Bound To Burn 🔥

The Secret by the stream

CHAPTER EIGHT The Secret by the Stream

Months passed. The village knew a quiet it hadn’t felt in years. Even loud Wendi, whose voice could once shake a house beam, had mellowed. She was with child again, and this time, she believed it was a boy. Each morning she whispered her hopes to the gods, making promises if they would only grant her a son.

Nze too was carrying a child—two moons along now—but she held no preferences. She already had Simba. Whatever the gods gave, she would accept. Her eyes often lingered on her son these days, studying the way he moved, quieter and stronger than before. Something inside her told her he was changing—becoming someone else.

That morning, Simba woke before the sun. He wanted to finish his chores quickly so he could meet Salah earlier than usual. They hadn’t talked much the last few visits, just laughed and played. But today, he needed to speak.

He made his way toward the stream, a path he knew well—a path the birds already knew to greet him along. But something strange interrupted the familiar rhythm. In a clearing between the thick shrubs and tall acacia trees, he heard a sound—a sharp, breathless laugh quickly silenced.

Curious, he crouched low, creeping toward the source. What he saw froze him.

Two warriors—Ndovu and Edy, both part of his father’s guard—stood close, locked in something more than conversation. Lips touching. Hands lingering. Simba blinked, unsure if his eyes had played tricks. But the moment was real.

He ducked deeper into the brush, careful not to make a sound. Edy leaned his head on Ndovu’s shoulder, then tensed—he had sensed something. Ndovu turned suddenly, eyes scanning. Simba's heart pounded so loud he feared it would betray him. But after a long pause, the warriors hurried away, leaving only disturbed leaves and a shaken boy behind.

He sat there long after they were gone.

His chest felt tight. His head spun. Two warriors—heroes, protectors—caught in what the village would call shame. He knew the punishment. Burned. Stripped. Humiliated in the village square. Not even the gods were merciful about this kind of thing.

And yet… what had they done? Just loved? Touched? He couldn’t understand how something that didn’t hurt anyone could bring about so much death.

By the time he returned home, his chores felt like stones in his hands. He worked silently, heart heavier with each task. And when he finally ran to the forest, he was already weary.

Salah was late—as usual.

When he did appear, jumping from behind a tree with a crooked grin, Simba barely looked up.

“Ohhh, Simba,” Salah said with mock shock, “did you miss me that much you came early just to smell my cologne?”

“Don’t be stupid,” Simba muttered. “You’re not that important.”

Salah chuckled and plopped down beside him. “Alright, alright. But you look like you’ve swallowed ash. What happened? You look haunted.”

Simba didn’t speak right away. The forest around them seemed to hush.

Then he said quietly, “Salah… today I saw something… something strange. Worse than ghosts.”

Salah leaned forward, suddenly serious. “What do you mean?”

Simba’s voice dropped even lower. “Two warriors. My father’s men. Ndovu and Edy. I saw them... kissing.”

Salah’s eyes widened, but he said nothing.

Simba kept going. “I hid. I don’t think they saw me. But Salah... you know what would happen to them if anyone finds out. They’d be killed. Torn apart like wild dogs.”

Still, Salah said nothing. His eyes now stared at the forest floor.

Simba looked at him. “What should I do? Am I supposed to tell? Pretend I saw nothing? What if the gods strike us all for it?”

Finally, Salah exhaled. “You saw something real, Simba. Not a sin. Not a spell. Just... people. People being who they are, when no one’s watching.”

“But the law—”

“The law is fear,” Salah interrupted softly. “That doesn’t make it right. Do you want to be like them—those elders who punish what they don’t understand?”

Simba didn’t answer.

Salah leaned closer. “We’re all trapped, Simba. Some by expectations. Some by tradition. Some by secrets. What you saw... maybe it’s not yours to judge.”

For a while, they sat in silence. A kori bustard bird flew low above them, its wings flapping softly like whispers.

Simba finally whispered, “I won’t say anything. But I don’t know if that makes me weak or strong.”

Salah placed a hand gently on his shoulder. “Maybe it just makes you human.”

The wind moved gently through the trees, as if the forest itself had been holding its breath.