Four Kids in a House

Luba anthropomorphic headrest from the 1800s, produced by the workshop of the anonymous artist called The Master of the Cascade Headdress by art historians. Steal it from the Royal Museum for Central Africa in Brussels for a unique Valentine's gift that your imperial prince/ess will adore.

Hello, everyone! Taking a break from thinking about the Lakelands for Dungeon23 (I just figured out a thing for the setting that was vexing me, thanks to Sandro's fantastic recent blogpost, so I'll prob break my own rule and post about that + some favorite bits from these past 20 days soonish) by doing some more writing. This one is set in my Kubalubalundaland Cent. African fantasy world like the fauxtales from last time, but it's more conventional in form. 

Four Kids in a House 

Rivers of rain slid down the leaf-and-sapling roofs of the house, becoming waterfalls when they reached the eaves and made a six-foot drop to the ground. Despite the weight of water it was carrying, only a few lost droplets made their way through the canopy to fall down upon the four people sitting silently inside. One landed on the back of Tola’s neck; he winced and rubbed his middle and index fingers over the spot.

“Did something bite you?” Kusana asked, raising a cow’s-tail swatter* and scanning the room.

“No, no, it was just water,” Tola said. He reached out with his hand and affectionately lowered her wrist. “You can go back to staring at my arms.”

“I wasn’t staring at your arms,” Kusana said. “You always think everyone’s looking at you.”

“You were,” Iswi said, nodding her head sternly. “I saw you.”

Kusana dismissed her with a wave. “And you just like to cause trouble. You always have.”

“Pule,” Tola said, addressing the boy who had not yet spoken. “What did you see? Oh, don’t think you can escape by staying silent. We men must stick together, or things will go back to how they were before Fariba. Do you want that?”**

“Of course he does,” Iswi said. “He knows everything would be better if women were still in charge. And you aren’t men yet, you know.”

“I was thinking about something else,” Pule said carefully.

“That ‘something’ being Iswi?” Kusana asked, her eyes bright and teasing.

Pule shrugged. “We act like it’s not already decided. Tola already asked his father what he thought of you, and your mother will certainly agree. Iswi’s parents have made many unsubtle suggestions that I should spend more time with her and my father sung her praises all last night. He told me he’d take her to my brother himself if I don’t want to marry her. So why do we continue with this silly game?”**

“It’s just a bit of fun,”  Tola said. “You don’t have to rain on it. Besides, you’re very lucky. Everyone agrees that Iswi and Kusana are the cleverest and most beautiful girls in our age-grade. When Kusana and I are married, we will build our own house near the Rock of Kites and you two can come and be our neighbours. Others will come and bring their cattle and we will be the landsfolk of our very own village. Perhaps other villages will hear about us and send tribute.”

“Or maybe no-one builds there because the ground is too muddy and the rain would sweep your house away,” Pule smiled.

“No, there’s a spot between two palm trees…”

“Enough! My father will never let us go there,” Kusana said, clucking her tongue. “He wants you nearby so he can make you his right-hand man. He will give us all the cattle we need. Maybe after you have made a name for yourself and after we have a real herd we can found a village.”

“I know which spot Tola means,” Iswi said. “It’s nice. I think the spirit of the rock protects it. I would be very happy there.”

“Then maybe–” Tola stopped mid-sentence. “Do you feel that? Did the rain get heavier?”

“I hear many footsteps,” Pule said. “The men are back.”

“We should stay here,” Iswi said.

Tola was starting to get to his feet, but Kusana pulled him back down. “It’s not worth it,” she said. “You can have a look once it’s done.”

“Alright,” he said, accepting her advice and settling back down again, though with great agitation in his fingers, knees, and elbows.

The commotion outside grew louder– crashing water, pounding feet, and ululations. Kusana held on to Tola tightly, and he leaned back into her. Iswi took Pule’s hand and clasped it. An energy was rising up in the earth beneath them, setting them all on edge, making Tola wonder if it would begin to dance and shake and bring all the houses down.

“They’re surrounding us,” Kusana said, her voice sharp with fear. “They’re surrounding this house.”

“No, it just sounds like that,” Pule said. “They’re going everywhere.”

But just as soon as he had spoken, a red hand came around the doorframe, followed by a towering man in hunting garb. He stared at them, eyes as wide as a leopard’s, and darted across to the other side of the entrance. Kusana gave a shout, though the sound was muffled by the rain, and pressed her face into Tola’s shoulder. Pule sat stone-still. Iswi whimpered quietly.

The man began to shake the house, slowly at first, but with steadily increasing pace. Leaves fell down from the roof to land on the four of them, followed by splashes of water. Pule sprang to his feet and backed away, though Tola stood up, pulling Kusana with him, as if to square off against their tormentor.

Another man came now, older and with a long beard– but they were not looking at his face. They were looking at the object that was mounted on the tip of his spear. The first man pushed Tola aside, grabbed Pule, and presented him to the elder.

Pule shrank and wriggled, but he could not break the hunter’s grip. The elder pushed two fingers into the atrium at the top of the impaled heart he carried and drew them out scarlet. He drew five lines on Pule’s face in well-clotted blood.****

Now the hunter released his grip on the boy and grunted in satisfaction. Iswi came to Pule’s side and began to speak into his ear, but he was shaking and unresponsive.

“You will be the Deep Forest Chief,” the elder said. “You may choose a wife who will go with you. We can gather the girls of your age-grade, but I think you already have someone in mind.”

Iswi was seized by a sudden defiance. “Why did you choose him? Take back the blood! I’ll wash it off! You can’t trap us in the deep forest. You chose wrongly!”

“I did not choose,” the elder said, speaking so gently that his voice was barely audible. “We do not choose the Chief. Now, who will you take as your wife, Pule?”

He raised a trembling hand and pointed. “Kusana,” he said. “I choose Kusana.”

Luba helmet-mask depicting Mbidi Kiluwe as a buffalo sage, virtuosic work from a yet-undescribed masterhand

*Perhaps a...Majestic Fly Whisk?????

**Oral histories of a former period of female dominance are regional staples, usually describing a golden age under a famed female ancestor - the Kanyok princess Citend, the Ruund chieftainess Ruwej, the Kalundwe legend of Spearqueen Tshimbale Bande, Kitolo from the Beneke Songye, the "revitalizing leader" Iron Mother who guided the Bushoong through the Axe Years. Typically they involve an etiological story to explain both matrilineality and why women no longer lead.

***Songye marriage is pretty interesting: there's a built-in elopement mechanism and arrangement exists (set by a boy's father and a girl's mother) but seems to have been weak, with the exception of pairs of twins born on the same day. Arrangement was mostly conducted by trying to get teens into quasi-formal friendships - real formal-spiritual friendships between adult men and women could never feature sex, unlike teen friendships - that were almost trial marriages. Usually the marriage arrangements only really begin once someone gets pregnant. Lots more, but discussion of the ceremonies might be for another post. 

****Don't want to ruin the ambiguity of the story overall or who/what the Deep Forest Chief is, but I'll say this: the heart is that of the last Deep Forest Chief.