay here for free till you find a stable job, I’ll tell people about you so we can get a job for you…..”

“Astur. The name is Astur.”

“Astur what a thoughtful name. Your mother must have been through some heavy conditions. Once again I’m sorry,” the old woman apologized again and again, her whole demeanor one of remorse and shame at how she had treated the poor girl at first. She thought Astur was one of the royal houses with her glittering black skin and beautiful purple eyes. Though she now wondered why there would ever be a royal renting a shack in the first place.

“Are you a royal? Probably from royal family?” the old woman asked, her bushy grey eyebrows raised in speculation.

Astur scrutinized her, from her white grey buzzed hair, to her amber-yellow eyes, her prominently thick lips and the threadbare off-white gown she wore.

“No I’m not. Why would you ask so?”

“It’s nothing,” the old woman waved off, “I will get back to you tomorrow about the job offers. Please let me know if you need anything,” she reassured with guilt painted all over her face.

Astur looked on at the unmatched gait of the old woman down the murky and smelly path to the other end of the road. The shack was one in a thousands of others and the smell of the whole environment was unpalatable. Everywhere smelt like diseases and infection. A fresh wave of poop smell invaded her nostrils and she hurried into her own shack seeking escape, it did nothing to mask the smell.

Astur sat on the bare floor of the dainty shack, tears leaked from the corners of her eyes as she reminisced over her past home in the village with her mother. She missed the smell of corn pap they used to have every morning. She missed going to the bush to hunt for meat. In fact, she missed hawking her tubers of yam. Most of all, she missed her mother immensely, her twinkling eyes and all of the moments—both good and bad—they shared. She missed everything, she thought as she hugged herself tight for that was all she had now. But she also knew that she had to move on. And create a new and better life for herself. And fulfill her destiny. And she knew it was going to be grim.

*

It is a known fact that the kingdom of Baweys prides itself in its religious beliefs. It was the norms for the king to always seek the thoughts of the oracles three months after the moon festival.

“I can’t belief I’m going to talk to some useless gods to teach me how to rule my kingdom!” Waziyya muttered furiously as he matched down the steps towards the great temple of the Baweys gods.

His guards were intimidated by his anger but said or did nothing in reply. It wasn’t long before they passed through the tall columns—that made the king even shorter in comparison—and stepped into the graveled floor of the tall temple. The air in the temple smelt of roses as lit scented candles lead the hallway to where the temple priestess was hunched in prayer.

“Waziyya,” Diric recognized without turning away from the image of the molten gods, her body frail from old age.

“What do you seek to find?”

Saloca blanched at the blatant use of his name. He has always known that the priestess has never been a fan of him.

“Is it a crime to want to pay homage to the gods of the land?” he answered sardonically with an irritating innocence. “A crime so heinous enough for you not to address me by my royal title?”

“I see your insides, I know your thoughts and I know the exact reason you are here.”

Diric turned slowly as she set a hard stare on the king. It was a shame, she thought, for such cruel man to head the Baweys kingdom. And she knew that the kingdom needed deliverance by the hands of the gods to be rid of him finally.

“Pray tell, o great goddess! Why do you think I’m here?” Waziyya asked, not bothering to conceal the murderous glare on his face. He has always hated the priestess since the revelation she made twenty seasons ago. It was to his advantage that he never believed her, because look at him now; he was still the king even after twenty seasons!

“The prophecy is set in motion. Baweys redemptor is here! And finally this kingdom will be rid of the evil that stinks in the air,” Diric emphasized, her gaze far off in the distance as she rested her weight on her wooden rod.

“Maybe it is you who needs to be ridden of, don’t you think?” the king asked as he paced the hard floor of the temple.

“You can only destroy my flesh, but even that will not hinder the prophecy for it shall come to pass. Even you cannot stop the gods,” Diric muttered furiously her onyx eyes hardened with anger. Anger at the king.

“Then I’m sorry you’ll have to go.”
And with this statement Waziyya stabbed the priestess with his sharp pocketknife that was hand made for him by the kingdom’s best blacksmith.

“What a pity you had to die this way Diric,” he said as he ran his hands through her silver long hair.

“The gods will have your life for this,” Diric stuttered, her brown teeth stained red.

“I know. But I’ll be even more powerful by then, don’t you think?” Diric could not answer this for she was long gone, her facial expression contorted in sheer pain. Waziyya took great pleasure in the crimson blood that gushed from her neck. He enjoyed how her priestly snow-white vest was stained blood red.

Now he truly had no one to stop him.

*

Astur’s landlady had undoubtedly become her ‘Best landlady of the season’ as she did everything possible to make sure she had an easier life in the ghettos of Baweys. Yes, she still polished shoes for snobby rich ladies and hawked oranges in the rowdy market. But this has ensured that she had a three-day mal every day. And it enabled her to add two gauche dresses to her wardrobe. Not to forget, she had also gotten a new faux leather sandal to compliment her tattered one. All in all, life was not terrible for her—if the moment when a bush rat ate her moldy bread could count. Moreover, she has found a friend in the old woman, she thought as she stared at the woman across the room.

“I have told you to feel at home. I know this is nothing compared to your shack, but just relax,” the old woman whom she now known as Celli said.

“Wine or wine?’

“Wine.”

She also noticed that grape wine was sort of the staple here. They drank it like water and it was deemed an atrocious offence to turn down a wine offer.

“You know you will make a god wife for my son,” Celli said as she brought a tray of wine to the round wooden table where she and Astur were both seated at her chamomile gardens in her estate. It was a great wonder when Astur visited her the first time as she has never been to such a large place her whole life. Her former village square paled in comparison.

“This will be the fifth time you’ll be saying this,” Astur mumbled as she gulped the fresh wine, savoring the pleasant taste in her tongue.

“And this will be the third time you’ll be visiting, you should visit me more often,” Celli retorted without missing a beat. Her grey eyes squinted at Astur fondly as she realized the pretty girl has grown on her.

“You know I have to work hard, I can’t live off you,” Astur answered with a sad look. Sometimes she wished she was one of those snobby rich ladies that had lots of money and did not have to work their whole lives. But the image of her mother ruins thoughts like that.

“I know, I know. And that is why I’m so proud of you,” Celli remarked proudly. “And I’m sure your mother is proud of you for that.”

There was a brief moment of silence after that sentence and Astur again felt tremors of grief pass through her.

“You know what?” Celli asked after seeing the look on Astur’s face, “I want you to come see the paintings of my family. Down to my son that I want you to meet. He will be released from the army in three months’ time and I want you to be prepared,” she completed with a wink that made her look like she had a medical eye condition.

Astur sent her a grateful smile as they made the short journey to the gallery of Celli estate. It was a big room that smelt of burnt corns and rose—an odd combination. The gallery shone yellow from the candles flickering above the wall. Large-sized portraits of Celli’s family lined every inch of the red-brick wall.

“You were so pretty!” Astur cooed. And she was very correct, Celli grey eyes glittered and shone, her gaze was very hypnotic with her pointy chin and symmetrical face that rivaled that of the royal ladies. Her long black hair made a stark contrast against her pale skin. She looked like a queen.

“Of course I was! Boys used to line up to hold my hands back in those days!” she revealed as she looked back at herself, reminiscing the old days. “Every girl wanted to be my friend, and those that were not hated me with all of their guts.”

“Your boy, he is …pretty,” Astur was lost of words as she was not prepared for the beauty that stared back at him. He looked like an exact replica of his mother—Celli. The only difference were his eyes which were golden yellow. He was far prettier than Jamir. She remembered what Jamir had done, and she realized how foolish she was to have judged him that way. Fine! She felt betrayed, but the truth remains that Jamir did not know who she was and neither did they have an agreement.

“Of course! Erasto took after me,” Celli retorted, her sagging cheeks pulled up in a sly smirk. “He is also a lieutenant in Baweys army. I’m so proud of all his accomplishments,” she gushed on, as tears filled her cloudy grey eyes.

It wasn’t long before they moved to the next oil painting, it was a man with thick black locks and a piercing black eyes. He looked daunting and formidable.

“And that is my husband,” Celli supplied in a grave tone, “There is not much to say about him,” she clipped aggressively.

“How do you take care of this big house?” Astur asked patronizingly trying to dispel the awkwardness that hung heavily in the air.

“Oh! I have a maid that comes thrice a week to take care of that,” she answered as she led her out of the gallery, towards the open balcony that faced the garden. The sunset painted the garden as the sky shone orange and purple. Astur felt more than relaxed and she enjoyed the richness of the wine, she also admired the dainty wine cups as she has never seen such before.

“I never knew you to be rich,” she murmured absentmindedly.

“Because I am not. But my husband is,” Celli replied, her thin mouth twisted in a scowl. She despised her husband for choosing the dangerous life that he was living and she wished there was something she could do to change his heart. Alas! It was too late for that.

Unbeknownst to them, a spy was hidden in the garden, taking note of all their activities. It would not be long before everything fell into place.

*

The vast open space was as lifeless as it could be, mounted headstones scattered here and there made up for grave decorations. Ayaan, even after the burial ceremony for the queen could not seem to move his frozen feet an inch from the queen’s headstone. It was cold, the sky had already turned grey, a storm brewed in the distance, but he still could not move. He could not even feel his shivering body.

He thought of all the moments he had with his mother—from teaching him writing to reading him to sleep when his night demons came—and he realized that he could not hate her for the grave crime she had committed. To him, she was still the best mother ever, she was always there for him whenever the king tormented him to grow up and learn how to not puke at the sight of blood and how unfit that will be for a son of his. That man, he thought, was the cause of his mother’s death.

He had the royal herbalist look into the cause of his mother’s death—and also that of his biological father. And they found that they both died from Siam poison. Siam poison was possessed only by Waziyya Saloca. He had a farm dedicated to the growth of that poison. At the thought of all this, he swore to himself on the grave of his mother, to kill the king exactly how he had done to his parents. He would channel his bitterness into this, and he would never rest till the king is dead. The king will regret ever downplaying him. With this final thought he headed out of the royal grave. His tears mixed with the rain, a feeling of emptiness filled his body and his heart hollow in his chest.

He marched onwards, and he dared not look back.

*

Heavy is the head that wears the crown. It certainly was that way for the king, as he thought heavily about the prophecy and declaration he had heard from Diric before he maimed her. He regretted how long he waited before executing her. Even now that she is dead, her nasally voice still managed to get into his head. He kept on hearing: ‘The redemptor is here! The redemptor is here!!’, and he knew not what to do about it.

Who could the redemptor be? He thought.

It definitely was not Ayaan, the boy was too dumb to be chosen by the gods. He recollected the first prophecy that occurred twenty years ago, how a redemptor was born into the world. Now Diric confirmed that the redemptor was in the city last week. With a shrew smile he adjusted his oversized crown.

He knew exactly what to do.

*

It was not long before the Baweys army—under the command of the royal king, Waziyya Saloca—busted into the city on their chariots and strong fiery horses, seizing every young man from the age eighteen to twenty.

“Halt by the king’s order!”

Everyone went skedaddling as nobody understood why the capture of young men was happening. Astur was in the ‘Shoe shop’ polishing leather shoe for the snobby rich ladies.

“Oh gods! What is happening?” a beak-nosed lady said, her plucked eyebrows scrunching up in confusion giving her the definite look of a scarecrow. Astur, of course, kept this to herself.

“I do not know Kalia! What will happen to our Grecian gowns??!! Oh no!!” her blue-eyed counterpart said. This one was fairer on the eyes with her pretty features.

“I saw the king’s order posted on the town wall when I went to hawk oranges,” the two snobby sisters wrinkled up their beaky noses at this, “And it read, any young man of eighteen to twenty years old should join the king’s army for intense training. There you have it. Don’t worry your gowns are safe.”

“Oh really!! Thank you so much. We needed those gowns for our upcoming birthday parties. In fact, you are invited!” the blue-eyed one said as the other sister bobbed her head, quite like a lizards’.

“I’ll think about it,” she assured as she continued to polish their shoes. She was definitely not going to think about it, what she was thinking about was the sudden need for strapping young men in the king’s army. Is there something no one is seeing?

*

In the whole of Baweys land, no one could compare in wisdom to Tashini, the new leader of the rebel group. He was of an indomitable build, and it will take more than Waziyya to pull him down, or so his believers thought.

“I heard news that the king is recruiting new young soldiers! It seems as if there is something sniffy going on in the royal palace,” he paused for effect, his black eyes that seemed omniscient peeking at every soldier who stood at attention, their eyes sharp in concentration, “Therefore I have decided that the ‘Tashini rebel group’ needs more willing soldiers that will help us in the defeat of our wicked king.”

With Tashini arms folded behind him, gunshots could be heard in the distant perspective where other soldiers were practicing, “I will get across to you when we will be selecting more members. For now, let us focus hard at training for attack might be any moment from now. Practice for the safety of Baweys! For the keeps of our lands!!”

The soldiers went into an uproar shouting nonsensical to show their support for the rebel group. Tashini locks gleamed under the sunlight from too much oiling, his over starched uniform showed how much royalties he enjoyed from leading the rebel group. He felt a little bit sorry for the poor soldiers who had no idea what they had gotten themselves into.

He looked ahead, away from the podium, away from the anxious crowd and gazed into the far distance.

He could feel it.

It was almost here.

*

“Are you deaf or just stupid?” the king thundered, his voice echoing in his study room. He was pacing furiously, his hands on his waist as he tried to calm down, “I told you to go into the city and into every houses and gather all boys from eighteen to twenty years. Is that so difficult to understand? Or you are too weak to carry out my instructions?”

“My king…we asked all of them to join the army al—”

“Shut up!!! Do you honestly think that all of them would willingly join the army? I will give you this command for the last time: Go into the city, ransack those houses and force every boy of age eighteen to twenty to join the army.”

“Yes my king!” the newly installed army commander answered as he quavered in his boots. He was extremely scared of the king and he feared for what he might do to his family if he does not abide by his commands.

“You know what happened to the last commander,” Waziyya paused for effect, wanting nothing more than to wring the neck of the commander. He utterly hates people who will never regard his commands. That means they do not regard him! And he will never have any of that.

“I know sir,” the commander stuttered, his corduroy trousers already wet with piss.

“Now go. And clean up yourself. What a pity!” the king dismissed with a pitiful shake of head.

Going to his study seat with a swaddling gait, Waziyya made to himself the observation that it was to his own advantage that he removed the present army commander. He thought of all the plans in his head. He smiled crookedly at how perfect they were. Baweys would be his, come rain, come death.

***********

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