Through the cross-hatch of plaited reeds,The little inner storeroom undiscovered,Ktwala, too, still undiscovered.She peered through the latticework of the barrel’s cover.She saw: the red daubed ceiling of her destroyed longhouse.She heard: the death agonies of her betrayed clansmen– Their horror echoed from its walls.Her body trembled, she stilled herself .Inside the clay barley grain container,Tears washed her face but not her grief away.She stopped the sob from rising from her throat.Loving words, she thought.Deceiving words, she thought.And yet. . .his heart seemed true.This she thought as she peeredThrough the latticework of the barrel upon the vermilion-red ceiling.Around her, the smell of spices mixed with conquered blood, filled the air.In the near distance: outside the room,booted footsteps trampled the floors of the Peacock longhouse.In the near distance: Outside of life,Her brothers numbed to find themselves suddenly outside of life.Momentary but continuous sounds:The quick rip of human flesh.Continual, yet cut! suddenly cut! short:Her brothers death throes.In Ktwala’s mind: Ancient stories of great and prevailing warriors.In Ktwala’s mind: Triumphant tales told by studiers of worlds.In her heart: Nahas loving words, deceiving caressesIn her heart: the loosely-flowing hairs of those murderersFalling blood-soaked and matted from their split skulls.The words of a Wheel Clan warrior:“We’ve found a girl, the chief’s littlest daughter?”The voice of another answered, “It is his daughter’s daughter. Maharai.”Caged, her heart reeled.She touched the barrel’s cover, drew her breath slowly,Quelled her body’s inner trembling.A carved wooden club lay between her cramped legs.Why not answer its ancestral call?She thought, Why do I sit here safely hidden?Common sense stayed her hands.Barley fell from between Ktwala’s fingers.“I must live and avenge my destroyed clan.”In the language of the Peacock Clan, Nahas commanded Ktwala’s sisters.He said, “I understand that you were unaware of the war between our clans.”He said, “Nevertheless, your brothers must die.And you cannot go free.”He said, “The Chief’s daughter is not among you.Tell where she is and she will live.”Ktwala thought, My sisters, my aunts, do not betray me.The Peacock women remained silent.Only the dying groans of their husbands, brothers, and sonssounded in Ktwala’s ear.Then, Gidea’s voice: “I saw her die in the fields.She raced toward the large cliff, she jumped into the river.”Nahas’ voice: “If her body is in the river, it will rise up again.We will remain here tonight. If we do not find it---”Away, fading -- the weeping and commanding voices.Away, drifting -- voices from the longhouse.Yet, nearing – footsteps.And someone leaned against the container,Blocked light.Ktwala heard: two voices –male– speaking in the language of the Wheel Clan.Ktwala saw: Hands touching the top of the container, twisting.She held her breath: the cover raised, light broke in.From above, the face of a warrior of the Nahas Clanlooked down upon her, his eyes wide open.The same pale warrior whose pale beauty had surprised her --That noble warrior now stood open-mouthed looking down at her,Love for her in his eyes.A male voice called from behind him. Ephan! Studier!The warrior looked up away from Ktwala,His eyes squinting toward the unseen speaker.He turned again to Ktwala, smiled nervously.Ktwala shook her head. Her eyes pleaded.Ephan squinted again, replaced the container’s cover.Once again, Ktwala was shut away in the dark barrel.The footfalls of the warriors trailed away.Afraid, she squatted, unmoving,Through the slat of the woven cover -- the ceiling seemed blood red.She heard: bodies, writhing and dyingCalled her from her hiding place.She did not move.Soon the dying moans faded away.Long, long, she sat there, fearful.Second Night came, the heat of the day left.All through the night, she sat weepingUntil the world turned and took her longhouse away.Morning came.She climbed out.Barefooted, her heels soon became sticky with bloodThe first bodies she saw: Gidea’s sons.In the corridor, near their chamber.Her heart went numb.She thought, Should I toss myself out into the night?But bodies had to be buried. She chose to stay.No dream sharing, no greeting of calabash drumming.No dance to welcome the day and the new region.No brotherly teasing.The new region – a land neither pleasant nor harsh.A normal place she would remember always.All day she dragged bodies out of the bloody longhouse.Her father she buried.Her son she buried.The others she piled high.She did not ascend the towerTo search for other towers,To see if wild animals lodged nearby,Ready to eat human carcass.She only removed bodies,All day, all day,Dragged and carried. . ..Until all the corpses– Young and old, male and some female--Were outside.Only twice did she stopTo question her strange work.Once she thought again of walking awayOnce she thought again, “Let me leave all and allow the coming night to take me away.”That was when she saw her son’s corpse,Bloodied and ripped and torn.She studied it,Numb, unable to grieve. . .Paused long and looked.Then she lifted his armAnd pulled his body through the door.This is how Psal begins his poem to the Great Ktwala. Nowhere does he tell of his actions, or of events inside the Wheel Clan Longhouse.
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