John Burkitt - The Spirit Quest

In the early hours of the morning, her temperature soared to new heights, and Rafiki began to feel the teeth of panic nibbling at his mind. How much more can she stand? he thought. Her skin was burning hot to the touch, and she shifted and shook in the grip of chills. Time and again he knelt and forced a few swallows of water down her throat to ward off dehydration.

The sun had risen, and the day was clear and beautiful, but he paid it no heed as he kept up his vigil. Penda had long since tired and was sleeping comfortably on her father’s lap. Rafiki peered at her blearily through reddened eyes, and smiled at the contented look on her face. Sitting up carefully, he laid her gently by her mother’s side and made his way across the tree to where he stored his medicines. Pulling out a half full gourd of water and some powdered extracts, he set them carefully on a limb beside him. Turning to it, he stood for a moment, staring at the medicine vapidly, then suddenly sat, the impact jarring his spine and making his teeth click together painfully. He leaned against the bole of the baobab, his eyes closing of their own volition. Just a moment, and then he would get up and mix the extracts and give them to Asumini. Just a moment...

He opened his eyes slowly and peered about, confused. Sitting up, he groaned as the muscles of his back voiced their protest in a symphony of pain. Rubbing his eyes, he stared, blinking, at the bowl on the limb before him.

It sat there, quietly, minding its own business. The sun shone in, its reddish glow silhouetting the bowl’s shadow against the tree trunk....

His eyes snapped open and he stared in horror. The sun was blood red, sitting low in the western sky, oh gods, he had fallen asleep for HOURS!

“Asumini?” Rafiki hurried down and across the tree, swinging under a low branch to find his mate’s bed lying empty. Penda’s absence was also felt; the child was nowhere in sight. Rafiki made a quick scan of the tree, followed by one of the ground below. Nothing.

He spun, intending to descend the trunk to the ground below, but froze. His eyes bulged and his mouth opened and closed silently as he stared at the paintings across from him on his shrine. Asumini and Penda were both depicted there, lovingly drawn by his own hand. What he had not drawn was the Eye of Aiheu which now lay emblazoned on the wood over their heads.

“Oh God, no! NO!” He ran over and scrubbed furiously at the wood, but the marks neither smeared nor stained his hand. They lay ingrained deep in the wood, mutely expressing something which his mind cried out against over and over.

Turning, he scrambled down the trunk of the baobab and cast about frantically in the tall grass for some sign of their passage. Finding a depression in the grass, he saw a rough trail of broken stalks heading away from the baobab. He sprinted off down the track, unmindful of the pain in his knees, kicking up dirt as he ran. “ASUMINI! PENDA! Please Gods, let them hear me.”

He skidded to a stop, nearly falling as he saw the grass thrashing ahead. A tawny head emerged and turned to look at him. “Rafiki?”

“Ahadi! Thank the gods!” The mandrill ran to him, panting. “My wife is ill with fever; I fear she has wandered off and taken Penda with her.”

Ahadi’s started. “How long has she been gone?”

“I don't know. I fell asleep like an old fool, and when I woke up, she had vanished. It could be several hours; I don't know.”

Ahadi eyed his friend; the exhaustion on Rafiki’s face was plain to see. “You just drove yourself past your limit. I’ll help you find her.”

Rafiki slumped, quivering. “Thank you, Sire. Do you think you can track her scent?”

“There’s no need for that. I can see her trail clear enough.” Ahadi’s eyes narrowed as he eyed the grass. “The trail is fairly fresh; I would say not more than an hour old.” Turning, he made off at a rapid pace, just slow enough that Rafiki could keep up. The grass began to thin out, replaced by thicker greenery. Small bushes and shrubs dominated the ground ahead, and Rafiki heard faintly the gurgling sound of running water. Ahead, Ahadi slowed and began to push his way through the dense underbrush. Thorns and branches tore at his beautiful mane, snatching away tufts of hair in painful tugs, but these he ignored, bulling his way through. As they reached the water’s edge, he suddenly halted. Rafiki nearly collided with his haunches, which filled the gap in the brush and blocked his view of the water. He heard a gasp from the lion and hopped about, trying to peer over his bulk. “What is it?”

“Great Aiheu,” he heard Ahadi stammer. “Oh gods! Oh gods!”

“What?!” Rafiki shouted. He began to force his way in between Ahadi’s massive shoulder and the thorns, but the Lion King shifted and blocked him off. Ahadi turned himself around carefully and sat in the gap.

He took a shaky breath and looked at Rafiki unsteadily. “Do not go in there, my friend. There’s nothing you can do.” The lion looked away and blinked rapidly. “Her fever must have driven her down here to bathe in the cool river water."

“Is she dead? Where’s Penda?”

“It looks like a crocodile attack,” Ahadi finally said. “Asumini was wounded but got away from it. I’d say she died later from loss of blood.” He rubbed at his eyes with a paw. “Of Penda, there is no sign. The crocodile must have found her easier prey.” He looked away.

Rafiki stared at him, feeling the blood drain from his face. The fear and pain fell away, replaced by a numbness. He stood mutely for a moment, then nodded and turned away.

When the moon rose later that evening, orange and full in the night sky, it found Rafiki sitting silently in the naos of the baobab, his medicine pouch clutched in his lap, staring silently at the paintings on the tree’s side. The branches moved slightly in the night breeze, making strange shadow shapes on the wall, and giving the paintings an eerie lifelike quality.

He remembered his speech to Dedou in the council the day he became a shaman. “I tell you brothers that I am an expert on suffering, for I have suffered greatly. It was suffering that put me on this path. But I also understand love, for I have received much of it.”

He sighed. “An expert on suffering,” he said reproachfully. “You were right, Dedou. I was a young optimist speaking from my inexperience. A fool who knew so much of herbs but so little of pain!”

Reaching into the pouch, he pulled out a small bowl filled with a whitish paste. “Deadly Euphractus,” he thought. “So the promising young shaman finally makes his last prescription. Something to relieve suffering in the heart.” He dipped his finger into the bowl and scooped up a small clump. In tiny doses, it would relieve cramps, but he had enough on his fingertip to kill every mandrill in his village. “So it has come to this,” he murmured, staring with unfocused eyes at the paintings. “Busara, forgive me. All your teachings are like kudra seeds scattered in the wind. I have not passed on the light.” He rested his gaze on Asumini’s portrait one last time, then sighed. “Live forever. Live forever in love.” Opening wide, he closed his eyes and with a trembling hand lifted the paste towards his mouth.

“Rafiki?”

Sighing again, he lowered his hand and spoke without turning. “Please leave. I can not help you right now.”

“Why not?”

“It is none of your....” he whirled, intending to drive away the owner of the voice, but stopped when he saw Uzuri sitting quietly behind him. “Oh, hello.”

“What’s wrong?”

“My wife and daughter died today,” he said simply. “I am in mourning.”

Her eyes gleamed in the moonlight as she gasped in surprise. “Oh, gods! Both of them?? Rafiki, I’m so sorry!” She moved closer until her foreleg was touching his shoulder.