Kinara’s scandal was the talk of the village, though most people were discrete about it because his son Makoko was now chief.
As proud as Metutu was of his father for standing up for his beliefs, he bitterly resented the timing. The situation could affect his petition to make a vision quest, and Metutu needed the chance to come to terms with his grief and prepare for his future.
Metutu was determined to follow his dream, regardless of what the council decided. Yet he knew it would be almost impossible for him to trade for herbs and to spend the kind of time with Makedde he needed to complete his training if he did not get their blessing.
Custom forbade him to lobby directly with the chief, though they were brothers. Instead he turned to Makedde.
Makedde could go to the chief on behalf of another, and he used all of his influence for Metutu’s petition. That involved making a deal with the kindly but shrewd Makoko. Makoko loved his brothers, but he had a request from the Lion King Ahadi that he was agonizing over, and he smelled an opportunity. So to push Metutu’s petition through, Makedde must agree to become Metutu’s sponsor--no small responsibility--and also return to the Pride Lands for another two-year term as healer to the Lion King.
It would be difficult living in a hollow baobab tree far from the forest rim, and Makoko expected his brother to be upset. Makedde did his best to look outraged, but to graciously give in “for the boy’s sake.”
In fact, he had longed to immerse Metutu in the culture and religion of the lions, his adopted people. He dared not show his enthusiasm to the chief, even if it was his own brother.
“Brother, I give you my word before the gods,” Makedde said with a carefully staged sigh. “Let it be even as you have said.”
It was also the perfect excuse to leave before rumors began to leak out about the death of Busara, and it was sure to happen soon enough. He quickly went to his residence and took all of his medicines and charms with him. His patients would be referred to Andara, and with barely suppressed excitement, he took a gourd and hung it near his entrance. The moon painted on it said “I am away,” and from it he hung five small bundles of grass. One would mean “back momentarily.” Two would mean “returning later today.” Three meant, “try again tomorrow.” The message of five was unmistakable. “I will return someday, God willing.”
Metutu had reached the next step in his spirit quest. For to be accepted as a shaman, the petitioner must go apart from the others for a time of prayer and self denial. He may be gone for a few days, a few weeks, or he might not return at all. And he would seek a mystic vision that would guide his future training and map out the course of his life of service. It would point out his strengths and weaknesses. Until he had that vision, he would not return.
After bidding farewell to Kima and Asumini, Metutu left on his journey with far less preparation than his brother Makedde. Taking nothing but a charm which he wore around his neck on a grass rope thong, Metutu left the village where he had spent his whole life.
He knew to look for a sign, and he would journey until that sign was reached. An eagle will alight on a kopje. While he would otherwise have given up hope, he knew the vision was from the gods, and he would see it when the time was right.
As he walked the tedium began to play on him. He asked for relief, and the gods sent him a song. He didn’t know if the words were ancient, brand new, or just meaningless sounds, but they lightened his heart. Part of it went something like this:
The verse seemed to have magical properties. When he continued to sing it, he was not as weary and hungry, and he didn’t mind the reduced rations as much. When he would pause for a moment, the fatigue and hunger would sap at his resolve.
Of course there were times he had to stop and rest. For he kept going all day, and of course he could not walk all night. Under the stars. Fascinated by how they shined. Wondered who they were in their stately beauty. Though he had remembered many star stories, he had only seen them a couple of times before and he could not place the proper names to the right constellations. This is not an uncommon fate for those who live in the deep forest where the night sky is filtered by the fingers of countless leaves. The sounds were strange. Frogs. Though he had grown weary from a long day’s march, he had trouble sleeping. One of the stars seemed to call to him. The more he looked at it, the more he felt compelled by it. He remembered what Busara had said about the great kings of the past. Could that be a friend? The star seemed to twinkle with special brilliance. How could it not be calling to him? Seeking to comfort him?
There was a dancing blue light and laughter. Asumini’s laughter. Busara’s laughter. As he stared, the light resolved into two figures. The lioness squatted down, her tail lashing. The mandrill began to dance about, taunting her. “You can’t catch me!”
“Oh yeah?” Asumini came up, her back legs tensed to spring. She launched after him and he sprang straight up to let her pass underneath. He fell with a plop on her back and laughed. She wheeled about, scooping him in the crook of her arm. Then playfully but gently she tossed him into the air and caught him in her powerful forearms.
Busara’s arms went around her neck and he kissed her around the face. “I love you so much, I could just eat you up!”
Delighted, Metutu came running. “Wait for me! Hey, it’s me, Metutu!”
They looked at him, a calm smile on their faces. Asumini ran to meet him, stopping just short of a collision. She said not a word, but took in a deep breath, then blew a puff of wind in Metutu’s face. It smelled like wild honey. It intoxicated him.
“Asumini,” he said, drunk with the fragrance of the blessed. “My girl!”
She breathed on him again. “Sleep. Dream. Be happy.”
He collapsed to the earth, looking up while his heavy lids would remain open. Asumini and Busara looked down and smiled.