He smiled sheepishly. “Agreed, my dear. But I wouldn’t worry. You’re much more my type.” He reached out and kissed her cheek.
“You still have that old charm, I see.” She licked her paw and purred softly.
That evening Kima was taking her walk when she saw Kinara by Busara’s funeral effigy--a small clay figure that represented him for grieving purposes. She stood silently in the concealing brush and listened.
Kinara was sobbing like a baby. Taking a large thorn, he jabbed it deeply into his palm and let the blood drip on the clay figurine. “I love you, Busara! Rest peacefully, old friend! Remember me.”
He looked up and saw the first bright star of night. “Kinara,” it whispered, “Remember the admonition.”
“Daima pendana,” he stammered. “Love one another.” Suddenly it became clear to him. It was not a mistake he must regret, but a sin he must repent for. It did not matter what Busara’s faith was, for he knew better. He had always known better, and so had the high priest! “God forgive me! Forgive me, God! Forgive me!” He wept, but a great weight was lifted from him. “I’ll never forget the admonition again! I swear!”
That night, Kinara went to his usual bed outside of the cave mouth. He stared at the sky, hoping to see a friendly star looking down on him. But the stars were quickly swallowed up by clouds from the west. The cool wind brought the smell of moisture, and it would have been great sleeping weather if he had been in a shelter. Instead he braced himself for what he knew was coming.
A cool drop fell and hit his nose. It was followed by its sister that wet his ear. Several more came, tapping lightly on the leaves of the tree where he huddled for shelter. Unfortunately, the tree was not very full, and as the drops increased in tempo, he felt the lucky ones pelt his fur. The wind strengthened, and as the storm matured, the rain bypassed the tree entirely, soaking him.
Lightning silvered the drops for an instant. A few seconds later, thunder roared its mighty challenge that no one dared oppose. “No sleep tonight,” Kinara thought to himself. His musing was punctuated by a second bright flash and underscored by another roll of thunder.
Kima came to the entrance. “Come in, Kinara.”
Without arguing his unworthiness, he came at once. She showed him to some dry bedding.
“Bless you.”
She saw blood on his hand. Pretending surprise, she asked, “What happened to you?”
“Oh this?” He timidly shrank from the question, but tears began to flow. It was some time before he could regain his composure.
“You did this to yourself, didn’t you?”
“The blood of my guilt,” he said. “No God craves the blood of the gentle and kind. Not Pishtim, and not Aiheu. I said there were circumstances when anyone would do what I did. Maybe so, but that still does not make it right.”
She looked at him with pity. “Now you truly understand. You cannot kill for God, and you cannot heal for the Makei. The only way to know God is to know love. That is the only real mystery of our faith.”
Kinara smiled. It was such a warm smile that Kima had to smile back. “You’re chilled. Let me fix you some hot tea.”
CHAPTER 24: THE VISION QUEST
Kinara’s scandal was the talk of the village, though most people were discrete about it because his son Makoko was now chief.
As proud as Metutu was of his father for standing up for his beliefs, he bitterly resented the timing. The situation could affect his petition to make a vision quest, and Metutu needed the chance to come to terms with his grief and prepare for his future.
Metutu was determined to follow his dream, regardless of what the council decided. Yet he knew it would be almost impossible for him to trade for herbs and to spend the kind of time with Makedde he needed to complete his training if he did not get their blessing.
Custom forbade him to lobby directly with the chief, though they were brothers. Instead he turned to Makedde.
Makedde could go to the chief on behalf of another, and he used all of his influence for Metutu’s petition. That involved making a deal with the kindly but shrewd Makoko. Makoko loved his brothers, but he had a request from the Lion King Ahadi that he was agonizing over, and he smelled an opportunity. So to push Metutu’s petition through, Makedde must agree to become Metutu’s sponsor--no small responsibility--and also return to the Pride Lands for another two-year term as healer to the Lion King.
It would be difficult living in a hollow baobab tree far from the forest rim, and Makoko expected his brother to be upset. Makedde did his best to look outraged, but to graciously give in “for the boy’s sake.”
In fact, he had longed to immerse Metutu in the culture and religion of the lions, his adopted people. He dared not show his enthusiasm to the chief, even if it was his own brother.
“Brother, I give you my word before the gods,” Makedde said with a carefully staged sigh. “Let it be even as you have said.”
It was also the perfect excuse to leave before rumors began to leak out about the death of Busara, and it was sure to happen soon enough. He quickly went to his residence and took all of his medicines and charms with him. His patients would be referred to Andara, and with barely suppressed excitement, he took a gourd and hung it near his entrance. The moon painted on it said “I am away,” and from it he hung five small bundles of grass. One would mean “back momentarily.” Two would mean “returning later today.” Three meant, “try again tomorrow.” The message of five was unmistakable. “I will return someday, God willing.”
Metutu had reached the next step in his spirit quest. For to be accepted as a shaman, the petitioner must go apart from the others for a time of prayer and self denial. He may be gone for a few days, a few weeks, or he might not return at all. And he would seek a mystic vision that would guide his future training and map out the course of his life of service. It would point out his strengths and weaknesses. Until he had that vision, he would not return.
After bidding farewell to Kima and Asumini, Metutu left on his journey with far less preparation than his brother Makedde. Taking nothing but a charm which he wore around his neck on a grass rope thong, Metutu left the village where he had spent his whole life.
He knew to look for a sign, and he would journey until that sign was reached. An eagle will alight on a kopje. While he would otherwise have given up hope, he knew the vision was from the gods, and he would see it when the time was right.
As he walked the tedium began to play on him. He asked for relief, and the gods sent him a song. He didn’t know if the words were ancient, brand new, or just meaningless sounds, but they lightened his heart. Part of it went something like this:
The verse seemed to have magical properties. When he continued to sing it, he was not as weary and hungry, and he didn’t mind the reduced rations as much. When he would pause for a moment, the fatigue and hunger would sap at his resolve.
Of course there were times he had to stop and rest. For he kept going all day, and of course he could not walk all night. Under the stars. Fascinated by how they shined. Wondered who they were in their stately beauty. Though he had remembered many star stories, he had only seen them a couple of times before and he could not place the proper names to the right constellations. This is not an uncommon fate for those who live in the deep forest where the night sky is filtered by the fingers of countless leaves. The sounds were strange. Frogs. Though he had grown weary from a long day’s march, he had trouble sleeping. One of the stars seemed to call to him. The more he looked at it, the more he felt compelled by it. He remembered what Busara had said about the great kings of the past. Could that be a friend? The star seemed to twinkle with special brilliance. How could it not be calling to him? Seeking to comfort him?