THE KING'S HEIR

Before he was revered, Mutongo was a farmhand, looking after his family’s sheep. Day in and day out, he would do his duty, not because he liked it, but because his father promised that he would take him hunting one day, and his mother would make him an extra portion of food every now and again.

“Have you locked the sheep in?” his mother always asked.

“Yes!” he would always answer when asked, after which he would be given his food to eat.

One day, he was so hungry that he hurriedly took them back into their pen a bit earlier than usual. He noticed one was stuck in a crevice, but he ignored it and locked them in, presenting himself before his mother.

“Have you locked the sheep in?” she asked.

“Yes, all of them,” he stated, not caring about the one sheep at that moment. He indulged heartily in the meal, deciding to go after it early the next day.

However, that morning, his father summoned him before he could sneak out.

“Mutongo!”

“Yes, father!”

“I did a count of the flock, and I noticed that one was missing. Care to explain?”

He hesitated for a moment, weighing his options: if he told the truth, he would be punished and would not go hunting with his father, so he quickly said:

“It must have been taken when I wasn’t looking. I’m sorry for that.”

“Taken?”

“Yes. Someone must have stolen it.”

The parents looked at each other in horror, and then his mother frantically said:

“Get what you can. We have to go now!”

“What? What’s happening?”

“They’re back!” the father said, a sack already in his hand.

“Who are?”

“The marauders. They go from one village to the next, taking over everything and leaving nothing in their wake. Come quickly!”

A confused, tongue-tied Mutongo took a few items, his makeshift spear being one of them and followed his parents through the forest. They passed the fields that he normally took the sheep, and in the crevice he saw the animal lying still.

“Come on! Hurry!” his mother nudged him as they walked on. For hours, they dove deep into the forest then trekked uphill for a while, before they fortunately found a cave.

“We’ll take shelter here. If we’re lucky, they’ll take what they can and leave. They hardly ever come back,” his father said. They unpacked and the father got started on a fire.

“Are you alright, son?” his mother asked him. He merely nodded, the weight of his lie crushing down on him. The night came swiftly, and his parents nodded off before him, as always, leaving him staring at the large fire for a while before he also nodded off…

Early the next morning, he decided to take a walk to clear his mind. Away from the cave, downhill for a few minutes before stopping at a nearby stream. Just then, he heard a whimper. Faint at first, but loud enough the second time.

Across the stream, at the base of a wide tree he saw what looked like a hand. He approached it slowly, fearing the worst, but got relieved and disgusted when he saw a man holding his throat, torn open by a panther that now lay dead beside him.

“Please, help…” the man said, his voice trailing off. Mutongo hesitated touching the open wound, but when he finally got the courage to do it, the man breathed his last, his hand falling limp. Blood gushed out again, and he couldn’t hold the funny feeling in his stomach anymore, running to a bush to let it all out.

“What have we here?” he heard a voice ask.

He stood up to see a mountain of a man straddling a horse, six more behind him along with a handful of men. The axe, still slick with blood and a bit of skin dangling from it was enough to make the boy lie again:

“Good sir. I heard a noise and rushed to this man’s aid. I managed to distract the animal while he delivered the final blow. Unfortunately, I couldn’t save him.”

The man looked at Mutongo for a few seconds before laughing out loud.

“You distracted a panther? You realize it could have killed you as well!” his voice boomed as his comrades joined him in laughter.

“Yes, it could have,” he said weakly.

“You’re a brave one, kijana. What’s your name?”

“Mutongo.”

“Where are you from? Do you have a family?”

“I – I’m an orphan, sir. I was looking for a place to go,” he lied again. The man showed sympathy and got off his horse, his massive hand on Mutongo’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry to hear that. I, too, am an orphan, but I managed to get a family with these good men here,” he spoke gently.

“Thank you.”

“Where were you headed?”

“I – I was headed to the Enclosure.”

“Where is that?” the man asked, others gathering around them.

“It’s just after the forest. I heard they have fantastic food,” he said, unsure whether the one story his father told him about it would convince them. Somehow, it did. For as long as they never knew where his parents were, he was okay.

“Ah, we’ll head there then. We are also tired and hungry, and we have a few coin to spare,” the man said, nodding to the rest of the troop.

“You’ll come with us,” he said, carrying the helpless Mutongo onto his own horse before they headed that way. They passed the caves that his parents still slept in, around the hill it was seated in and down its gentle slope till they got to a road; straight and narrow, it led into an opening, in which they could see people out and about.

The large man raised his axe and asked the others:

“Well, gentlemen. We have found another, thanks to our young friend here. Shall we make ourselves home?”

Before Mutongo could say a word, they charged into the place. He was lucky he fell off the horse, otherwise he wouldn’t have seen the men slaughter the residents. He would have missed one of them pull an old man and his wife out of their home and drive a spear through each of them, and he almost didn’t feast his eyes on the young boys cut in half by their leader.

“Oh dear God!” he exclaimed.

“Come here, boy!” a woman called out to him from her hut. Just as he got to her, an arrow pierced her throat and she fell to her knees, struggling for life. Before he could try and help her, another went through her stomach, sending her to her maker. He jumped over her and slid under a bed; the one thing that went through his mind at that moment, despite how to escape, was the crushing feeling that he helped marauders destroy an entire town.

 “Please don’t hurt me!” he heard a voice say.

“I won’t!” he replied, not knowing who he was talking to. Across the room, underneath another bed was a young girl, trembling in fear.

“Please don’t…”

“I won’t! I promise!”

“Who are they?” she asked him.

“I don’t know. I was just with my friends before they attacked!” he lied again.

“Oh my God, Maria,” she sobbed, looking at the woman lying in her blood at the entrance, tears flowing freely.

“Shh, be quiet! They’ll find us,” he said. She whimpered quietly for a few minutes before she took a deep breath, wiped the tears and regained herself.

“It’s okay. We’ll wait here for some time,” she said. He mustered the courage to crawl out and peek out the window, seeing that the men were imbibing as much alcohol as they could, filling their hearts and making merry.

“Wait here?”

“For my father to come. He said he would come for me,” the girl said, unsheathing a dagger.

“What’s that for?”

“It was the only thing he gave my mother when I was born: to protect her from any danger.”

“What will you do? Go after mosquitoes and squirrels?” Mutongo said, laughing at himself. The girl’s sullen appearance made him tightlipped as she went on.

“She said: when they come, show them this.”

He got curious enough to keep asking her questions:

“Show who? Who exactly is coming for you? And why?”

She peeked from underneath the bed, then invited him to join her. Squeezed there, she whispered inn his ear:

‘I am the king’s daughter.’

He started chuckling.

“Sure, and I’m his long lost son.”

“It’s true. He and my mother had an affair, and when I was born, he sent us away with only this dagger, promising us that he would make it right one day. My mother died a few months ago, but I managed to find my way here and stay with this wonderful woman,” she said, pointing to the corpse at the door.

“Look at these markings,” she went on. On its ivory blade were words written in a language he could not understand.’

“I don’t know what that means,” he said.

“Neither do I, but the people my mother showed it to understood. The dagger is not for protection; it’s for safe passage,” she said.

It then occurred to him that she might be telling the truth, and Mutongo realized that should those men show up and find her, they might think that he is one of the marauders, and will definitely kill him, so he said:

“What good is having that dagger if you can’t use it? Here, let me go and keep watch. That way, no one will come here for you.”

“You’ll protect me?”

“Yes, I will.”

“How do I know you’re telling the truth?”

“Look, I will stand at the door. If anyone comes for you, I’ll just say there’s no one here.”

“They’ll listen to you?”

“Yes. Just trust me, okay?”

Her bright doe eyes pierced into his soul for a second, making him reconsider his plans for a while before the sound of a man begging for his life made him think otherwise.

“Okay, please be careful,” she whispered. He crept from under the bed and snuck to the door of the hut, peeking to see the men rounding up the women and children to the centre, eager to make a run for it.

He managed to get behind the hut, past the same man who had given up the ghost and walk towards the entrance to the Enclosure, taking shelter in a bush. Then, he heard a low rumble in the ground. It increased by the second as he marveled at the sight of a contingent of horseback soldiers that drew their swords to the marauders, who barely had an hour to enjoy their ill-gotten gains.

“HOLD YOUR…” their leader began, right before his head parted from his body with one swing of the sword. This made his people flee helter-skelter, one of them finding their way to the hut Mutongo was in. The man tripped on the woman’s body, tackling Mutongo down in the process. His face a breath away from his own, eyes widened, blood dripping from his mouth, he tried to say something.

“What?” he asked the man. His head then fell on his chest and his body went limp, and Mutongo realized that he had landed on the girl’s dagger and had given up his ghost.

“Get off!” he cried out, trying to push the man off. In one shocking display of strength, Mutongo managed to push him away, only to realize that it was a soldier who had done the same, leaving the boy there with the dagger in hand. The soldier examined the blade, looked keenly at Mutongo then said:

“It’s true – it’s actually you!” He then bowed in reverence.

“Your majesty, we have come to return you to your father. He waits anxiously,” the man said, helping Mutongo up. Just then, the girl came out from underneath the bed, screaming hysterically.

“No, it’s not him! It’s me! I’m his child, his real one!”

“What?” the soldier asked.

“It’s true! He was with those marauders. He said he would protect me, but he wants to steal from me!”

Mutongo saw the woman at the entrance, then the man who tackled him; it couldn’t happen to him.

“No...” he said softly.

“Yes, sir?” the soldier asked him. He looked him in the eye, beckoned him to come closer and whispered in his ear:

‘She was his daughter. They rode in together.’

“Be quiet!” the soldier snapped, smacking her across the face before he dragged the girl out, where another one took her to the rest of the villagers while Mutongo was escorted out by about four men, him in the center.

“I’m sorry for that,” the soldier said.

“I understand.”

“Are you ready to meet your father?” another one asked excitedly. He simply nodded, turning back to look at the girl again.

“Do not worry. She will answer for her crimes when we get there. It’s quite a journey,” he went on. Mutongo managed to see the distraught girl being bundled with the surviving marauders, crying helplessly.

‘Yes, no turning back now,’ he mused as he went to meet his father, one he never knew he had, but who would have to do for him to stay safe. There was no going back after his lies…