| |
Marai, Jewel of the Bright Country, mourned with the morose cadence of the royal djembes. The gleaming towers piercing the expansive canopy grieved as well, their peaks shrouded in black cloaks of cotton cloth. From the edge of the barrier walls to the center of the palace peaks, the city witnessed an event that had not occurred in a thousand years; the Sana, ruler of The Good People, was dying.
The elders of the twelve districts waited the customary twelve days before approaching the palace walls, each an entourage of twelve. They wore the mourning shroud; a simple white cloak trimmed in the color of their district and their clan. Their mourning masks were carved by the Daal, the embellished expressions of grief hiding the wearers’ true feelings. It was well known that even though the Sana had been a wise and generous man throughout his rule, there were those that despised him. The day of his death would be a celebration to them, a day that would embark the Good People on a new future. Most of all, those who hated the Sana wished his death for one reason only. A new Sana would mean a new beginning. A new Sana would mean the end of Marai’s exile from the world.
Jele Jakada, royal medicine priest of Marai, looked down from his tower onto the noble congregation at the gates. Someone among them would be the next Sana, the man or woman who would either keep the traditions of the city or expose it to the world beyond the walls. He trudged to his stool and sat, cradling his old face in his wrinkled hands.
“I should have called you back, Alake,” he whispered. “I’m a stubborn old man who may have doomed us all.”
A gentle rapping on his door broke his mood.
“Who is it?” he shouted.
“A servant from the Margara,” the voice replied. “She wishes to see you immediately.”
Jakada sighed. “So it begins.” He stood, straightening out his robes and arranging his talisman necklaces.
“Tell the Margara I will be along momentarily. I have a few things to attend to.”
“Yes, Jele.”
Jakada entered a second room, a space crowded with the tools of his craft. At the back of the room stood an object covered by a splendid woven shroud embroidered with symbols and figures telling the story of Marai’s history. He took a deep breath and pulled the shroud aside, revealing a large mirror trimmed with ebony wood. Jakada studied his reflection for a moment then closed his eyes as he waved his hands across the smooth surface.
“Come home, my daughter,” he chanted. “Your time has come.”
* * *
CORLISS JOHNSON AWOKE that Saturday morning with a head full of memories. She shuffled through her cottage, opening her blinds to the rising sun then proceeded to her bathroom, performing her morning ritual that had shortened over the years. As a young girl she obsessed over her looks; as a wife her attentions ebbed and flowed with the attentions of her husband; but as an old widow she no longer cared what others said about her appearance. She was at the age where the only opinion that mattered was her own.
On that particular day other memories intruded, images of a life she fled long ago. As she dressed in a pair of worn jeans and an Atlanta Braves t-shirt she wondered why she would have those thoughts, memories she assumed she’d hidden away long ago. She was neither afraid nor remorseful, for she had come to terms with her decision. The only nagging resentment was that she had broken with her father. She never tried to contact him, nor he her. In the beginning the pain of his silence cut deep. She couldn’t understand how he would let her go without demanding her return. He had always let her have her way, but she thought this one act would rouse him to give her the attention she felt she deserved. Instead there was silence. That was long ago; marriage and children had dulled that pain and healed the wound.
Bean met her at the door as she emerged into the Hilton Head Island summer morning. The cocker spaniel climbed her leg, anxious for his head rub which she obliged. She adopted the tan bundle of spirit from the local pound the day after Travis died, indulging herself with the only pleasure he had never provided her.
“Such a good boy,” she said.
“Hello Miss Johnson.”
Corliss looked into the eyes of Javan, one of the local concierges of the Sunrise Resort. She liked Javan; he reminded her of home. His deep brown skin, tightly curled hair and prominent lips displayed his Mandingo roots, though if asked Javan would have no idea of what she spoke. He was like all the others, blind to his heritage and stumbling about the land in search of foundation. But he was a pleasant, polite boy, at least to her, and that mattered most.
“Good morning, Javan. Are you my ride?”
Javan tipped his baseball cap. “Yes ma’am. Hey Bean!”
Bean ran to the golf cart and leapt in the back seat. Corliss took her time; Javan helped her inside.
They drove through the resort, waving at the residents as they made their way to the nature trail leading to the Sunrise Beach. Corliss made it a point to know everyone in the resort. She greeted the newcomers with her famous chocolate chip cookies and was one of the main cooks for the resort Thanksgiving dinner. She took the time to build a family around her despite the fact that her son and daughters had moved away long ago. She knew how important family was; to her, family was the only reason to live.
Bean jumped from the cart before it came to a complete stop, charging down the sandy palmetto lined path leading to the beach. The smell of the sea tantalized her senses. After twenty years living along the shore the sea kept its hypnotic effect on her. Javan helped her out of the cart.
“How long you going to be?” he asked.
“Don’t worry about me,” she answered. “Me and Bean will walk back.”
“Okay, Miss Corliss. Have a great day!” Javan waved then sped away.
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure. Go on now, and thank you for the ride.”
Javan tipped his hat, climbed back into the golf cart then sped away.
As Corliss strolled down the path, the nearness of the rolling waves soothed the aches and pains that had become common with advancing age, the salty air a salve to her body. Her pace increased as she neared the waves; by the time she emerged from the sea oat covered dunes she was trotting behind Bean, a wide smile on her face.
“Come home, my daughter. Your time has come.”
The words struck her like a fist and she fell onto her knees. She shook her head, attempting to fling away what was obviously an old memory that had escaped its mental confinement.
“This is no memory,” the voice announced. “This is your baba, Alake. It is time for you to come home.”
Corliss jerked about as she searched for her father. There was no mistaking the source for he used her oriki name, a name no one in this world or her old world would have knowledge of. Either it was her father or she was finally going mad.
“You are as sane as the day you left me,” he said.
Bean returned to her, barking for her to play. She ignored him, looking into the horizon towards her former home.
“Baba, why are you calling for me?”
“You are needed, my child. The Sana is dying.”
The mention of the ruler of Marai shattered the mental wall erected long ago. She was awash in her past life, flooded by feelings of loneliness and confinement. She had been a privileged young girl shackled by tradition and duty, her only way out to escape into a world forbidden to her.
Corliss straightened, a stern look coming to her gentle face. “The Sana’s fate is no longer my concern,” she said. “I am of this world now.”
“True, you cannot save the Sana. He is old and weak and the ancestors no longer favor him. But a new Sana must be selected. It is your duty to choose.”
“Can you see me, baba?” she asked.
There was a moment of silence before he answered. “Yes, Alake, I can see you. I stand before the mirror.”
“Then you know I am no longer a girl. I am older than you. I have neither the strength nor the nyama to choose a new Sana.”
“The bloodline belongs to you.”
Guilt rose in her breast and she pushed it back. “Choose someone else.”
“There is no one else.”
They were silent for a time, Corliss absently rubbing Bean’s head.
“Do you have a daughter?”
“My children know nothing of my past.”
“You told them nothing?” Her father’s tone was judgmental.
“There was no need for them to know.”
“Listen to me, Alake. It is very important that you or a female of your blood return to Marai to select the new Sana. If a Seer does not select him, the council will, and they will choose Bagule.”
Terror appeared in her mind, images planted by her father. She saw cities burning and people dying, slain by a Maraibu army led by Bagule.
“These people are not like us,” she protested. “They have wonderful machines and lethal weapons. They would crush Bagule.”
“Don’t be fooled by items built by the hands of men. Weapons of spirit crush a man’s soul. Without the spirit to fight a weapon is useless. When I chose to seal Marai from the world it was not to protect us from others. It was to protect the others from us.”
The weight of fear and guilt worried Corliss. She remembered all the wondrous things she saw her father perform and she imagined that same power in the hands of someone as vile as Bagule. If he was chosen Sana, her father would have to obey him.
“My daughters know nothing of my past,” she repeated. “They would not believe anything I tell them at this point.”
“You must convince them.”
“I cannot,” Corliss confessed. “But my granddaughter is a different matter altogether.”
“Is she of age?”
Corliss smiled when she imagined Crystal’s daughter. “She would be a woman in our world. Here she is still a child.”
“Why do you feel she will believe you?”
“Because I told her of Marai as a child,” Corliss answered. “My past was her bedtime stories. Besides, she wears the necklace.”
She imagined the surprise on her father’s face before he spoke.
“You gave her the Key?”
“I had no intentions of returning.”
“You must send her immediately.”
“It will take time, baba.”
“We have no time.”
“Then you must make time,” Corliss snapped. “This is no small thing I must do.”
“I will help you.”
Corliss had no idea how he could but she said nothing. “I will send for her. She will be available soon and her parents will be thankful for the respite. How will I contact you?”
“I will be watching, Alake.”
Corliss decided to ask the question that haunted her ever since she left her home. “Why didn’t you try to stop me from leaving, baba?”
“You were meant to go. In truth, I could not keep you safe in Marai. Bagule has planned his ascension for some time. You would have been the first he would have sought to eliminate. I could not hide you in Marai, but I could hide you in the world.”
Corliss was shocked. “You let me go?”
“Yes.”
Corliss eyes glistened. “I will send my granddaughter. This I promise you.”
“What is your granddaughter’s name?” he asked as his voice faded.
“Amber.”