CHAPTER 19:  THE NEXUS

	Metutu could not get out of his mind what the lioness Asumini had 
said.  "Have courage."  What did she mean?  Courage about the death of 
Busara?  About his new faith?  Secretly he had fantasies about calling 
her up, opening his arms, and saying, "Come to me, Asumini!"  And she 
would make him her brother and tell him wonderful things about life and 
beauty.  
	His father wanted him to be the next chief.  But he felt the call 
to do the will of Aiheu.  He longed for a life of sincerity.  Of course, 
he had hopes that one day mandrill society would change.  But change 
must come from other sources.  Is that the courage he must have?
	Kinara's ongoing feud with Old Maloki was coming to a head.  
Finally the privilege of getting water from the creek on their lands was 
going to start costing them more.  That was it.  Old Maloki had been 
holding on to his lands with great tenacity, but some of his people were 
ripe for a change.  And Kinara thought the best change for all concerned 
was a greater village, and a united council.
	But how best to go about it?  Certainly not by military force, at 
least not the forces of Kinara.  Rather, it must be done subtly from the 
inside with a few well-placed rumors.  After all, the chief felt, there 
was nothing he could say about the old greedy gut that was worse than 
the truth.
	As he was working on his plans, Neema brought him his favorite 
dinner, a mixture of several different fruits mashed together with a 
bowl and antelope bone with an egg.  The three children used to love it, 
not so much for the taste or texture, but the way she fixed it, 
describing the elephant stomping through the village.  She called it 
"Elephant Stew."
	"Neema, is that you?"
	She startled and dropped the plate, spilling the contents all over 
him.
	"What is wrong with you, Missy??"
	She grasped her head.  "Oh gods, I'm so sorry."
	"What's wrong?"
	"I've been a little clumsy lately.  Maybe it's this headache."
	"Headache?  Oh."  He brushed himself off as best he could, but the 
mixture was a little sticky.  "Don't bother with it--I'll clean it up.  
Besides, I need a break."
	Usually she would insist on cleaning it up anyhow.  As Kinara 
headed to the creek to bathe, he began to wonder if maybe her headache 
was worse than she'd been telling him.  And come to think about it, 
she'd had that headache for a number of days that he can remember.
	Makedde was humming to himself softly as he cleaned out the little 
wooden bowl he used for mixing his medicines.  Wiping it clean, he 
discarded the handful of leaves and set the bowl gently in a corner.  
Rising, he turned around and nearly collided with Neema.  Startled, the 
mandrill tumbled backwards, upsetting the stack of crockery and sending 
it tumbling to the floor.
	"Merciful Lord!  You nearly frightened me out of my wits!"  He 
held his chest and exhaled strongly.
	"I'm sorry, son, I didn't mean to frighten you."
	"Of course, Mother.  It's just-unexpected, to see you here."
	Neema wrung her hands nervously, a small tic twitching at her 
cheek.  "I know, and I wouldn't bother you, but...."
	"Mother," Makedde said, slightly chiding.  "You are no bother; you 
are welcome any time.  What is it?"  He looked at her curiously.  "Are 
you all right?"
	She smiled thinly.  "Actually, no.  My head hurts."
	"Again?"  He kissed her.  "If I had to live with dad and his 
schemes I'd have headaches too.  So what is it now, Old Maloki again?
	"Yes.  Always."  She moaned.  "I was wondering if you could help 
me with it.  I need something stronger."
	He chuckled softly and led her over to his sleeping mat where they 
sat down.  "Oh, the day I can't fix a little headache is the day I give 
up my work."  He cocked his head, studying her face.  "Did you fall or 
did it just start hurting?"  He began to feel her head ever so gently.
	"No, I didn't fall, it just started hurting one day, and it's been 
getting worse ever since." 
	His fingers massaged her temples and she wailed in pain.  Makedde 
jerked his hands back as though he had been burned.  He looked at her, 
astonished.  "How long ago was this 'one day'?"
	She looked at him miserably, tears glinting at the corners of her 
eyes.  "Only since the last time you came to eat dinner with us at home; 
on Metutu's birthday, remember?"
	He gaped at her.  "Your head has been hurting for two moons??  My 
gods, why didn't you tell me!"
	She began to weep openly.  "Please don't get mad at me.  You know 
how your father gets; if he knew I was coming to you for help it would 
upset him terribly.  He wouldn't understand."
	"Why didn't you go to another healer, then?"
	"They aren't good like my son.  I don't know about this Aiheu you 
worship, but you have a light that shines in the darkness.  I'm not sure 
if I believe in him, but I believe in you."
	Makedde felt tears sting his own eyes as he gathered her into his 
arms.  He sat back and looked at her, wiping her tears away with a 
trembling hand.  "I will be as gentle as I can."
	Hating himself for the pain he knew he was inflicting, he placed 
his fingers softly on her temples.  Neema hissed in pain but kept still.  
Makedde was alarmed at the thready pulse he felt in her temples; her 
heart was racing like a panicked zebra.  He felt the glands underneath 
her jaw and felt his own pulse race with fear; they were swollen and 
hard, and was hot as a rock at high sun.  He seized a stick used for 
stirring his medicines and held it in front of her eyes.  "Mother, I 
want you to look at the stick.  Follow it with your eyes."
	She looked at him curiously, but nodded.
	Makedde moved the small stick slowly to the left, watching her 
eyes carefully as they tracked it smoothly.  He moved it back the other 
way, with the same result.  His panic receded somewhat; she was not 
showing the signs he had feared.  He stopped moving the stick, still 
watching her.
	Her eyes stayed steady on the twig, but began to twitch 
uncontrollably.  Suddenly her pupils dilated and she fainted.
	"Oh great Aiheu, please, no!"  Leaping forward, he cradled her in 
his arms gently, rocking her back and forth and weeping.
	There was a huge commotion at the entranceway as Kinara came 
bustling in, ringing wet from his bath and out of breath.  "Have you 
seen your mother?  I've looked all over and...."  He broke off, staring 
at her prone form.  "What have you done!  What's wrong with her??"
	Makedde looked up at him, his eyes wild.  "She's very sick.  
Please, help me carry her.  We've got to get her home--now."
	Wordlessly, his father helped him carry the unconscious Neema down 
to the ground.  Amidst a growing crowd, they bore her off to the small 
tree where the chief made his home.  Carrying her up, they laid her 
gently upon the mat of leaves she used for a bed.  Makedde lay a hand 
upon her forehead and groaned; the fever was already building rapidly.  
He could have asked for no surer sign.
	"Makedde?"  Kinara looked at him nervously, the confident tone 
missing from his voice for the first time Makedde could remember.  "Son?  
What's wrong with her?"
	Makedde was unable to speak for a moment; he sat staring at the 
ceiling of branches overhead, blinking back tears.  Finally, he spoke in 
a trembling voice.  "Walk with me."  He looked over at Metutu, who sat 
in the corner, watching him with wide eyes and trembling.  "Metutu, keep 
an eye on Mother for me.  Let me know if she wakes up."
	Makedde rose and led his father outside.  "She is ill, Father."
	"How ill?"
	"She has Bhe'to."
	His father looked at him silently.  He shook his head in 
disbelief, backing away from Makedde.  "People have died from that.  
Tell me what I have to do, and I'll do it."
	"Make her comfortable till the end comes."
	"Is that it?"  The look in Makedde's eyes was unyieldingly grim.  
"Can't you do something?  Isn't there even a small chance?"
	"No.  You know as well as I do there is only a matter of time.  
All we can do, we are doing."
	"Please, Makedde, help her.  Of all the shamans, you are the most 
skilled.  This Aifor--or whatever his name is--doesn't he know how to 
heal this thing?"
	"I'm sure he does.  Aiheu is all-knowing, but shamans are not.  
Busara might have laid hands on her.  Of course, that will not happen 
now."
	"That's it, isn't it?"  His father looked at him, anguished.  "Am 
I the reason?  Don't be afraid--you can tell me.  I'll gladly do 
whatever you want.  I'll debase myself in front of the whole council, 
Makedde, if that's what you want, but for the love of your mother, DO 
something!"
	"There is nothing I can do."
	Kinara grabbed him by the shoulders and looked wildly into his 
eyes.  "My life for hers.  All right, I thought he was ruining our way 
of life and I killed him!  I admit it!  My life for hers!  Kill me--
sacrifice my blood to your Aiheu!  He's only killing her to punish me!"
	"Tell no one about Busara," Makedde told him sternly.  "It will 
destroy you but it won't save her.  Aiheu does not want your blood.  He 
does not destroy the innocent to punish the guilty.  Pray for 
forgiveness for your own sake."
	"I will walk in the light, I swear."  Tears sprang to his eyes.  
"How long does she have?"
	Makedde embraced his father, feeling the sobs wracking his frame.  
"Days.  Hours.  Perhaps minutes.  Make each one count."
	The two froze as a blood-curdling scream reached them.
	"Makedde!  Come quick!"
	"Brother?"  Makedde leapt from the limb like a shot arrow, 
scrambling across the heavy limbs as fast as he could go.  Kinara 
struggled to keep up.
	Makedde swung down from the upper branches and froze in horror.  
Before him Metutu tugged at their mother ineffectually, screaming for 
help.  The mandrill had seized hold of a thickly knotted branch and was 
smashing her head repeatedly into it, blood running down her face in 
rivulets as she howled in agony.  Her unearthly chant of, "Make it stop!  
Make it stop!" chilled Metutu's blood.  Leaping forward, he laid hold of 
her arms and tried to pull her away, and was nearly pitched out of the 
tree for his efforts.
	"Father, help me!"
	"Oh gods!"  Kinara joined his son, and together the three of them 
barely managed to pull Neema away from the limb.  She convulsed 
violently for a moment, then lay still.
	"What do we do now?" the chief asked Makedde.  "What do we do?"
	"I cannot forbid death, but I could prolong her life for a day or 
two with Mechoti.  You would need to keep her from the poisons and she 
would have to be restrained, for in her pain she would try to end it any 
way she could.  On the other hand, I could give her Dakim Bark.  Her 
last moments would be free of pain, and she could say her farewells with 
a clear head."
	"That is not a decision.  It is a test of my love."  He bit his 
fist.  "I love her enough to choose Dakim bark.  For the gods', if she 
must die, at least stop the pain."
	Makedde drew close and hissed, "Don't you dare try to lighten your 
conscience by confessing to her.  You let mother die in peace, you hear 
me??"
	Kinara's jaw began to tremble.  "Don't be angry, son.  I don't 
think I could bear it now.  Please?"
	Makedde hugged his father for the first time in a long time.  He 
then went for his supply of Dakim Bark which he soaked in water.  The 
tea he gave to his mother, who responded soon enough.  As Makedde and 
Metutu looked on, Kinara knelt beside Neema and held her hand.
	"I'm not a fool," Neema said.  "I know I'm dying.  I have no 
choice but to let go.  Kinara, my love, you must also let go of your 
sons.  They must find their path to happiness, and to their God.  
Promise me you will give them their freedom.  Never do to another what 
you did to Busara."
	"Oh gods!"  Kinara fell across her.  "Oh gods, Neema!  How sorry I 
am!  How many times I would have brought him back!"
	"Even with your own life," she said.  "I heard all."  She reached 
up and brushed his cheek with her hand.  "Learn from it, my love.  There 
is forgiveness in Aiheu, if you will only ask him."
	She glanced around.  "Where is Makoko?"
	"I don't know," Kinara said, kissing her brow.  "I'd get him, but 
I'm afraid to leave you!"
	"No time," she said, falling back exhausted.  "I love you all.  
Tell Makoko that I know he loves me.  He didn't have to say it--I could 
tell.  I've been very lucky in love.  I will wait for you all, and 
pray."
	The chief lifted her and held her close to his breast.  "Son, give 
us a moment alone."
	Makedde went outside and began to pack his materials.  His hands 
shook so badly that it took him twice as long.  Nervously, he began to 
unwrap and rewrap the grass cord that served as a handgrip on his 
walking staff.  He struggled to get the winding even and firm, the way 
he liked it.  Soon enough, he would have to braid some new cord out of 
the supple river grass.  It was not easy to obtain or prepare, and it 
took quite a length to wind a good handgrip.
	"Oh gods!"
	Makedde dropped the staff and the cord unwound like a clock 
spring.  He and Metutu ran into their father's quarters.  The chief was  
bent over her still body sobbing brokenly.  "Neema!  My precious Neema!"
	Makedde, Metutu and their father huddled together and wept.  
Makoko came in.  "What's going on here?"
	He came to the bed and stared with horror.  Her face was cut and 
bloody, but on it rested a final look of peace.  He fell to his knees 
and took her hand.  "Mother!"
	Metutu put his arm around Makoko.  "She said she loved you.  She 
said she knew you loved her.  We couldn't leave her to get you."
	The memory came back to Metutu.  "Have courage," Asumini had said.  
He knew now what she meant.  Indeed, he could feel her silent presence 
like a cool wind, giving him strength when he needed it most.
	He reached out and grasped Kinara's shoulder.  "Father."
	"Yes?"
	Metutu swallowed heavily.  "It pains me to say this, but I must.  
I cannot take your place as Chief of the council.  Aiheu has given me a 
gift of healing which I cannot ignore.  He has called me to be a shaman, 
and that is what I must do."
	His father looked at him wordlessly, and Metutu's jaw began to 
tremble.  "I am sorry, Father.  It was a bad time to tell you."
	"Do not apologize, son."  Kinara drew Metutu close and embraced 
him.  "Metutu, she was very proud of you.  I am very proud of you."
	"Really, Dad?"
	"I don't say it unless I mean it.  The hand that heals blessed by 
God."  Metutu took his hand and gave it a little squeeze.  "Makoko will 
one day take my staff and follow in my path.  But you, my son, will bear 
a staff made in Heaven, and all who see you will know you are a child of 
the stars.  Brightly they will shine for you.  Be the best you can be.  
And wherever you go, or whatever you do, remember that my heart goes 
with you."



CHAPTER 20:  IN WITH THE NEW

	"Oh lazy Pishtim, how long must we pray for rain!?  Your chosen 
people are made foolish in the sight of them who say you are not the god 
of gods!  They mock us and say, 'who is their god that cannot make the 
rains fall in due season!'  Rise up and make the rain come down!  Put an 
end to their foolishness, that you might be known as god of gods, light 
of lights, and strength of strengths, even among the heathen."

				-- Traditional Mandrill Prayer for Rain

	That evening, High Priest Kasisi came to console Kinara after the 
manner of his faith.  "There is a large thorn in my heart," Kasisi said.  
"I suffer with you.  But Pishtim is merciful.  To his chosen ones, he 
brings pain in this life that in the next we face him with our debts 
paid and our souls free."
	Kinara immediately took exception to this.  "I have never known my 
Neema to sin.  In fact, she has spent her lifetime giving, giving, 
giving and getting very little in return."
	"Yes, but my brother, I only meant...."
	"I know what you meant.  But if anything, Pishtim owed her 
something.  She had no debts--she was cheated out of her old age.  
Cheated!  She is dead because I killed an innocent friend!"
	"You don't know what you're saying," the priest said.  "I will 
come back later when you have settled your mind."
	"Don't bother, all right?  Just go pray for your own sins and 
leave me alone!"
	Kinara was surrounded by too many painful memories in his home.  
Kasisi's visit only pushed him faster toward Makedde's tree.
	"Son!  Are you home??"
	"Father?"
	"Oh thank the gods!"  Kinara struggled up the side of the tree to 
where Makedde sat grinding herbs.
	"The backache again?"
	Kinara's jaw trembled.  "My heart this time," he said.
	"Dad!"  Makedde embraced him tightly.  "Thank you for coming.  You 
honor my house."
	Kinara wept on his shoulder.  "The priest was by.  He had the 
nerve to suggest Neema's suffering was earned.  Earned!  I ask you son, 
do you think it was earned?"
	"Oh gods no!"  Makedde frowned.  "I hope you straightened the old 
fool out!"
	"Perhaps too much.  I spoke rashly.  Just how rashly depends on 
your answer, so speak very carefully my son.  Are illness and death 
Aiheu's punishments for sin, or do they often happen to the innocent?"
	Makedde gave Kinara a little pat.  "Dad, bad things happen to good 
people in this world of pain, but the kingdom of Aiheu is ruled by love 
alone, and there is no suffering.  Pray to him, and even here in this 
land of suffering, he hears everything you say.  Sit and face the earth 
and repeat my words."
	Kinara knelt and touched the ground with his forehead.
	"Into your hands accept her spirit, she who filled the earth with 
beauty."
	"Into your hands accept her spirit," Kinara stammered.  "She who 
filled the earth with beauty."  He burst into tears.  "Please God, 
whomever or whatever you are, be kind to her!  Oh please!  Pull this 
thorn from my heart!"
	Makedde put his arms around his father and began to sob.
	A quiet moment passed, then Kinara said quietly, "I want to give 
my life to him.  I know now that there is no Pishtim, there is only 
Aiheu.  Will he accept me?"
	Makedde kissed him.  "Before you ever believed in him, he believed 
in you.  Before you ever loved him, he loved you.  And before you ever 
accepted him, he accepted you."
	Kinara took Makedde's hand very tightly in his own.  "As God has 
accepted me, I must accept others.  There must be freedom to worship as 
we see fit."



CHAPTER 21:  SETTING THE RECORD STRAIGHT

	High Priest Kasisi called an emergency meeting of the council.  
Without Uwezo and Doya, Kinara was helpless when the scribes came to 
summon him none to gently to appear.
	Kinara had been the focus of many council meetings, but never 
before had he seen so many cold stares and curious leers when he walked 
into the circle.  And the most icy of stares came from the High Priest.
	"I answer the call.  Now what is required of me?"
	"Only one thing," Kasisi said.  "One very important thing.  The 
most important thing."
	"Cut to the chase," Kinara snapped.
	The High Priest said, "It is fine if other peoples rebel against 
the True God, Pishtim.  But not the people he has chosen as an example 
to the world.  If they are not loyal, they will be punished.  Their 
wives will sicken and their children will die.  That there is no chief 
with the right to rule that does not willingly cry, `Great are you, 
Pishtim, God of Gods, Light of Lights, Creator of the Universe!'"  He 
comes toward Kinara.  "Already your wife has died for your lack of 
piety.  And do not think the grief will end there if you will not pledge 
your loyalty.  But even now, all could be forgiven if you will take my 
sacred rattle and swear your allegiance to Pishtim."
	He started toward Kinara and held out the rattle.  Kinara took it 
and said, "Listen all of you.  I speak before the gods my unbreakable 
oath."  He looked at the severe smile of triumph on the priest's face.  
"I, Kinara, chief of the tribe, tell my OLD FRIEND Kasisi that he can go 
STRAIGHT TO HELL!"
	Kinara smashed the rattle on Kasisi's head.  When he fell back, a 
couple of mandrills rushed to lift him up.  There was a hush in the 
crowd.  An ant toiling on a leaf cutting could have been clearly heard.
	"There is no God but Aiheu!" Kinara boomed.  "God of Gods, Light 
of Lights, Creator of the Universe!  Blessed be the father!"
	"Blasphemy!" some of the mandrills shouted, throwing dust into the 
air and beating on their chest.  But Bazoto and his two sons ran to 
Kinara, fell to their knees and kissed his hands.  "Aiheu abamami!  
Aiheu abamami!"  Kinara laid his hands on them and blessed them.
	"I call for a vote!" the Priest said, spreading out his arms.  
"Shall we follow God, or shall we let him mire us in lion dung??"
	Jadi cried, "Pishtim!"
	The brothers Makali and Kumba cried, "Pishtim!"
	Kinara watched, his heart sinking as one elder after another said, 
"Pishtim!"
	He looked pleadingly at Kobi, his old friend.  Kobi looked away, 
ashamed.  "Pishtim," he stammered.  Kobi had a wife and young children 
to look after, and Kinara understood.
	Smugly, the High Priest looked at Kinara and the three who huddled 
next to him.  "We know how you voted.  It's all too clear.  Do you want 
a recount?  Oh please, if you do, I will give you every opportunity."
	Kinara took in a deep breath, let it slowly out, and said, "I step 
down in favor of my son Makoko.  This is the word of the chief--so be 
it."  He tossed his staff on the ground.
	"A wise decision," the Kasisi said with a sneer.  "Now I want you 
and the other three out of the circle.  And let everyone understand 
clearly...."  He looked around at all the faces one by one, then pointed 
at Kinara and those huddled near him.  "....that if THESE unhallowed 
persons EVER defile this holy ground again, they will be put to death 
IMMEDIATELY.  This is the word of the Chief Priest--so be it!"

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