War is threatening. The grey parrot with the bright red tail named Kasuku is flying as fast as he can to reach the village of the Kiritiris and the hut of the once powerful and aging warrior, Chief Pachunga. But if Kjaz-Barbaroi, an evil leader with designs on ruling their land, gets to the hut first, it will be too late for them all. Kasuku carries orders from Olugbala to tell the chief, who has been held prisoner for three rainy seasons, that he must raise an army to fight against Kjaz-Barbaroi and his contingent of Dark Creatures. Pachunga, now mysteriously restored to his youth by Olugbala, and the parrot narrowly escape the village. With Kjaz-Barbaroi close behind, they face constant danger. Joined by Muriel Sniggins, the trio travels through the jungle, descend into a cave system inhabited by a long-lost race of people, and finally reach the savannah. As they journey, Pachunga’s army continues to grow person by person, group by group. In the meantime, Kjaz-Barbaroi’s army also gets larger and larger. Each day brings them closer and closer to the final battle. Pachunga wonders if his army will be large enough, strong enough, and brave enough to defeat the evil Kjaz-Barbaroi.

Pachunga

By John A. Macdonald

iUniverse, Inc.

Copyright © 2010 John A. Macdonald
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4502-1821-4

Contents

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS.............................................viiA Short Pronunciation Guide.................................xiChapter 1 The Village.......................................1Chapter 2 The Escape........................................16Chapter 3 The River.........................................27Chapter 4 The First Attack..................................36Chapter 5 The Caves.........................................45Chapter 6 Muriel's Story....................................56Chapter 7 The Bazungu.......................................68Chapter 8 Chief Mkumbo......................................78Chapter 9 The Ghosts........................................91Chapter 10 Something Startling..............................99Chapter 11 The Meeting......................................110Chapter 12 The Cave of Perpetual Sorrow.....................119Chapter 13 The Boulders.....................................128Chapter 14 The Great Grassland..............................138Chapter 15 The Encounter....................................149Chapter 16 Snipe and Snippet................................159Chapter 17 Snippet's Decision...............................170Chapter 18 The Forces Gather................................181Chapter 19 A Special Mission................................191Chapter 20 The Hills of Separation..........................206Chapter 21 The Drum.........................................222Chapter 22 The Return.......................................238

Chapter One

The Village

The small grey parrot with a bright red tail flew across the sky, flapping his stubby wings furiously. There was no time left. He had to get to the Jungle as quickly as possible and the Village of the Kiritiri people. There was much at stake-too much at stake, and he felt as though his wings could not carry him fast enough. The journey there from Olugbala's Mountain was a long one. He had lost track of the number of days he had been flying. He was tired, thirsty and hungry-all in that order, and while he could have satisfied his thirst and his hunger with the many sources of food and drink far beneath him, he did not want to take the time to do so. He could not be late.

The Great Grassland below stretched all around him from horizon to horizon to the right and the left. Antelope, zebras, and elephants had stopped grazing and stood like statues on the grass or near the scrubby trees that dotted the flat terrain, watching and waiting. Far ahead of him were the High Falls sending clouds of water vapor billowing up from huge rocks at the bottom. And finally, beyond the falls was the Jungle itself. From his perspective it was only a thin band of dark green partially obscured by the heat and dust which arose from the sun-baked ground beneath him. Cutting through that thin band of green was a brown stripe which was interrupted by the falls and then continued on through the Great Grassland. This was the Great River: the best and most efficient way to travel through the region-if you had to stay on the ground.

But he could not think too much of such things now. He had to keep his mind on getting to the Village in time.

* * *

The old man squatted in his hut, a loose and frayed robe hanging over his shoulders. Wrapped around his torso, it hung down to about his knees. His hair was white-none of it was black anymore-and it was patchy and thin. Aging skin hung loosely on his bony frame. In places it was dry and flaky-coarse to the touch. The old man was not eating well. It was difficult to swallow the food he was given-but he had no appetite for it anyway. Gone were the hunger pains he used to feel around mealtime. And what he was given and tried to swallow didn't have any taste. It was like eating grass or dust. Once he had been given a small bowl of his beloved cooked termite paste to eat-a bowl of food that mysteriously appeared inside his door in the middle of the night-but he could not eat it. It would have strengthened him, but he left it where it was, not even touching it. The next morning the bowl was gone, and he hadn't seen another one.

The hut had become his prison-a prison he felt he deserved because of the terrible thing he had done. All he felt anymore was remorse and sadness.

He had betrayed his people in a moment of weakness, thinking that the invitation he had extended to the Bazungu to come in and mine the diamonds that were below his lands would result in prosperity for his people. They would have schools. They would have medical clinics. They would have jobs that would allow them to buy the latest fashions in clothes, vehicles and other symbols of wealth. That was what the Bazungu promised to him at least. And Pachunga would die as a respected elder, the Chief of the Kiritiris who had positively transformed their lives for the good.

But that was not the case. As he squatted in the dark corner of his hut, brushing away the flies and feeling old and tired, he realized that he had been tricked-tricked not only by the Bazungu, but tricked by his own greed and selfishness. His desire to change his lifestyle and change from the customs and ways he had known since childhood had cost him dearly. His current state of affairs, the death of his beloved Kijana and the disappearance of his daughters-he had not had any sons-were all because of his stupidity and his greed. He had no idea what to do. He could not go anywhere. He was too heavily guarded. But, even if he could escape, who would receive him? How would he get there? He deserved to suffer for the wrongdoing he had done. It was just punishment. He could not be forgiven. He could not be pardoned. He had betrayed Olugbala and he had betrayed his people. The voice in his head accused him of this crime over and over again. It was impossible for him to be released from the prison of his own doing.

So he stayed in his hut not moving, his eyes staring straight ahead at nothing because there was nothing more to see.

* * *

Boom! Boom! Boom! The sound of the Drum carried across the Great Grassland to the edge of the Jungle. In the hearts of all people and animals was a sense of despair. Mothers immediately gathered up their children and hid them out of sight. Those working in the fields stopped what they were doing and rushed back to their homes. Boys fishing in the river grabbed their nets and ran for the safety of their families, leaving the fish they had already caught lying on the bank to spoil in the hot sun. The birds stopped calling to one another and sat silently in the trees and brush, not daring to move-as if an eagle or a kite were patrolling overhead looking for someone to devour. Monkeys stopped their chatter and were still. Baboons hid deeper in the brush and sheltered with their young clinging fearfully to their mothers' backs. Even the jackals were still: peering through the khaki-colored grass, watching and waiting to see what was going to happen.

Boom! Boom! Boom! Kjaz-Barbaroi was on the move once again. And that meant more trouble for everyone. What was going to happen? Would it be war? Would it be further enslavement? It would certainly mean more suffering and pain for some. And if so, where would it happen? When? And who would be the poor victims this time around? What children would become orphans? What families would be ripped apart never to enjoy time with one another again? One thing was certain: the period of relative calm-though not without its difficulties-was ending.

While the Drum beat steadily, echoing across the land and pounding in his ears, the parrot finally passed the High Falls and followed the Great River upstream. Here the jungle started. The river would lead him directly to his destination: the Village of the Kiritiri peoples and Chief Pachunga, who had ruled them until three rainy seasons before. Pachunga had invited in the Bazungu, but it had not produced the desired result. They had inspired his people to rebel against him, blaming him for all their troubles and forcing him from the High Seat: the symbol of his rule and authority. He was now their prisoner, of course, still alive only because Olugbala still needed him, in spite of his age and his failure.

* * *

"I have to get there," the parrot said to himself. "I have to get there." He was more tired than he had been in a long time and had stopped only once under the cover of darkness to hide, rest, and take a quick sip of water. He did not take the time to eat anything. The journey was too important. He had to get to Pachunga before their enemy, Kjaz-Barbaroi, did. If Kjaz-Barbaroi got there first, it would be too late for them all.

The parrot was now flying below tree level above the middle channel of the Great River. With a downward thrust of his wings and an upward tilt of his head toward the blue sky above him, he flew high into the air to see how much further he had to go. It was just a little bit more. Off in the distance, he could see the Village on the left bank of the river. It was the largest village of its type containing over four hundred huts made of adobe and roofed with thatch. Pachunga, who was now ninety-four rainy seasons old, would be in one of those huts. All was quiet. There was no sign that Kjaz-Barbaroi had arrived.

"Good," thought the parrot to himself. "I will arrive in time. Olugbala be praised!"

He dropped down again to his original height and felt much less tired now that he had seen his destination. Reports had reached the Mountain saying that Kjaz-Barbaroi was to reach the Kiritiris that afternoon just before sunset. The tyrant was traveling along a new, wide path through the jungle. It was the longer, slower way to get there, but it gave him the opportunity to be seen by more people and animals: a sad reminder of his rule and authority over them. "That is another good thing," thought the parrot. Had he chosen to go by boat, he would have been there by now.

It was the middle of the afternoon, and the parrot moved from above the river to the left bank. He knew that he could now be seen by the animals and birds that were on Kjaz-Barbaroi's side, but it didn't matter anymore. In one part of the Village throngs of people gathered in the central area-the place where they had community meetings. But they were distracted and not noticing what was going on around them. They would certainly not notice a small parrot-especially if he did nothing to call attention to himself.

He had been told that Pachunga was inside a small hut that was close to the edge of the river. A guard, usually with a spear and a small round shield, was supposed to be standing at the front entrance. It would make it easier to find out which hut the Chief was in. The parrot flew on, thinking only of getting there in time.

* * *

Chief Pachunga noticed a change-and it disturbed him out of his thoughts. Something wasn't normal. In fact, as he thought about it, nothing had gone normally that day. In the three rainy seasons that he had been kept under guard, his life had settled into a routine. He had been allowed to leave his hut only under the watchful eye of his guard and only for a very short period of time. It was ridiculous that the guard had to accompany him when he did this. Where would he have gone? He had no plans for escape. And his people-as much as he had harmed them-were there, and he could not leave them. Besides, Olugbala's last instructions had been for him to remain in the Village. As disobedient has he had been, this was one order that he was going to obey.

Everything was different. For one, this entire day the guard had not allowed him to leave his hut. He was required to stay right where he was. And for another, the Kiritiris were not working in the diamond mine as usual. They were all outside. From what Pachunga could see, it looked as though they were preparing for some important event. Men and women were fixing up the huts and animals were roasting on the cooking fires. The smell of cooking meat reached Pachunga's hut and normally it would have reminded him that he hadn't eaten anything that day, but his appetite was still gone.

What was going on was odd, because he had been told that festivals were against the new law. The Bazungu-the people who came from the North and whose skin was not dark and whose hair was not curly and black-had forbidden feasts and any kind of celebration. All the old customs had been abolished-especially those related to Olugbala-and the Bazungu had come with new ideas and new laws. At first they were considered to be very strange in their behavior, their dress, their language, their customs, and their overall appearance. Bazungu did not look like real people, but more like people who had never been in the sun and therefore must live underground. In the minds of Pachunga's people, they looked like some kind of mistake. Now, though, while different, most people accepted their presence as something inevitable-something that could not be avoided.

However, that did not take away from their ability to control the people and to use their machines and weapons from the North to get what they wanted. They were the bosses of the mine and said that festivals took away from productivity.

So why would they now allow one holiday? Pachunga asked himself that question-and then called out to the guard, who came and looked through the window to see what his prisoner wanted. He looked menacingly at Pachunga and only grunted a few words that did not make any sense. Then he smiled cruelly as if he knew something that Pachunga did not know. Pachunga decided to leave him alone and not press the matter.

As Pachunga squatted in the dark corner of his hut, his eyes started to focus on something in the far corner that he had not seen there previously. This was even stranger. He gathered his energy together to go and see what it was, standing up painfully and trying to focus on the objects on the earthen floor in front of him. They were his knife and his bow and arrows, as if he personally had left them in that spot earlier in the day. How did they get there? Where had they come from? And there was more: there were two spears and a shield. He didn't think they had been there just before he talked to the guard. He was certain that he would have noticed them. Was this a gift, or was it a trap?

Did he now have an ally in the Village? The same ally who had brought him food? Or was this some way to trick him into trying to escape so that they could kill him? Once again, he did not have any answers, and he continued to brood. The only good thing that was coming out of this was that he was not quite as despondent as he had been. Now he had something else to ponder instead of just thinking about himself. It was possible for Olugbala to be behind some of these strange occurrences. He hoped he was, but at the moment Pachunga was not sure. He did know that he would have to be especially alert and watchful-ready for anything.

It was not too much longer before he began to get some answers. As he squatted in the corner of his hut, he began to feel a rhythmic vibration that came up through the soles of his feet. It was a steady beat-something that began to get stronger and stronger until he began to hear it with his ears as well. It tingled his toes. It was steady. It was persistent-ever increasing in volume.

It was a sound that he had hoped he would never hear again. Instead of being perplexed or even worried now, he became afraid. The sound was the sound of the Drum.

Pachunga knew exactly what it meant: it meant that Kjaz-Barbaroi was starting something once again after having been quiet for a long time. Nothing good ever happened when the Drum beat with its ominous sound crossing the savannah and the jungle filling most creatures with fear. Even Kjaz-Barbaroi's allies were afraid.

And then, to worsen matters, there was another sound: the sound of a Dark Creature growling in his usual hyena and monkey-like manner. When did it arrive? And why had it arrived? The noise it made was not pleasant-it was hard on the ears and even harder on the nerves. Pachunga shuddered to think that there was now one of those creatures in his Village. It would be even worse if there were more-and there usually were more-but he heard only the sound of one. They had left his people alone for a long time, even though they were known to be working with the Bazungu and not just Kjaz-Barbaroi. Why was it here? The fear that he felt in the tightness of his throat moved down to his stomach and made him feel like throwing up. Through his window, the sky that had once been bright blue now was darkening and turning grey.

Pachunga stood up again and walked quickly-but cautiously-on broad, flat feet to his front window. He could not see the guard anywhere. But where was that Dark Creature? He kept well to the side so that he would not be noticed and peered out. His fear mixed with even greater worry and concern. There was not just one Dark Creature. There were fifteen of them standing about twenty meters away.

He decided that trick or no trick, he would at least get his knife and belt, which he quickly attached around his middle. He brought the bow and arrows closer to him to be within easy reach, but left the shield and spears where they were. He could get them if and when it was necessary. He would not go down without a fight.

The Dark Creatures were the private army of Kjaz-Barbaroi. They were almost two meters tall when they chose to stand erect. They had large, monkey heads covered with short, bristly black hairs. Their eyes were also black and readily flashed in anger and hate. The more pain they could inflict on someone else, the happier they were. They would torture someone cruelly just for the joy and pleasure of hearing them scream in pain. They would kill for the thrill and the excitement of seeing a life snuffed out-and then rip apart the carcass and consume it-bones and all-because they were forever hungry. They loved no one and tolerated no one. They were, after all, mean, evil creatures.

(Continues...)

Excerpted from Pachungaby John A. Macdonald Copyright © 2010 by John A. Macdonald. Excerpted by permission.
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