A Banner of Voices 1299

Lmumba lay naked in a cold stream. Dried blood came off without much scrubbing. The water's cool rush and pleasant sound calmed her shaken spirit.

She heard a women screaming in virginal pain, and she heard a man's soothing words coming from the trees. One sign of her people's descent into savagery. They were.... fornicating, without a pact or rite between them.

What could be expected of a people who had lost their Griot and their Chief? A Chief alone could not keep his people from savagery, that required the spiritual power of the Griot. Before long, they would be animals, chasing other animals between the trees, glutting themselves on flesh and sex.

Everyone was following Lmumba, but they were jungle-cats following one with more spots. Lmumba was the Spirit-Finder, the Spirit-Killer, and she held that beast's head and skin. She had the griot’s banner, she had the tribe’s respect. But neither was held too tightly.

Lmumba pulled herself up from the creek bed, pulling loose gold pebbles into the cold stream. The creek flowed towards her people’s dead villages. She shook the water off of her dark body, and started to walk to the camp of her dying people.

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It spoke to her.

The skull. With the voice of their departed griot.

At first it was just mumbles and screams, but then the sounds calmed and words became distinguishable. She brought the skull closer to her, laying crouched as she was.

“I must pass on....” There were mumbles, curses, a wheeze.

“My spark..” There was a loud scream

“Will you take it?” The voice moaned, and the jaw of the skull clattered.

Lmumba wetted her lips, a piercing being withdrawn into her mouth. “But.... I am a women, Passed One.”

“Oh.... You are? Death is blind in these things, child. But it matters not, I do not need to give you the knowledge of flesh, for my flesh is ashes. But I will give you the spark in a different manner.”

The skull pulled away from her, jaw clattering in the cold air.

“Eat the skull. Take it into you and save your people. It is bare-bones knowledge, but it is knowledge enough.”

With that, the skull dropped, shattering on a rock. A scream echoed out. Lmumba stooped to the ground, picking up the shards, and swallowing those small enough. The rest would have to be ground up.

“You will be Marked. Do not be afraid of it, child. Show the tribe your blood and they will follow.”

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Lmumba stood before the tribe assembled, arms outstretched. Her arms were bleeding at the wrist, her cheeks were marked with blood-red tears, she was menstruating, blood flowing down her legs. It was her first such bleeding in all manners. The light was dim, the canopy blocked the burgeoning sunrise.

Her eyes brightened and so did the dark forest clearing they were assembled in.

“I am your Griot; I have eaten the skull of the meat-spirit and the voice of the One Who Passed.”

She paused. Her voice held in the air for longer than it seemed possible. Already, the magic of griots was coming forth in her, following the Marks of Blood. A warrior brought forth the goat skin and placed it upon her naked shoulders.

“We have now fought a most strange people. These are people of death in their long-beards and pale-faces. They do not trade flesh for flesh in war, as we do. They do not eat our griots and take our people as their own. They simply kill, like animals without hunger. They burn flesh in pits and pick out of the ashes- metals, carriers of life and death. We can not fight them as we fight other clans. We must flee and hope the forest can stop these servants of the end.” Lmumba's knees buckled, but she pulled herself up.

The tribe cheered, their griot wobbled and fell to the ground. She was new to such powers and thoughts. Her tribesmen rushed forward to lift her bleeding body in celebration. They would carve out a new life in a different land. Now to find a weak tribe and eat their griot........