Oontab [Episode 27]

Fonjam

Fonjam huddled himself in the pit in the valley and prayed to the gods. He had intended to run away, as far as he could run, no matter how far he could go away from Gardutkar, and never return. But the thought was dim, because he remembered the mysterious pit beyond the mountain walls surrounding the village and besides, even at the slightest chance, it was now impossible to go any farther because he had been injured.

He had betrayed the friendship of his close friend, King Greda, the one who saved his life and whose life he had saved many times before, and now, what awaited him he deserved to the full measure. But he would be safe here; he would. They had met here before, those nights when they would steal away through the night and climbed the hills with Edongo, Choriki and the others. And now he was here once more, waiting for a meeting with rage himself. He heard footsteps and when he looked up, he saw the silhouette of three men against the dim moon, two huge ones at the sides of the third, who was smallish and had an extension above his head like a woman’s hair when it was undone. He knew exactly who it was.
“Fonjam!” King Greda roared from the top.

Fonjam did not reply even though he knew it did not help the situation. Answering did not either.

“Fonjam! Why did you do this?!” He spoke, knowing that the tracks he followed were correct in where they had stopped. He had grown up with Fonjam and watched him all his life. He remembered when he would climb a tree at night and give a signal from his end of the village close to the palace and Fonjam was in a tree on another end of the village to give a reply, those nights they had gone to climb the hills with the others. He remembered when a snake had bitten Fonjam and he called for the Spokesman to help him. He had called Fonjam in to be one of his guards and yet kept guard over him. The men they were many years ago was not the same as who they were now; silhouettes under a dim moon; shadows.

“Leave.” King Greda told the guards who hesitated for a few seconds before turning and leaving.
Fonjam saw the other two silhouettes leave.

King Greda maneuvered down the side of the pit with a mild slope. He slowly made his way to the bottom. “Fonjaaaaam! Why?!”

“I…am sorry…”

“Sorry cannot undo what you have done! You were my best friend!”

“I did not mean to…”

“Then who will pay for your atrocities?”

There was heavy breathing.“Whoooo?!” King Greda’s fists were trembling and ready to fly. He threw the fist at his friend’s face and shifted his nose. Fonjam was seeing stars when another blow ended his eyesight for a moment. Three more blows took Fonjam flying up and into the pool again. King Greda let his rage spread like a wildfire as he dropped his fist into Fonjam’s face until he almost did not have a face that was useful. He was weeping in deep agony from the mixed feelings of love, betrayal, shock, hatred, confusion and failed expectations in his marriage to Dakumet and his reign as King as he dug deeper. “You would have told me at the beginning and I might have let you…”

The man coughed blood and began to puke his guts.

“Please…don’t kill me…friend…” he pleaded. And at that, King Greda fetched the flesh at the side of Fonjam’s face with his fist and watched him bleed. All the man could do was cough blood, and when he could not do that anymore, he closed his eyes and did not open them again. Then he stopped breathing. The shallow pool of the pit was now red with the blood of a man. King Greda, bolted up, realizing that Fonjam was no more, and after a few moments of staring into the dead man’s face, he took the body and dragged it out into the mud to find a place to hide it.

He had dug a hole and put the body in it before he started to think. He had just killed a man with his bare hands; not just any man, but Fonjam. He did not really intend for it to end that way, or did he? Fonjam had stolen his wife. Was that not all? What would the gods say about it? Wasn’t he right to take justice into his hands? Even if Fonjam died in the process, it was still right, wasn’t it? Sometimes, some people die when the workings of justice were in progress. He was the King after all.

Suddenly, he felt cold shudders go down his spine when the full realization of his action dawned on him. It dawned on him so fast. Just some minutes ago, he had a chance to forgive the man, but he did not. Now he knew why his wife was not very open to him from the start. She loved Fonjam! Now he was dead at the hand of his best friend. He regretted marrying her. He regretted listening to Fonjam’s advice to marry. It was in his best interest, but with wrong timing. Was it possible another way? The truth was that he had done the wrong thing, and he deserved what he got. 

He thought about Dakumet and his child – no, that was not his child, it was a bastard – and did not know what to do with her. As for the child, all he knew was that the child was not the prince. What would he tell them when he got back to the village?

Fonjam ran away, and it is only a matter of time before he would reach the cliff at the edge of the hills, days away and then fall off or die of hunger.

The guards still were not sure if there was anything at the bottom of the pit, so it slipped from their proper consideration.

He was in such a pool of thoughts, so rapid and random and intensely dark that he could not tell what he would do next. His eyes welled up again and gave off a free outpour of tears, reacting to the cloud that had formed in his mind and the fire that was burning his heart, consuming his dear soul’s sanity. He was trembling all over…

Qwindri

Qwindri’s laughter must have startled the smaller creatures, because they had been slumbering, and they were shaken.

“The blood works!” He kept screaming through the evil dome until Lived called him forth.
“Well?!” The monster beckoned.

“Yes, yes. The blood from the child, that drop that was preserved, it can get one and only one creature through to the other side.” Qwindri said confidently. Lived rested his head on the branch he had for an arm and after a silent moment, he said,

“And?”

“Yes, yes, yes. And if one creature can go, then he will make way for you too… for all of us to pass through.”

On saying his last words, Qwindri brought a translucent stone from a hole on the side of the stump that he had as a body, and inside the stone was a maroon substance, most probably the blood of which he had spoken.

“Go.”

“Master?”

“I want you to go. Use it and enter the land. Give the King the key since the backward path can only be opened from that side.”

“…and we can all pass through –“

“Yes, we will. Now go!”

Qwindri left to mix his substances, with nothing on his mind but the ways of havoc.

Greda

King Greda heard a loud fizz in the sky; he saw a twinkle behind the clouds that seemed to zip through the sky and down towards Hona Mountains on the east, that is, on the less steep side of the plateau. He began thinking that it was a moving star when it seemed to splash on the ground where it landed and break into many pieces. He dabbed at his eyes with the back of his hand to wipe the tears and sniffing mucus, he got up and followed the star.

Kanaka

Kanaka’s scar hurt and it woke him up from sleep. He had had the nightmare again after so many years of silence from the other side, and he sat up and twisted his arm towards the dim moon light to look at it; it looked normal, but it hurt painfully. He took a clay keg and went behind his house, the one he had built close to Rubinto’s, to fetch some water from a bigger clay vessel, frozen in the cold of the night. When he took his last drop, he saw stars in the sky, scattering themselves into the black and grey and overshadowing the moon’s dim light with brighter illumination. It came from the east. Kanaka’s chest tightened as he fought to accept what he was seeing as real. His mind flew to the gruesome scene from his dream and he decided that the levels of real could change sometimes; especially in Gardutkar. He could not ignore it, so he went in and wore his clothes, taking a stick with a stone tied to it at one end and took gentle steps in the direction, fast enough to catch its exact location before the glitter of the stars faded off completely. He did not know what to expect.

Greda 

A high-pitch sound coming from the source of the unusual lights put King Greda on edge; he dipped his fingers in his ears to shield himself from its effect. It did little good to him, but he advanced, approaching what was now appearing a lot less like a star than he had expected from the fizz in the sky. Was this the real appearance of stars? King Greda bottled his fears and moved on. The thing that glowed began to appear like a man, having a man’s form and posture, and it was on its knees; he. He was on his knees. King Greda wiped his eyes to clear the fog, but the fogless eyes told him the same thing. When he caught eye contact with the man, the only thing he could feel was honor and fearful awe all at the same time; he bowed put his forehead to the sand. 

The man was dressed in nothing the King had seen in his life. He did not wear a robe or a gown, or leaves that covered the bottom of his body alone. He was covered from his head to his toe with clothes that shone brightly, glittering with the stars in the sky. The top of his body covered with attire that fit the arms perfectly, stretching out to his wrists and down to his waist. The bottom of his body had clothing that provided covering for each leg to step in. And the patterns on the clothing seemed to look like leaves on a tree, but they looked more real – if it was possible – than any leaf he had seen.

 
“King.” A deep breathy voice spoke out but King Greda could not tell where it was from, because the mouth of this man had not opened.
He wiped the remaining drops of tears on his face and sniffed, totally forgetting the near past. Then he replied, “Who are you?” He knew that the presence was not a normal one. The man’s lips were still not moving, but,

 
“I am a messenger from the gods.” The voice replied, as the man’s face glowed at the statement, his eyes bulging as though it put more meaning to his words. At that, King Greda fell on his stomach and worshipped. 

“Ah…aa…are…you…the s…star?” King Greda stammered, trembling vigorously, sweating profusely and crying again. There was no reply for a long time, and when King Greda raised his head slightly to see why,
“I am a messenger from the gods.” The voice repeated, then there was a rumble from within the belly of the man and his face appeared white like that of a dead man, eyes completely white. Then the man’s mouth opened and the man started speaking, moving it with every word uttered, like a normal man, “I am the star that rises out of the horizon each morning, and descends into the plains at night.” As he spoke this time, his eyes returned to normal and he looked directly into King Greda’s eyes and smiled. It was as if there were two people in the body of the one man. 

King Greda dipped his head again, under the glowing man’s proclamations. He felt as if something was holding him to the ground. It was the awe caused and hastened by the divine presence. But as he thought of the near past, he started to shiver. He thought of the blood on his hands, and his heart raced. He was unable to conceive why the sovereignty did not kill him, because of his sins. He thought of how he had profaned and questioned the gods all his life, not expecting them to show themselves, and he almost could not breathe out of terror. 

“King! Stand up and face me!”

 
That was it. He was going to die. He was going to cease to be and submit to the gods for damnation. It would be written about King Greda, ‘He once walked, and then he was not heard of anymore.’ He braced himself and got ready to die. 

“I did not come to condemn you, but to offer you freedom, that you would forget your past and the sins of your father.” 

He was not hearing correctly. Maybe it was a trick to make him feel safe, and then the sting would come when he was not engaged to expect it. But did the gods, all-splendorous, meddle with such frivolity? They were not human. He should be dead, but he was receiving mercy. 

“You will die, but I can to save you from consequences of your own sin. I am merciful.” 

How could any sin go unpunished? He had himself not given a chance to Fonjam. And now he was standing before the gods in the form of a divine Spokesman made manifest physically. His weeping intensified as he fought to conceive what or who could do such a thing as forgive a murderer that had no forgiveness in his heart. The deep breathy voice continued where the man stopped, and the man’s mouth was no longer moving, 

“You have found solace, King. Take this, and go to the forbidden forest. Go through the path and when you enter, you will find the answers you seek.” 

I seek answers, but which in particular? 

“Take the path, and save yourself and your people and your land. There is more of what you have desired deep in your heart in that place.” 

He could not fully understand the words the man spoke, and as he spoke, he spoke ordinary words, but they searched depth of his heart that yearned for knowledge. 

“You can go as far back in time as you please. You can go back before you were born and change your destiny.” 

Time? 

“There are many paths you can take, and you will make the choice yourself. Just ask it, and the way will present itself to you.” 

Yes. I can kill the child before he becomes a threat to me.

 
Immediately, the man raised King Greda’s bowed head with one arm and stretched out the other to present him with a substance. “Take it and run!” The deep breathy voice wailed this time and the man’s face became white, and the eyes, white too. As King Greda took it, he looked and saw that it was the same red dust he had been using to enter the portal at the bottomless pit. It fizzed away into a bright mist and took the man’s body away from the tip of his toes, then stopping at the dead white head, it poured like mud to the floor and vanished. He started running and behind him, he heard laughter, but he did not stop.

To be continued...

- Telsum Bini