The Spirit Quest cotpl-2 Read online

  His pulse pounded in his ears, and he suddenly realized he had been holding his breath. Exhaling with a rush, he laughed aloud in sheer delight. "Gods, this is so beautiful!"

  Makedde smiled at him. "Now you see why I live at the edge of the forest."

  "Father said it was because you were a hermit."

  The older mandrill burst out laughing. "On the contrary. I live here because I prefer EVERYONE’S company."

  "Huh?"

  "Come on, I'll show you around." Makedde jumped lightly down to the bottom of a wadi and motioned to Metutu to follow. Shrugging, the younger mandrill complied, following as his brother strolled slowly along the channel.

  "Metutu, if you limit your experiences, you limit your knowledge. Sometimes the wisest statement is a question. Do you understand?"

  "Uh, I guess.”

  Makedde smiled. “Once there were three brothers. One who knew, one who knew who knew, and one who knew nothing. When the evil spirits came to the one who knew, the one who knew knew what to do. The one who knew who knew what to do asked the one who knew and then he too knew what to do. The one who knew nothing to do knew too late that he should have known who knew what he did not know.”

  Metutu was busy counting on his fingers and whispering to himself. “Run that by me again?”

  Makedde laughed. “Just remember this. The path of wisdom begins with curiosity and ends with enlightenment.”

  “Oh!” Metutu smiled.

  Later the two paused under the shade of a thorny acacia to rest. Makedde glanced up at the sun, observing the orb's position in the sky. "My boy, it is highsun. Why don't we sit down and eat lunch."

  "Whassa matter, you too old and tired to keep going?" Metutu teased gently. He tugged slightly at the beard jutting from his older brother's chin. "Look at that. Shot with gray already. Tell us a story, Gramps!"

  Makedde chuckled lightly, tossing him a breadfruit with great dexterity. "Young pup. All right, eat your lunch and I will."

  Metutu grinned, forearms flexing as he tore the fruit in half and handed a piece back to his brother. He bit deeply, enjoying the feeling of the juice running down his chin. Wiping it away, he chewed slowly as Makedde began to speak.

  "A long time ago in the reign of the great king Ramalah-"

  "What kind of a name is that?" Metutu laughed. "Ramalah? What was he, a gibbon?"

  Makedde frowned. "Metutu, Ramalah was once the Lion King of the Pride Lands. Over thirty generations ago, he and his ilk were absolute rulers of this land."

  Metutu stopped laughing immediately. "The Lion King? Really?"

  "Yes. Their land is much smaller now, and lies far to the west."

  Metutu gazed across the land. "Wow. Do you think we'll see a lion?"

  "Doubtful. They rarely venture this far out." Makedde cleared his throat. "Anyway, Ramalah's wife Chakula had given birth to twin sons, N'ga and Sufa. Now the queen has many responsibilities, and so she must often leave her cubs in the care of another. The queen's favorite baby-sitter was Alba, her younger sister."

  Makedde scratched his leg idly and smoothed the fur back into place.

  "One day, while N'ga and Sufa were being watched by Alba, they were caught in a cave-in."

  "What's that?"

  "You remember what Busara's home looks like? The Chief Scribe?"

  "Yes."

  "Well, imagine what would happen if the roof fell in. That's a cave-in."

  Metutu looked horrified. "Gods, that's awful! What happened?"

  "Well, the three lions were trapped in the cave. One day passed, and then another. N'ga and Sufa grew weak with hunger, for young cubs need milk, and Alba had none to give. So she opened the veins in her foreleg and gave the two cubs her lifeblood, to sustain them until Chakula freed them several days later."

  "Oh, no!" Metutu looked stricken. "Did Alba die?"

  "Yes."

  "But why? She didn't do anything wrong!"

  "She gave her life so that the cubs would live, brother. And her sacrifice has never been forgotten, for the red flower of Alba, 'the blood of mercy,' is a shaman's most prized medicine." Makedde stretched, then rose, picking up his staff. "Time to get on."

  As Makedde walked back slowly, he wondered at the deep silence from his young brother. “Maybe I pushed it too far too fast,” he fretted. “He may not be ready.”

  "Makedde?"

  He turned to look at Metutu.

  "I was talking with Asumini the other day."

  "Which day?" Makedde chuckled. "You talk with her quite often, brother."

  Metutu socked him in the arm lightly. "I'm serious, Makedde!"

  "OK. What about?"

  "She told me...well...'Greatness is a matter of the heart, not an accident of birth.'"

  Makedde's heart sang as he fought to keep still. "That's very true."

  "You think so?" Metutu smiled, relieved. "I think Alba was pretty great, don't you?"

  "Indeed."

  “I mean, I bet Mom would have done that for us.”

  Makedde smiled. “I know she would have. Love is the source of all greatness.” Makedde resumed walking, Metutu alongside. "There are countless others just like her. Her sacrifice is an example. Others may not give up as much as she, but their gifts are never ignored by Aiheu."

  Metutu looked at him wonderingly. "I thought you sounded like Asumini. You believe in Him too?"

  The mandrill smiled openly. "I do. His teachings are not those of trickery and deceit, but love and trust. These are the things I would share with you, brother. And they are all I ask in return."

  “Then I guess I believe in Aiheu.”

  Makedde hugged his brother roughly, then patted his shoulder. “I see promise in you, my brother. Great things lie within your grasp.”

  Makedde finally stopped. "Ah! Here we are."

  Metutu looked ahead, seeing the dead tree they had sighted this morning. "So what? It's a tree."

  "Nope. Look closer." The two moved up next to the tall spire. Metutu ran a hand along it and was surprised to see small grains flake away at his touch. "Why, it's made of dirt!" He looked around, warily.

  "What made this?"

  "Look down."

  Metutu glanced down and saw tiny forms scurrying madly at their feet. "Ugh! Termites! They made this?"

  "Indeed." Makedde knelt and scooped a handful up, watching them crawl frantically about on his palm. "Tiniest of creatures, yet they build homes as hard as rock, and as tall as trees. They are the epitome of hard work, Metutu. But too much is just as bad as not enough."

  "Hmm?"

  Makedde knelt and gently brushed the insects off. "They toil all their lives, yet take no time to enjoy the beauty of the earth, and the gifts that Aiheu has blessed us with. To find happiness, Metutu, you must find some kind of middle ground." Makedde turned away and resumed walking back the way they had came.

  They had only walked a short distance when Makedde paused. "No, this will not do."

  "What's wrong?"

  "My brother, you follow me like the jackal pups follow their mother. Roam if you like. Stop and smell a flower. Look at a cloud. Enjoy yourself, for goodness sake!" Makedde laughed and ruffled Metutu's head roughly.

  "Cut it out!" Metutu laughed, poking Makedde in the ribs. The older mandrill yelped, falling back as Metutu tackled him playfully. The two rolled about in the grass, laughing and giggling wildly. Tiring finally, they lay on their backs quietly, staring upward at the brilliant azure sky.

  "Look! There goes a bird!"

  "What?" Metutu looked curiously. "I don't see any birds, except for a vulture in that tree over there."

  "He probably thinks we're his dinner," Makedde chuckled. "I'm happy to disappoint him. No, I'm talking about that cloud up there. See it? It looks like a little bird."

  Metutu stared hard. "I don't get it."

  "See the end? That's the beak. And that part on top is a wing..."

  "Oh!" Metutu exclaimed. "I see it! I see it!" He laughed delightedly. "It does l
ook like a bird!" He peered about avidly, his eyes roving from spot to spot. "Look! There's a tortoise!"

  "Where? Oh! Yes, you're right!"

  "And look at that one!" Metutu leaped up and ran a short distance. "There's a hare! And look at that one!" He giggled. "That one looks like old Umbogi from the council...see his potbelly?"

  "Oh gods, don't let him hear you say that!" Makedde laughed. "I see it, though, you're right!"

  Metutu pointed. "Look! That looks like a lion!"

  Makedde peered curiously. "Where?" He looked about, but couldn't see even the faintest wisp of cloud where Metutu was pointing.

  "Right there!" Metutu laughed. "It looks more like a lioness, actually. But she's all white instead of golden." He stared up dreamily, then giggled. "She looks like she's smiling at me."

  Makedde looked again at the empty sky where Metutu was peering, then down to his brother. His skin tingled as he looked at Metutu with renewed interest. "Yes, I suppose she is, brother."

  CHAPTER 9: THE JOYS OF WORK

  The more Metutu found out about work, he realized that good feelings were a small part of every job. That more often than not there were other feelings--weariness, perspiration, and sometimes boredom. As he began helping his brother Makedde, he expected to feel as good as he did giving his dinner to Wajoli. But after the initial burst of pride, he took a full dose of reality. Metutu was not yet skilled, and so he was most useful doing hard labor, freeing up Makedde for his thriving medical practice.

  Campa root was a valuable resource in shamanic medicine. It was also easy to recognize and almost indestructible. This made gathering Campa a great way to break in a new apprentice.

  Metutu kept repeating to himself one of the verses that helped him remember what he was after:

  Three leaves out, and two leaves back,

  Leaves of green, and berries black;

  Good for your stomach, great for your skin,

  Keeps your hair from getting thin!

  After nearly three hours of pulling Campa, he had a very large stack of leaves to discard, and a precious small hoard of root tips. It was almost more than he could bear to see how little of a gourd he could fill with the prize.

  Disgusted with himself and his job, Metutu headed back for lunch, half decided to quit. He walked into the baobab. “Brother, we need to talk.”

  “Just a moment.” Makedde was busy with a small mandrill child. “Open your mouth, son.”

  The boy gaped open. “Ah, I see. Is it sore around here?”

  “Ahh haa,” the boy said.

  “But it isn’t making you cough?”

  “Ahh ahh.”

  “Fine. You can close now.” Makedde smiled. “It’s a sore throat, and not serious at that. We’ll give you something for the discomfort, and maybe even a pinch of Tiko Root. You like that?”

  “Yes sir!”

  Makedde rubbed the boy’s head affectionately. “Jamala, you make sure he takes three of these crushed in a cup of water every morning, highsun and evening for pain. Two days worth should do it, but if it’s still bothering him, you know where to find me.” He got a sprig of Tiko root and handed it to the boy. “Aren’t you growing like a weed! Soon, I’ll have to look up to see you eye to eye!”

  The boy laughed and chomped down on his Tiko root.

  When they were gone, Makedde looked to Metutu. “I don’t know how I’d get it all in without your help!” He took the gourd. “That’s a lot of Campa root. Are you sure that was empty when you got it?”

  “Yes, brother.”

  “Impressive. Now what did you want to talk with me about?”

  Metutu smiled shyly. “I forgot. I guess it wasn’t that important.”

  CHAPTER 10: THE PATIENCE OF AIHEU

  The sweat rolled down Metutu's face, dripping off the end of his nose and making it itch. But he didn't dare raise a hand to wipe it away. He glared fiercely at the Euphorbia he was trying to uproot. Makedde had cautioned that he needed the plant undamaged; the virtue of the roots lay right at the skin. Scraped, they were almost worthless.

  Metutu was locked in mortal combat with the plant. He bared his teeth and grinned at the root. “Sooner or later, you’re going to be conquered, and I’m going to laugh at you! You hear me??”

  Of course the plant did not hear him. Metutu felt a little foolish arguing with it. He looked at the sensitive root endings exposed to the air and decided against using the sharp wooden digging stick Makedde had given him. Sighing, he set it aside and used much of his precious water ration to moisten the soil. Then he worked with his fingers to carefully scoop away the mud. He hissed in irritation as he felt his fingertips scrape against the small rocks embedded in the mud, but continued to uncover more and more of the plant until it finally gave up. Metutu had managed to outthink a plant, and he grinned in triumph.

  “Stupid old weed! Did you really think you could win against my superior intelligence??”

  Metutu bore the hard-won prize back toward his home in the baobab. The sun was hot, and he had no water left to quench his thirst. Worse, the mud that had caked on his hands was hardening into a cement that served to irritate the scratches in his skin. “Next time I’ll think to bring more water.”

  There was a patient with Makedde. Uwezo looked miserable, and he was. Metutu was hoping to find Makedde alone to share his moment of triumph. And though he was loathe to interrupt a patient, he felt he should quickly show his brother him the bulb. “Hey, look what I got!”

  Makedde looked up a little upset. “That’s nice. Right now I’m in the middle of....oh, look at your hands!”

  “Oh, I scraped them.”

  “Why not go pound your head on a rock while you’re at it!” Makedde sighed at the reckless youth. "God only gives you one pair of hands. There will always be more bulbs."

  Uwezo laughed. “You know, that reminds me of....” He winced. “My sore throat. Sorry.”

  Makedde turned back to examining Uwezo. “Metutu, the Bedango extract is right in the....” He looked around to point, but Metutu was already rubbing down his hands. “Hfff, well pardon me!”

  Metutu dried his hands and stood next to Makedde to watch Uwezo describe his symptoms in dreary detail.

  “I couldn’t sleep last night,” Uwezo droned on. “Today, however, all I wanted to do is sleep. Then when I lay my head down my pulse pounds in my ears. Tic tic tic all the time. I have a headache and my throat is sore. And there’s this dryness in my nose.”

  “Not to mention the itching under your arms,” Metutu said.

  “Yeah, that too.” He looked at the young mandrill. “I didn’t know you were a shaman too?”

  “Not yet,” Makedde said. “So great Metutu, what is your diagnosis?”

  "Brother, that sounds like Dol Sani."

  Makedde burst out laughing, along with his patient. "Dol Sani is a CHILDHOOD disease. And, well, LOOK at him!"

  The rather robust mandrill was a bodyguard for Kinara. He smiled indulgently. “Oh PWEEZE don’t tell my mommy!”

  “So you’ve never had it before?” Metutu asked.

  “Well no.”

  “That’s right. You were an only child and you grew up on the edge of the village.” Metutu looked at Makedde with a wry grin.

  “But he MUST have had it at SOME time,” said Makedde, unbelievingly. “Everyone gets that growing up. I mean, it’s almost tribal law.” He laughed.

  Metutu shrugged. "I guess so. Still, the itchy arm pits. I was asked for my opinion...."

  Metutu climbed down to collect more herbs. He resolved to make no more diagnoses that day.

  "That's a fine young brother you've got there, Makedde."

  "Indeed, Uwezo. He's come a long way." Makedde chuckled as he bent over him again, his sensitive hands exploring under the other mandrill's jaw, testing the glands there. "I remember when you couldn't GET him to use his own hands to pick up something. Now I can't get him to keep his hands off..." he broke off, frowning. Makedde sat back and looked at him. "Did
you say your joints ache?"

  Uwezo looked at him, confused. "Yes, a little. I'm not old enough for the Mifupa, am I?"

  "No, that's different." Makedde stroked his chin and grinned wryly. "By the gods, I think he's right! You DO have Dol Sani!"

  Uwezo looked worried. "How? I will be a laughingstock!"

  Makedde patted him. "Nonsense. Nothing will be said by me or Metutu. Just tell them you have—hmmm--acute pediatric aesthenia."

  “I’m glad you think my Pediatric whatever is cute, but let’s just say that I have the flu and leave it at that.”

  “Fine.” He gave Uwezo an elixir of Protothecus milleri. “Now drink this.”

  “Ugh! It smells nasty.”

  “Dwink it or I WILL tell your mommy!”

  Uwezo did not appreciate the joke, but he did appreciate blackmail. He downed the awful remedy that left him reeking of sulfur. “Oh gods!” He took the water gourd offered by Makedde and downed it all in a couple of gulps. “Ugh! Nasty stuff!”

  He turned to leave. “You’re welcome,” Makedde said grimly. As Uwezo walked away, Makedde watched him. He muttered, “You DO have a cute pediatric aesthenia....” Laughing, he thought about Metutu’s emerging diagnostic skills. “I have to tell him about it."

  Hearing a noise below, he looked down. “Metutu, I want to tell you something.”

  But it was Kinara, his father. He looked upset.

  "You could live a little closer to the ground, like civilized folk." Kinara was short of breath.

  Makedde sighed. "What can I do for you, Father? Those backaches again?"

  Kinara said, “Haven’t you done enough already?”