Submerged Land

Monama rode through the narrow track, the tall trees that grew on each side of the road providing shade from the burning sun. He felt sweat trickle under his black Uzizi armor and he frowned, cursing his years of residing in the dry north for taking away his tolerance for the heat and humidity of the south .

His men rode behind him, silent, eyes scanning the terrain as was their habit, gained from years of hard training. They rode for awhile upon their Ujimi; lean, hard, scaly beasts that put the speed and versatility of a horse to shame, possessing carapace on their body that was very difficult to penetrate and, when fed Shandar, became violent against anyone but their rider.

Monama expected it but when he saw it, it still cast him into surprise, stealing some of his breath from him. The trees seemed to bend back and the fortress exploded into view, it’s high, black walls looming over Monama and his men. Monama could see the Famka archers on the wall, their eyes trained on him and his men. Monama cursed silently. He had a great dislike for the Famka archers. Their aim was almost flawless and extremely lethal. He knew that from experience and he had a certain aversion to arrows being trained on his body. He rode up to the black, steel gate which was manned by four Ngapa spearmen.

They stood with sleeveless, black leather armor, their heavily muscled bodies covered by reddish brown skin and their yellow eyes shone with the restrained anger that was common to all Ngapa men. One of them drew closer to him and nodded, taking in Monama’s armor which bore the sign of the king: two snakes intertwined with each other to form the shape of a goblet. The man also took in, with greater respect, Monama’s reddish brown skin and yellow eyes. He nodded at Monama and Monama nodded back.

The Ngapa were averse to direct questions and Monama understood the one he was being asked without having to hear the words. This man was young and he was not in charge te last time Monama had come to Ngapa and as such, did not recognize him.

“Ntema, soldier. I am general Monama, brother of chief Fonati. He is expecting me, I’m sure. Now, open the gates,” He said in fluent Gara, the language of the Ngapa tribe and the man looked at the company of thirty soldiers that had accompanied Monama on his journey and he turned, calling out orders to the other men. The gates were opened from behind and Monama rode in. the thick smell of ripe Oromo fruits hit his nose and he inhaled deeply, a small smile breaking out on his face.

A man riding on a powerful, large Ujimi that dwarved the one Monama sat on rode up to his side, his face expressionless. Monama nodded at him and he nodded, not speaking. Monama took in the activity and the movement, feeling a nostalgic wave hit him as he saw young men straining behind barrowloads of cassava and yam tubers. He saw the women carrying baskets full of purple Oromo fruits on their heads, wearing the long, thin gowns and metallic anklets that jingled as they walked. Most of them gaped at the presence of Monama’s men, some just ignored them totally. The company of men came to an immensely large stone building that pointed upwards with wide verandahs and large bronze sculptures in front of it. Two guards stood before the door, wielding long, sleek axes with carvings on the handles. The man on the large Ujimi grunted as he came to a halt and he climbed off his mount. He turned towards Monama who had halted as well and he nodded. Monama frowned.

It had been four years since he had been home and he had grown unused to the coldness of his people. He had known that man since he was a boy, sparred with him, learned to ride an Ujimi with him but the man showed no sign of having even recognized him. the man turned swiftly and walked inside, past the guards that stood at the door. The men were observing him with hostile eyes. He knew it was not really him they were looking at but the Zakanmi warriors who made up a larger part of his men. He shrugged and climbed off his ujimi, patting the creature’s scaly skin and letting his eyes wander, taking in the tall trees that he had played upon as a child, the small, privatetraining ground where Unala had drilled in the art of spearmanship and the skill of using the axe into him and his brothers. The door opened then, pulling him from his thoughts and h saw the chief, his brother come from inside the house. The man was tall, taller than the average Ngapa and his arms were corded with solid muscles and veins that seemed as if they were going to burst out of his skin at any moment.

He kept a large beard that he braided into three strips and he had a long scar on his broad chest that seemed to writhe everytime he drew breath and his chest expanded to inhuman proportions. He smiled at Monama and Monama felt warmth spread across his chest. He chuckled as they shook hands and he struggled not to wince as his brother pressed his head against his.

“Eyes, Monama. It has been a while. I was beginning to think you had forgotten us,” He said. Monama smiled, shaking his head.

“I did forget you, Fonati but I remembered the palm wines and I knew I had to come here. I only remembered I had a brother when you came through that gate.” Monama said and laughed. Fonati leaned back, looking him over a little, a small frown on his face.

“You look like you have not seen a proper meal in years. Ah, that will be fixed. Come, come please. Your men will be taken care of as well.” He said and turned quickly. Monama turned to his men and nodded. The guide walked past him and he gripped the man’s shoulder. The man stiffened then slowly turned to look at Monama.

“How have you been, Gurai?” he said and the man shifted uncomfortably. Monama realized his mistake and felt shame steal over him. He cursed himself for immersing himself too deeply in northern behaviors.