10 days since birth
Prince Jama fluttered his eyes open as he asked Princess consort Mthaniya.
"Are you still awake, MaMthaniya?"
His wife's eyes stared at nothing in peculiar in the hut. She looked exhausted, her body tightly wrapped in the desperate need for rest. One that she seemed determined not to afford to herself.
Despite being the youngest of his wives and having recently given birth to his only heir, she lacked the vibrancy usually seen in women her age. When she finally responded to his question, her voice was soft.
"Memories about our son keep me awake," she murmured.
The prince sighed, sitting upright and placing a hand gently on her back in an attempt to comfort her. He could see the strain in her face as she continued.
"I don't know how you manage to sleep," she said.
"I have to," he replied quietly, his gaze then lingering on her for a moment before continuing by saying. "Even when I don't want to, I must. It's my responsibility."
He had a lot that needed his attention, especially with all the political upheaval that was happening in his domain.
The poisoning of his newborn son and Advisor Kaya's expulsion from the council, both weighed heavy on his mind. Rest was essential if he wished for these problems to not escalate. But his concern for her weighed heavily as well.
"I know," she interrupted softly. "I'm sorry for venting." She let out a heavy sigh. "Do you think... do you think he...?"
The prince nodded with conviction. "I have the best sangomas in the tribe. He will be fine. He has to be fine—"
But before he could finish, a voice broke through the calm of the morning.
"My prince!"
The shout startled them both. Prince Jama turned toward the source of the voice, his confusion apparent.
"Bhekisisa, what is it?" Jama called back. While shielding his naked wife with his body, who seemed lost in her own daze.
The voice shouted again, urgent and filled with dread. "It's Kaya, my prince!"
Prince Jama frowned. His confusion grew as he exchanged a glance with his wife before responding, "What about him?"
"He's disappeared, my prince!"
Without thinking twice, the prince bolted upright. His heart racing. Without waiting to be dressed as custom demanded, he grabbed his leopard hide and rushed out of the hut. Outside, Bhekisisa was waiting.
"Let's go," Prince Jama said immediately.
Without wasting another second, they hurried toward Kaya's hut. As they ran, the prince's personal guardsmen joined them. A sliver of hope clung to Prince Jama—a desperate belief that this might all be a misunderstanding. How could Kaya, one of his most trusted advisers, simply disappear?
Yes, he had humiliated Kaya in front of the council, publicly kicking him out of the royal hut. But surely, that wasn't enough for Kaya to exile himself.
The prince's fears were confirmed as they reached the advisor's hut. A crowd had already gathered—men and women of the Zulu tribe stood surrounding it. Whispers rippled through the group like wildfire.
Looking at the scene, the prince's heart sank. Kaya and his family had truly vanished. The reasons were still unclear, but the implications were dire.
The prince stood frozen for a moment. A part of him was relieved that he wouldn't have to punish his advisor for being 'passionate' about the chiefdom's future. But another part of him was filled with dread. This disappearance would not go unnoticed, and he could already feel the weight of blame shifting onto him already.
"Bhekisisa," Prince Jama said, his gaze fixed on the crowd gathered around the hut. His facial feature no longer showing any emotion as he looked on. "Will we be able to find him?"
Bhekisisa, ever calm, replied, "I already have two men searching for him. I could call for more, if you wish."
The prince's sharp eyes met Bhekisisa's, his voice firm. "That will not be necessary."
The unexpected response made Bhekisisa pause, momentarily caught off guard. But Prince Jama wasn't done. He continued, "We still need to address this quickly. I can't have my people thinking I'm a tyrant."
Understanding the gravity of the situation, Bhekisisa bowed his head. "As you wish, my prince."
Jama gave a faint before turning to walk away, his steps resolute. "Let's go," he said to no one in particular, as if deciding on his next course of action. "I might need to handle this one myself."
...
Afternoon
"This chiefdom is going to the dogs," muttered a frail man draped in a faded ostrich-feather shoulder pad, with an antelope hide barely covering his thin frame. Despite his fragile appearance, this man was a renowned sangoma, Msiza, known for his formidable spiritual power and insight.
And being that he was a sangoma from the chief's royal kraal, while also some rumors suggesting that he was personally requested by the cheif to attend. Caused a lot of sangomas in the prince's kraal to want to strike up conversations with him.
One in particular was another man sitting nearby, seemingly from the same age group, nodded in agreement. "I've heard. One of the crown prince's advisors has disappeared," he said in a low, conspiratorial tone.
Msiza let out a wheezy laugh that quickly turned into a faint burp. The second man noticed but chose to ignore it, continuing. "Yes, disappeared. No one really knows why. But people are saying it might have something to do with a disagreement between him and the chief two days ago."
Msiza raised an eyebrow, leaning in closer. "A disagreement? Over what?"
Gossiping was a common pastime, particularly among older Nguni men in the 1700s and 1800s, who often found themselves with little to do beyond work and finding lovers/wives to bare their children.
Causing gossip to be one of the only forms of entertainment available. However, because gossip traveled unchecked, it tended to evolve into overblown tales or outright lies. This was no exception.
The second man shrugged. "I've heard bits and pieces. Some say the advisor pleaded with the prince to calm down, warning him that his anger was clouding his judgment. Just like it had in the past."
Msiza remembered that time. How could he not? As the political tension was high throughout the whole chiefdom when the incident happened.
The loss of children at a young age and wives at childbirth was common due to the primitive state of medical practices, even among advanced tribes. Chiefs and princes often relied on multiple wives to ensure the survival of their lineage.
And yet, despite that tradition, Prince Jama had only reluctantly taken additional wives after his first wife convinced him. His love for her had been unparalleled. Even after her tragic death during childbirth, he had refused to lay in the same mat with a woman for years. That loss had broken him.
But what truly cemented him as a man who defied tradition was the scandal involving his first wife's twins. According to custom, one twin was to be sacrificed to avoid misfortune.
Yet, Prince Jama had defied the elders and his father, declaring that both children would live. His decision angered many, but no one dared challenge his authority as he was the only son of Cheif Ndaba kaMageba.
No one wanted to anger the man who could have their heads in the next few years, give or take, when the current chief passed away.
The sangoma continued his recount of what happend, "He feared that if Prince Jama kept ruling with such fury, he'd drive the people to leave the cheifdom in fear or worse, rebel. They say he even suggested naming Prince Sojiyisa as his heir to stabilize the situation."
Msiza rubbed his chin thoughtfully but remained silent. The other man pressed on. "You know how people talk, it's hard to know the truth. But they say the prince refused and publicly ordered the advisor out. I suppose that's why he 'left', taking his family with him."
As the two men gossiped openly while speculating things that could get them in trouble, another figure sat quietly nearby, growing more irritated with each passing moment.
Bantu, a younger man of the tribe, felt his stomach churn at their audacity. How could two respectable sangomas speak so freely, like idle housewives, especially within Prince Jama's kraal?
To Bantu, their behavior was akin to inviting someone into your home only to insult them behind their back.
But his irritation was quickly overshadowed by the weight on his mind. He had far graver concerns.
It wasn't Senzangakhona's illness that unsettled him, though that was certainly serious. No, Bantu's unease stemmed from a darker secret: he was a fraud.
He had been chosen to administer his "specialist medical advice" to the crown prince's son, yet he knew he was utterly unqualified.
His treatments weren't lies, exactly, but they weren't divinely inspired or guided by any sacred knowledge.
Everything he knew came from observation and listening to his father dispense medicine to patients.
It was this knowledge—and nothing more—that had made him hesitant to accompany the messenger. Yet, who in their right mind would dare refuse Prince Jama?
Now that he was here, sitting on a mat in the royal kraal waiting for him to be called to administer. Bantu couldn't shake his fear. Stories of the Prince Jama's temper were piling up.
What would happen if his anger turned on Bantu? How much rage would the prince feel if he discovered that a fraud was tending to his child?
While Bantu's thoughts raced, he failed to notice one of the maids attending Prince Jama stepping out of the royal hut.
Following closely behind her was a sangoma, his face a mask of emotionless calm. However, internally, the sangoma was battling two conflicting emotions.
One was frustration—he couldn't understand what was wrong with prince Senzangakhona. Where had these mysterious ailments originated? How could he replicate such an effect, and why couldn't he decipher it? A curse, medicine, or poison of such potency would make him revered amongst his peers.
The other emotion, however, was delight. Whether or not he found a solution to heal the prince, his efforts would still earn him payment in sheep and goats from a from a colleague who only wanted him to say nothing if he found the caused—a reward he had no intention of declining.
Despite his inner turmoil, the sangoma kept his emotions tightly controlled. After all, the walls had ears, and appearances were everything in the royal kraal.
Sangomas like Msiza could gossip freely because of their unmatched reputation and power, but for the rest, silence and discretion were essential.
Bantu was jolted from his spiraling thoughts when a voice called, "Mkhulu, it's your turn now."
He stood abruptly, almost like a startled animal, earning a few curious glances from the other sangomas. However, he quickly calmed himself.
He knew better than to let his nerves show in front of such observant individuals. Bowing slightly, he addressed the maid, "Thank you. Lead the way, please."
The maid nodded politely and turned toward the royal hut.
As Bantu entered, he was hit by a mixture of smells—burnt herbs, ash, and unfamiliar potions—and the sight of scattered remnants of attempts to heal the prince.
The floor was littered with dust, liquid stains, and broken objects, all evidence of prior efforts to restore the prince's health. It was overwhelming, and Bantu felt woefully out of place.
Nevertheless, he pushed forward, following the maid deeper into the hut. Inside, his eyes fell upon two figures.
The first was Bhekisisa, radiating power and authority. His stature alone was enough to command fear and respect. The second was Prince Jama kaNdaba, seated and holding his son, Prince Senzangakhona kaJama, whose eyes were half-closed from exhaustion.
Seeing this, Bantu respectfully greeted the Prince. "Hello, Prince." Then, glancing at Bhekisisa, he added, "Greetings, sir."
Bhekisisa seemed taken aback that a sangoma would be so respectful to a warrior even if he worked for a prince, though he quickly masked his reaction.
As Bantu approached, his hands trembled with uncertainty. Staring at Senzangakhona, he asked cautiously, "May I?" His voice quivered, betraying his nerves.
Prince Jama said nothing but nodded slightly, giving him his permission. He then gently handed Senzangakhona over to Bantu. As Bantu held the boy, an inexplicable sensation coursed through him. It was as if lightning had struck his mind—a sudden jolt of energy and awareness that froze him in place.
Noticing his hesitation, Jama asked, "Are you alright, Mkhulu?"
Realizing he might look odd to the others, Bantu forced a weak smile and replied, "Yes, yes, I'm fine, my prince."
But he wasn't as he turned his attention back to Senzangakhona, attempting to hide his growing panic. But as Bantu inspected him, his mind raced with unfamiliar thoughts. New information—alien and incomprehensible—rushed through his brain. He couldn't understand what he was seeing or feeling.
"Are you sure?" Jama asked again, his voice calm but insistent. "You seem... a little out of it."
Before he could answer, another voice spoke—but not one that should have been there.
It was sounded like an infant.
Bantu's eyes widened in terror as he heard infant's voice in his mind. "Take a deep breath." the boy said.
Bantu froze. Looked at Senzangakhona, who was the only infant here. The prince's mouth had not moved. Let alone say a would. But how could he, Senzangakhona was not even one years old.
Shaking, Bantu whispered hoarsely, "Who... who said that?" He couldn't process what he had just heard, his heart racing in fear and confusion.
But Jama's voice cut through his panic again, calm and steady. "Do not worry, Mkhulu. In fact, rejoice."
His lips had not moved either.
The words echoed in his mind: "You have been chosen."
....
A/N: I have to change the reason why the Imbele in chapter 7 are always at odds with the Zulu.
The reason I changed it was because upon further research, the Qwabes where not a part of the same Paramountcy as the Zulu for reasons I will explain later the book.
So ya, sorry for the minor retcon.😅
Last Spear of the Zulu Empire: Bring the 21st century to Africa 🐆 5 chpts per week