Shorts

By Dee Kuziwa

I've compiled a few of my favourite ideas into a short sory collection. Enjoy!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dee Kuziwa
• Release date: Aug 26, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393149293

Book preview

C:\Users\a190407\AppData\Local\Microsoft\Windows\INetCache\Content.MSO\9A84AB9.tmp Don't bother the King

Naraya woke to the unmistakable scent of sorghum porridge cooking over an open fire. Ma had taken her assault outside. Dawn had barely broken when Naraya heard the low hum of a tune she knew well. Ma had often sung the lullaby to her as an infant, and on the handful of times that Naraya had joined her mother for morning chores, they’d sung a verse or two together.

But today was special, Naraya presumed. The meal was for the King; that much Naraya knew. Yet, for nine months now, Ma had built the wood fire in the communal kitchen where the Queen had hewn a pit that served to balance three heavy pots and heat the surrounding floor during winter time. Today, though, Ma had built the fire in the open. Kiri would be furious, but fury would not nourish the husband they shared. Naraya smiled, cheekily relishing the altercation that her mind's eye could already witness. And on cue, she heard the creak of a door opening and the ensuing sharp free fall shut from the heavy hand of a woman scorned.

Who do you think you are? the woman who stormed towards Ma tried, albeit unsuccessfully, to hide the limp that now came with her gait to accommodate an eight-month old pregnancy.

Ma muttered something under her breath as she stoked the logs to spurn them to a higher flame. A few more minutes and she would be ready to serve. The King was a creature of habit, he’d risen half an hour ago and she’d heard the rush of water in the shower.

Tip it over, I dare you, Ma's deep timbre carried across the courtyard.

NARAYA APPROACHED HER room's only window, pushed the threadbare curtain to one side, and her grin spread at the sight before her. She was sure were there passers-by, they too, would have stopped to observe.

KIRI'S CHEST HEAVED in spasmic shudders and her eyes glowered. Ma had her back to the window but Naraya could guess an amused smirk floated on the surface of sternly pinched lips.

Give me a reason old bat,

That's your problem, Kiri,

What is my problem? What do you know about problems? You are my problem!

I paved the way, young one. You have too much bark. You made sleep your friend too soon,

The calm in her adversary’s demeanour agitated Kiri more than the words she spewed. I don't need your riddles, old woman. Get that pot off the fire.

If I remove my pot, I take my fire with me. Ma jutted her chin out in defiance.

Kiri hesitated but quickly recovered, a smile flickered and disappeared. I will direct my handmaiden to build afresh,

You know he will not wait. The water has stopped running,

He approaches, Naraya announced, leaving the warmth of her bedroom and no longer able to contain her own itch to participate in the early morning spectacle.

Good morning Father, Naraya dropped to her knees and hid her head in the curve of her right shoulder. She raised her arms and clasped her hands in the customary greeting for royal elders.

King, Kiri scrambled to pave way and proffer the same greeting gesture.

Ma merely tipped her head with a disdainful grunt.

The village had emerged in droves to celebrate her marriage to the King. Twenty years ago, he’d been Prince. Mathebu had performed admirably during the festival for eligible maidens. She’d outwitted her competition even if she now carried a sliver of regret. The chief matron in the King’s court had pulled her up by the elbow when they’d gathered for his final decision. The remaining nineteen virgins had released a collective gasp when Mathebu had approached the throne. The chief matron pushed her to the ground to kneel and with her heart beating a frantic rhythm, Mathebu had complied. She had vowed it was the last time she ever genuflected for his pleasure.

For the King’s only son, the marital rites and ceremony would be elaborate and last longer than a peasant’s half-day celebration. True to form, it had lasted six days of opaque brew and meats of every variety; whole beasts and drums of chicken. Village musicians took shifts to entertain esteemed guests and common villagers, and gifts poured in from wealthy and poor alike. Three months later, Mathebu fell pregnant and the King pinned his hopes on the fruit of her womb. A son would propagate the lineage. Nine months of pampering dwindled to barely a glance from her husband when their daughter was born. That same year, the King died and her husband, the young Prince, inherited the throne.

Let us feed you, Father. The porridge is ready, Naraya rose to her feet and crossed the courtyard to fetch the serving implements.

From the corner of her eye, she noticed Ma’s victory smirk and beamed a smile of her own. She pulled a plate and cutlery from a stack in the corner and