The Watchman's Grace

Chapter One

Chapter One

From A Place Once Called Home

Freedom passed through the generations can be lost in an instant

Standing proudly as he surveyed the product from generations of earthly toil, Kigwa’s royal robes radiated in vibrant colors of gold, green and red. Only dyes extracted from the finest local vegetation were used to splash regal life into these garments. His strong hands were adorned with brilliant golden rings handed down through his family line, now headed by wise Chief Salwex. Completing his resplendent costume were distinctive white and black beads draped around his graceful neck. Kigwa was none other than the powerful Prince of the Ehra tribe.

Today was to mark a joyous celebration, giving thanks for the fortunes of Ehra through decades of peace and war, famine and plenty. Kigwa wanted this year’s celebration to be the greatest. As he inspected the preparations around the village, his trusted aide approached him with some urgency.

“There can be no more time to waste Kigwa!” panted the faithful Sangwa. “You of all people know that when you are summoned by an elder to an urgent meeting of those in power, one must cast all other things aside and heed the call to assemble. They are waiting for us down by the Sacred Watering Place at this moment!”

Kigwa weighed this information carefully before responding. “And you, Sangwa, are certain this matter requires my presence over preparations for our annual Festival of Abundance? Our people have worked hard all year to ensure a beautiful ceremony. What matter is more important than to recognize their efforts?”

Sangwa did not hesitate in response. “I feel more so Kigwa than any other task requiring your noble wisdom. When we return, there will still be time to consider other matters before you. Your grandfather, Chief Salwex, would expect no less. I urge you Kigwa to leave at once!”

Kigwa studied the serious expression on Sangwa’s pleading face. Then he made a sweeping gesture with his left hand, dazzling sparkles flashing from his golden ring fingers.

“Lead us on then! We shall take council with them at once.”

Leaving his large thatched hut with whitewashed exterior, their soft sandals strode over compacted red earth as they departed. Outside, women ground out mealy fufu with mortar and pestle under a filmy carpet of summertime humidity.

Men were long gone outside their village, tending broad swaths of upland rice and tall cassava plants for their families’ sustenance. Locusts did not visit this growing land, so a bountiful harvest tipped the scale of feast or famine in their favor. Children dutifully scattered about with their small chores, helping maintain the flow of daily life for the Ehra.

Both men, dressed in flowing light gowns of breezy linen, walked assuredly over rolling hills that ran inland from the coastal plain of the ocean. As they came closer to the coastal plain itself, rolling green terrain gave way to a large mangrove swamp, far enough inland not to be affected by tidal floods.

Here, warm sea and heavy hot air conspired to create dense earthy tangles of high shrubbery, clinging to soft rich soil in verdant clumps. Between gathered masses of stunted growth were clear green patches of tall grasses and bog. Hidden here was a uniquely raised plateau of land crowning the area known as the Sacred Watering Place.

Rushing forward on a beaten track, Kigwa gained a better look at the traditional meeting grounds. When they were almost upon their destination, Kigwa suddenly realized he recognized just one member of the assembled group. That person was none other than his grandfather’s arch rival, Konti.

“Sangwa!” he exclaimed. “Who are these people assembled with Konti? I know none of these other people! Where is the rest of our tribal council?”

Before he secured an answer, Kigwa felt both arms pulled hard around his back while a rope held fast against his neck. He immediately felt a sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach.

“I did not tell you a lie Kigwa,” Sangwa grinned fiendishly. “Those gathered here in the Sacred Watering Place will soon be in power of our village. And Konti will obtain his rightful place at the tribal council. Your grandfather was foolish not to seek alliances with our neighboring tribes to fight united against those from our northern borders!”

Kigwa spat out with venom at this base betrayal. “You are a silly boy in your thinking Sangwa! You just allowed the scorpion into your bed, but its sting will not be less because you welcomed it!”

At that point a tall proud man of aged bronze skin spoke. “Kigwa, dear Kigwa, I am so sorry to have our last encounter under these circumstances!” chided Konti cruelly. “But time is a servant to no one, and a master of us all. Your grandfather has not learned this, and it is to his disadvantage he has not provided wise council to his people.

“Like him, your problem is that you trust too much in the better nature of man. But do not worry about the future of the tribe. It will be under much better council. Now I will take leave of you and your line for good. Bind him and take him away from these lands!”

The last memory Kigwa had of the Sacred Watering Place was Konti striding away in triumph towards his close gathering of confederates. Then a dull blow to his head brought a long darkness.

When Kigwa finally came to his senses, he witnessed a strange scene indeed. Sangwa appeared to be speaking in an unknown language with a man colored like hot white sand. His ghostly skin, drained of healthy darkness, was adorned in a heavy costume which exposed little to the sun’s beating rays.

While observing these two men, Kigwa felt the constraint of iron shackles around his hands and feet. His royal costume and all accompanying jewelry had been stripped away. Crude restricting metal cut hard against his pulsing flesh.

As he regained full measure of his surroundings, Kigwa realized he was now on the coast of the Great Ocean, with low green hills behind him and endless white sand underneath. Then, gazing further out to sea, he spotted a massive wooden craft anchored offshore. It struck him as menacing in its powerful presence, with its tall billowing sails whipping out orders of authority. This could only be a boat of the pale man, those strangers of dour cloth and angry faces.

“Sangwa!” he yelled out. “Explain what is happening here Sangwa! What are you to do with me you wretched animal?”

Sangwa ignored his protests. Looking around, Kigwa spotted four more unfortunates bound in similar fashion, marching towards a small rowboat. Kigwa heard rumors of pale men and their appetite for strong men and women, but until now it was just talk. Finally, after nodding favorably towards the pale man, Sangwa strode towards him.

“Do not worry Kigwa,” replied Sangwa calmly. “Konti has banished you to show his mercy to the village. You will be well taken care of across the Great Ocean. The pale man has given his word of that.”

Kigwa could not believe what he was hearing. “You disloyal bastard!” he screamed at him. “You were taken in with the highest of trust by my line, my family, to serve us back with the same bond! You dishonor your name, and for what?

“You are a fool if you think there is salvation with Konti! By the time he is through with our people it will make your treachery today seem like a child’s chore! Change your madness and do the honorable thing. For the sake of our tribe, free me!”

Sangwa shook his round head violently in disapproval. “Nothing you could do will possibly compare to what I was offered. And so you know, I despised every minute that I was in your family’s service! I waited patiently for a chance to find my true worth; by way of Konti it came!”

“You’re a fool to think that way,” pleaded a desperate Kigwa, sweat stinging his begging eyes. “Free me and let us find a way together to make our tribe as powerful as it once was! This is what I can offer you Sangwa. I swear it!”

“You can offer me nothing! Now across the Great Ocean you shall go.”

“Have you no shame in conspiring with a strange pale man to rob the Ehra of a sacred leader? Chief Salwex nurtured our people through good guidance and hard industry. Konti will use brute aggression to seek what cannot be taken. It will destroy the Ehra in time, mark my words!”

As two other pale men came forward to take him away, Kigwa continued to shout back at Sangwa. “There is no defeat here! There is only treachery. And as long as I have the blood of my forefather’s running through my veins, there will be no surrender until I reclaim my rightful heritage. Be sure of that, you miserable thief!”

Sangwa waived off Kigwa to his capturers while screaming out his final words. “You are not welcome here anymore! If you ever try to return here it will mean your life!”

As he was pulled away, Kigwa struggled to break free from their heavy grip in a futile exercise. He could not understand their speech, his circumstances or his destination. But he knew these familiar scents wafting amidst rolling hills and mangroves were to be no more. And that was more than enough to stoke a deep anger within him.