Heir to the Throne
The last mourners take their seats, many of them still picking bits of meat from their teeth. I demand their attention in the most polite way I know how — by clearing my throat. When their focus settles on me, it burns hot like the afternoon sun. Their whispered conversations dissipate, leaving only a silence tainted by sobs here and there. The rain barrels down on us, soaking hair, robes, and the ground beneath our feet. Most importantly, it hides my tears. I bite my lip to stifle a sob. Now, more than ever, I must show strength.
“My father was a great man,” I begin.
My fledgling speech is cut off by the sound of an unmistakable, thunderous voice. “The king was a coward!” it proclaims from the darkness just beyond the back row of seats.
Most of the mourners turn to look upon the late-comer. We have already laid the Chief to rest. Those that came only for the feast have left. The monstrous being approaches, its forceful footsteps splashing mud in every direction. Its ashen, white face sows fear into the hearts of all who dare to look upon it. My beating heart rattles my rib cage, but my head remains high and my eyes stay fixed on it. It stops just a few meters short of me.
“Now I’m here for what is mine.”
There is a collective gasp from the elders that flank me — men and women whose wisdom has kept the village thriving for so long. They are the same people who declared that this man was a demon who escaped from the underworld — his red, fiery hair proof that he had been touched by the gods. His parents named him Manda, and his appearance reminds me of something that many have tried to erase from my memory; that I am not my father’s first-born son.
I catch a glimpse of my mother’s petrified face in the front row of the crowd. She’s still yet to forgive herself for unleashing this plague on us all. To her right is Thando, my betrothed, and to her right is her brother, Hondo, whose name directly translates to ‘war’. He is the son of one of the most powerful chiefs in our region and has commanded their armies since childhood. His face alone shows no fear of the Goliath in our midst — many would tell him that he is foolish not to be afraid.
“What exactly would that be?” Zakeo, the chief elder, asks.
He speaks with conviction, showing none of the infirmity of a man who has lived so long that his age is often measured against that of the oldest, greatest trees in the village. Manda turns his gaze upon the old man. High above our heads, the thunder roars, as if to plead for the old man’s life. Manda could crush the old man’s head like a tomato with his bare hands. He leans forward as if to approach Zakeo. I raise my hand, signaling for him to stop.
“Your quarrel is with me,” I say, locking eyes with the giant.
“No,” Zakeo continues, “his quarrel is with the village. State your claim, demon-child.”
“I’m only here to take what’s mine — what was stolen from me by my cowardly father.”
“Manda, you are a runt! You have just as much claim to the throne as Jekesa!”
There are a few giggles around at the chief elder’s mention of the village idiot. Jekesa is a middle-aged man with no titles or land to his name. As if that is not bad enough, he roams the streets with a dressed-up, brown chicken which he refers affectionately to as ‘my wife’. Manda glowers at the old man, his eyes burning a hole in the old man’s bony head.
“Don’t provoke him,” I whisper.
“Listen to your baby king,” Manda booms.
His voice has the force of a thousand men marching into battle. He is the giant puppy that ate all the other smaller puppies in his litter. I try to hide my fear.
“What do you want?” I ask, staring up at him.
He stares down at me, his toothy grin stretching from cheekbone to cheekbone. The pit of dread that had gnawed at me from the depths of my stomach for days comes bubbling to the surface. I knew this was coming — only a fool would think that this monster-among-men would let the chief’s funeral pass without event.
“By tradition, anyone with royal blood can claim the throne through trial-by-combat. I am here to collect on that promise.”
A lesser man would have wet his pants at the sound of those words. I clench my jaw and ball my fists even as a thick haze blurs my sight.
“Manda, you can’t!” my mother cries.
The great beast ignores her, keeping his eyes focused on me. “What do you say, baby brother?”
The gauntlet has been thrown. I know better than most that declining an open challenge is tantamount to suicide. The slightest hint of weakness would not only make me a target, but even our neighbors would declare open season on the village. I step forward so that Manda’s musky scent tingles my nose buds; his hairy chest right in my face.
“Give me a time and place and I’ll be there,” I say.
The giant turns his back on me, facing the gathered mourners. “Everyone who matters is here already,” he begins. “I think there’s no better time than the present!”
#
With everyone excited to cap the sad day off with a good old-fashioned show, it takes the servants no time to set the stage. The thunder echoes the banging drums and the chanting and stomping of the village dance crew made up mostly of marriage-age girls. Streaks of lightning split the sky as it prepares to open up and swallow one of us. Tonight, the loser gets to dine with the ancestors.
I allow myself a short conversation with my betrothed and mother before the fight. “Stay low, make his height a disadvantage for him,” Mother says, having witnessed hundreds of battles in her lifetime.
Thando is beside herself with grief as she tries to find the right parting words. “I love you,” is all that she can muster. “I love you,” she repeats.
I put an arm around her and squeeze. “I’ll be fine,” I say, trying most to reassure myself.
She squints at me, eyes searching. There is something in them, an unspoken truth that she clings on to but fears she may never get to share. She takes my hand in her tiny hands and squeezes it before bringing it to her belly. We went against tradition and all our childhood teachings by consummating our marriage before it was even finalized. The look in her eyes reveals everything. She takes a step back and retreats to her seat, leaving me silent in the rain, shaken to the core. I am not just fighting for myself anymore.
A young man helps Zakeo to the center of the ring that has been formed by the gathered spectators. A gap opens in the circle and the man-mountain, Manda, walks through, waddling through the mud like an overgrown duck. He peers at me and smiles.
“Are you ready?” he asks.
I force a smile and turn my eyes to Zakeo, whose job it is to officiate the battle.
“As per tradition,” he begins, “this fight is to the death. You may yield, but one who yields relinquishes all claims to the throne, not only for himself but for all his future descendants.”
His eyes linger on me, as if the last part was specifically for me — a get-out-of-jail-free card if ever I needed one. I wipe the dripping water from my face and set my eyes on my opponent.
“Is this understood?”
“Aye!” both Manda and I say in unison.
The young man helps Zakeo out of the ring. A moment of silence that seems to last a lifetime follows before the drums start again. The dancing has stopped and the chanters have gone silent. I can hear my labored breathing and the blood pumping through my veins, as well as the pitter-patter of raindrops on the muddy earth. My father told me that the revolution he started would take many lifetimes to complete. There is no doubt that Manda will undo all the progress that we have made. His legacy rests on my tiny shoulders, now.
Without warning, my opponent charges at me, almost catching me in his bear-like embrace. I manage to duck and roll just in time, taking a swing at his legs as I do so. I catch him in the side of the knee, and pain shoots up my arm like I’ve struck a rock. I try to shake it off as I rise to my feet. He eyes me knowingly, a tiny flicker of a smile dancing at the corner of his mouth. We both know that I can’t hit him, or, at least, that I must be smart about where I strike.
For the next few minutes, the increasingly blood-thirsty crowd holds their breath as Manda and I continue to play a game of cat and mouse. My speed is the only thing keeping me alive. I have never had to fight for my life like this before. While Manda grew up in the fighting pits with the rest of the military men, my father tried to shelter me. I was trained in the kind of sparring that is expected in a fight between gentlemen — the kind of fighting that is governed by virtue and honor. Brutes like Manda care very little about fighting etiquette — their only agenda is to soak the ground with the blood of their opponents.
I manage to land two body shots, targeting Manda’s vital organs. He staggers back, and the agitated crowd roars. His smile says it all; he’s actually enjoying this. I know enough about the warrior-kind to know that it’s not just the victory that matters to them. The story is just as important. Manda’s triumph must be, for him to earn the respect of his peers, spectacular. No one cheers for the man that crushes an ant.
He swings at me again and I duck, hitting him hard in quick succession. The folds and creases of his massive frame swallow my fists, but I’m undeterred. The crowd’s cheers edge me on, and I find myself almost levitating as I ride their enthusiasm. I decide to go on the offensive, charging at the great beast instead of waiting to counter his attacks. I unleash a barrage of punches on him and, for just a split second, I see distress in his eyes. He lashes out in desperation. Like a cornered snake, he strikes however he can. One of his thick arms connects with my chest, sending me flying back into the mud. I hit the deck so hard that the ground seems to shake.
“Nooo!” I hear someone cry from the crowd.
I roll to the side just in time to avoid being crushed beneath Manda’s elephant-like feet. I roll through the mud, putting as much distance between myself and the giant as possible. I gasp at the air, trying to recapture the wind that’s been knocked out of me. I rise to one knee and see, finally, what many men have seen just before they were shuffled off to meet their ancestors. I know, then, that I cannot win. Not against a man with such a single-minded thirst for blood. Manda slowly straightens himself, soaking in the moment of victory. I have heard it said that most fights are won long before the final punch is thrown. He charges at me, grabbing my neck and tossing me over his shoulders. I try to dodge, but my reflexes are those of a beaten man. Terrified wails ripple through the airwaves as my body hits the deck like a sack of manure.
“Get up!” someone yells.
My legs tremble as I try to pull myself up. My eyes meet Thando’s. She and I have had this inexplicable ability to communicate without words since the moment we met. She wants me to yield. I tell her that I would never dishonor my father’s legacy like that. She says wisdom is knowing when you’re outmatched. I shake my head and force myself into an upright position. Wind and rain buffet me — a slightly stronger breeze could knock me over. My blurry sight focuses on the white figure charging at me, and I close my eyes and prepare for cold death. Death, however, does not come for me.
I hear gasps and cries and open my eyes. There’s a dark figure on Manda’s back with his arms wrapped around the giant’s neck. Manda tries to shake him off, but he’s stuck there like a starving lioness with her teeth sunk in a gazelle’s neck.
“Nooo!” I cry.
Jeers and whistles come from the crowd. Their outrage is palpable. I can feel them turning on me, and if this man takes Manda down, then I might as well give up the throne. The village recognizes strength, not a chief who lets other people do his dirty work. I run towards them to stop the interference. Even as he struggles to stay on his feet, Manda’s eyes settle on me as I approach him. He has fought many dishonorable men — men who would take advantage of this situation to kill him. As soon as I am within reach, he takes a swing at me, catching me square in the side of the head. I feel no pain, just a loud thud followed by a high-pitched ringing in my ears. I catch a glimpse of the person on his back just moments before he hits me — it’s Hondo, no doubt acting at his sister’s behest. I’m thrown halfway across the fighting ring. Infinite darkness swallows me before I even hit the ground. My fate is no longer in my hands.
#
When I wake, I find myself beneath the faintly illuminated, sparse clouds of the night sky. The rain has stopped, and the clouds have begun to clear up, revealing a silver half-moon and thousands of tiny points of light. I hear the quiet sound of flowing water and realize the unsteadiness of the surface on which I am. I try to prop myself up on my shoulders, but a hand gently holds me down. I turn to see Thando’s face staring down at me.
“He’s awake,” she says to whomever else is with us on the boat.
My mother’s face appears within sight. There are wrinkles on her face that I had never noticed before. Admittedly, she has had a difficult week. She places a hand on my chest and closes her eyes, trying to hold back an avalanche of tears.
“What…what happened?” I croak.
The sound that comes out of my mouth is barely recognizable as my voice. I switch my gaze back and forth between Thando and my mother, searching for an explanation. They exchange glances as if contemplating whether or not to tell me. Thando’s gaze is impenetrable, cutting me off from our psychic connection. She grabs my hand and squeezes it.
“How am I alive?” I ask, trying to rise again. ‘Where is Hondo?”
“He saved you. He saved us all,” Mother says.
The words aren’t just for me. She glances at Thando who has shut her eyes and is taking in long, deep breaths.
“What do you mean?”
“He gave us a chance to escape. Zakeo helped, too,” Mother continues.
“Where is Hondo?” I repeat, staring at Thando.
“Your brother killed him,” she finally says.
The words are thrown at us without the usual grace and delicacy with which Thando often speaks. I feel a tightness in my gut like someone is trying to wring my intestines dry. The bitter taste of bile just tickles the back of my throat. I force it back down. Thando’s eyes are like glaciers — cold and hard.
“I’m sorry.”
All I know how to do is apologize. “I’m sorry,” I repeat.
“Hush, now,” my mother says. “It’s not your fault.”
Thando is silent. The boat bobs up and down, carried along by the current. A tear streams down her cheek and settles on the corner of her mouth, before dripping onto my face. She and Hondo have been inseparable for as long as I have known them. She clenches her jaw as I have known her to do when she’s trying to hold back her anger.
“Where are we going?”
“Manda is the chief, now, whether we like it or not. My father is the only man in the region who is both motivated and brave enough to stand up to your kingdom. Only he can help us now.”
‘Your kingdom’. Just yesterday it was ours; how quickly things change. I can see that she is hurting, and she is trying her best not to say anything that cannot be taken back. I bite back the urge to call her out right there and then. I did not lose, and I did not yield. The kingdom should still be mine. It should still be ours.
The throbbing pain in my head reminds me of how lucky I was to escape with my life. If there is to be any hope of me ever reclaiming my throne, I must be patient.
“Rest, now,” Mother says, dabbing my forehead with a wet towel.
I can see in her eyes that she knows what I am thinking. Our battle is far from over. It has only just begun.
