Chapter 11 — Hail, The Rain Queen

People poured out of the huts and onto the road. They brandished tree limbs and shouted at the top of their voices. The riders formed a tight circle around Zugudini, Luba and Dande. But soon, they realized that the shouts were not war cries. They were shouts of joy. The tree limbs were not clubs, but victory branches. Their ululations rent the evening air. Men, women, children—slipping in the mud, waving branches, singing. They lined the road, hands raised, voices lifted.

“Why are you laughing, you children?

Why are you laughing, you children?

The heir of Nyatsimba,

Has returned and beat the drum.

Now you can laugh, you children.

Now you can dance, you children.

Now you can sing, you children.

Now you can play, you children.

For the Rain Queen brings the rain.

The final words made Zugudini shudder. She wished the ground could swallow her whole. Dande watched her discomfort and grinned.

“At least we know your messengers got this far.”

The closer they got to the city, the bigger the crowds became. People thronged around them as they rode past. Their cheers carried on wind and rain far down the road. Children made mud balls and flung them at each other as they ran. Their faces blazed with joy. Zugudini smiled now. She waved at the people, and raised a hand of blessing over the children. The people dropped to their haunches and bowed low. None dared look at ngomalungundu, seated on the saddle before Zugudini.

“Hail, the Rain Queen!”

Someone took up the chant. Then another, and another. The words echoed up and down the rows of people lining the road to the city.

“Hail, the Rain Queen. Hail, the Rain Queen.”

Embarrassed, Zugudini didn’t know what to say.

“That’s odd.” Luba squinted ahead.

“What do you see?” Dande asked.

“The city gates are shut.”

“That can’t be.” Dande’s voice went flat. “They’re only shut when we’re at war.”

“Let’s hope that’s not the case,” Zugudini said. “I’m tired of fighting.” She spurred her horse forward. Soon their own eyes confirmed what Luba’s sharp ones had seen from afar. The wooden gates of Zvongombe city were closed. They were still some way off from them. Thick crowds made it hard to reach the walls. The Vana Valungundu soldiers pushed through, carving a slow passage to the great wooden gates. They paused at the base, looking up at the ramparts for any sign of life.

Zugudini and Dande rode up. Dande dismounted, walked to the gates, and slammed his fist against heavy wood. Three times. The crowd fell silent. Rain pattered away and thunder rumbled closer.

“Who are you?” A voice echoed from the ramparts.

“I am Dan—”

“Zugudini, daughter of Chipande.” She cut Dande off. “Bringer of rain. The one who beat the drum.”

“You’ve come riding at the head of a rebel army. You are an enemy of this land. Turn around and return where you came from. You will be spared.”

Everyone’s eyes turned to Zugudini. Her next words would determine their fate. Zugudini hoisted the drum above her head.

“As your Queen, I order you to open these gates in the name of ngomalungundu.” A hushed awe fell on the crowd. They dropped to their knees, and bowed low. For moments, only horses stamped and rain fell. Nothing else stirred. They waited for a response. None came.

Zugudini stared at the ramparts. Dande turned to her.

“Shall we —”

A heavy metallic clang startled the horses. The gates creaked on their hinges, and swung inward slowly. The streets of Zvongombe revealed themselves, and what they showed made the men outside the city gasp.

Ranks of soldiers. Fully armed. Spears at the ready in battle stance. They barred the way as far as their eyes could see. Zugudini’s men froze.

Zugudini lowered the drum. She urged her horse forward through the gates. Dande, Luba and the captain followed close behind. Zugudini did not go far. A soldier stepped into her path. He leveled his spear and raised his shield.

“Your men may not enter the city bearing arms. By order of the queen.”

“But she is the queen,” Dande’s voice cracked like a whip. “Step aside.”

The soldier’s glance darted from Zugudini, to Dande, and back to Zugudini. Her steely gaze made him flinch. He cleared his throat. “By order of the Queen Mother.”

Dande turned to Zugudini.

“What is your command, my queen?”

“We will do as they say. Leave your weapons behind.”

“It could be a trap.”

“Yes. But the people know who their true queen is.” Her hand rested on the drum. “If they do anything to me, no army will stop that crowd outside.” She paused. “But there will be no more bloodshed. Drop your weapons.”

Dande nodded at the captain. Lefa spun his horse, ordered his soldiers to disarm. They rode into the city under close watch. Luba and Dande rode beside Zugudini. Lefa rode ahead. A guard of royal horsemen led them past the streets thronged with soldiers, all the way to the palace courtyard.

On the steps, the Queen Mother, Jendayi, the councilors and the queens stood watching in silence. Zugudini gripped the drum tight and dismounted. Dande and Luba followed. The Queen Mother nodded, turned and climbed the steps to the Emperor’s court. The councilors and the queens filed after her.

Zugudini took a deep breath.

“Stay here,” she said to Lefa. “Dande. Luba. Come.”

She climbed slowly. Dande and Luba stayed close behind.

Candles lined the Royal Hall walls, casting a warm golden light. Footsteps echoed softly against tiles as the Queen Mother and the councilors and the queens took their seats, their robes rustling in pin-drop silence. Slaves hurried after them, and dropped to their haunches.

“There will be no more of that.”

Zugudini’s voice carried authority Dande had never heard before. The councilors and queens glared at her, then at Queen Jendayi. Jendayi nodded.

“The slaves may leave.”

The men rose, bowed and hurried away. The queens remained standing.

“So where would you have us sit?” Ngoli asked.

“You will remain standing, as will I, until I sit on that.”

She pointed at the vacant throne.

Queens and councilors exchanged uncomfortable glances. Petiri cleared his throat and shifted in his seat.

“What is your name?” he asked, his usual calm cracking. “And how did you come by ngomalungundu?”

“It’s obvious! She stole it!” Mwanyisa squinted with accusing eyes. Dande’s voice thundered.

“Is that how you speak to your queen?”

“Last I saw you, Hondo’s dog, you had been sent away by your master. Now you speak like a masterless stray. A true wild dog.”

“Call me that again and I will send you to your ancestors.”

“He has threatened a councillor,” Gorodenna said. Mwanyisa clicked his tongue.

“He deserves to die.”

“He’s not even circumcised.” Sundayi said. “Why is he even here? Only men are allowed here.”

“You will speak to him with respect.” Zugudini’s words cut like a knife. “He rescued the drum and saved this empire from extinction. He saved your lives. Or are you so full of yourselves that you failed to notice the rain falling outside?”

All fell silent. Queen Jendayi cleared her throat.

“Tell us how you came to have the sacred drum.”

“I will. But after you tell me where my messengers are. Two days ago I sent two riders to you. Are they safe?”

“They are safe.”

“I wish to see them.”

“I give you my word.”

Zugudini hesitated. She glanced at Dande. He nodded. She could trust Jendayi.

“She doesn’t lie, my queen. Your men are safe.”

Zugudini nodded. She trusted Dande’s judgement. Gripping the drum tight, she recounted everything. From her meeting with Dande to their return with the drum. Dande filled in the gaps when needed. The councilors’ faces fell at the news of Hondo’s treachery. Petiri most of all. But the news of Chenzira’s death left them all deeply moved.

“He was a good man.” Gorodenna’s voice carried grief. “We have lost a light of wisdom.”

“But,” Jendayi said, “We have gained a queen in its place.”

A murmur rumbled through the hall, like the distant roar of thunder outside.

“You sound as if you believe the tall tales of this imposter,” Sunday said. “But we are not so easily fooled.”

“We cannot accept this woman as our queen,” Petiri said.

“Why not?” Jendayi asked.

“What if she is lying?” Petiri asked.

Jendayi looked long and hard at Zugudini, then at Luba, who had remained quiet throughout, then at Dande. For decades, she had seen court intrigues, political games and power plays. She knew the face of a liar. None of the these three wore it.

“We are standing at the threshold of a new era in our history. Change is never welcome, but it is needed. Those who embrace it live, and those who do not, die. Our traditions are clear. The one who beats the drum and brings the rain is the one who is to rule.”

“We have never been ruled by a woman before,” Gorodenna said.

“Then this will be the first time. Change doesn’t come easy, but it is necessary.”

“My question still stands,” Petiri said. “How do we know that she is telling the truth.”

“Look at the rain outside. When was the last time you saw such rain?”

“What if this rain is coincidence?” Petiri asked. “What if Hondo or someone else beat the drum, and she murdered them and stole it?”

“It was never my wish to sit on that throne.” Zugudini said. “This drum cost me everyone I ever loved. It made me an orphan. But if it is proof you want, then it is proof you will get.”

She set the drum on the floor. The councillors and queens gasped.

“You cannot set ngomalungundu on the ground.”

She ignored them and knelt beside it. Slowly, with steady beats, she thumped the drum.

“What in Mwari’s name do you think you are doing?”

The thunder rumbling in the distance rolled closer. Zugudini played on. The rumble became a roar. Lightning flashed outside. A deafening boom shook the floor, the walls, the ceiling. The queens screamed in terror. The councillors leapt from their seats. Wind swept past the doors, slamming them against walls. Outside, the gentle patter intensified to steady downpour.

“Enough!” Petiri called out. “We have seen enough.”

Zugudini stopped. She rose to her feet, then swooned. Dande and Luba rushed to her side, and caught her before she fell. The councilors stared in awestruck silence.

“Bring her water,” Dande said. “Now.”

Queen Kambo hurried out of the room, and returned a moment later with a porcelain cup. Dande put it to Zugudini’s lips. She sipped gratefully, her strength returning.

“You need to sit down,” Dande said. “Get her a seat.”

“No,” Zugudini said. “I will not sit unless I am seated on that throne.”

“Then do so,” Jendayi said. “Take your throne, my queen.”

Dande and Luba took hold of Zugudini’s arms, but she shoved them away.

“I can walk.”

With slow, steady steps, weak but retaining an air of dignity, Zugudini ascended the steps up to the throne. She turned around, and gazed at the faces of the men and women staring at her. Some were awed. Others were angry. Others beamed with pride and joy. Slowly, she lowered herself onto her seat, and heaved a sigh of exhaustion. Jendayi walked to the base of the stairs, fell onto her hands and knees, and brought her head the ground. Then she rose, and turned and faced the queens and councillors.

“All hail Queen…” She paused, unsure. She turned to Zugudini.

“What will your title be, my queen?”

“Modjadji. The name of my mother. That her name may never be forgotten. Let it be the title of the bringer of rain.”

Jendayi bowed.

“All hail Queen Modjadji. Praise and honor to the Rain Queen, Modjadji.”

She clapped her hands and ululated. The queens did the same. Their high pitched voices filled the royal chamber. Luba joined them. The men clapped slowly, solemnly. Dande did nothing. He stared at Zugudini. She stared at him. Their eyes remained locked on each other.

“All praise and honor to the Rain Queen, Modjadji.”

“Praise and honor.”

One by one, the queens filed before Zugudini. They dropped onto to hands and knees, and touched foreheads to floor. Just as the last of them, Kambo rose to her feet, the doors burst open.

A soldier raced in, panting. He bowed low to the councilors and Jendayi. Then he turned to Dande and Luba. His eyes burned with venom. He noticed Zugudini on the throne, and met her steely gaze with a look full of bitter hate. He remained standing straight as an arrow.

“What is this?” Jendayi said. “How dare you interrupt a council meeting.”

“I bring important news, my queen.”

“She is your queen,” Jendayi said, nodding at Zugudini.

“No, she is not. That woman is a criminal.”

“What do you mean?” Jendayi asked.

“She is the leader of the Eagle’s Claw. She is an enemy of the Empire”

Gasps echoed across the room. Dande groaned. Zugudini’s heart crashed into the pit of her stomach. Luba’s eyes flitted to the door. There would be guards beside it.The window would be their best escape. If they made a mad dash and jumped, they might just -

“This is a serious accusation.” Jendayi’s voice interrupted Luba’s thoughts. “What is your name, soldier?

“Dikarai, son of Mpofu.”

“And what proof do you have?”

“I saw her. We were returning to the city with runaway slaves. She and her gang intercepted us. Made away with the slaves. I was the only one who escaped alive that night. She left us this.”

He held up two black feathers. The plumage of the African Fish Eagle.

“This is their sign. They leave it at the scene of every crime they commit. She is the leader. And these two with her are her followers. The Wild Dog must have joined up with the outlaws after leaving the city.”

Jendayi turned to Zugudini. “Is it true? In the name of Mwari, tell us. Are you really the leader of the Eagle’s Claw?”

Zugudini’s mind raced back to that night when she and Luba let the slaves go free. She had never imagined that her actions would return to haunt her in this way. Still, she had done the right thing. She had no regrets. Given the chance, she would do it all over again. Throne or no throne, she knew who she was. She knew what she stood for. She took a deep breath, and with shaking knees, forced herself onto her feet.

“I am -,” she started. But Dande’s words cut her off.

“I am the leader of the Eagle’s Claw,” he said, stepping forward. “I’m the one you want. Not her.”