Nyumbani Tales

an involuntary shudder gripped Mizuna, and her hands formed a sign of protection.  For the Place of Stones was a ruin left behind by an archaic, pre-human race.  Located far to the north of the Ilyassai domain, the ruins had always been shunned by the warrior-herdsmen.  The gesture Mizuna made was as close as an Ilyassai could come to an admission of fear.
Mizuna reached out touched Katisa’s face.  The herb-woman’s gaze probed deeply into the younger woman’s troubled eyes.
“Have I ever done you harm?” Mizuna asked in a gentle tone.
Like a child, Katisa shook her head.
“Then trust me now.  There is a place you can go to, if you are willing to take the risk.  This place lies neither to the east nor the west, where the enemies of the Ilyassai dwell.  Nor does it lie to the forbidden north.  It lies to the south.”
“The Ardhi ya Nyama? Katisa exclaimed incredulously.  “The Land of Beasts?  Are you telling me it would be better to be eaten by the monsters that dwell there than captured by the Turkhana or Zamburu?”
“I thought you trusted me,” Mizuna reproved.
“I do,” said Katisa.  “But ...”
“Do you know the story of the Lost Clan?” Mizuna interrupted.
“Yes,” Katisa replied in a puzzled tone.  “I heard the tale from your own lips when I was a little girl.  Many rains ago, a warrior named Kamayu had a disagreement with his clan’s ol-arem. In anger, Kamayu and most of the clan marched southward, toward the Ardhi ya Nyama.  They were never heard from again, as the beasts of the Ardhi must have killed them.”
“So it is said,” Mizuna agreed.  “But if the Lost Clan did disappear, it was not because of the Ardhi’s beasts.”
“How can you know that?”
“The story was told to me by Myinya, the mother of my grandmother, not long before her death,” Mizuna replied.  “In the time when Myinya was a young herb-woman, she loved Kamayu.  But the ol-arem loved her, too, and that was the reason for their anger against each other.  In the end, Myinya chose the ol-arem, and Kamayu and his followers were angry.
“Because she still had feelings for Kamayu, Myinya gave them an herbal dawa she had recently discovered.  When rubbed on the skin, this dawa drove away beasts that hunt by scent.  Yet at the same time, it attracted game animals to within reach of hunters’ spears.  Because she cared for Kamayu, Myinya gave him the dawa.  But because she loved the ol-arem more, she did not go south with the Lost Clan.
“Since then, the Ilyassai have believed the Lost Clan marched stubbornly to certain doom.  Only to her daughter did Myinya eventually tell the secret of the dawa.  The story came down to me.  And now, I have told it to you.”
“So, you’re saying there could be Ilyassai living beyond the Ardhi ya Nyama,” Katisa said.
Mizuna nodded.
“But how could I follow the Lost Clan?” Katisa asked.  “I have no access to the dawa.  The secret of making it must have died long ago, with Myinya.”
A smile spread slowly across Mizuna’s face.
“You are wrong, Katisa,” she said.  “Before she died, Myinya chose me to succeed her as herb-woman.  She gave me all her knowledge ... including the way to make the dawa that drives away dangerous beasts.”
“And you will give that secret on to me, so that I can go the way of the Lost Clan to escape Chitendu?” Katisa asked, already knowing what Mizuna’s reply would be.
Mizuna nodded.  She chose not to tell Katisa that before Karamu’s fateful olmaiyo, she had decided that the daughter of Mubaku and Junyari would become her successor.  Now, that could not be.
Better to keep that grief to myself, Mizuna thought.
Katisa wanted to hurl herself into the older woman’s arms and weep in gratitude.  But that was not the Ilyassai way.
“If I am going to go at all, I must leave tonight,” Katisa said.
“Then I will tell you the secret of the dawa now,” said Mizuna, aware of the emotion Katisa was suppressing.  “It is unbelievably simple.  First, you rub your skin with biki-leaves, then with those of the jawuma – always in that order.  There is nothing more to it than that.  Yet Myinya was nearly killed as she tried different combinations of leaves before finding the right one.”
Reaching into the shadows behind her, Mizuna produced a large leather pouch equipped with a strap that could be slung over one shoulder.
“I have picked many leaves over the past days,” she said.  “The biki are on the right; the jawuma on the left.”
Wordlessly, Katisa accepted the pouch.  She was filled not only with gratitude, but also awe.  Given the many rains Mizuna had lived, and the great age to which Myinya was known to have lived, the events of which the herb-woman had spoken must have occurred beyond the memory of anyone else in the Kitoko clan.  Yet Mizuna could just as easily have repeating yesterday’s gossip.
Then, in defiance of the Ilyassai way, Katisa embraced Mizuna and allowed a few tears to fall onto the older woman’s wrinkled brow.  The tensions and bitterness of the past few days seeped freely from Katisa’s tightly shut eyelids.
Finally, Mizuna gently freed herself from Katisa’s arms.
“You must go before dawn,” Mizuna said quietly.  “May the ancestors guide your way.”
“Yes,” Katisa said solemnly.  “Thank you, Mizuna.”
Slinging the pouch over her shoulder, Katisa turned and squeezed through the doorway of the herb-woman’s dwelling.  On her way back to her own manyatta, Katisa did not notice the small shape that hid in the background.
It was Muburi, a boy who had seen the passing of fewer than ten rains.  Leaving the ngombes he was guarding to relieve himself, Muburi had spotted Katisa as she had made her way to the manyatta of the herb-woman.  The curious child followed her, then crouched outside the manyatta, and heard everything that had passed between Katisa and Mizuna.
Now, after Katisa’s departure, the boy’s brow furrowed in thought.  What was he to do with what he had just