Bantu sighed, staring at the clay bowl filled with dark liquid.
"If only we had oranges," he muttered, his voice low and thoughtful. "Or maybe lemons… yes, lemons would have been great."
Sne, standing nearby, shifted uncomfortably. She had volunteered to assist him, but as the minutes dragged on, doubt began creeping in.
"What was I thinking?" she thought, glancing at the other maids who carried clay pots filled with bones.
Her reasons for volunteering had been selfish. With Prince Jama so focused on his ailing son, Sne hoped her dedication might catch his eye. If she worked diligently, perhaps he'd notice her. Maybe even favor her enough to make her his mistress.
In this world, becoming a prince's mistress was no small thing. Without birth control and with customs forbidding casual liaisons, bearing the child of royalty was a pathway to power. One night could elevate a common woman to near-nobility.
But hours into the task, Prince Jama was nowhere to be seen. Sne's enthusiasm waned.
"I should just focus on Gogo Kanya's task," she thought, resigning herself to her secondary reason for being here. Gogo Kanya, her mentor and a powerful sangoma, had sent her to investigate Bantu.
Despite the presence of other esteemed healers in the chiefdom, Prince Jama had insisted on Bantu preparing the remedy. Even the most powerful sangomas were told to wait. The prince's unwavering trust in this young man, who didn't look a day over twenty, had piqued Kanya's curiosity. Was Bantu truly that skilled, or was there something more at play?
Sne had expected a straightforward process: gathering herbs and grains, maybe preparing a paste or tincture. But Bantu's methods baffled her. Instead of herbs, he demanded animal bones. Fresh ones from recently slaughtered creatures. He worked alone, rejecting assistance.
"The fire must be the right temperature," Bantu explained as he meticulously built fire pits lined with stones. "If I don't do this properly, no one will. This is a matter of life and death."
The maids, including Sne, obeyed his instructions without question, fetching wood and watching as he burned the bones. The process was unsettling. The bones blackened and crumbled into brittle pieces, which Bantu then crushed into a fine powder and mixed with water in a clay bowl.
"We'll let it settle overnight," Bantu announced, seemingly satisfied. "Tomorrow, we'll give it to the prince's son."
Sne's skepticism boiled over. "Burned bones and water? That's his great remedy?" But she held her tongue. Confronting Bantu now wouldn't serve her goals. She needed the prince present to make her concerns unforgettable.
…
The next day
The next day, Prince Jama arrived, cradling the sick infant, Senzangakhona, in his arms. His presence electrified the room.
"My prince!" Sne exclaimed, stepping forward. "You must listen! This man is no real sangoma! All he's done is burn bones and mix them with water. How can this cure your son?"
The outburst was calculated. Sne had chosen her moment carefully, hoping the drama would fix her in the prince's memory.
But Jama's reaction was not what she expected. Instead of anger or concern, he looked at her with gentle curiosity. "Do you know what this is?" he asked, his tone calm.
Caught off guard, Sne stammered. "N-no, my prince."
Bantu smiled faintly as the prince explained. "What Bantu has created is activated charcoal. It's a powerful substance that absorbs toxins and poisons. This remedy has saved countless lives, even if it seems strange to you."
Sne's face burned with embarrassment as she lowered her head. He already knew.
And that knowledge made her uneasy. Either Bantu and the prince shared a deep trust, a rare bond between royalty and sangoma. Or Bantu was so powerful that secrecy didn't matter. He could reveal his methods openly because no one could challenge him.
Sne suspected the latter. Which made her to want nothing more then to hide and not draw anymore attention.
Noticing her discomfort, Prince Jama offered her a warm smile. "Do not worry," he said kindly. "You spoke out of concern for the prince. That is commendable. Always question what you don't understand in the this kraal and bring it to me, especially when it comes to life and death of our people."
His understanding tone soothed her, and she managed a small, grateful smile. "Thank you, my prince."
Satisfied, Jama turned to Bantu, who hovered over the clay bowl like a man possessed. His intense focus made Jama chuckle.
"Careful, Bantu. You are drolling." the prince teased.
Bantu snapped out of his trance, quickly checking his mouth before realizing it was a jest. He chuckled nervously, regaining his composure.
With steady hands, he prepared small doses of the mixture. The infant was weak, and the remedy needed careful administration. Each movement was deliberate, every step precise.
The room fell silent as everyone watched. Sne's skepticism lingered, but a part of her hoped Bantu's remedy would not succeed. If it did, the consequences would be severe. Not just for her master, but for everyone who had placed their faith in her.
....
While Bantu was administering a cure to heal the prince, somewhere near the outskirts of the royal kraal, a woman sat cross-legged on a sleeping mat, her hut surrounded by Zulu warriors standing guard.
Her eyes were closed, her breathing steady and deliberate. Minutes passed before she opened them, a curious glint flashing across her gaze.
"Charcoal? That's interesting," she murmured. "Hopefully, they can manage their part of the plan. For now, I should focus on mine."
The woman was Mbali, though she had not always been this composed.
Days ago, she had been frantic—crying, begging, saying anything she could to convince them that she was incapable of physically harming the Senzangakhona, let alone capable of poisoning the him.
But she couldn't explain why, and she couldn't reveal anything as that would expose the truth about the Nexus. Mbali knew she would dig a deep hole for herself and potentially comprise Senzangakhona.
All she could do was plead to anyone who would listen, swearing she was innocent. Her desperation, however, only annoyed the guards. They retaliated by limiting her food and rations. Anytime she spoke up or made noise, they punished her further.
At first, she cried, screamed, and protested her innocence, trying to make anyone believe her. But eventually, she stopped. She stopped begging, she stopped crying, and she stopped making any noise at all.
Her sudden silence unnerved the guards. If the prisoner dead before the prince could question her, Bhekisisa would personally ensure that they took the punishment that was supposed to be dealt to the prisoner. Causing them to eased up on her penalizations, unsure what had caused her change in behavior.
What they didn't know was that everything had shifted for her one night, and it was not becauseof them.
Because while Mbali was sobbing and begging for someone to hear her as usual, she finally heard a voice. The joy and relief she felt at that point was hard to describe as Prince Senzangakhona began speaking directly into her mind. Asking her questions about her condition and talking to her more. From that day onward, she had remained quiet, causing no trouble.
And whenever the guards checked on her, they found her quietly tracing symbols on the ground with her fingers or carving them into the walls. They would usually dismiss it as the ramblings of a guilt-driven broken mind.
To them, her silence and strange behavior were preferable; she no longer needed constant attention, and they could focus on their other duties.
But the guards were wrong. She wasn't insane, nor were her actions meaningless. The symbols she traced weren't random—they were Latin symbols, while the way they were being arranged was not something a latin speaker of any kind would understand let alone her Zulu captors.
As in the 18th century, expecting Zulu warriors or even the multilingual Zulu diplomats themselves to understand Latin was impossible. Only a handful of people could recognize or even read what she was writing. Among them was Senzangakhona.
....
A couple of days later late into the night in Kanya hut...
Kanya barely flinched when a figure entered her hut unannounced. Normally, such intrusions would have either frightened her or intrigued her. But by now, she had grown used to them. People often barged in at these ungodly hours, either to scare her or to make demands.
This time, it was one of the bigger irritants in her life. Without turning to greet her, Kanya spoke flatly, her tone devoid of the usual formality or enthusiasm.
"Mother Chieftess," she said, her voice cold, "to what do I owe the pleasure?"
The light from the fire flickered across the face of Princess Consort maMakhosi, one of the many wives of Prince Jama. Her expression betrayed no emotion, though a trace of irritation darkened her features. "We have a problem," Makhosi announced.
Kanya raised an eyebrow but did not turn. "We? No," the sangoma corrected. "I've done my part. Whatever problem you have is your own."
Makhosi scoffed. "You think so? Because of you, I now have a problem!" Her voice rose with each word. "That little scheme of yours, poisoning Senzangakhona, has backfired. Now my husband spends all his time comforting that little bitch of his, and doesn't even look at me anymore. You will fix this."
For a moment, Kanya considered telling the princess consort how foolish she sounded. As Prince Jama was obivously only around Princess concort Mthaniya to comfort her, but his clear favorite was her.
Was it really a coincidence that the Prince's candidate pool for a new wife that would bore an heir for the Zulu tribe was only from Maputo, the homeland of Princess Consort Makhosi's people?
It was honestly insulting her intelligence to suggest that parental duty could trump the obsession that man had for the Makhosi.
But even in her anger, Kanya knew better than to insult her directly; Makhosi was one of her connections to the royal family. Instead, she steadied herself and replied calmly.
"Without my plan," Kanya began, "no one would even be thinking about your son right now. If your puppet hadn't disappeared, you'd have no leverage. Whether you like it or not, my poison has at least made him noticeable in the minds of the council. Now, you have no choice but to deal with the fallout."
Makhosi's face twisted with rage, but she swallowed her retort. Even she wasn't bold enough to risk alienating Kanya entirely. The sangoma was her only hope of ensuring her son's claim to the throne. But her temper flared again when Kanya added, with uncharacteristic vulgarity, "If you want your little bastard on the throne, you'll have to work with me."
Makhosi wanted to spit in Kanya's face, but she knew better. The sangoma's power was real, and despite their tension, they needed each other. She took a deep breath, shoving aside her pride. "Fine," she muttered, "but because of you, I can't even get close to the prince. I can't sway him. I can't even suggest reforms to the Prince anymore. Especially now that..."
Her lips curved into a bitter smile. "Especially now that some other sangoma is curing his 'heir'."
Kanya froze. She stopped grinding the herbs she'd been working with and turned to face the princess. "Curing?" she repeated, her voice sharp.
Makhosi's smirk widened. "Yes. Curing. Your little poison was no match for the mighty sangoma Bantu. Or so they're calling that boy. Do you know how he did it?"
Kanya's eyes narrowed. "No," she admitted. "Tell me."
"I don't know exactly how these sangoma things work," Makhosi said, feigning ignorance, though her voice was laced with mockery. "But what I've heard is this: he gathered bones—lots of them—from around the kraal. Burned them in some ritual, crushed the ashes, and had the prince drink from them. And now, the prince is recovering."
The sangoma's mind raced. Burning bones and grinding them? Such a simple practice. Could it really undo her imbiza? It made no sense. She racked her brain for any mention of such a ritual in her teachings. Finally, a thought struck her.
"Does anyone else know about this?" Kanya demanded.
"Only a few," Makhosi replied smugly. "I have my... connections."
"And Senzangakhona's mother?"
Makhosi shook her head. "No. She doesn't know. Prince Jama is keeping it quiet. Not to give the whore false hope, perhaps. That's my guess."
Kanya's lips tightened into a thin line. If this information got out, it could ruin her plans entirely. She needed to act quickly.
"You need to ensure that the prince is preoccupied tomorrow," Kanya said at last, her voice cold and firm.
Makhosi smirked, pleased that she'd forced the sangoma to cooperate. "I can do that." she said, turning to leave. "Fix this mess, and make it quick."
Without waiting for a response, the princess swept out of the hut, leaving Kanya alone to contemplate her next move.
What was mostly on her mind was, " Why did Bhekisisa tell me about this, maybe I should remind him what is at stake here?"
....
A/N : Hello there 👋
Am pretty sure some of you have noticed that I did not post for on Tuesday and Friday last week.
Well the reason is simple, I underestimated the scope of the project and overestimated AI capabilities to help me speed run this project.
As that was the goal, but as I was reading my previous chapters to plan for the next string of chapters I realized how they were not to my liking.
So instead of stopping to post new chapters like I usually do, so that I can rewrite everything. I decided to create a new writing schedule for myself. Which means a change in posting time and amount of chapters posted a week.
I know most writers don't tell readers all these things and just do them, but am not writing for fun and am trying to build a community of people who like my work whether that's webnovels or videos. And the best way to create a community is to communicate.
So thank for your patience and this will be the new posting times.
Monday , Wednesday, Thursday and Friday every week.
So without a futher ado...
Last Spear of the Zulu Empire: Bring the 21st century to Africa/ 4 chps a week 🐆