The Legend of Hombarume (Legends Series, #1)

25.

The village seer’s homestead was close the village square. The man, who had seven wives was the beacon between the village and the gods. He often communicated their needs to them and they also communicated through him. He also voiced their concerns when the rains didn’t come. Besides being known for his spiritual talents, the seer was known for his extreme love for material things, he demanded large bags of cowries for small services and also performed unorthodox favours for the elite for very steep charges. This was no secret for most, they knew how shrewd and wretched he was and most often wondered how the gods could possibly communicate through such a man.

The gift of being a seer was one that was passed on through the family, it moved through the first child of every generation and so on and so on, thus a seer was always encouraged to have an heir so that the power could be passed on if something was to happen.

Ranganai, the seer, married his first wife when he was very young, a long time back when the villages were divided. He only married her because she had fallen pregnant with his first born son, Kudzai, who was bound to be the next seer. After that, Ranganai had gone on to have three more children with his first wife before a second woman fell pregnant to him, then a third until it became a cycle. Ranganai could never resist the hips of a woman; most people in the village had dissuaded their daughters from stepping into his compound for fear that their innocence would be violated.

Ranganai never slept in the same hut with any of his wives, he would only visit whenever he needed to. His wives had also now transcended the stage of competition, they no longer fought for his attention and love because they now knew that sooner or later, he would become bored with them and find himself another and another until they were raising an entire village. It was a sad, never ending sequence that always sought to disappoint more and more each time it happened, more and more mouths to feed and more people to care for. The only advantage was the ease of labour in the fields, with 23 children and counting, there would never be any shortage at all. It was a pity that the very night, they would all be left behind to fend for themselves.

It was just after Ranganai had retired to his quarters to rest when his third wife, Hazvinei followed him. The man was beyond irritated.

‘Don’t you know my rules, woman?’

‘There’s a visitor asking for you, he says it’s a matter of life and death,’ Hazvinei said, kneeling before her husband.

Ranganai exhaled loudly and acted as if getting back up would be an impossible challenge. It might have been quite a challenge, considering his heavy bulging stomach that was weighing him down. He finally got to a sitting position on the mat.

‘Who is it?’

‘Simbarashe Mubaiwa.’

‘The dead boy? Are you beside yourself?’

‘I couldn’t see clearly, it’s quite dark outside,’ Hazvinei said.

‘I never expect you to be this dull, Hazvi, tell whoever it is to come see me here.’

The young woman went away quickly before she offended the man more and Ranganai lay back on the mat and closed his eyes until he heard the knock on the door to his hut.

‘Who is-’

Ranganai stopped when he saw that indeed, the man who stood before him was Mubaiwa’s lost son, Simba. There was something terribly wrong with him, he could see his face as clear as day although there was no light in the room. He could see him clearly, the wild smile that was plastered on his face. Ranganai got up slowly and assumed his sitting position yet again.

‘Who are you?’ Ranganai asked.

Simba’s smiled morphed into a grin and soon enough, laughter was dancing wildly across his illuminated face.

‘You know who I am.’

Ranganai quickly got up, he was now much more phased by what he was seeing before him. He was eyeing the large knife that was at the edge of his bed, a knife he always kept just in case times like these came when he needed to defend himself from an intruder. Simba saw the move the man intended to make and before long, he had lost his face for that of an unidentifiable creature that loosely resembled a hyena. The creature leaped across the hut and pounced on the perplexed and terrified village seer.

Its sharp claws sunk in and sliced his throat, sending blood gushing everywhere while it dipped its beastly teeth into the defenceless man’s face. He managed a scream or two before his throat was done for and his face was mauled and ripped open by the vicious creature. His blood was everywhere, it spurted all over the floor, the mat and the walls, even bull slaughter wasn’t that messy.

By the time Hazvinei and her sister wives heard the screams and came rushing to the hut, their husband was dead. Hazvinei immediately felt sick and spewed her supper all over the floor when she saw her husband’s throat ripped out and his face barely recognizable. She was in shock while her peers were wailing and slamming themselves on the floor, not knowing what exactly to do about the grotesque display in front of them.

‘Whoever did this can’t be far, look for him,’ Hazvinei said, instructed her eldest son.

But Simba was long gone.