Chapter 12 — The Final Order

Rain drummed against the chamber walls. The silence stretched for what seemed to be an eternity. Then, voices erupted. Cries and yells of accusation and shock. Jendayi shot to her feet and raised an arm. The room fell silent. She turned to Dande.

"What did you say?"

"I said I am the leader of the Eagle Claw. Or was.” His voice carried no pride. Only exhaustion. An acceptance of fate. “All my companions are dead. I am the only one left.”

"That’s not true!" Zugudini snapped.

“You know it is,” Dande said. “Luba can confirm it.”

All eyes turned to Luba. She said nothing, did nothing. Dikarai’s eyes blazed.

“He is lying.”

"Am I?" Dande swiveled to face him. "Did you see your Queen in the forest that night? Swear if you did, by Mwari."

Dikarai’s mouth opened. Closed. Then opened again. He tried to speak but couldn’t. His eyes met Dande’s, boring into his; Luba’s, filled with fear; Jendayi’s, steely and demanding; and Zugudini’s, tired and exhausted.

“In Mwari’s name, say who you saw in the forest that night.”

“It was dark. I couldn’t make out —”

“Who did you see?” Dande’s voice thundered.

Dikarai’s shoulders sagged.

"I saw … you.” The words fell like stones. Defeat carved lines across Dikarai’s face. He stared at the floor.

“Who else did you see?”

“Two others.”

“Name them.”

“I cannot.”

“Describe them.”

“It was dark.”

“So you stand here,” Jendayi said, “accusing people of a crime deserving of death and yet you did not see them?”

Dikarai’s eyes met hers for a moment. Then he looked down again.

"Dikarai," Jendayi said, "by Mwari’s truth. Speak. Who can you identify as being part of the Eagle’s Claw?”

Dikarai bit his lip.

“Dande.”

“Who else?”

“Like I said, it was—”

“Who else?” Jendayi asked.

“Nobody else.”

Sundayi hissed.

"Then Dande must die," he said.

"No," Zugudini said, panic edging her voice. "He cannot. I will not allow it."

Gorodenna rose to his feet.

“As Nehanda wa Mwene, it is my duty to uphold justice in the empire. Even if it goes against your wishes, my Queen.” He bowed. “It is our law that a crime deserving of death cannot be pardoned.” He sat down again, and stared at Zugudini.

As did all the rest. Zugudini’s eyes locked onto Dande’s. Her mind warred with her heart. Each beat of her pulse a small agony. It was not right. Dande should not lose his life for her sake. She had chosen the Eagle Claw freely. She had accepted the consequences long before this moment. Even death. She would not let him die for her. That burden would crush her. She took a deep breath.

“There is something I have to say.” The words scraped her throat.

Dande stepped forward. Sharp. Sudden.

“I accept the sentence. It is fair.”

“Don’t do this, Dande.” Her voice barely reached him. Tears burned her eyes.

“The law is the law.” Gorodenna’s tone brooked no argument. “As Nehanda wa Mwene, the onus is on me to uphold it.”

“I’m no legal expert,” Luba said, “but among my people, it is the same. The death sentence cannot be repealed. But it can be commuted. Is it not the same with you?”

Gorodenna frowned.

“What do you know of our ways?”

“She is right,” Jendayi said. “It has happened in the past, as you well know, Gorodenna. The death sentence has been commuted, when the Mutapa deemed it fit.”

“The grounds had to be serious.”

“What can be more serious than returning the ngomalungundu to its rightful place?”

Jendayi awaited his response. He had none. Gorodenna folded his arms beneath his robes and stared at his feet.

“Among my people,” she said, “the death sentence cannot be repealed. But it can be commuted. I believe that this is the way with most people of our lands. Is it not?”

“Commuted to what?” Zugudini asked.

“Exile.” Dande said. “I will go into exile. That is the law.”

Jendayi nodded.

“Indeed it is. If the Queen so wishes.”

“I do not so wish.”

“Then I must die.”

He stared at Zugudini. She wiped her cheek. Her hand came away wet. Suddenly embarrassed, she looked away. This was all her fault and there was nothing she could do about it.

“My Queen,” Jendayi said. “ Will you commute Dande son of Banga’s sentence of death to one of exile, on the grounds that he has done a great service to the empire by restoring the ngomalungundu?”

Zugudini tried to speak, but barely a croak escaped her lips. She nodded slowly, wiping the tears from her eyes.

“You need to say the words,” Gorodenna said.

She looked up. Dande was staring at her. Lead filled her bones. He watched her struggle. Then nodded. A small nod. Barely visible. He wanted her to understand, needed her to understand. This was the final sacrifice. For the people. Zugudini’s voice cracked.

“Leave us. I would like to speak to —” Her throat clenched. “To him. Alone."

The queens and the councillors glanced at each other, confused. Jendayi was the first to obey the first command of the first empress to sit on the throne. She stood up and bowed low. Her robes rustled as she passed the guards. The others followed. A slow parade of respect and uncertainty. Queen Sangeya brought up the rear. The doors slammed shut behind her.

“I said I want to be alone.”

The guards nodded. Saluted. Their boots echoed as they left. Another slam of doors. Zugudini rose slowly from the throne. "What in Mwari's name do you think you are doing?" Her voice rose as she descended the steps. They faced each other across the empty chamber.

“I cannot allow it as your —”

Before she could finish, he closed the distance. His arms wrapped around her shoulders. His lips found hers. The kiss was everything. Long. Tender. Passionate. Heartfelt. She lost herself in his embrace. His warmth. His strength.

He pulled away. Wiped tears from her cheeks. He took her hands in his and kissed them.

"Please don't do this.” The words came between sobs. “There must be another way."

"There isn't."

"I have to take the blame for what I did."

"The people need the Rain Queen.” His voice was gentle. “They don't need the Wild Dog."

"Don't ever call yourself that ever again," she said. Anger burned in her eyes for a moment. Dande smiled and caressed her cheek.

"Yes, my queen."

"You are Dande son of Banga. The finest man I've ever known."

“Yes, my queen.”

"I need you here. I cannot let you go."

“You’ll have Luba with you. And Jendayi. You’ll survive.”

"I don't want to survive anymore, Dande. Ever since I was ten, all I have done is survive. I want to live. With you."

"It was not meant to be.”

"I'm the Queen. I can pardon you."

“No. Your first official act as queen cannot be breaking the law. I will not let that happen. Not after all we’ve been through.”

Silence fell between them. She knew he was right. He reached into his belt pouch and drew something out that glinted. Zugudini’s breath caught. The golden butterfly gleamed in the soft light. He draped it around her neck. The metal was warm from his body.

“Now you are mine forever.”

She threw her arms around his neck and held him tight. Her tears burned into his skin.

“It's time," he whispered. "Call them in."

She nodded, wiped the tears off her cheeks. She walked to the doors on unsteady legs. Her knuckles rapped against the wood.

“Open the doors.”

The hinges groaned. One by one, the councillors filed back in. They took their seats, and stared at her with expectant faces.

Her voice cracked. She cleared her throat and started again.

"As your Queen, I respect and uphold the laws of our land. This man will go into exile for his crimes.” She paused, overwhelmed by the grief that threatened to swallow her. She drew breath, and continued.

“But, as the Queen, I decree that he go with full honors, that his name be enrolled in the praises of the Barwe Tonga, both his name and that of his father. Dande wa Banga, and Banga wa Maideyi. Their names will be sung by the praise singers for the rest of time.”

Some of the councilors gasped.

"But my queen," Gorodenna started, "that has never been done for a criminal."

"I have spoken," Zugudini said. "You may go." Jendayi rose, did obeisance, and left. As did the others. Gorodenna was the last to leave.

Once again, Dande and Zugudini were alone. They stared into each other’s eyes. A moment that lasted forever. It was over too soon.

“Go. That’s an order.”

Dande bowed low. He left without looking back.

The following day, as the eastern horizon grew light, Dande slung his bags across his shoulder and mounted his steed. He kicked his horse hard and galloped through the city gates. He set his face to the east, to the rising sun. Its gentle rays warmed his face as the cool wind whipped past. As he galloped, his hand went to his chest, to the spot where the butterfly amulet had once hung.

The emptiness there matched the hollow in his heart.