Birth of Konu

Omens

The smell of rotting flesh makes me feel intensely homesick. Indeed, it is peculiar to feel that way, but to those from Lusvingo (like myself), the tart scent of carrion evokes memories of climbing up giant baobab trees; toes and nostrils, firmly clenched to peek beyond the walls that contained us. It is a long time back, but I remember those days like yesterday. I am pained to say that I am far removed from them. It is only because of the relentless and constant badgering of ‘at home’ forces that I feel beckoned to give my account. I was the very first arrival. Half burnt logs, and melted candles lay scattered as remnants of the night before. If it weren’t for the long hollow hoot of buff spotted flufftails in the distance, your ears would meet the Wizz and huff of an ailing city. A raging town, consumed by a hazy terror. On this day, there had been a rising fog which most had begun to assume was an omen. On any other day, it wouldn’t have meant anything, but the solemn howls of hyenas at early dawn told a darker motive was afoot. The people of Lusvingo were not inordinately superstitious- centuries of technological advancement had led to slack on spiritual matters- but some omens we were never meant to ignore. It had not rained for months. The sky had been an unblighted river of ever blue -crisp and clear- and yet, mid-afternoon, a fog had risen over the great city of Lusvingo. Its presence fleeting, the mist only lasted for a moment. Less than an hour had passed before the bituminous brume had begun to wither, turning to steam before completely vanishing. Even so, the fog’s brief existence had sparked great commotion nowhere as much as it had within the concave walls of the Great Enclosure. It would be hard to argue that there was a place where the fuss mattered more. To Ndadairashoko Moyo, as it was for all monarchs, omens had grave consequences. The decision to gather his most esteemed spiritual leaders at the Great Enclosure was an easy one.

A ‘stone maze,’ but so much more. The Great Enclosure was the triumph of Shoko Moyo’s reign. Nestled atop a hill that the villagers rumored sat above caves filled with gold guarded by fiery necromancers, the Great Enclosure towered above the rest of Shoko Moyo’s Kingdom. The Great Enclosure wasn’t just a walled compound. It was an impenetrable, yet perfect, spiral with colossal stone walls that touched the heavens as you walked between them. The spiral hallway was a marvel- with secret passages that led to dark abysses lined with chevron patterns generously and intricately carved into granite stone. As Shoko Moyo was a man who trusted few, he took extraordinary security measures to protect himself. As you approached the core of the hallway, it narrowed and narrowed. So much so that those who walked towards the center had to file into a single line with the hallway spitting each person one by one into the vast open belly of the Great Enclosure. An army attacking with one soldier at a time was much easier to defend against than one approaching all at once. At the core of the spiral, a giant conical structure- the Cradle - towered above everything else (with the nearby baobab trees being the only exception), made of the same gray granite stone as the rest of the maze. Few understood the significance of this place more than those that had gathered to discuss the omen. Three had arrived early, including myself, led by Chokwadi ‘Chacha’ Charidza, a self-claimed prophet whose musings were nothing more than dire but broad claims of doom. Surprisingly, Shoko had taken a liking to Chacha. The two would often blabber fatuously about life and death, love and beauty, miscellaneous things that only men who have time dwelled on. Some close to Shoko would say he only kept Chacha in his inner circle to ridicule him for his far-out prophecies and views. Still, the truth, as I saw it, was that Shoko more than likely believed most, if not all, of Chacha’s words- as evidenced by his insistence on having Chacha present during the most pivotal periods of his reign.

Originally Chacha had been brought to Shoko through the persistence of the Queen, Ruvaramambo. She knew Shoko was a man whose love for conquest was only second to his passion for discourse. Introducing Shoko to Chacha, a man revered in their close circles for his outlandish ideas and willingness to debate, was, by all means, a no-brainer. It was a success from the moment the two met, too successful Ruva would disparage; what she had not considered was her husband's loneliness. Often surrounded by his family and war generals, the king had few if any moments outside of the rigors of Monarch life. All his daily discussions centered around the growth of the kingdom. This focus had never been an issue; it was a birthright to Shoko. It was a life he had not chosen, but for him, it was the only mode of existence- that is, until the arrival of Chacha.

To Shoko, who had grown up engulfed in mostly mundane politics his whole life, Chacha was a complete breath of fresh air. His sheer propensity towards vice made him incredibly endearing to the king. Having lived such a rigid life, Shoko welcomed Chacha’s openness to the joys of fermented Marula fruit and poppy sludge. Such things were unheard of in the Great Enclosure. The elders that raised Shoko had stressed the importance of a sober mind for most of his life. Yet, as soon as Chacha arrived, those beliefs faded as quickly as the fog had. At this moment, Shoko was entirely sober. The night before had been a torturous one; a nightmare had come to life in the form of an apparition. A ghoul that sought to smite Shoko, and it would have, had it not been for Masimba Mutoti.