Page 63 of Wrath of the Oracle

“Soldiers, charge!” a guard shouted, and the palace guards raised their weapons and rushed forward.

“Archers!” Ojore shouted, and his men behind him trained their arrows on the guards before the court doors. Ojore lowered his hand, and a volley of poisoned arrows swished through the air and knocked down the men before the palace door. They groaned out in pain as they tried to avoid the blows, but the number of hits was too many. Ojore didn’t move until they crumpled to the floor and lay still. Their dark blood pooled where he stood.

Ojore walked ahead and pushed the heavy wood doors open. The eagle swooped in after him.

Inside, it was quiet and dark. The lanterns were dimmed and Ojore observed one lone figure before the throne. The meager light from the high windows couldn’t reach the floor as the statue of Lord Keita swallowed most of the natural light and created a huge shadow where King Gusiwaju stood. The King gazed at him from his throne. The eagle landed on the head of the statue, its golden eyes on the lone king.

“Long ago, a priest told me about this day,” King Gusiwaju said, not turning toward Ojore. “I had ascended the throne and was eager to establish my rule. The priest prophesied I would die in the shadow of High Lord Keita. I spent years being a devout follower, but still he failed to redeem my fate. It’s said he’s a vicious god.”

“The priest was correct. You will cross to the land of the living dead today.” Ojore stopped his advance and kept his gaze on the old king.

“Kaza must be a proud father to have a son who brings such prestige to Dembe Kingdom.” King Gusiwaju didn’t turn to face Ojore.

“It’s King Kaza to you,” Ojore corrected him. “But that doesn’t matter because you will not leave this throne room alive.”

“You are indeed your father’s son. Down to the condescending way you speak.” King Gusiwaju chuckled, lowered his head from the statue to Ojore, and offered him a weak smile. “Men rarely change their fate, but I want that chance.”

“You wish to change your fate?” Ojore arched an eyebrow at him.

“My people have enjoyed peace for a long time. I sent my court officials to spend time with their families in case all of us perished today. My wish is for them to continue living in peace even after I am gone. I should be the last person to die in this city under your sword.”

“Your army has fallen. I do not quarrel with your people unless they oppose Dembe’s rule.” Since the kingdom came under the rule of Dembe, Ojore saw no reason to continue the carnage. His trusted generals were sent to take charge of the other cities under the alliance.

“Tell me Gane died an honorable death.” King Gusiwaju’s voice broke.

“He fought with courage,” Ojore said. What he didn’t mention was that the prince’s body had disappeared from the battlefield in the chaos of fire and hailstorms. Someone sneaked in and took Gane away—a certain notorious bandit. Gane would grow to be more of a pain thelonger he lived. Ojore sent his men after them, but the rain washed away their tracks.

“Gane was my heir. He tried to protect this kingdom in his way,.” the old king said and collapsed on his throne. Ojore wondered if King Gusiwaju knew about his son’s dealings with the bandit or if he lived in oblivion like everyone else. Ojore’s father, King Kaza was prone to sweep things under the covers. Anything that threatened his throne was ignored.

“How do you wish to change your fate?” Ojore took a step forward.

Can a man go against the plans of the gods?Ojore wanted to add, but held back.

Could the ending between him and Sholei be different? Ojore received information Sholei had escaped the capital several days before. She was broken out of the prison cells by her mentor, Musembi. Ojore cursed his luck. He was too slow again to capture her.

“I guess I am not the only one who is troubled this morning.” King Gusiwaju’s voice brought him back.

“Can men go against predestined fate?” Ojore asked no one in particular when he stopped at the base of the stairs to the throne and gazed up at the towering statue. The eagle perched on top shrieked at him and Ojore scowled at the sharp noise.

“If that were possible, I wouldn’t cross to the land of the living dead today.” King Gusiwaju sighed. “I don’t want to die by your sword, son of Kaza. These walls shouldn’t be sprayed with my blood. Rather, allow me to have a final drink.” He picked up a golden goblet from asmall sculptured table beside him and swirled the contents inside.

“You want to die by poison.” The bitter smell of poison mixed with the sweet scent of wine hit Ojore’s nose. King Gusiwaju chose to decide how he died, a master in his ending. Wouldn’t it be more honorable to fight like his men, Ojore thought? But what was honorable in death?

“You aren’t going to fight me for your people?” Ojore continued up the steps.

“Do I stand a chance to win against you? Then what is the point? If my death can spare the lives of Mukuru residents, I would rather die.” King Gusiwaju chuckled and took a deep swig of the wine. “Keep my body intact for burial.”

“No one is left to perform your burial rites,” Ojore said. King Gusiwaju’s body would be hanged outside the northern gate of Mukuru to deter any rebelliousness. The tactic, though cruel, worked to keep people under control.

“You’re cruel, just like your father.” King Gusiwaju laughed and gulped down more of his poisoned drink. “Kaza called me a coward because I avoided confrontation with him.”

“You seem to know a lot about my father.” Ojore’s eyes followed a trail of drink that spilled out of the king’s mouth and soaked into his white beard.

“I do know some things about the Lion of Dembe and you.” King Gusiwaju wiped the wine with the back of his hand. He folded a hand over his chest and squeezed, his breaths labored.

”Do you have something to say, old man?” Ojore leaned over him, his voice barely a whisper.

“Your tattoos move.” King Gusiwaju slurred in his speech, and his eyes grew hazy.

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