Chapter 5

Rivers and Plains

Beyond the land of giant bamboo, the Abantu encountered a more familiar mix of forest and savannah.

Eku knew that sika-yaka punished some areas of plant life more than others; in particular, areas where Uwama and Ulayo were less generous in distributing fresh water.

Leaving Umawa thirsty.

Eku and Yathi trod along beaten down yellow grass amidst a parade of people.

Listless and stripped of bristles at this time of the cycle, the grass formed a permanent carpet of fields and pathways interspersed by copse of broad-leaf hardwoods, the canopies like upside down funnels due to foraging antelope and giraffe, the leaves long and flat and browned, rustling dryly, like waka-waka people whispering each time Ulayo exhaled.

The soil was arid and the tribe circumvented rock croppings of ochre sandstone, timeworn with smooth contours like human muscles.

Sika-yaka painted the land with drab colors, but green sek-umthi appeared in circular patches.

The large and sturdy bushes featured branches with symmetrically pleasing bundles of round leaves, each leaflet radiating outward like the fingers of a hand.

During lobo-yaka, sek-umthi sprouted beautiful, but stinky white flowers, which matured into dates deadly for humans if eaten, but attracting droves of bushpigs, which found them irresistible.

Kaleni taught Eku how to use the dates to set snares that never failed to capture a fat and succulent meal.

Bushpigs had not been seen in some time and Elu hoped the sek-umthi might be a good sign of things to come.

This land was particularly thirsty, forcing the people to ration water bladders.

When patches of the ever-resilient boxthorn began to appear, ironcially, that was another good sign.

Some version of boxthorn inhabited every land and like sek-umthi, the bushes remained green through sika-yaka.

Abantu often used the phrase embi-kulunge, which meant the opportunity to turn something bad into something good, or vice versa, depending on the circumstance.

Eku knew that boxthorn, while awful to encounter, always attracted other plants and small trees, which drew beasts to forage.

Eku clicked and said to Yathi, “Boxthorn and poisonous dates. Embi-kulunge.”

“One of those silly life things,” Yathi grumbled. “We hiked enough today. We should stay at the next camp for more than one night.”

“We will stop at the next place with water,” Eku predicted, not really caring if he was right, but knowing Yathi liked to keep things positive.

The tribe would stop when the mothers said it was time to stop.

***

The tribe did rest at the next obstacle, but only briefly.

Another river was to be forged; fortunately, this one pushed far less volume of water than the previous.

The hunters cut a path through the hedges of papyrus and river grass that guarded the shoreline.

The riverbed proved wide, mostly dry, the outer parts sedimentary dirt and exposed rock. A steady current flowed past boulders scattered along the deepest, center part of the channel.

The people filled bladders and marched upstream to find a suitable place to cross.

Eku, Yathi, Goguk and Kolo paced across mud that turned hard with small and smooth pebbles that massaged their feet.

The width of the center channel eventually widened and grew shallow and the current became gentle enough for everyone to wade safely across.

On the other side, the land swelled higher and a treeline blocked whatever came after.

Heading up an incline of grass, Eku and Yathi looked up the path of the river and saw the channel widened and deepened, forming a dark and flattened pond encircled by a muddied embankment.

Gigantic bodies lounged in the mud pool, oblong and brown, with a glow of pink.

Vubu.

Fascinated, Eku stopped to listen to the low-pitched grunts, reminding him of both seals and buffalos.

“They look like giant turds,” Yathi said.

“Wait until you see them up close,” Kolo said. “Vubu are ferocious.”

“Ir-hamka,” Goguk said in a worried voice.

“Yes,” Kolo said. “Never go to the water if vubu there. Vubu kill everything that comes to their pond. Even wenya.”

***

Across the ridgeline, the land transitioned to woodlands featuring subtropical grasses and clusters of bush, with the usual battery of boxthorn and small trees.

The lakes and ponds that spoiled the Abantu throughout the Mantel homeland were replaced by streams, some only a trickle at this part of the cycle, but enough to support stands of fig trees and soseji-umthi.

Soseji-umthi grew in a spreading pattern with enormous crowns that currently offered a spectacular display of flowers.

Hanging from the branches of a mature tree were waka-waka long stems, more like vines, currently engulfed by maroon flowers that hung in long and magnificent panicles.

The individual flowers were the size of Eku’s hand and speckled the enormous trees like fruits, while littering Umawa with rose-hued petals, food that both antelope and baboon enjoyed.

When the rains of loko-yaka began, the flowers matured into oblong fruits that grew to the length of a person’s arm; enthusiastically feasted upon by elephants, who sometimes tore the trees apart to get at the enormous pods.

While soseji-umthi was not directly useful for an Abantu, the trees were always a welcome sight, providing the opportunity to trap beasts, either drawn to the flowers during sika-yaka or the gourd-like fruit during lobo-yaka.

Figs, on the other hand, were an Abantu staple, yielding splendid fruit throughout the cycles, not just good tasting, but long lasting and thus, excellent travel food.

With plenty of food and water, the tribe’s progress remained steady.

Naturally nomadic, the people were marvelously prepared for any journey.

The latest part of the pilgrimage though, was the longest many of the Abantu had been away from home.

The Abantu yearned for Uwama’s presence.

Felt the need for her caress, almost as they would a real mother, their entire lives until now comforted by her embrace.

Many songs praised Uwama’s riches.

The people would never forget how Uwama nourished their ancestors through the terrible times.

During the chilliest part of sika-yaka, when a tribe sheltered amongst the inland hills, an Abantu was never truly lost, a popular verse ingrained upon every child:

Like children to a mother

Water returns to Uwama

She calls to her children

Water returns to her womb

If you are lost

follow her children home

And you will find home

***

Before the tribe lay a vast and treacherous estuary of brackish wetlands, mangrove forests and constantly shifting sandbars of silt fed by the confluence of two rivers.

Thus, the hunters led them deeper into a strange land.

The parade of people moved through stands of mopane trees, the leaves withered and yellowed, but clustered with plump brown seed pods that forbade a future of plenty.

When the rains came, the mopane would burst with two-sided leaves shaped like butterflies, eventually crawling with colorful caterpillars that once fattened, were a delicacy to be feasted upon.

Currently, the ground was littered by dried grass and clumps of brown leaves, the same as those in the trees.

Bare patches of Umawa showed reddish dirt.

Some of the Mantel maintained a deepset fear of the land where the two rivers merged.

Father told Yat and Eku more than once that the Mantel were prone to superstition.

Eku carried his ula-konto loose at the side, a hooded sheath over the barbed end, Yathi to one side, Goguk and Kolo on the other, the four of them walking abreast, satchels and bed mats strapped to their backs.

Four constant companions.

Eku looked past Goguk at Kolo, compact with good muscles, walking in his solid and steady way, carrying a long and straight stick he hacked from a sapling.

The Mantel made clever packs from shorn skin and Kolo had used cordage to tie his firmly, but comfortably against the shoulders and back, allowing him to maneuver more easily through areas of forest.

Like Yat, Kolo could be an excellent source of information.

Eku clicked to get his attention and asked, “What do the Mantel say of the land where the two rivers merge?”

Kolo leaned to look past Goguk and said, “I do not know. No Mantel has been there for a long time, but there are … I think what you call legends?” Seemed ready to say more, but hesitated.

Kolo waved his non-spear hand in the direction they were walking and said, “It is isipo.”

Eku said, “We say isipo-kee! when we talk of our ancestors. Is your isipo like that? Or a song? Or a legend?”

Unsure of the nuances, Kolo shrugged and said, “Isipo are passed from father and mother to children. All of the Mantel villages have their own isipo. Stories, you know?”

Eku nodded and Kolo added, “But there are some isipo that all villages share. Even when our people visit from far apart, we all know the words. Like your singing but … More like telling stories by talking.”

Eku asked, “So do you know the stories about the two rivers?”

Kolo nodded enough for his ponytail to sway and again motioned in the direction they were marching.

“The ancestors say to stay away from the land of the two rivers. To never, never, never go there.”

Between them, Goguk piped, “Why? Are the two rivers dangerous?”

Kolo put on a look of mock fear and said, “The land beyond the two rivers belongs to the yolumkono!”

He grinned, but there was something about the tone of his voice that made Eku quickly ask, “What does that word mean?”

Ahead of them, Tayat, Kolo’s mother, walked with Krele and Shona and other mothers.

Eku liked Tayat’s ponytail, tied thick and straight for a hands’ length, before loosening into braids that cascaded down, like a flower.

Tayat was extremely quiet, to the point that Eku wondered where Kolo got his gregarious nature.

While Tayat rarely said a word, typical of a mother, she had ears like a bat and abruptly turned and made a shushing sound at Kolo.

After a moment, Eku caught Kolo’s eye and gave him a questioning look.

He motioned for Eku and the others to lag a bit and when the adults were out of earshot said, “We tell scary stories about the yolumkono. The elders scared us with them when we were little and misbehaved.”

Interested, Eku asked, “But what are they?”

Kolo shrugged. “How do you say it? Ir-hamka?”

“That would be something very scary.”

“Yes,” Kolo answered. “That is what the elders say. The yolumkono are very scary. They are beasts, but they are also part human.”

Eku looked thoughtful for a moment, then concerned and asked, “A beast like a lion or a monkey or a plant eater?”

“I do not know. But they are ferocious.”

“Like a lion then?”

“Yes. A lion. Something terrible.”

***

Following their initial contact, friendship between the Abantu and Mantel hunters grew over generations.

The combined abilities of the two tribes allowed them to explore further up the coastline; though, at first, the Mantel refused to venture north of the giant bamboo.

Once the Abantu hunters traveled to the lands beyond the bamboo and returned very much alive, enough of the Mantel were convinced that the isipo was wrong.

Or perhaps the mysterious yolumkono did not survive the terrible times.

The Abantu scouts assured the Mantel that the land was nevertheless dangerous.

Bountiful, but deadly.

During their first exploratory moves north of the giant bamboo, the Abantu hunters encountered the monstrous water buffalo, as well as other menacing creatures.

Of particular concern was a new kind of baboon, or at least a creature like a baboon, but at least twice the size of a normal baboon, ranging in highly mobile bands the scouts were careful to avoid.

And there had been sounds one night.

Sounds the hunters did not want to put into a song, but were obligated to tell.

Cries such as a helpless victim made when trapped by a predator and used as a plaything before death.

Sounds made all the more haunting, because the victim sounded just like a human.

***

Eku loved being on the pilgrimage.

Every day was an adventure.

Traveling at a comfortable pace, setting up simple, temporary camps next to freshwater, remaining one night or more, depending on the need or opportunity to replenish.

Traditionally, both the Mantel and Abantu followed a chain of command starting with the elders and descending through the adults.

Critical decisions that effected tribe as a whole or in the severe cases of conflict between individuals, were decided by groups of elders; though now, with the exception of Tiuti, there were no elders.

Settling into the top-level administrative role were the mothers.

Sisters Krele and Shona, along with Luvu and Nyama, remained a unified voice, always followed by the enough of the other Abantu and Mantel mothers to maintain firm control over when to establish camp, where and what to harvest, how long to rest and how much to resupply before continuing.

When the hunters went into the bush, they first checked with the mothers, who said which meat would be appropriate, but more importantly, the body parts most in need; whether a particular skin or sinew, marrow for essential oils, the ideal foot bones bones for awls, scrapers and other tools; as well as other essentials, such as brains for curing hides and bladders to carry water.

“We are the elephants now,” Eku overheard Krele tell Shona, who laughed.

Eku figured that was fine by him.

Elephant parades were led by matriarchs, who guided the great beasts unerringly from food source to watering hole.

Eku loved his aunt Shona’s no nonsense approach, a perfect counter to giant Lume’s equally giant love of feasting and fun.

Shona was older and taller than Krele.

Stronger physically, which Eku figured made sense, seeing that she had to lay with Lume, who was like a water buffalo at a small pond.

Shona was fast approaching the highly esteemed status of isipo-bomi, a tribute placed upon a female blessed enough to raise multiple offspring to adulthood.

Yathi had hair around his penis and under his arms, so he was becoming an adult.

Eku checked every day, but he was lagging in that department.

Yathi had Kozik and Doagu; whereas, it was just him and Yatyambo.

Eku’s mother was a bit shorter than average and slender, but famous for her quickness; at one time, being the fastest amongst all the young females, faster even than most of the males.

And more clever than all of them.

Kaleni, though, was fast and clever enough to eventually catch her.

Krele’s first child, a son, was born at a time the tribe was going through an unusual drought and constantly moving.

Circumstances were rigorous.

The baby did not survive the first days following birth.

As the Abantu say, when something is meant to be, something happens.

Devastated, Krele and Kaleni mourned.

Later, while inland during sika-yaka, Krele became pregnant with Yatyambo, who was born just days after Shona gave birth to Doagu; thus, they shared the same laba-ini.

Yat was a healthy baby and soon everyone talked about her being the most capable Abantu of her age, just as her mother had been.

When hearing such tales about his sister, Eku—who revered his mother—was horrified and needed to verify such an outrageous claim with an adult he trusted.

“Yes,” his uncle Lume had told him, while nodding his big head, “Yatyambo and your mother are very much alike. For sure.”

Eku walked away muttering.

Such a thing could not be true.

He loved Yat, of course, but she had a wicked temper and a sharp tongue.

Krele never got flustered.

She was always two steps ahead of everyone else, her thoughts making up for what she used to do with her feet.

While his father was certainly the greatest hunter, quite matter-of-factly, Eku considered his mother the most capable Abantu there was.

But then again, Yat was a very fast runner….

***

The Abantu reached a truly vast floodplain created by the confluence of the two rivers.

Fortunately, at this stage of the dry cycle, the ground was dry and firm and the people moved pleasantly through orchards of palm trees.

But not just any palm trees.

These particular palms were packed with dense clusters of edible dates.

The tribe took frequent breaks, stopping to cut through the thicketed margins of grass surrounding each cluster, then climbing into the short trees to pull down ribbons of vines pearled with oval brown fruits.

Eku and Yathi used the pointy ends of scoopers to expertly cut through the hard exterior to get at the delicious and soft core.

Yathi soon consumed so much of the sweet fruit, he began stopping to squat too frequently, forcing Shona to cut him off for a day.

Eku marveled that not once had he missed the sealskin vest he normally wore during sika-yaka.

The weather remained warm and food was plentiful.

He walked amidst a long parade with Yathi and Kolo, per usual, with Dokuk, Odi and Goguk just to the side.

As they made their way through grassy clusters of the small palm trees, Yathi grumpily asked if anyone had something interesting to eat.

Eku swung his sealskin satchel from back to front and felt around inside.

Pulled out a parcel of wrapped leaves.

Peeled away a leaf for a smell and said, “Wenya. Greasy and smoky, but should be good.”

Grateful, Yathi took the parcel and unwrapped the leaves to find the jerked meat.

Gave a smell, which seemed satisfactory and tried a bite.

Yat came up from behind in time to catch Yathi's jaw at work.

“Aunt Shona said you have to stop eating that,” she scolded.

Her hair was wrapped in a narrow plume with feathers as decoration, the plume bouncing off her full back sack, feathers fluttering as she walked.

“Not palm fruit,” Yathi said.

Dangled the strip of pale and stringy jerked meat so she could see and added, “Smoked wenya.”

Yat’s pretty face contorted as she exclaimed, “Smoked wenya is disgusting!”

“I know. I do not like it either.”

Aghast, Yat snapped, “Why are you eating it?”

“I like chewing.”

Yat looked on in feigned horror as Yathi tore off a chunk and chewed thoughtfully for a moment.

Nodded and said, “The sour taste goes away and then you can just chew it.”

Sternly, Yat said, “You are silly.”

“Chewing helps me to not think about walking.”

Yat seemed prepared for another critique, but paused to consider Yathi’s words.

Clicked in a neutral way and went to move on, but not before shooting a sly grin at Dokuk that left him with his heart racing.

Yathi continued to chew contentedly, though, when he caught a look from Eku, who was mimicking Yat when she looked stern, they burst into laughter.

***

//

The Abantu had penetrated far enough inland to bypass where the two rivers merged.

A gentle rain fell as Eku and Yathi followed the parade through trampled river grass and palm trees to reach the first river, which was the smaller of the two and currently fordable by foot.

Once across, the narrow band of land between the two rivers became a kind of dreamscape.

During lobo-yaka, water levels were raised enough to connect the rivers, while during sika-yaka, the land reappeared and a thick carpet of green finger grass covered the land, interspersed by towering white palm trunks, but no other plants.

Flat as far as Eku could see, Umawa covered by vibrant, fur-like grass and the tallest and nakedest pale tree trunks Eku had ever seen.

Impossibly high, topped by circular clusters of green fronds.

“They look like giant flowers,” Yat exclaimed.

At first, everyone was mesmerized by the landscape, but soon, yelps along the parade alerted everyone to watch their step.

A detritus of shed palm leaves littered the otherwise wonderfully soft grass.

From below, the palm leaves did not look large, being at the top of such a tall tree, but on the ground became gigantic.

Their desiccated remains no doubt returned to Umawa quickly, but the center midribs lingered, now dry and stiff and armed with spines, painful to step on, even for their toughened feet.

Tiuti and some of the mothers were forced to wear skins on their feet for protection.

When the tribe reached the second river, the opposite shore was but a smudge on the horizon.

With no boats prepared in advance, this would be their most serious challenge yet.

Making the choice of the route more delicate, there were waka-waka pregnancies, several of whom, including Yathi’s sister Doagu, would soon give birth.

Unfortunately, a river such as the one before them could harbor nasty little beasts that would make entering the water much too dangerous for a female with an advanced pregnancy.

Those pregnant must cross without entering the water.

The tribe set up a temporary camp amidst a steady rain, while Kaleni and Umthi led the lead hunters upstream to look for a better location for the crossing.

The soft earth quickly became squishy and muddy.

Eku and Yathi worked their arms to weariness, transporting bundles of cut river grass to where the adults were building rounded shelters.

The next day was equally busy, as the hunters returning from upriver and the tribe moving again.

Upriver the land rose and the mesmerizing land of grass and giant palms transitioned to riverine forest.

A more permanent camp was established, once again, Eku and Yathi laboring for a day amongst an infinite supply of reeds to weave round huts.

Once camp was established, they prepared for the river crossing.

***

Bored and looking for something to do, Eku, Yathi, Gokuk and Kolo wandered the encampment along the river.

Before them, to the upriver side, the land began to rise and transition to riverine forest.

Downriver, sprawled the beginning of the grass and the eerily beautiful forest of tall palms.

Rounded huts dotted the center of camp, arranged across a cleared area of tall finger grass.

Any saplings or bush were cut back and heaped to form a low baricade around the perimeter.

The area was populated by leopards and a ring of fire pits remained smoldering.

Eku saw Dokuk and others heading toward the side of camp near the giant palms.

Saw Dokuk and Tuve carrying ula-kontos. Other, younger, aspiring hunters trailed the two older males, carrying wooden spears or keri sticks.

Eku felt a pang of envy and fervently wished he could go and practice with them.

When everyone practiced together, they had contests and it was fun.

But then, Eku always wanted to practice.

Sometimes he did other things, as neither Yathi or Goguk aspired to be hunters.

He continued with the others, in a direction upriver, remaining close to the water.

Further upriver from the encampment, the land continued to rise into a ridgeline, which forced the river to narrow.

Where the set up the encampment, the land was flat and the river expanded into an enormous width, even wider than the river they crossed in the Mantel dugouts, though not nearly as deep or fast moving.

The main channel was dotted with many islands, some just rocks and grass, others with copse of trees.

Eku spied Tiuti, standing a bit upriver from the encampment, where the river began to narrow, deepening and becoming placid.

Tiuti stood upon a triangular area of shore of silt that jutted into the water, looking upriver, at where the treelined ridgeline rose.

“We should see what Tiuti is thinking about,” Eku said. “Find out what he is doing. Why he is looking that way the way he is.”

Goguk said, “Tiuti scares me.”

“He just ignores you, like most people,” Yathi said.

“He is ancient and wise,” Kolo said with admiration.

“Tiuti is always busy with his thoughts,” Eku said.

“He is scary,” Goguk repeated.

Yathi chuckled and said, “When Tiuti works with the izik-kosa, he laughs when my father tells dirty jokes.”

He clicked and grinned at Eku, who grinned back.

“Come on,” Eku said and started forward, confident the others would follow.

Tiuti wore his usual, shorn-skin loincloth with a knife and holster tied snugly against his thigh.

A soft wrap was tied over a shoulder and wound around the torso to tie at the waist.

He had walked into a three-sided area of shoreline sediment that pushed into the water immediately before the river began to expand rapidly in width.

Deep in thought, a smile lifted the corners of his normally stern mouth at the approach of the tribe’s youngest males.

Eku called, “Izik-ikiz Tiuti. Why do you stare so?”

Tiuti motioned them over. Once close, he gestured at the nearby hillock, at the pale trunks of the outermost trees, the first, pale pillars that supported a vast network of green.

Tiuti said, “Today the Mantel carve a tree into what we call ipyane-isiga, such as those that carried us across the previous river.”

Yathi, comfortable around Tiuti excitedly said, “Ipyane! Like we rode across on?”

Tiuti actually chuckled at his enthusiasm, which resulted in Goguk and Kolo unexpectedly grinning.

“Yes,” Tiuti said. “From a single tree. Or perhaps two.”

He gazed thoughtfully at Eku, before adding, “You should come. All of you. See what the Mantel can teach us.”

***

Later that day, the entire tribe knew there would be a momentous event.

A host of people moved to the upriver side of the encampment to the edge of the forest, Eku and Yathi making sure they were at the forefront, to be sure they saw all the action.

Amongst the Mantel were those who knew how to make the dugouts used at the previous crossing.

The boat builders selected two trees, suitably close to the water, growing on an incline so the base of the trunks naturally curved before growing straight up for a sufficient height.

Curious, Eku watched as the entire Mantel tribe gather next to the two trees.

An animated conversation began, but only in the Mantel language.

“What are they doing,” Yathi kept repeating.

Because the Mantel were talking fast, and many at the same time, Eku had no idea what was going on, but watched closely.

Sometimes voices were raised.

There was a lot of gesticulating.

Arguing, no doubt, but with a ritualistic feel, as though the entire population had to be involved in choosing the same trees recommended by the boat makers in the first place.

“Maybe that is like one of their tribal councils,” Eku guessed.

Yathi clicked positive, liking the idea.

The Mantel broke into smaller groups and everyone seemed quite pleased.

By now all of the Abantu had wandered over, curious to see how the forest people made the amazing crafts they would use to cross the river, the same as they had used to cross the previous.

Several Mantel began chopping away at the base of the two trees, while others set up work platforms at the base of the incline, closer to the water.

They brought forth stones for sharpening.

Eku focused on those wielding the axes.

The outer layer of bark and wood was soft and though the trees were very broad, they quickly cut to a hand's depth all the way around each.

A pair of Mantel then worked at each tree, chopping a wedge into the sides that faced the incline, where they wanted them to fall.

The sharp thwack of rock on wood echoed.

The forest folk had excellent axes, having located enough quartzite to knap quality, adze-shaped heads, which they bound and glued to a short haft.

The axes were effective for hacking away chunks of wood, but really, no more than a well balanced club with a cutting edge.

While the Mantel would do the boat carving, the Abantu begged for the honor to finish cutting down the trees.

Once the Mantel were satisfied with the wedges cut into each trunk, they happly relinquished the remaining brute labor.

The Abantu also made axes with heads of quartzite, as there was no need to waste precious isipo-igazi on tools used for blunt force chopping.

But, where the Mantel struggled to find knappable stone, the izik-kosa had a wealth of quarries across the southern shores and used vices and hammers to groove and shape the knapped heads.

Tiuti invented chisels of isipo-igazi, hard enough to use a hammer and fine-tune the shaping of a quartzite head. He had even come up with a drill using isipo-igazi to bore holes cleanly through quartzite, make ever-more effective ways to attach different types of blades to a variety of tools and weapons.

The Mantel were in awe of the massive quartzite heads the izik-kosa attached to the long handles of their tree-felling axes.

As for the Abantu, they loved a contest and the hunters challenged the izik-kosa over who could cut down a tree first.

Teams were selected.

Yathi grinned ear to ear when his big brother Kozik stepped forward with Ingwabi.

Kozik and Ingwabi were ikanabe.

Kozik was one of the tallest in the tribe with broad shoulders and powerful legs.

Ingwabi was the eldest child of Nibamaz and supremely capable, like his father.

Teaming up to attack the other tree were Azik and Kizma, also ikabane and two of the tribe’s strongest young izik-kosa.

Dokuk leaned over Eku and Yathi’s shoulders to whisper, “Azik and Kizma do not have a chance.”

The trees grew halfway up a gentle slope and all brush around the base had been cleared.

The people gathered to either side of where the trees would fall, while others gathered up the incline and around the back to form a circle around the contestants and their respective trees.

Eku and Yathi and the other young males had squeezed their way to optimal viewpoints, partway up the incline.

They watched as the Kozik and Ingwabi swung necklaces with a single talon around their backs.

Azik and Kizma did the same with their pendants of carved wood and bone.

The contest began and wood chips flew.

The members of each team took turns whacking away at their respective trees.

Though the izik-kosa were more familiar with an ax and applied more precise cuts, they soon fell behind due to the sheer might of Kozik.

It was clear the izik-kosa were overmatched, when a shout came from part of the crowd at the top of the incline.

“Out of the way,” a stern voice commanded.

The contest momentarily halted as Lume lumbered through like a bull elephant making its way to a watering hole.

Yathi’s father was known for two things: being Tiuti’s most highly skilled izik-kosa, and for his size.

Lume loved to eat.

A lot.

Yathi’s father’s belly was legendary across the southern shores.

And such a belly might have been cumbersome, were it not set between boulder-like shoulders and tree trunk legs.

Even Lume’s hands were large, like seal flippers, fingers thick and powerful from a lifetime of working rock and bone.

“My turn,” he said to Azik and Kizma.

In Lume’s hands was a magnificent, tree-felling ax.

Straight and smooth hardwood shaft with a wedge-shaped head.

The ax head was wide, thick on one side; beautifully knapped to taper gradually to a knife-sharp edge.

The thick head of the ax had a hole drilled through the center and resin-glue and sinew was wrapped and heated to permanently melt stone to haft.

A truly fearsome and magnificent weapon.

But Kozik only grinned.

He and Ingwabi had cut much further into their tree.

Said confidently to his father, “You cannot catch up.”

“We shall see,” Lume answered.

The contest began again with great fervor and the crowd began rhythmically clapping and shouting.

Kozik and Ingwabi were young and strong and took turns attacking their tree.

Everyone knew it would fall shortly.

In Lume’s massive hands, the beautifully crafted ax was something to behold.

His huge belly bounced and roiled and wood chips flew in chunks.

The crowd murmured in amazement, then began cheering loudly as Lume firmly anchored his feet and whirled the ax faster.

Eku could not believe the sound the ax head made when striking the tree, a sound with a visceral edge, as though the air itself was shocked by the impact of each blow.

Kozik and Ingwabi each took frantic turns, their young muscles striated and straining, but normally placid Lume was now possessed by a demon, the ax spinning over his head, first from one direction than the other, wood chunks flying in all directions, slivers plastered against his shaking belly.

In no time, Lume surpassed the hunters and soon the tree groaned and creaked and after a last, wicked blow, fell downward, the crash drowned by the roar of the crowd.

Shortly after, Kozik delivered a final blow to the hunters' tree and the crowd cheered again.

Sweating profusely and covered with slivers of wood, Lume hugged his powerful, but still young son and pulled him toward the river.

“I’m going with them,” Yathi shouted and tore off to squeeze himself between his big brother and giant father, the three of them leading a large group for a swim.

Eku grinned up at Tiuti, the two of them having stayed to watch the boat carvers.

Eku watched in fascination as the Mantle attacked each tree, stripping bark and smoothing knots.

Other izik-kosa grabbed their own tree-felling axes and took turns chopping through the thick trunk where the first branches began.

After the brush was cleared, each end of the giant log was chopped and scraped to a tapered point.

A crowd gathered once more to push and roll the big logs down the remainder of the incline to the platforms by the water, where the more precise carving would take place.

Eku noted the tools the Mantel used for the precision carving were modified to fit Abantu blades of isipo-gazi.

He spent the following days with the old master, the two of them learning everything they could about how the dugouts took proper form.

***

This is a good night, Eku thought.

Darkness fell some time ago, but the entire tribe was awake and active, excited for the next day and the crossing of the river.

The air was warm, but clear, more like early lobo-yaka, before the rains began.

Eku sat with Yathi, Kolo and Goguk at the edge of flat rock, feet dangled with toes just above the water.

The bellies of the young males were full; they were content, enjoying the atmosphere of a mysterious land.

Yanga had yet to rise and a sweep of stars speckled the night sky sable to plum; below, the flat plane of the water reflected inky black with silver shimmers; in the void in between, invisible bats sang a high pitched pursuit of infinite insects.

Eku looked up at a vast sprawl of celestial bodies so vivid he wanted to jump up and grab one.

The cough of a leopard echoed across the water and brought his attention earthbound.

“I like it here,” he said.

“Me too,” Yathi agreed.

“I like home better,” Goguk chimed in.

“I want to see the land of legend,” Kolo said.

“Me too,” Eku agreed.

“You miss home?” Kolo asked Goguk.

The two of them were spending much free time together, many of the Abantu hoping that Goguk might have found a new ikanabe.

“It was nice where we lived,” he said.  “I like eating mussels. They are my favorite.”

Yathi clicked rapidly, added a grunt and said, “I want to go back to the other river, with the little palm trees.”

“You will end up fat like a vubu,” Kolo said. Giggled, adding, “When they get mad at each other, they shit and use their tail to fling it in all directions.”

Yathi said, “I wish I could do that,” and the others laughed and made appropriate sounds of disgust.

Once the chuckling subsided, Kolo made a face and finished with, “They are horrible and disgusting. Never drink water near vubu.”

“For sure,” Yathi said.

Kolo leaned closer.

Nose to nose, the night was bright enough for them to see each other’s features.

“Why are your eyes so?”

“Laza eyes,” Yathi said.

“Laza?”

“My mother says laza eyes are a gift from Uwama, for taking her islands back. She gave my ancestors’ eyes the color of her water.”

Yathi opened his eyes wide and Kolo peered closely.

Solemn, he said, “I have never seen Uwama.”

The Abantu males chimed, “Never!”

Kolo leaned back, saying, “We do not travel beyond the mangroves.”

Yathi said, “My father told me our ancestors lived on islands. They had boats. Probably like yours. We fished and speared seals.

“But then Uwama raised her waters and we took our boats back to Umawa and became Abantu.

“That was a long time ago. Even before the terrible time.”

Kolo said, “That is one of our shared isipo. When ash fell from the sky and even the trees died.”

Eku blurted, “Probably not the jungle trees. They are too old and large.”

Goguk exclaimed, “Have the jungle trees been here forever? Like the rivers?”

“Rivers are forever, but jungle trees die,” Kolo said matter of factly. “They fall and then bamboo grows.”

“But jungle trees are very old, for sure,” Eku said.

“Very old,” Kolo agreed. “Like Tiuti.”

There was a sound and they all turned to look: Yat and Dokuk settled on a rise of grassy earth, a bit away from the young males.

“I cannot wait to ride tomorrow,” Goguk announced.

“You are lucky,” Yathi said, with envy.

“I want to swim,” Eku offered, knowing he sounded braver than he felt.

“Not me,” Yathi answered, though Eku knew he was an excellent swimmer. “I would rather ride. The last part is too far.”

Kolo said, “We are many together. So it is safe. Besides, this river is not good for vubu. They like mud and ponds.

“And wenya, if there are big ones, the hunters on the dugouts will stop them.”

***

The tribe crossed en masse, as the wildebeest did, cutting across the river as a river themselves.

Across from the encampment, the river was calm, the current negligible.

The presence of so many able bodies was reassuring for the weaker swimmers, especially the Mantel, who, ironically, having lived their entire lives along ponds and streams, rarely swam; whereas, the Abantu were raised diving after shellfish.

Immediately before them lay a tame expanse of riffles.

Eku and the other young people needed only to wade or float from small island to small island, some thicketed with brush, others just rock covered shoals.

The first, real swim began where the center channel deepened, but was not far.

Eku swam easily across the deeper water with waka-waka others.

He and Yathi walked gingerly across more rocky shallows, where the land rose again to an island large and dry enough to support a partial ecosystem, with monkeys in the trees and evidence of duiker and pig.

Eku and Yathi followed Yat and the other young people through shoreline tangles to find an open area under the tall trees, where they waited until the entire tribe arrived.

The two dugouts transported supplies and gave rides to those who could not swim safely.

Through the trees, Eku could see from one side of the island to the other, as well as one side of the river to the other.

So far they had crossed about half the river with little difficulty, but the remaining portion was wide open.

No more islands meant swimming the entire distance.

Far, even for an Abantu.

While the rest of the tribe prepared, Eku watched his father and the lead hunters swim the remaining distance, while the dugouts transported javelins, ula-konto and other supplies.

Soon after, Eku, Yathi and Yat set out with the rest of the tribe, swimming steadily, the dugouts roaming back and forth, watching for wenya and other dangers, and giving rides to those not swimming.

At times, the current seemed to pull, especially where the temperature varied with a cold spot, and Eku scissor-kicked to maintain course.

Yat and Yathi were strong swimmers and stayed close, occasionally offering encouragement.

At one point, Goguk passed on one of the dugouts, sitting with Doagu and another pregnant passenger, hollering gleefully.

Lume sat at the front, big back and shoulders straight, making him look lopsided even for the large dugout, but refusing to relinquish the paddling duties to anyone else no matter how many trips across.

***

Beyond the two rivers, the land returned to savannah, pockmarked by trees and bush, level as far as the eye can see.

After conferring with the mothers, Kaleni and Nibamaz charted a course to the right of north, across a vast and flat grassland, which inevitably led to mangroves.

The hunters found a gently moving stream and the tribe moved en masse, hunched over, knee-deep in water that tunneled beneath interwoven branches.

Amidst a thick parade of people, Eku and Yathi worked their way as close to the front as possible, eventually crouching and then floating beneath a ceiling of twigs and green leaves that abruptly ended at laza sky.

Once out from the mangroves, they stood in warm, gently moving water up to their knees.

Yelling with happiness, Eku and Yathi joined the surge of Abantu in front of them, skipping across the shallow estuary, splashing through a weaving of ankle-high grass to—joy of joys—a sandy beach.

Eku and Yathi joined the Abantu bounding onto the sand, everyone wearing goofy smiles.

The Mantel came slowly after, sharing looks of awe.

Before them, a small and narrow beach of yellow-brown sand and then, rolling waves of green-gray crested with foamy white caps.

A few crawling crabs.

Bird calls from the mangroves.

Before them, in all her majesty: Uwama.

There were soft murmurs.

A few tears.

Words cannot suffice.

Nevertheless, Kolo, coming up to stand beside Eku and Yathi, tried, saying, “She is so big.”

Yat stepped next to them and said, “Uwama carries the world.”

“I missed her,” Yathi said.

“Me too,” Dokuk and Goguk chimed, having joined them.

Kolo said in the same, reverent voice, “She is so big.”

Yat said, “There are songs of Uwama’s caress turning Umawa one way or the other, but my father thinks Umawa does not turn at all, and that the land goes on forever, like the salted water of Uwama does, but in different directions.”

Eku said, “He taught us how to tell.”

Gazed up to find Ulanga and checked his shadow.

Oriented himself and pointed up the coastline, adding, “We find out by going that way.”

Kolo asked, “Does Tiuti think there is more land beyond the land of legend?”

Proudly, Yat said, “Him and my father.”

Goguk exclaimed, “How big is the world?”

“I do not know,” Eku said. “But we will be the ones who find out.”

***

For several days the tribe clung to the coast, wading around pockets of mangroves; swimming across the intertidal zones that separated one pristine beach from another; feasting on endless ubhak-unda, giant turtles, fish and octopi.

Three straight nights where all the Abantu had to do to make camp was roll out bed mats on the sand and gaze at the stars.

The rain, when it came, was gentle and they made crude shelters and slept together for warmth.

Finally, the mangroves thickened and the shoreline dropped.

The tribe found another stream to follow, this time against the current and out of the mangroves, to begin marching into the heart of Umawa.