For Family's Sake

For better or for worse, but how worse must worse get?

Kante already knew what awaited him downstairs and he was in no mood to deal with it. He looked at his reflection in the bedroom mirror, finishing with a cuff link and adjusting the knot of his tie. He had worked hard for all that he owned, nobody could deny him that. But what was money without any peace of mind? What was all the riches in the world compared to the smile of one's own child? Kante's reflection showed him a sad smile then. With a deep sigh, he picked up his briefcase, walked out the room and down the stairs.

The living room was a massive, dome-shaped chamber and the faint glow of a glass chandelier threw dancing lights against the six polished pillars that encircled the room. Kante made his way between two of them, strolling up to the dinning room where someone was humming. The sound stopped as he came to the doorway.

“Good morning, dear,” Yelu greeted, forcing a smile. Her eyes were red and puffy. She had been crying.

Kante tore away his gaze, his eyes falling on the table between them. On it was a tray of sliced bread, a packet of Lipton tea and honey, a jar of milk and powdered cocoa, a block of butter, a bowl of fruits and a plate of fried eggs.

“What is all this?” he asked.

His wife's smiled faltered a little. “Breakfast.”

“I'm not hungry,” he replied even as his stomach grumbled. “It's too early. I have a long drive to Buea.”

The woman was not deterred. “But you can't travel on an empty stomach,” she said, picking up two slices of bread and reaching for the butter. “Here, eat this at least. You will...”

“Don't,” he snapped, turning away.

“Why?” Yelu called, following him into the living room.

“I am not hungry.”

“You used to be hungry when we got married.”

Kante turned to face her. “Yes, five years ago,” he said and realised his mistake almost immediately. The restraint visibly crumbled behind Yelu's eyes.

“So my cooking isn't good anymore?” she shrieked. “Is that the only thing that isn't good enough? Is that why you are never home? After our conversation last night I thought all this will be behind us, but I see you are determined to forget all that we have been through together, all that I sacrificed for you. I even put my hostess career on hold to be a present wife to you. Even after last night you won't look at me. What more do you want from me?”

“A child.” Both of them looked over to see his mother leaning against a pillar. She was wearing a nightgown of butterfly embroidery and a deep scowl. Their voices must have awoken her. “Give me a grandchild, Yelu,” she went on, “or has the foulness from the hundreds of men you slept with infested your womb?”

“That is uncalled for, Mama.”

“Shut up, Kante. You are just as weak as your father. If you won't say it, I will. The girl is barren, when will you see that? She...”

Yelu had heard enough and she sprinted for the stairs, her face buried in her hands. Kante made to follow but one look from his mother banished the idea.

“Have you received the doctor's call yet?” she asked him.

“He was supposed to have the results last week but he postponed to today instead.”

“Good,” she said flatly. “The sooner I put an end to this fiasco, the better. Now get out of here, and remember to return early. I am leaving for Yaounde tomorrow.”

“I will, Mama,” Kante replied, kissing her good-bye.

It was unseasonably cold as he cruised out of his driveway. He was barely aware of his neighbour honking in greeting as he drove past, his mind only on his failing marriage. Yelu was a good wife and he had tried to be a good husband. But after five years without a child, without even a miscarriage, the pressure had been unbearable. Kante heard the rumours, of how he had sacrificed his unborn children to the devil in exchange for wealth. Nobody said it to his face but he saw it in their eyes, the suspicion. And the most worried of all was his mother, her frustration understandable. He was an only child and, with the memory of a bicycle accident that had seen him impaled by a wheel spoke, her fear was always close to the surface.

Well, though he waited for the doctor's call, he already knew the answer. He was fine, but perhaps the result would give him the excuse to end his unhappy marriage. Surely nobody would fault him then.

Before long, he was driving through the gates of Chariot Hotel.

“Welcome, Mr Kante,” the girl at the desk greeted.

“Thank you, Ebot. Is she here?”

“Yes, sir. Room 25.”

Upstairs, he pushed open the door marked 25 and found himself in a dim room lit by scented candles flickering on a table. Kante remained in the doorway, his eyes darting from the table to the bed, the painting on the wall, a small box in the corner.

“Where are you?” he whispered.

“Here.” She stepped out from the shadows behind the door dressed in a short, silky purple bathrobe.

Kante stared at her silhouetted form, speechless. Her oiled skin shone in the candlelight, her firm breasts with the imprint of their large nipples, the curves of her waist and hip. With a dry throat, Kante closed the door and walked over, kneeling by the bump of her belly. “I missed you, son,” he said, kissing it.

“Son? It's only been two months.”

“It is a boy, I just know it.”

“And is that the only person you missed?”

Kante rose, smiling. “I missed you more, booboo.”

“Prove it.”

Kante pulled her closer, breathing in her sweet perfume, the bathrobe falling to the carpet. She was naked underneath, her skin smooth and warm beneath his fingers. Then he raised her head and found her lips, tasting apples. As she reached for his belt buckle, his phone began to ring.

Caller ID: Doctor Elakou

“I have to take this,” Kante said, turning for the bathroom and answering the call. “Good morning, doctor,” he said as the bathroom door slammed shut.

“Good morning, Mr Kante,” a guttural voice replied on the other end of the line. “Is this a bad time.”

“No, it is fine. I have been waiting for your call.”

“I'm sorry about the delay. I had to retake the test to be certain. Do you mind coming to my office?”

“Sure, but can I will like to know the results first?”

“I will rather we meet, Mr Kante. I am not sure this is a conversation for a phone call.”

Kante bit down on his irritation. “It is fine, doctor. We can talk now and I will come to your office for a copy of the results. I can handle the news, whatever it is.” That is what he said. I can handle the news of my wife being barren, that was what he meant.

“There is good news and there is bad news.”

Even over the phone, Kante could sense the man's hesitation. “Give me the good news first,” he pressed.

“Your wife is healthy, fertile.”

The revelation hit him like a physical force and his grip tightened around the phone like a drowning man holding onto a reed, suddenly at a lose for words.

“Mr Kante?”

“Still here,” he managed to squeeze out the words.

“I am sorry to say it, but you are the problem. I had to run more tests to be certain. There are many causes of these things and I remember you telling me of a childhood accident to your groin. We might need to observe the extent of the damage, if that is the cause. But whatever it is, it has affected the vitality of your sperms. You can't father a child at the moment.”

Kante sagged onto the toilet seat. “Are you sure of this, doctor?”

“I am a hundred percent certain. Some procedures...”

The phone slipped from Kante's numb fingers, clattering to the tiled floor.

“Are you alright, booboo?” his secretary called from the bedroom.

                                                       ***THE END***

By J.E. MFOMBEP

The Red of Snow FREE COPY

Under his hand, his people have grown formidable on the continent of Nordea. Now the great leader is in exile, banished for going against the Denrabu dogma by choosing peace over war.
Hiding in a neighbouring city, Panak would be drawn into the politics of a different world, where battles are won or lost through wit and cunning. And the war he had tried to avoid would take on a new face, the face of a mindless god intent on swallowing the world. Once more, Panak would have to choose between making peace or war. But if he fights and falls, everything he cherishes will be overrun and entombed in ice

Happy reading.

https://www.amazon.com/Red-Snow-Song-Risen-Book-ebook/dp/B01GSIQ9IO/ref=pd_sim_sbs_351_1?ie=UTF8&dpID=41AzeTyzC6L&dpSrc=sims&preST=_UX300_PJku-sticker-v7%2CTopRight%2C0%2C-50_OU01_AC_UL480_SR240%2C480_&psc=1&refRID=J87GERRNNNAAYAFEPZPN

The Red of Snow (Song of the Risen 2) is now Live!

The second installment in my Song of the Risen series. Here is the blurb:
Under his hand, his people have grown formidable on the continent of Nordea. Now the great leader is in exile, banished for going against the Denrabu dogma by choosing peace over war.
Hiding in a neighbouring city, Panak would be drawn into the politics of a different world, where battles are won or lost through wit and cunning. And the war he had tried to avoid would take on a new face, the face of a mindless god intent on swallowing the world. Once more, Panak would have to choose between making peace or war. But if he fights and falls, everything he cherishes will be overrun and emtombed in ice.

Happy reading.

Kufae and the shaman

Kufae stepped gently on fallen leaves as she walked through the foggy forest quiet, the cold seeping into her bones. However, such things did not worry her. She had braved many nights on chilly hilltops and felt even stronger at dawn. Though Kufae took much pride in her youthful strength, there was something unnatural about the mood of the woods, as if the fog was trying to reach into her skull and make her slow to reason. It was surely the work of a shaman. But she knew hunting always heightened her senses and the unease could just be her imagination. There was no shaman within miles of here after all. Only her people knew of such skills, unless the prince had sent a shaman so far north. The possibility seemed very unlikely. Even Kufae was not worth such a hunt.

She shook her head to clear it before sprinting forward with light steps, imitating the movement of a small rodent. Together with the rest of her hunting party, they advanced in a sideways line, nobody in front of the other. After several paces, Kufae stopped and listened to the woods. The animals were usually keen at recognising the heavy footsteps of approaching predators who only brought them death.

”Quack! Quack!” she heard the pregnant Carro calling somewhere to her left and Kufae allowed herself a smile. The girl's imagination was fascinating. She would take every lesson and attempt to make it better. It was traditional for hunters to crow like cocks and trick their prey, but the girl had told Kufae the animals might soon fear the crow of a cock more than the roar of a lion. So she had better quack like a duck, it seemed.

Out of the corner of her eyes, Kufae saw the girl gesturing ahead to a space between some fern underbrush. When she crawled up to the clearing, a spotted deer was standing there, its ears twitching as it heard Carro quacking again. But the graceful creature was still in doubt, looking into the surrounding bushes for a sure sign of danger. Kufae looked to her left to make sure the other archer of their group was in place before nodding to Carro to proceed as planned. At that, the pregnant girl walked out from behind her tree, her back turned to the deer which quickly reared.

The laborious gait of the intruder seemed no obvious threat to the animal, though it continued to watch her intently. But Carro pretended to be unaware of the deer as she walked past. All the while, the animal had been backing away from her and unknowingly drawing closer to where the archers hid in wait. The last member of the party was Farro, lean and silent as the wind. The girl had just slipped between two trees to creep further into the tall grass. Ever since they had left the shadow of the mountain, they all trained with a bow and sword at dawn and dusk. Farro had proven herself with a bow and Ulugae had taken to calling her Farro the Feather. She was in charge of the hunt today and given the honour of this kill.

Kufae had a bow as well, though just as a back up. But now she could not see Farro through the tall stalks, even as she slowly raised her own weapon. Then as their decoy vanished into the far brushes, there was a loud creak to her left, the unmistakable sound of a bending bow. Kufae saw the deer tense and knew the game was done. Before she could pull back on her bowstring, however, the animal dropped to the ground, an arrow quivering in its side.

Kufae quickly dropped the bow and drew out her dagger as she exploded out of the fern bush. She saw the other girl rushing out with a ready dagger as well, but Kufae reached it first. The deer was still alive and only stunned by the suddenness of the attack. Before the animal could recover, she put the dagger to its throat and worked the blade back and forth until her hands were sleek with warm blood. The noise of the attack had called back Carro to the clearing. All the heaviness had left her movement as she jogged up to them. Kufae stepped back as the pregnant girl knelt down and pressed her mouth to the wound.

She had never gotten use to the sight. The Bumi girls said their people believed the life blood spilling out of a creature could be used to fortify the birth of another. The ritual was meant to strengthen the northern girl and the child inside her. It must be working, Kufae thought. After a fortnight of traveling and training, the girl had lost most of her clumsiness, though she had not forgiven Kufae for killing the father of her child yet.

“You did well,” she said to Carro to make her stop. ”Even convinced me with that act as well. Maybe we should call you Carro the Cunning.”

The girl looked up and frowned. ”You taught me well,” she said grumpily after a glance at her sister.

”We should be leaving before the smell of blood brings unwelcomed guests,” Kufae said, cleaning off the gore from the dagger on the deer's skin before returning the weapon to her belt.

After retrieving her bow, she threw the kill over her shoulders and they walked back to where the horses were tethered. As they approached the edge of the woods, they heard the bleating of goats since and walked cautiously towards noise. Kufae could see her brother talking to a hulking figure on a wagon drawn by a old wildebeest. It was a nervous conversation, she could tell. Beside them was a boy on foot, possibly the one in charge of the herd around his knees. He had an arrow nocked on his bow, though the weapon was decently lowered.

Kufae gestured for the Bumi girls to spread out and approach from different angles. She chose to take the most direct route. As they began to fan out to encircle the herdsmen, Carro stepped on a twig which cracked under her weight and Kufae found herself the dead target of an unwavering arrowhead.

Kufae already had her own bow leveled with the boy's chest. “I can dodge any arrow if I see it coming,” she said with no hint of fear. “Do you want to find out?”

“Well done, sister,” Ulugae called, barely hiding his relief on seeing them. He stood favouring his left leg to keep the pressure from the wound in his side. “This is Eduu and his son, gracious herdsmen.”

“Put that away, boy,” the man named Eduu snapped at his son. Then turning to Kufae, he went on amiably, “May the skyfather keep away the storm when you travel far from home.”

“May the skyfather bless you with everything you wish us,” she replied, kicking her way through the small herd of three goats to stand beside her horse. The northern girls followed the cue.

Eduu was a fat man with a dull face scarred by some infection that had never truly healed, his eyes watering. He cut an imposing figure with thick fingers hugging the sheathed sword that laid across his lap. The hilt was made of boar tusk and carved in the form of a vulture. “You travel a treacherous land, Edorian. My people are plagued with raiders, and these forest floor has listened to the last heartbeat for many of their kin. I don't think any of our chiefs would take kindly to intruders.”

“We are just passing through.”

“And why are Edorians so far away from the mountain?”

Kufae studied the man for a moment. “We have a message for a chief of one of the western tribes,” she said finally, returning her arrow to its quiver. It looked like a gesture of good fate. However, she knew if it came to close fighting, a sword would serve her better. Perhaps she could test the mettle of this man who was obviously not a herdsman.

“I am no chief,” Eduu said, “so I do take kindly to visitors. Sit and share some palm wine with me and my son. Let it not be said that Eduu the Herdsman turned his back on strangers.”

“It would not be said,” Carro replied, taking a step towards the wagon.

“Our message is an urgent one,” Kufae put in quickly, ignoring the confusion on the girl's face when she heard that. “The skyfather bless you for your hospitality but we must be on our way. Daylight is wasting.”

“But you said we could rest after the hunt,” the pregnant girl protested.

“My sister lies sometimes,” Ulugae replied, quick to grasp the situation. “Don't worry, you will get use to it.”

Kufae did not wait for a response, but walked over and began securing the deer to her mount's rump. When she was done, she untethered the horse and led it forward by the reins.

“If you will not drink with me,” Eduu said, “then accept my advice. The route west is patrolled by warriors of one of the biggest Abun camps. So keep away from the open fields.” This time, he spoke looking straight at Ulugae. “A mile from here, there is a stream. I still would not want to be traveling west with you, but follow the water and you stand a chance. It would take you around the camp.”

“We will,” Ulugae replied with a slight bow. “The skyfather bless you.”

The father and son watched them as they rode west, the fog thinning in front of them. Carro was all mourning for her lost rest, complaining of back pain and sand in her eyes. The others stayed alert though, taking the route through a forest of pine trees to hide their tracks on the fallen needles until they reached the valley and the stream. Kufae found shelter on one of the nearby hills and they made camp. From here, she had a decent view of the narrow pass into the valley while staying out of sight within the patchy treeline.

As they all tied their reins to the thicker bushes, Kufae made them keep the saddles on the horses in case they had to decamp quickly. The deer was eaten raw and Kufae found a good spot against the bough of a tree to rest, but she sat uneasy all the while. At last, the anticipated noise of pursuers came with the dying light of the sun. The others scrambled to her position when they heard the grunting of the wildebeests in the pass below.

“Who are they?” Farro asked as they watched the eight riders galloping along the muddy bank on their way west.

It was Ulugae who answered. “Friends of Eduu.”

“I do not understand. The herdsman sent riders after us?”

“He is no herdsman,” Kufae replied. “Three goats and such a valuable weapon to guard them with. That was a poor disguise if you ask me. The one good word out of his mouth was telling us to avoid the open fields. But he sent us down here so he would know where to find us.”

“Why would he want to attack us?”

Ulugae cleared his throat. “You were listening with your ears,” he said coolly. “They could barely hide their lust for our horses. I was afraid I would have had to fend them off before your return. My only worry was the fat man. He sat with the pose of someone who seemed quite deadly with that sword of his.”

“Your worry should have been the boy, brother,” Kufae said, listening to the hoofbeats fading in the distance.

“Why?”

“He is a shaman,” Kufae replied, leaving him in stunned silence as she hurried to her horse. “We must be on our way before the bandits realise we didn't go through the valley and ride back here.”

The pregnant girl had remained quiet through the conversation and Kufae did not shame her by glancing in her direction. However, it was a lesson learned, she hoped. Comfort was usually the forerunner for downfall in the game of survival. Kufae had learned so when the senior warriors use to send them out to patrol the mountain passes, sleeping beneath the stars for days at a time. It was hard to keep alert during idle hours and they would test each other. If anyone was able to breach the guard of another, the shameful tale would be told around the fires until the culprit reclaimed their pride.

Here, however, there was no tribe to shame Carro for her weakness and nobody expected a redeeming act, but perhaps the older girl would know better than to doubt Kufae's leadership again. As the group rode back through the pass and directed their horses northward, only the chorus of crickets came from their rear.

Memories of Rock

Memories of Rock (Song of the Risen 1) by J. E. Mfombep

Memories of Rock by J.E. MFOMBEP

Now avalaible on www.amazon.com for just 2.99$

DEBUT NOVELLA NOW AVAILABLE

"In a world that has bridged the realms of gods and mortals to throw forth a feast for ruthless demons and ambitious civilizations, there is always a score to settle.
And Bessem has one of her own. She is an unblooded with a desire for vengeance on those responsible for the slaughter of her family. However, as she would come to learn, the truth is only what you believe it to be. While Bessem sharpens her spear and prepares for the thrust, she would stumble upon a mark far greater than she bargained for. The hidden players of a deadly game have made their move. Now, in the midst of perilous politicking and the gathering clouds of a battle, she must make hers.
The Pantheon is the price."

DEBUT NOVELLA ALERT!!

Kufae and the Hunters

Kufae hurried up to the brambly bush where the two girls stood in the shadow of the great mountain. They had their heads bowed against the volcanic ash being blown around by the wind, grey flakes drifting this way and that.

“They are from my people,” Kufae said as she came upon the group.

“You saw them?”

“I know the sound of Edrorian horses,” she replied, stringing her bow. “We can not outrun them. You must hide in this bush while I lead away the hunters.”

None of them stirred, looking at her as if she had just asked them to jump into a fire. Perhaps she had. This would their first trial since following her and if they could not will themselves to push on even when their bodies screamed for an end, the girls would perish and drag her along with them.

“If we are lucky, the falling ash would conceal your footprints before the hunters reach this place,” Kufae told them. “They will see only mine and follow. Now go in there and hide. The hunters will do worse things to you if you are caught than those thorns against your skin.”

“I am pregnant,” one of them said, wide-eyed.

Kufae understood her worry but the situation could not be helped. “Then you go in first,” she replied, hardening her voice.

She touched an arrow to her bowstring before running away, wishing the girls would see the sense in her plan before the hunters were on them. Kufae sprinted for the giant wall of stone she knew was not too far away, cutting a straight path through the sparse woods, fear thick in her throat. All the way she expected an arrow in her back, chased by warriors who could pierce the eye of a horse from two hundred paces away. Kufae could not outrun the riders. The best she could hope for was to discourage a pursuit or make her stand on chosen ground. However, if it came to the latter, then she had lost already.

Kufae was scrambling up the cliffside when she heard the neigh of a horse frighteningly close. They had closed the distance. She took comfort in knowing the riders would not use the horses to climb the rocks, no matter how sure-footed the Edorian breeds could be. The warriors would be too exposed. Under the receding sunlight, Kufae risked a downward glance to see three figures halt at the feet of the cliff and dismounted. Just a hundred paces away, close enough to drop her like bird from its nest if she gave them a clear shot. Kufae quickly slipped behind a boulder and sort a different path upwards.

She reached the crest tired and panting only to find it a dead end. The only other path off the cliff was a sheer drop into a murky waterfall. She would have to make a stand after all, a possibility she did not relish. Kufae cursed her luck, knowing what she had to do, though somehow lacking the will. Each of the hunters were her match in skill and aggression. Her better gamble was a surprise attack to keep them off until nightfall. Then perhaps the dark would conceal her escape. She had to move fast before her pursuers reached the same conclusion.

As Kufae weighed her chances, a shadow fell over her and she spun around to see two warriors climbing on to the crest with drawn weapons. She quickly raised her bow as well, pointing to the woman on the right. Then the third hunter clambered up and, when the man saw Kufae, he smiled.

“Lower your weapons,” he told the others. The warrior was a huge fellow with broad shoulders, and a personal guard to the Edorian prince. “Now,” he went on when his companions hesitated.

Together, they all lowered their weapons very slowly as not to startle anyone. Kufae did not fail to notice more hesitation from the woman who was whispered to be a mistress of the prince and mother to one of his children. These hunters had a particular and rare skill. Loyalty. Kufae would not guilt herself out of this one. However, she had already concluded they were fools who obviously wanted to enjoy their power over her. But if they wanted to play around, the better for her to think of an escape.

“So it is true the prince sent those Fuli wanderers after me,” she said, her mind working. “And you were meant to finish them off, not me.”

The leader showed her the white of his teeth again. “So you spoke to those fools,” he said with a shrug. “That is why the prince could not trust them to master their tongues. So we were sent to finish off whoever was left standing.”

“Your father should have kept his mouth shut, Kufae,” the last hunter said.

She stared at the young warrior who had been her lover, before his marriage proposal was rebuffed by her parents. A nameless warrior was no fit match for the daughter of a shaman. He had pretended to take it in his stride and promised to proof himself worthy someday. She could not believe she had trusted him. Only Murae knew she would be by the river. They were suppose to meet there. It seemed her mother had the right of it. A nameless warrior had no honour, no reputation to protect.

Her chest swelled with a hatred she never knew she could muster, wishing Murae's death with the full strength of her imagination. Then without warning, the older boy jerked with a dead cry before dropping sideways to the ground, an arrow quivering in his back. They all stepped away in alarm, but the huntress was the first to recover and react. She leapt forward and struck, but Kufae had her blade out in a heartbeat to meet the blow. As the weapon was parried away, the woman used her momentum to knock her off balance and Kufae slammed into the cliff wall with a shuddering thump.

The air was almost knocked out of her as she fell to her knees, dirt dribbling on to her head. Kufae could hear a pair of fighters to her right, roaring and dancing. But when she looked up, all she saw was the flash of steel coming for her head. Kufae moved her body just a few inches before the jab came through to leave a painful sting on her cheek, the blade biting into the earthy wall behind her. Then she rose like a maniac with a wild swing of her sword to tear through leathers and skin, and heard a satisfying cry of pain.

Out of the corner of her eyes, Kufae saw the other hunter coming but could not react quickly enough. The man was fast as an iron grip closed around her wrist and a savage twist sent her sword clattering to the floor. Even as she screamed in agony, a leg connected with her chest and threw her to the floor. The warrior was still on the move, picking up her sword and advancing. But the man had barely taken two steps forward before an arrow appeared through his stomach. He gaped down at the bloody metal, surprised. Then another burst through his chest and his legs went from under him.

Over the hump of the dying hunter, Kufae saw her step-brother nocking a third shaft, his own leather vest soaked in blood. She quickly reached for her sword, sensing the presence behind her. When Kufae rose to her feet and looked around, the huntress was on the edge of the cliff, a hand clasped under her armpit even as blood sipped through her fingers. The woman gave one last glance at the archer before leaping off. Kufae rushed to the edge in time to see her hit the churning waters below. She did not know how long she kept on staring, somehow stunned by the feat.

“You think she will survive?” Ulugae asked, walking up to her.

That was the least of Kufae's worries. “I think she needed the bath,” she replied nonetheless. “You are hurt,” she went on as she took the boy in her arms.

He gave a faint grunt. “I will survive it.”

She nodded, seeing the small gash in his side. “What are you doing here?” she asked, walking over to cut strips of cloth from the bodies and bind the wound.

“Mother sent me for you when she saw them leave the camp,” Ulugae replied. “So I followed them.”

Kufae's heart sunk at the news, fearing for her family. But there was nothing more she could do for them now. Her step-brother's presence here was a clear message from the old woman.

“We can not return to the camp,” she told the younger boy and he grunted knowingly.

“I accepted Mother's decision to ride out,” Ulugae said with the demeanor of an older man. “And now my blade is yours to command, sister.”

“I am glad to hear it,” Kufae said, tightening the last knot.

“Where do we go now?”

“We are going north to the Bumi people,” Kufae replied, smiling at the confusion on the boy's face but giving no further clarification. She took comfort in his presence though as they walked down the cliff. Perhaps they could survive this exile together.

                                                             ***

By J.E. Mfombep

Kufae and the Fuli raiders

Kufae approached the small camp on silent feet, one arm held over her face. She had tried to come as close as possible while still concealed by the falling clouds of volcanic ash. When she could hear drunken laughter somewhere close ahead as the haze of grey whipped and swirled in the wind, Kufae settled down then, lying on her stomach and grimacing at the protest of her tired muscles. She had been tracking the men for a week with little sleep and even less food. The Fuli raiders had made no attempt to confuse their trail, unaware they were being pursued. It would not have mattered even if the men had tried to throw her off. This was her land. Kufae had been born in these hills, running with the herds and fending off hyenas and dancing with snakes. She knew every nook and cranny, every cave and goat trail. The raiders were just passing through.

Carefully, she attached the hide string to one end of her bow and fitted the loop over the nocked end. The raiders had been foolish enough to leave the bow beside her body when they left her for dead. The Fuli people were not bowmen, and so the weapon must have been of no value to them. A cleverer man would have severed the bowstring at least so the bow did not fall into the hands of another enemy. It was their first mistake, but not their worse. Their peril would come from the fact that they had underestimated her will to live. The raiders had raped and choked her until she was unconscious before abandoning her body for the hyenas and vultures. She would lend them a lesson she had learned in a hard land. Never leave an enemy behind.

The concentration of the pursuit and willful neglect had dulled the ache between her legs. However, the stunned feeling of the attack was just beginning to fade. Kufae had been scavenging for firewood around the river when the men had appeared out of the gathering dusk. She had barely been able to string the bow before they were on her, pounding with fists and legs until she was dazed and bleeding. Then they had raped her. Kufae had struggled at first, even biting off a chunk from someone's ear. But their anger and frustration had only intensified the beating. She felt bile rise in the back of her throat at the memory of the stench and wetness of their sweat against her skin. The men had not only dared to trespass through the land of her people, but also to attack a daughter of the mountain. This valley would be their grave.

It did not take long for the flakes of ash to settle on Kufae's back and make her invisible as she stared across the camp about fifty paces away. The wind had subsided so she could see the five figures huddled at the feet of the rocky outcrop. Closest to her position were the three men, talking and laughing over the carcass of some kill. She frowned at the two arrows in front of her then. In truth, Kufae had not really thought of an entire plan. All she had wanted was to make sure the raiders did not escape. Surprise was her better gamble and the two arrows would have to do.

Kufae put the first shaft between her teeth and touched the other to her bowstring, moving slowly as not to disturb the blanket of ash that had built on her body. It was now a waiting game and patience was her friend. She controlled her breathing, taking some pleasure in being the hunter. However, it was hard to remain sharp as tiredness descended on her as if it was a physical force, her thoughts drifting sluggishly like leaves in a lake.

It was an uneventful wait before a sudden movement in the camp caught her attention. One of the other two figures had dashed between two of the Fuli raiders.

“Stop,” one of the men cried as they all jumped to their feet. Two raiders gave chase and the man who had shouted unsheathed a sword.

“Get her,” the third warrior called, though he stayed back to guard the camp.

Kufae had tensed, blood pounding in her ears as her pulse quickened. The running figure was a girl, her wrists still tied together as she sprinted across the valley. The race would bring them past her position, Kufae realised, not believing her luck. She waited for the girl to run past before rising from the ashes like something out a nightmare. Both men skidded to a halt in surprise and Kufae drew back until the fletching brushed against her ear before releasing. The arrow punched into the chest of the first man to throw him on to his back, the sword flying from his hand. The second warrior stared at her in panic and confusion, and it was all the time she needed to nock and fire her next arrow. The man dropped with a thud, his face smashing into the thick carpet of ash.

Kufae stared over the bodies to the last of the raiders, the boy who had choked her. When their eyes met, she saw his sneer and anger overwhelmed her. Kufae dropped her bow and charged. When the young warrior saw this, he ran forward as well, unsheathing his dagger with a smirk. Then Kufae picked up the sword of the dead man and saw the boy's confident strides falter. However, the Fuli did not stop and she felt a pang of respect for that. The boy dashed forward with a desperate jab at her chest but Kufae swung away, bringing the sword around in a stroke of mastered precision to tear through leather and tendons. The warrior stumbled to a knee with a howl of pain. And Kufae swung again to slice at the muscles of the other leg so the Fuli collapsed on to his haunches, blood streaming from the wounds.

As the warrior cursed and writhed on the ground, she looked around the camp to see the frightened faces staring back at her. Besides the other girl tied in the corner, there was nothing of worth, confirming her suspicion these men were just lowly raiders out to steal a wife and make a name. It was surprising they even had a good sword between them. Kufae looked across the valley to see that the runner had stopped. She nodded at the bewildered girl in assurance.

“What will you do with me?” the young Fuli asked between sobs. “I have things I can give to you.”

“You have nothing,” she snapped, the sword dropping so the razor-sharp blade rested on the boy's throat, teasing out the fear. “You were taking girls back to your tribe, though you are still young to take care of a wife. I guess you would have been trading them for a good sword or a fine horse. So why did you not kidnap me as well?”

“We saw you are Edorian,” the Fuli whimpered. “Our people want nothing to do with your dirty blood.”

Kufae smiled bitterly and walked away. She would not tell him the irony of his words, knowing it would be lost on a Fuli. After cutting out her arrows from the bodies, she went through their leathers to come up with just two daggers and some food. Kufae sighed, disappointed. There was food at least. She strode back and cut off the restrains of the girls. They were all bigger than her, and one of them was pregnant, perhaps more than three-moons-old. Had these raiders been traveling for that long?

“You are free now,” she told them, brushing ash from her dreadlocks and eye brows. “You can return to your tribe and families.”

“Where do we go now?” the pregnant girl asked. “We am from the Bumi people, far to the north. I would never make it there. And you just killed the father of my child. He was taking us to the protection of his people.”

When Kufae looked around at her, the girl must have seen something in her eyes because she took a step back. “Have you ever been to the Fuli camp?” Kufae asked the older girl. “There are no women there who have seen more than forty rains. Do you know why? When you will be unable to give birth anymore, the father of that child and all the children he would have had on you, will throw you out of the tribe. You will be of no use to him, not when he has younger wives and children to feed. Do you still wish to meet the Fuli people?”

“Lying whore,” the young raider called and she rounded on him. The lower part of the boy's body was drenched in dark blood. He would never be able to walk again, she had made sure of that.

“You want a quick death, Fuli?” Kufae asked and he winced as if she had just read his mind. “I will not give it to you,” she went on. “There are hyenas in these hills and they will smell the blood. Maybe your shouts will scare them away at first. But they will become bolder and you will be eaten alive. Even the hyenas deserve better, but you will do.”

There was true horror on the young raider's face now. “Please,” he begged, flinging his arms around. “Please, have mercy.”

But Kufae was already walking away.

“What will happen to us now?” the girl who had been running away called from up the valley. ''My sister and I would not survive out here.”

“I can not take you to your families,” Kufae told them, “but come with me and I will teach you how to survive long enough to get there.”

They butchered what was left of the goat's carcass and shared the weight between them, strapped to their backs. The party of girls was walking away when the young raider screamed for attention. “I can tell you how we knew you will be by the river,” he shouted. “You are Kufae, daughter of Hurae the shaman, are you not?”

Kufae stopped in her tracks as a chill crept up her neck, her gut tightening. 

                                                                *** 

By J.E. Mfombep

Before The Calm

The mist is thick and suffocating, smelling of wet grass and rain as he hurries towards the gate. Molua is still thinking of the text message he just received he did not hear the car creep up on him until the honk that pulls him out of his head. “Good morning, sir,” he greets in his most polite voice as the window rolls down.
“You should be working,” his bald-headed boss replies instead. The man is dressed in a shirt meant for a smaller physique, the buttons straining against the pressure of his bulging stomach. In the passenger's seat is a beautiful girl young enough to be his daughter. “Where are you going to?”
“My wife, sir,” Molua says. “She is in labour.”
The man gives him a curious look, unimpressed. “And who is in the kitchen?”
“Olu has accepted to fill in for me until I return.”
The hotel manager shakes his head in disapproval. “There is too much work at the moment,” he says. “You can not leave now.”
“But, sir...”
“Go back to your post. If you are not there when I come back, do not bother to return.”
With that, the car speeds away and Molua watches it get swallowed by the fog, its rear lights fading. He stands at the threshold of the gate, rooted in indecision. They both know the denial has nothing to do with the work load. The manager is too proud to say Molua is the best cook they have had in a long time, and the quality in the kitchen will suffer in his absence. For an employee like that, you might think they will treat him better. He has worked in the hotel kitchens for over five years yet he has never received a motivational package even by mistake. Now they would not let him go to his wife, just as they had done the past two times.
He pulls out his phone and reads the text message again.
“You wife is in labour and we are going to the hospital now. She needs you here. Hurry.”
Molua makes his decision and walks out the gate. His wife needs him. This is her third pregnancy, though the last two were stillbirths. He has always wondered if things would have been different if he had been by her side, to comfort her in their grief at least. Instead, he had been at the hotel, working for money which did not seem to make his life any happier. His marriage has been distant for some time now and Molua has never been able to shake off the guilt.
It was already raining by the time the taxi drops him off at the central station. He is instantly deafened by the shouts of hawkers and the speakers of mobile carts and the honking of cars and bikes alike. He makes his way through the chaotic press, always one step ahead of a bumper or a front wheel. The cars are trying to avoid the commercial bikes that squeeze between them, the pedestrians dodging the bikes and the buses swerving away from the pedestrians. It is a miracle there has been no accident yet, everybody shouting at somebody.
“Get out of my way, useless boy,” a grey-haired man was shouting angrily to a biker who had just appeared in front of his taxi. “You look like a missed abortion.”
“Shut up, old man,” the biker retorted. “If I was your son, I will not have escaped the abortion. Where were you when your age mates were making use of their youth?”
The transporters are well-known for their foul tongue, but leave it to the weather to make everything worse. Molua leaves them still insulting each other, sheets of rain twisting around him. He is soaked to the bone by the time he reaches the Guarantee Highway agency and makes his way through a line of their distinctive red and black buses. The clerk at the desk frowns up at the shivering apparition who is dripping water onto their pristine floor.
“Welcome to Guarantee Highway, sir,” she says nonetheless with a rehearsed smile. “How may I help you?” “I will like a ticket to Buea.”
“Our last bus to Buea just left, sir. I am sorry.”
Molua steps back in disappointment, his teeth chattering. He would have prayed for his wife to have a safe delivery but he feels it was futile. If there is truly a God, why do the undeserving suffer? He has just lost his job, been beaten by the rain, and missed the last bus to see his wife and the possible birth of his first child. How could the day get any worse? He must be the unluckiest man in the world right now. Perhaps if he buys a mortuary, people might just stop dying. Molua wonders whether to hurry back to the hotel and take a chance his boss might still be away. With the way his day has been, he doubts the likelihood. However, more than anything in the world, he just wants to be with his wife. It has been too long already.
“Molua,” a soft voice whispers behind him.
Molua glances over a shoulder to see a familiar face. “Ndip?” he replies as he turns to face her, still unsure. “Yes,” the girl says, beaming behind expensive medical glasses. She is dressed in a pink suit and skirt, tailored from the kind of material needed for high office. “It has been a long time.”
Ten years, he wanted to say but Molua's voice deserts him. He could hardly have recognised her without the usual torn uniform and dirty fingernails. She was his 'soft drink girl' in high school, he remembers, another girl on a list of many. Their break up had been hard on her until she had to move to another school. Of all the people whom he could run into, why Ndip? It seemed somebody was trying to make all his nightmares come true. So the day could get worse after all.
“Sorry but I overheard you tell the clerk you are going to Buea,” she explains. “I am heading up there myself, if you do not mind joining me.”
“Of course not,” he replies. Perhaps the dark cloud hovering of his day has a silver lining, and this was it.
But he discovers the lie of that as they begin the journey to Buea. It turns out Ndip is a successful writer with a wonderful life, and she is just too glad to talk of it. Her husband is a renowned doctor who works for the UN and she is from dropping off her son in a boarding school. His first child would have been of the same age, if the girl had lived. His companion did not even seem to notice him grow silent at the thought. He had led a happy and contented life even when the pregnancy came along. Molua had never known such excitement and expectation. It had been a wonderful feeling. What kind of God will tease with such things before taking all of it away, again and again?
The rain had subsided to a drizzle now as their car came upon a scene less than a mile away from the station. There was a small crowd gathered beside the road and Molua could see the twisted form of car in the bushes to their left, bits of glass scattered across the road. Then as their own car slows down, he sees the upturned carriage of a bus, its tyres raised to the sky. Molua instantly recognises the red and black striping of the Guarantee Highway buses.
“Oh my God!” Ndip exclaims as she pulls over. “What happened here?” she asks the first witness they meet. “An accident, madame,” the man replies with both hands still on his head. “A driver lost control of his bus and crashed into incoming traffic. All forty of them are dead.”


                                                                 THE END

By J.E. Mfombep