Sandi the King-maker

In the village of P'pie, at the foot of that gaunt and hungry mountain
which men called Limpisi, or Limbi, there lived a young man whose parents
had died when he was a child, for in those far--off days the Devil Woman
of Limbi demanded double sacrifices, and it was the custom to slay, not
the child who was born upon her holy day--which was the ninth of the new
moon--but his parents.

Therefore he was called by acclamation
M'sufu-M'goba--'the-fortunate-boy-who-was-not-his-own-father'. All
children who are born of sacrificed parents are notoriously clever, and
M'sufu was favoured of ghosts and devils. It is said that when he was
walking--young he climbed up to the cave of the Holy Devil Woman herself,
passing through the guard of Virgins, who kept the hillside, in a most
miraculous way, and that he had tottered into that dreadful cave whence
no human had emerged alive, and had found the Old Woman sleeping.

He came forth alive and again reached the village. So it was said--and
said secretly between husband and wife, or woman and lover (for these
latter trust one another). Aloud or openly not one spoke of such a
fearful exploit or even mentioned the Old Woman, save parabolically or by
allusion.

But to this visit and the inspiration of The Cave-of-Going-In were
ascribed the wonderful powers which came to him later in life.

It is told that, seated at food with one of the families which had
adopted him, he suddenly broke an hour's silence.

"K'lama and his goat are dead by the deepstones."

"Silence, little child," said his indignant foster-parent. "Are you not
ashamed to talk when I am eating? In this way all devils get into a man's
body when his mind is thrown all ways."

Nevertheless, a search-party was sent out, and K'lama and his goat were
found dead at the bottom of a rocky bluff; and one old man had seen this
happen, the goat being suddenly mad and leaping with K'lama at the leash
of it, just as the sun rim tipped the mountain-top. At such an hour had
M'sufu spoken!

Then another miracle. One Doboba, a gardener, had flogged M'sufu for
stealing bananas from his garden.

"Man," said M'sufu, rubbing his tingling seat, "a tree will fall upon you
in two nights, and you will be with the ghosts."

And two nights after this Doboba died in such a way.

The story and the fame of M'sufu spread until his name was spoken even in
the intimate places of the Old King's hut. And there came one Kabalaka,
Chief of all the Tofolaka, this being the country which is separated from
the Ochori by the Ghost Mountains, and Kabalaka was a great man in the
king's eyes, being his seni-seni, which means Chief Minister.

"Oh, prophesy for me, M'sufu," he said, and before the whole twittering
village--aghast at the advent of this amazing prince and his ten
companies of spearmen and his dancing women--M'sufu stood up.

"Lord," he said "the crops of the land will be good and better than good.
But the crops of the Fongini shall die, because no rain will come and the
earth will crack."

"What else?" said Kabalaka, not displeased, for he hated the Fongini and
Lubolama, their chief, and was jealous of his influence with the Old
King.

"Lord," said the young seer, sweating greatly, "the son of your wife is
sick and near to death, but on the rind of the moon he shall live again."

Kabalaka bent his brows, for he loved the son of his wife, and made a
forced march back to Rimi-Rimi to find the child already laid for death,
with clay upon his eyelids.

"Wait until the rind of the moon, for this child will not die," said
Kabalaka in a confident tone, but inwardly aching.

So they waited, watching the fluttering breath of the boy, the women-folk
going out every morning to pluck green leaves to deck their bodies in the
death dance. But on the rind of the moon the child opened his eyes and
smiled and asked for milk.