Slaves to the Sword Read online

  “You will be fine in a few weeks,” Endesha replied.

  “I heard the people cheering for us outside,” Amri said, coughing slightly. Furaha proceeded to give him a drink of water.

  “No, they were cheering for you, I did nothing to help you,” Endesha said softly.

  “You would have done the same thing for me, Desha,” Amri replied.

  “Alright, that is enough talking for you, Amri,” Furaha cautioned her son. “You two will have plenty of time to talk later.”

  Zuberi and Coffa came inside with serious looks on their faces which prompted Furaha to take Endesha out of the hut.

  The two elder brothers sat down by Amri’s bedside. Zuberi observed his son’s wounds and tried to find the words to express the pain it gave him to see his first-born in so much pain. It reminded him of his own struggles with being injured and all of the personal limitations he had to endure during his life. He thought about the fact that it was he that should have fought the lion instead of his precious Amri.

  Coffa could instinctively feel his older brother’s pain; he took his elder brother’s hand and placed it on his nephew’s hand. Zuberi started to cry; this was something he had never allowed anyone to see—not even his wife. Zuberi continued to hold his son’s hand. “It is not time for you to leave us. You will survive this because you have already proven your strength,” Zuberi said confidently. “You will heal and you will live to be a mighty warrior. Right now, you must rest and get better. You have greater challenges ahead of you in the future.”

  He placed his hand on the left side of Amri’s face. The other half—covered with leaves—hid the terrible slash wound that would identify Amri for the rest of his life.

  A few weeks later, long after the visiting villagers left, life seemed to return to normal.

  Endesha’s spirits were lifted, and Amri was showing signs of progress.

  One day, Coffa wanted to spend some time with his young nephew. “Desha, gather your spear and twine,” he commanded. “We are going on a hunt.”

  “A hunt?” Endesha asked cautiously.

  “Yes, it is time for you to go back into the wilderness.”

  “I’m not ready to go back, I’m scared.”

  “There is nothing to be scared of, Desha.” Sensing his nephew’s anxiety Coffa sat down next to his young nephew. “Desha, you can’t live your life scared about what could happen to you.”

  “But, I’m not strong like you and Amri, Coffa.”

  Coffa smiled and laughed to himself. “Desha, you are and will be stronger than all of us,” he said, before continuing in a more serious tone. “You and I are the younger brothers, and we learn from our older brothers. I learned how to be a man from my brother—your father, and Amri is already teaching you how to be a man.” Coffa stood to gather his spear and supplies. “Now, come young warrior, let us venture into the land and see what it provides for us today.”

  Endesha could see his mother standing behind him in his peripheral; he turned to look at her, and she gave her youngest son a reassuring nod of approval for the day’s journey.

  Meanwhile, Zuberi was in the back of the village working on Amri’s spear—broken from the lion attack. He was highly skilled at creating weapons and in his youth, had been a ruthless warrior, bested only by his younger brother, Coffa.

  Endesha looked up to the sky, the sun was almost up to its highest point, and Coffa did not want to hunt at the height of day.

  He took a big breath, and thought to himself, I can do this, then quickly picked up his supplies and ran to catch up with his uncle as they set off to find food for their village and restore Endesha’s confidence.

  4

  T he heat of the African wilderness can be brutal. Endesha and his uncle spent the majority of the late morning talking and playing while they looked for animal tracks. As they walked, Coffa noticed an opportunity for a quick lesson. “Desha, look at this plant. It is called Water Root. Take hold of the bottom of the plant, and carefully pull it out of the ground without breaking the roots.” The boy complied with his uncle’s request and pulled at the base of the long, green, leafy plant. “Now, take hold of the bottom of the roots and gently pull up,” Coffa requested with a smile.

  Endesha successfully pulled the plant out with the roots intact, then looked up at his uncle and said, “What now?”

  Do you see the larger roots toward the bottom of the plant?” Coffa asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Those have water that we can drink. We will get to those last. We will start with the smaller ones first.” Coffa placed a couple of the smaller roots in his mouth and began chewing them. “Put these in your mouth and chew the water out. This is how you can survive during the heat of the day,” Coffa informed his surprised nephew.

  Endesha chewed a few small roots in his mouth and made a face of displeasure. “This tastes bitter.”

  “I did not say it would taste good. It is meant for you to be able to survive out here in the wilderness.

  Now for the larger roots, we do not want to waste anything the land gives us, and that is why we save the larger ones for last, Desha.”

  The flavor of the water the roots held was terrible to the taste. Endesha appreciated the refreshment it provided, even though the initial flavor was shocking. “We are not finished here, place the plant back in the hole it was in.” said Coffa.

  “Why?” Endesha asked with a surprised look on his face.

  “Because the land provided us with a gift, and we owe it to the land to put back what we took from it. The plant’s roots will grow again, and we will be able to drink from it in the future.”

  The lesson was over, and a familiar breeze approached the two hunters. The elder of the two noticed a smell in the air. “There is a kill nearby, we should go see if the land will give us another opportunity,” Coffa said confidently.

  “Let us go,” Endesha said with youthful enthusiasm.

  Coffa was able to track down the site of the kill. It was a male gazelle, with a rather large lioness feeding on it. “See, Desha? Life resets itself. The land has a rhythm and a cycle that never changes. If you are knowledgeable in your part of that rhythm and cycle, you can survive here forever. When we go outside of what we are supposed to do, it upsets the cycle and we suffer because of it,” Coffa whispered as they hid behind a bush several yards away from the kill site.

  “Are we going to kill the lioness, Uncle?” asked Endesha.

  “No, we are not, Desha. If we killed that mother lioness her cubs would either die, or become so desperate for food they may attack a person.

  Those actions would disrupt the cycle I was just telling you about. We are here to observe—to see if there are any other opportunities for us, as well,” Coffa said while surveying the land for potential danger. “Come, let us move on before the winds carry our scent. We do not want another issue with a lion today.”

  The day went on, and the two warriors were successful on their hunt. Two wild rabbits, and a small wild bird was a great day’s worth of hunting, and young Endesha was pleased.

  Coffa and Endesha returned to their village and gave their bounty to the elder women to prepare. Endesha, about to run toward his hut, turned to his uncle. “Thank you for taking me to hunt today. I will remember the lessons that you taught me,” he said.

  “You are welcome Desha, go on, I know you want to see your brother,” Coffa said with pride.

  Endesha went into his hut and saw a welcoming sight—Amri was sitting upright on his bedding. Zuberi was sitting at his bedside, supporting Amri’s back with his shoulder. “Amri, you are looking better,” Endesha said happily.

  “Yes, I am feeling a little better,” he replied, followed by a slight cough.

  Amri’s scars were starting to darken. The oil and mud wraps were successful in stopping the bleeding and infection, but he was still very weak. Endesha started to tell Amri about his day’s activities, but was interrupted by his father.

  “Go around to t
he back, and get your brother’s spear.” Endesha obliged his father, and returned with his brother’s spear.

  “I want you to have it,” Amri said. Endesha held a hand up, refusing to take the spear.

  “But it belongs to you, Amri. Father carved your name on it.”

  The spear had been broken during the lion attack, but Endesha knew it was his brother’s because their father had carved Amri’s and his family’s name onto the weapon. Zuberi was a skilled carpenter and ensured all of the weapons his sons and fellow villagers had were sacred and meant to protect their holders from harm. Endesha had not yet been gifted one of his father’s spears, as he was still too young, but it was then he noticed some of the carvings had been changed. “Father, why did you change Amri’s spear?” he asked.

  “I changed it because the story of the spear and its owner changed. When I made that spear for your brother, I knew it would keep him safe.” Zuberi assisted Amri in laying back down. “The story of the attack had to be told for future users of the spear. This spear is special, and it will continue to keep its holder safe. We must tell the story of how the mighty lion was killed in the carvings, so people that carry it will know it is unique. Our story and our history are told by the elders, right?” Zuberi asked his son.

  “Yes, Father,” Endesha replied.

  “But what if there are no elders to tell our stories? Our history has to be kept in some other form.

  That is why I tell our stories through the things that we hold closest to us: our weapons, our tools, and in my carvings,” Zuberi said as he pointed toward a section of their hut with several stone and wood carvings. “Each one of these pieces tells a story—a story about our people. Amri wants you to have the spear so you will not be afraid to go out in the wild.” Zuberi took the spear from Endesha and rubbed his fingers along the grooves of his very intricate carvings.

  “It does not belong to me! I do not want it!” yelled Endesha as feelings of guilt returned to his young mind.

  “Stop acting like a baby!” Amri grunted, then coughed.

  “You don’t understand, Amri. Everyone thinks you are a hero, and I was the reason you were hurt,” yelled Endesha.

  “Desha! You will not say such things!” Zuberi said sternly. “You are not the reason for your brother’s wounds. The lion was meant to attack your brother, and he was meant to survive. That was Amri’s battle to fight, no one else could have done what he did at that time, and it is a part of his story.” Zuberi pointed the spear in Endesha’s direction. “You cannot blame yourself for someone else’s destiny, Desha.”

  “Enough of this talk,” Furaha finally spoke.

  “Desha, come eat. You can discuss this with your father and brother tomorrow.” She gave a strong, disapproving glance at her husband.

  Endesha woke the next day still feeling responsible for his brother’s injuries.

  He looked at his newly gifted spear, and now, with the morning light shining, he could see more of his father’s detailed handiwork. The spear was the length of his leg with a sharpened stone tip. The top was heavier than the bottom for proper balance—good for throwing and strong lunges. As Endesha looked closer, he noticed the detailed carving of a man, and another of a lion falling with a spear in its neck. On the other side of the spear there was a saying in the language that the people in Endesha’s village spoke. It said:

  “The person that holds this spear is protected from evil by the creator of the land that evil travels on.”

  Endesha was impressed with his father’s skilled work and finally understood the lesson from the night before. “Desha, help me up,” said Amri from across the hut. “I want to go outside.”

  “I will get father and Coffa,” Endesha replied. “Are you sure you want to go out?”

  “Yes, I am tired of laying here.”

  With that, Endesha went to get Coffa and Zuberi who arrived shortly after to gently bring Amri to his feet. “Stand here, next to your brother, Desha. Take his arm over your shoulder, and walk him slowly toward the ridge.” Zuberi said.

  The hut Amri’s family shared was on the west side of the village, a few feet from the ridge that looked out over the vast African landscape. Amri welcomed the change in scenery.

  The elder women sang songs as the Sefu men walked toward the ridge. They sang of the triumphs of Amri and how the land protected him and healed him. It was a special day, indeed. A day Amri Sefu did not think he would ever see again.

  5

  T he fresh air was a welcomed feeling to Amri. He had been kept indoors for a month. During that time, he thought about many things. He kept reliving the events of the lion attack and questioning his actions. Should I have been more alert? he wondered. Why did I not notice it was tracking us? While sitting under the day’s warm sunlight, those thoughts finally escaped him.

  Amri had not yet seen the vast scars the lion’s attack had left on his body. The four large gashes to his face were now hardening and prevented him from talking normally. Amri reached for his face. “No, don’t touch your face. Not yet, Son,” Zuberi warned. But Amri did not listen to his father and ran his right hand over the ravaged right side of his face, feeling a slight sting as he touched the slashes through his flesh from the lion’s claws. Amri, the confident young warrior, did not yield any emotion.

  “Can I have a water pot?” asked Amri.

  “I will get it for you,” his uncle replied.

  Coffa returned moments later with the large pot they used to collect the rainwater they drank. In the day’s sunlight, Amri could see the severity of his wounds in his reflection. At that point, he had a very unsettling feeling about his mortality. He now understood how close to death he had been, and was very grateful to be alive.

  The rest of the Sefu men: Zuberi, Coffa, and Endesha watched Amri closely to see how he would react to the sight of his ravaged face, but once again, he did not show any outward emotion.

  Zuberi told Amri he should have a drink, and he declined. His feelings of sadness turned to anger.

  He was angry because he felt he allowed himself the chance to be hurt. He felt his scars were a message from the land, telling him to be more alert, and never let his guard down. He made a vow to himself at that moment. I will never again let anything hurt me like this. Rage was swelling within Amri’s spirit, and he welcomed the feeling. Thoughts of what he would have done differently in his battle with the lion constantly replayed in Amri’s mind once again, just as they had when he was recovering in the hut.

  Thoughts of that terrible event, which would give most people nightmares, now proved almost entertaining to Amri. After two additional weeks of rest, Amri felt significantly better. “Coffa!” Amri barked.

  “Yes, Nephew?” Coffa replied.

  “I want to go back out and hunt,” Amri said confidently. At the same time, Zuberi and Coffa both started to laugh joyfully.

  “Son, you are in no condition to hunt,” Zuberi said.

  “You cannot stand on your own yet, Amri, how can you hunt?” Coffa stated while still laughing to himself.

  “Then I will work on getting my strength back,” Amri professed.

  “I will help you too, Amri,” Endesha chimed in.

  “Fine, in the morning we will begin,” Zuberi said.

  The next morning, Amri was already awake when his brother Endesha awoke. “How long have you been awake?” Endesha asked while yawning.

  “I never went to sleep,” Amri confessed. “All I could think about was getting out of this hut and back on my feet.”

  Later on that morning, the Sefu men gathered outside of their hut with Amri, once again, surrounded by the elder women. They rubbed oils and mud on his legs, believing it would help them respond to his body’s request to support his muscular frame.

  “Coffa, take his arm, and I will take the other. Amri, I need you to take a step with us,” said his father encouragingly.

  “I will,” Amri replied. The three men walked with a slow stride. Amri was frustrated that he c
ould not support his own weight. However, over time, and with the help of his family, his legs began to feel sturdier under his weight. Amri was relieved to walk under his own power once again, but he noticed his body did not move the same as it had in the past.

  He still had some less severe wounds on his upper body that prevented his arms from moving freely without pain. Amri winced with pain as he struggled to lift them up above his head. His muscles ached with stinging surges of pain as sweat went into in his healing wounds. Amri winced in pain again during his supervised movements. Furaha watched her eldest son closely as he tried to regain the range of motion in his arms. After observing Amri in such pain and duress, she told Amri, “Enough, you need to rest.” This time he did not protest and walked slowly to their hut.

  The next day, Amri did not wake up until later in the morning.

  Each day, the elder women had tended to Amri’s wounds, however, on this day, he did not want their attention.

  He quickly stood up on his own and walked outside to start working on getting his strength back. The air was brisk on this particular morning, and Amri felt happy for the first time in many days. He took a deep breath, and focused on his task for the day. He thought about his brother and called out for him. “Desha, let’s go for a walk,” Amri said.

  “Not too far away!” Furaha bellowed from a distance.

  Endesha quickly gathered himself, and the two brothers set off for a short walk along the perimeter of the village. “You are very brave, Desha,” Amri said.

  “What do you mean?” Endesha asked.

  “You went back out with Coffa not too long after the lion attack.” Amri said as he held his arms up over his head, testing his body’s strength.

  “Coffa and I had a great adventure that day, and he taught me how to live in the wild.”

  “Oh, he made you eat the Water Root plant?”

  “Yes.”

  “Tasted terrible huh?”

  “Horrible.” Endesha laughed.

  The two brothers enjoyed each other’s company, and for a brief moment, Endesha forgot the scars on his brother’s face, and Amri forgot the pain he was feeling in his body.