Forest of the Pygmies(59)
"She'll be back soon."
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During the next half hour the delicate balance of forces in the village was on the way to being defined, thanks in large part to Brother Fernando, Kate, and Angie. The missionary was able to convince the soldiers of the Brotherhood of the Leopard that they should surrender if they wanted to get out of Ngoubé alive. Their weapons wouldn't fire, they had lost their commandant, and they were surrounded by a hostile population.
In the meanwhile, Kate and Angie had gone to the hut to look for Nzé and, with the help of the wounded man's family, had brought him there on an improvised stretcher. The former guard was burning with fever, but after his mother explained what had taken place that evening, he wanted to help. They set him down in a visible spot, where in a weak but clear voice he spoke to his companions, urging them to rebel. There was nothing to fear; Mbembelé was out of the picture. The guards wanted to go back to a normal life with their families, but they felt a deep-seated fear of the commandant, and were programmed to obey his authority. Where was he? Had the ghost of the large cat devoured him? But if they listened to Nzé and then their leader returned, they would end up in the pond of the crocodiles. They didn't believe that Queen Nana-Asante was alive, and even if she was, her power could not compare to that of Mbembelé.
Once they were reunited with their families, the Pygmies were ready to head back to the forest, which they never meant to leave again. Beyé-Dokou donned his yellow T-shirt, picked up his spear, and went over to Alexander to return the fossil he believed had saved him from being ground to mush by Mbembelé. The other hunters also said their emotional good-byes, knowing they would not see this wonderful friend with the spirit of a great cat again. Alexander stopped them. They couldn't go quite yet, he told them. He explained that they wouldn't be safe, even in the deepest heart of the jungle where no other human could survive. Running wasn't the solution, since sooner or later the world would catch up with them or they would need that contact. They had to deliver the last blow to slavery and to reestablish the friendly relations they once had with the people of Ngoubé, which meant they had to rob Mbembelé of his power and chase him and his soldiers from the region forever.
As for Kosongo's wives, who had been kept prisoner in his harem from the age of fourteen or fifteen, they had mutinied, and for the first time were enjoying being young. Oblivious to much more serious matters worrying the rest of the population, they had organized their own carnival: They were playing the drums, singing and dancing. They tore the gold ornaments from their arms, throats, and ears and tossed them into the air, wild with their new freedom.
That was the state of events in the village—everyone still in the square but each group absorbed in its own concerns—when Sombe made his spectacular appearance, summoned by occult forces to impose order, punishment, and terror.
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A rain of sparks like fireworks announced the arrival of the formidable sorcerer. The dreaded entrance was welcomed with a single outcry. Sombe had not materialized in many months, and some had harbored the hope that he had gone to the world of the demons for all time. But there he was, the messenger from all that is evil, more impressive and filled with fury than ever. People backed away, horrified, as he took the center of the square.
Sombe's fame had spread beyond the region, and village by village it had traveled across much of Africa. It was said that he could kill with his thoughts, cure with a breath, divine the future, manipulate nature, alter dreams, sink mortals into a sleep of no return, and communicate with the gods. It was also told that he was invincible and immortal, that he could turn himself into any creature of sea, sky, or earth, and that he entered the bodies of his enemies and devoured them from within. He drank their blood, turned their bones to powder, and left nothing but skin, which he then filled with ashes. That was how he created zombies, the living dead whose horrendous fate was to serve him as slaves.
The sorcerer was gigantic, and his incredible attire seemed to double his stature. His face was covered with a leopard mask and, in place of a hat, he wore a large-horned buffalo skull crowned in turn with a leafy branch, as if a tree were sprouting from his head. His arms and legs were adorned with the teeth and claws of wild beasts, and he had a necklace of human fingers. Around his waist a string of fetishes and gourds held magic potions. Various animal hides stiff with dried blood cloaked his body.
Sombe arrived with the attitude of a vengeful devil who had determined to impose his personal form of injustice. The Bantu population, the Pygmies, even Mbembelé's soldiers, submitted without a trace of resistance. They shrank back, trying to disappear, resigned to doing Sombe's will. The foreigners, stunned with surprise, witnessed how his presence destroyed the fragile harmony they had begun to achieve in Ngoubé.
The sorcerer, crouching like a gorilla, roaring, and supporting himself on his hands, began to whirl, faster and faster. Suddenly he would stop and point a finger, and the person he singled out would fall to the ground in a deep trance, shaking with seizures. Some lay rigid, like marble statues, and others began to bleed through the nose, mouth, and ears. Sombe would again spin like a top, stop, and annihilate someone with the power of a gesture. Within a brief time, a dozen men and women were flailing about on the ground, while the rest of the villagers were on their knees, shrieking, eating dirt, begging forgiveness, and swearing obedience.