The Roads Of Luhonono: Legend of the East Road

By Hamilton Hill

MIDDLE GRADE FICTION: The amazing adventures of three would-be adventurers and their quest to find a mysterious princess.

THE LIVING
When engineers start to build roads in Luhonono, strange things begin to happen. Ancient spirit legends start speaking to thirteen year old Magdalene sending her and her two companions, Peter and Gimbo on a mysterious mission. They soon discover that everything in Luhonono is not what it seems to be. The actions of an evil witchdoctor—‘Moja’ sets them on a course to find the Legend of the East Road.

THE UNSEEN
At the beginning of time, the ancient ancestors of Luhonono combined their souls to sprout a giant Baobab. Within its roots they placed a spirit mirror to separate the living from the dead. For centuries this power had been protected by M’tuna “The Gatekeeper” but now, the building of a new crossroad junction at the tree, causes upheaval and weakens M’tuna’s powers. Moja intends to take advantage, and turn the spirit mirror upside. His ritual will release an army of demons to help him take control and rule Luhonono.

THE TEAM
Magdalene, Peter and Gimbo start off on an innocent quest to find a princess only to discover a place of ancient dreaming, ritual and lurking evil. To save the village Magdalene, Peter and Gimbo must search for the animal legends that will help them overthrow the evil witchdoctor and kill his conjured demons.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Hamilton Hill
• Release date: Oct 1, 2015
• ISBN: 9780994377715

Hamilton Hill

Independent West Australian writer, philanthropist and fundraiser for good causes.An ardent traveller I've visited over 453 cities in 51 countries and lived in 17 of these cities albeit in 5 different countries.I specialize in writing novels set in the places that I've been and about the things that I've seen. All of my writing, including The Roads Of Luhonono is fiction based on fact.

Book preview

"A delightful adventure for young readers!" … Michelle Josette

While travelling the East Road, a vision of a black leopard appears to 12-year-old Magdalene, her first hint that Luhonono is not what it seems—it has two different planes, one for the living and one for the dead, and the beautiful Baobab at the village Crossroads is the key to separating them. The Baobab contains a mirror gateway, and its magic alone prevents mythical powers from harming the living. The only problem is Moja, an evil witchdoctor, plans to disrupt the mirror and use spirit demons for his own bidding. Magdalene knows this means big trouble if she can’t fix it. Joined by her friends Gimbo and Peter, the would-be adventurers discover the leopard vision is only one of many strange and terrifying occurrences, and together they must conquer Moja and be first to unlock the legacy of the ancients.

Playing off real historical events, The Legend of the East Road offers insight into Luhonono’s local beliefs and animal behaviours. Hill’s rich setting and delightfully engaging characters make this an endlessly entertaining read that builds to a heart-pounding conclusion, offering a hint of more adventure to come in the next book of the series—the search for Tendaji—The Legend of the West Road.

For my granddaughter and grandson:

Shanyce and Aydin

Author’s Note

This is a work of fiction. As such, I have taken the liberty of rearranging both history and geography. All of the places mentioned in the tale really do exist, although not where I have mapped them. I have also modified and mistreated the legends for the sake of storytelling. The cultural and religious beliefs of the peoples of Africa are many and varied. I have borrowed from them all and created philosophies that do not exist except in these pages.

Those who know Africa will see fabrications and may consider them mistakes, but they are not. For example, the great Baobab, aka ‘The Toilet Tree’, is certainly east of where it should be – I acknowledge this error – but it, along with many other changes, are intentional.

Finally, scattered throughout the story is the occasional African word. They will of course appear strange to those who don’t know the language. You may sound them out however you please as you read, but for those who would like to sound them correctly, I’ve put a ‘Word Sounds’ list at the end of book.

Finerose Publishing

An imprint of Finerose Holdings Pty Ltd.

First Published in Australia 2015

National Library of Australia

Cataloguing-in-Publication data:

Hamilton Hill

The Roads of Luhonono; Legend of The East Road – Book 1

Text copyright © Hamilton Hill, 2015

The right of Hamilton Hill to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him.

Paperback ISBN 978-0-9943777-0-8

Ebook ISBN 978-0-9943777-1-5

Kindle ASIN B013XPG18S

All rights reserved.

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, hired out or otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it was published. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the author.

Disclaimer

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, place, incidents and dialogues are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

www.theroadsofluhonono.com

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Marula Trees

Marula trees are featured throughout the Luhonono series. Long ago, traditional Tribal Hamlets consisted of twenty to forty clustered mud houses. People kept a few cattle and goats, but were mainly hunter-gatherers. To hunt, they moved around but stayed inside their own land with land ownership measured by the distance from the graveyard of tribal ancestors. As villagers died, they were all buried in exactly the same place, so all of the land, as far as the eye could see from the graveyard, belonged to the offspring of the buried. All of the different tribes in Luhonono had a basic agreement over each other’s territory. This was governed by the recognised burial spot rather than any logical framework based on friendships, marriages, or kinsmanship. Within this spiritual accord, the Marula tree played its most important role.

Death, considered a natural occurrence to the tribesmen of Luhonono, represents the crossover of the living spirit into an unseen world to find and bind with its own mirrored soul. The body is bathed and buried in a plain loincloth at the base of a Marula tree nearest to the village without a casket or tombstone. The tree used for the first villager ever buried remains the graveyard for that particular community forever. It’s believed the body nutrients of the dead are taken up into the tree and reborn as leaves, bark, and fruits. Each year of good harvest indicates the spirits are pleased with their descendants, while bad harvests show annoyance. On the day the graveyard was first made, an animal, typically seen closest to the biggest Marula tree in the graveyard, was chosen as the burial ground totem. The animal was usually sacrificed so it could protect all of the living spirits buried there forevermore. The animal and the tree were given the name of the first village Chief, or Mutonga, who died and declared living legends. The spirit of the tribesman and animal so named would patrol the roads to the village and protect the living for all time.

The Ancients

Ancient hearts of innocence

bring forth the light of stars,

yet all is lost in its eloquence

as a darkened wound still mars.

Peace-full minds of temples loom

forgiveness within the crumble,

a fortnight bellows impending doom

as the Ancients begin their rumble.

Sleeping souls in discontent

blindly charge with icy dagger,

demise secured of their ill-intent

as they stutter through their stagger.

Befallen victims of selfish sight

suffer loss in love, ally and peer,

Daggers of Dark, you have lost all might

your only companion, Fear.

© 2012 Cairenn Rhys

Chapter 1

Gimbo

The night echoed with the bewitching sounds of unseen animals, insects, and the crackle and pop of wood burning in the campfire. Its flickering orange-brown light cast dancing shadows onto the surrounding bush and trees. Gimbo sat cross-legged at the campfire. Not being of the San tribe, he towered above the other lads sitting around him. His chest, arms, and legs bristled on a body that contained not one ounce of fat, and his curly, short-cropped hair seemed darker than it really was against his naturally bronzed skin – another feature that marked him as different. His unusual height and looks brought attention from the girls in the village, but were a constant source of mockery and jest amongst the boys.

A presence in the shadows drew Gimbo’s focus away from the glowing embers. Peering into the darkness, a sudden chill passed through him. A talented hunter and intuitive tracker, he was always the first to see, hear or sense anything, and this time he spotted Muajisimba. Although getting on in years, Muajisimba still lived up to the meaning of his name, ‘killer of lions’. At least he did in the minds of the boys. The elder tribesman carried with him a sense of mystery, adventure, and ritual that inspired their curiosity and fear. Gimbo felt his heart race.

Muajisimba, Gimbo warned and jumped to his feet. The boys, now looking in the same direction as Gimbo, followed suit. The old man threw what looked like a large stone into the fire. It burst into a blood-red blaze, accompanied by a loud popping of hot smouldering charcoal. A spluttering pillar of mixed smoke and flames spiralled up above the treetops. Sparks spewed in every direction and the boys all scrambled to a safe spot a short distance away. There, they stood awestruck.

MaWeh! (Wow!) they cried in unison. Wema Wangu (Oh my goodness)! they shouted and clapped.

What is that? they asked, pointing to strange human-like shapes that appeared to be dancing in the spiralling cinders.

GhaibuNguvu! Gimbo took an involuntary step back. He had no fear of the fire or the sparks, but even the bravest hunter would be wary of the Unseen. The world of spirits in Luhonono was a dangerous and unpredictable one. Gimbo had no desire to draw himself to the attention of the ancestors.

But the Unseen can only be seen by shaman brother, someone declared.

Not true, Gimbo replied. They can be seen when they want to be.

Ugh, ugh, ugh. They shook their heads in disbelief. None of the boys had ever heard this before.

It’s true! Gimbo insisted. They can use air, wind, water, or fire to wrap around their spirit bodies so our eyes can see them – when they want us to.

You reckon?

I don’t reckon, I know! I bet Muajisimba has used magic to call up the dead and a ritual stone to make a fire cloud so we could see the Unseen.

The boys looked at Gimbo, then at Muajisimba. Because ‘killer of lions’ said nothing to the contrary, they accepted Gimbo’s theory. It sort of made sense. Only shaman could see GhaibuNguvu without magic, and of course none of the boys were shaman. But why on Earth would Muajisimba want them to see the ancestors? They didn’t voice the question. Instead they waited for an explanation.

Of course, this was far from the truth. Muajisimba was an old man, a wise and hoary warrior, but he was not a shaman. He had no powers to call up the dead, and besides, he knew no rituals. The ‘stone’ he used was not stone, but animal fat made to look like a rock by mixing and shaping it into fire powder with motounga – a blend of ochre, sulphur, charcoal, and saltpetre. When thrown into fire, the fat melts and the motounga ignites like a firecracker. It wasn’t magic, but if the boys thought it was, then it had served its purpose. It grabbed their attention and kept them focused on the lesson they were about to learn. Boys in Luhonono, as in many other parts of Africa, become men at the age of twelve. Now that they were eleven, these boys had begun a year of internship soon to culminate in a ‘coming of age’ ritual.

Preparations for the ritual included lessons of all the things boys need to know in order to become men. In the past few months they had learnt team skills so they could survive in the bush. Each of these boys was different. Some excelled in hunting, others in tracking, some in herding and others in warrior skills. Disappointingly, none of the boys showed any mystic aptitudes, at least at the level needed to pursue a spiritual career. For that reason, Mwiko – the village witchdoctor who would normally train the boys in such matters – withdrew his services.

And so it was that after the red glow had faded, and the flames had died down to a warm and eerie glow, and the boys resumed their places around the campfire, it became clear why Muajisimba had thrown the stone. He began to teach them what little he knew about the Unseen. He spoke of how they, as men, could influence the Unseen. How the spirits of the dead, animal or human, could help them in all their earthly duties – hunting, tracking, herding, and even war.

Master, I have heard that the Unseen can be wicked or good. Is this true?

Muajisimba sighed. This always happened, he would speak and Gimbo would question.

That is true, Muajisimba replied. The Unseen can be called using good or bad energy.

But how do we actually call them, Master? How do we know that, when we call, we won’t awaken a demon instead of an angel? The boy looked concerned.

By using the right totem and chanting the right prayer, Gimbo.

What totems and which prayers? he persisted.

I cannot answer, the old man said sadly. I am a warrior, not a shaman. You will need to seek that wisdom elsewhere.

Gimbo shook his head, unsatisfied with the answer. My friend says what the Unseen choose to be, good or bad, depends on how we have honoured our ancestors. She says it’s about what we see in our minds, and what we ask for in our prayers. This is what we communicate to our ancestors, she says. She didn’t mention rituals or totems.

"She! scoffed the old man. By she I take it you mean Magdalene?"

Gimbo nodded. Magdalene was a year older than Gimbo and had come to Luhonono as an infant. The two grew up together, and Gimbo thought of her as his big white sister. They were inseparable.

The old man sighed. "I know Magdalene is sensitive to the spirit world, but what does she know? What could she know? She is white. Exposed to African living, yes, but she is still white tribe, and still a child at that."

She’s not a child, Gimbo said. She’s thirteen years old! If she was one of our tribe she’d have already taken the rituals of womanhood, maybe she’d even be married.

True, Muajisimba conceded. But child or adult, she wasn’t born here nor has she grown up as part of the tribe. She has no ancestors buried on this ground.

What difference does that make?

Gimbo, Muajisimba said. Our forefathers are part of our daily life. We can’t live without them. For that reason our people, since the beginning of time, have developed rituals, rites, and sacraments to speak with the ancients. What do you think the white tribe knows about these things?

Nothing? Gimbo replied lamely.

"Nothing is the right answer, boy! And what do you think your Magdalene understands about the two worlds of Luhonono, the domain of the dead and the realm of the living?

I don’t know, Master.

Ah! Do you think she knows that only your Unseen ancestors can guide you through the correct pathways of life?

I don’t know, Master.

Mmm…so do you think your Magdalene knows your bloodline and can connect you to those ancestors?

I don’t know, Master, Gimbo repeated.

You don’t know? There you have it … You don’t know! Muajisimba pursed his lips and shook his head. Well, I tell you…I know! Your ancestors…my ancestors…our ancestors, all come from a history that Magdalene doesn’t know, and even if you told her, she couldn’t ever understand.

I hear you, Master, but you would agree that when GhaibuNguvu want to be seen, they can take on the form of wind, lightning, rain, earthquakes, meteor strikes, or even look like grass, or a tree, or a rock?

The old man nodded. They can be whatever they want to be – man, animal, or spirit.

What about half man, half spirit, or half man, half animal?

They can be anything they want to be, Gimbo, even a spirit beast. They can be malaika on the side of good, or sheitani on the side of evil.

Magdalene says GhaibuNguvu can also be zimwi. Is this true?

Yes, if they are evil. They can be an ogre, or worse, an Uthikoloshe.

Kutubariki (Bless us), came a cry from the group at the mention of Uthikoloshe. The dwarf-like swamp creature, or sometimes water sprite, was the bane of every Luhonono family. Children learnt to fear it and bless themselves at the mere mention of its name.

Master, I too fear Uthikoloshe, but Magdalene has no such fear. She laughs at me when I speak of it. Is this because ‘white man’s magic’ is a more offensive and powerful force? She speaks of wands, conjured items and enchanted weapons, but our shamans have none of these.

Muajisimba laughed. "You speak of her as someone who has much knowledge, but she is a child, not much older than you. A stranger to our land from a faraway place across the great waters. What could she know about GhaibuNguvu,