“We’re escaped slaves,” David says, “If we’re caught we’ll be beaten and sold to plantation owners in the West Indies.”
“If you are lucky,” Bhekumbuso says, “They may filet you alive and pour salt and lemon juice in your body, to make an example of you to others. Given that neither of you are… normal men… I do not know for certain what to expect, but I think it is best you not be caught. You must leave Boston, and never, ever return.”
“Never?” David’s friend asks.
“Man, what did you expect?” David looks at him like he’s an idiot, “Freemen get shaken down by the guards on a daily basis, did you think you were going to fake some papers and then just avoid running into anyone who ever saw us with Mr. Harrington?”
“My sister still lives in Boston,” his friend says.
My first thought is to suggest that we rescue her too, but Bhekumbuso stops me. “Peter, that’s your name, right?” he asks. The young man nods. “Peter, I’ve seen thousands of men, women, and monsters fight. You are made of strong stuff, but you are still a boy, and you have never known anything but menial labor. You were both being sent into that ring to die. You would have died in a spectacular fashion, but you would be dead nonetheless. Maybe it would not have been tonight, but I guarantee you that you would not have survived the month. Harrington probably was not even placing bets on you – he probably sold you to the house as meat.”
“Yeah, I know,” Peter says, “But…”
“Not tonight,” Bhekumbuso stops him, “If you want to save your sister, you cannot do it now, son. You would only get her killed. Leave Boston, grow stronger, and someday, someday you may return for her.”
He turns to me, “Whatever it is you need of me, I will stay to do it, but you must promise these boys make it west. If they are true sons of Nyarvirazi, they only need to make it to the wild. Then they can take care of themselves.”
“Need the fresh air and open spaces?” I ask.
“One of their kind, growing up in a city like this, is like a flower growing in the sand. Easily uprooted and more likely to thrive almost anywhere else.”
“Our kind?” Peter says, “You know what we are?”
“Who’s Nvarinzi?” David asks.
“You… do not know?” Bhekumbuso looks as much sad as he does surprised.
“No,” David says, “I was given away shortly after I was born. I never met my parents.”
"My father was sold off before I was born," Peter says, "and apparently I... take after him."
Finding this situation wholly unacceptable, Bhekumbuso leans in close to the two young men, “Listen very closely, because you may not get to hear this story again.” The young men nod quietly. “Many generations ago in Southeast Africa, there was a beautiful princess named Nyarvirazi. Remember that name, Nyarvirazi. Say it.”
The men repeat the name until they get it right, and then Bhekumbuso continues, “Nyarvirazi was as wild in spirit as she was beautiful, and despite all attempts to make her settle down like her older sisters, she would slip away into the wilderness to explore and learn about the world. Nyarvirazi would dream about what it must be like to be this animal or that animal, to live free of her obligations and her duties as princess. It was after a day of wandering, however, that Nyarvirazi discovered she had become so lost in her day dreams that she could not find her way home. She wandered the grassy plains through the night, and through the next day. Unfortunately it was the dry season, and an especially dry one at that, and Nyarvirazi was in very real danger of dying of thirst, when at last she came upon a witch performing some sort of ceremony by the light of the waxing moon. The witch had many supplies, food and drink, and Nyarvirazi thought that she might be able to scrounge something once the witch left.”
“Why didn’t she ask for help?” Peter asks.
Bhekumbuso doesn’t bat an eye at the interruption, “It may have been wise to do so,” he explains, “many witches would be inclined to help a girl in her plight, but many are not so well meaning. Nyarvirazi’s father was at war with another kingdom, and not knowing how far she had strayed, she had no idea to whom this witch owed her loyalty.”
The men nod in understanding and the story continues, “When at last the witch packed up and left, Nyarvirazi slipped into the abandoned ritual site, and plundered it for anything that might help her survive. Nyarvirazi finds no food, but she does find a gourd filled with water. Desperate for her thirst, she immediately began gulping down the water. It tastes foul, sour and salty, and it immediately occurred to Nyarvirazi that this must be some potion left behind by the witch.”
“What was it?” David asks with the wide-eyed interest of a much younger boy.
“Lion piss.”
The men make horrendous faces, but I can’t help but be audibly disgusted, “I’m sorry," I apologize, "please continue.”
“Wait, does Nyarvirazi know it’s lion piss?” Peter asks.
“Well how would she know?” the storyteller says, “It is not as if she had ever drunk any before.”
“But if she didn’t know, how do you know?” David asks suspiciously.
“I will get to that,” Bhekumbuso says, “Nyarvirazi drinks the lion urine at the ritual site, by the light of the waxing moon, and immediately, it is as if the world is revealed to her in a whole new way. The dark does not seem so dark to her, and somehow, she can smell her home, miles away.”
The men nod; apparently they’d each had a similar experience.
“Nyarvirazi followed her new instincts home, but it was still a long trek, and she still had not eaten. She was nearly back to her village, walking by the light of the now full moon when she smelled a herd of her people’s goats. Although her village was mere minutes away, she was consumed by hunger and an overwhelming wild force within her. She immediately chased down one of the goats and ate it, transforming into a lion as she tore it apart.”
“A lion? Completely into a lion? Not part way?” David asks.
“Completely into a lion,” Bhekumbuso says, “she returned home, covered in blood, but given her ordeal, her father was simply glad to see his daughter returned to him in one piece. The king had her cleaned up, and taken to bed to rest. Nyarvirazi recovered quickly, but felt the pull of the wild more strongly now than ever before. Her father forbade her to venture into the wilderness, but the desire would grow within her throughout the month, until the full moon when she could no longer stand it – she would transform into a lioness again, and go on the hunt.
“Eventually her brother, who had been charged with keeping her safe until a husband could be found for her, discovered why she would disappear at the full moon. He saw her transform, and when she changed back, he took her before their family and told them what she had become. Nyarvirazi begged them to keep her situation a secret, and the king, though he was sad his youngest daughter had not told him her secret, ordered the rest of the family to honor her wishes.
“Nyarvirazi lived her secret life for two years, wedding and bearing a child to a man who had no idea what she was. She was content living her dual life and the village was peaceful, but people gossiped and her husband grew suspicious of her monthly outings. When their child was born, he heard the midwives, who half expected the child to be born with claws, say that it was so fortunate that the baby looked like him. Nyarvirazi’s husband misunderstood, and became jealous. He took up his spear and threatened the midwives, demanding they explain, but they knew that to do so would invite the king’s wrath and so they remained silent. So consumed was he by jealousy, that Nyarvirazi’s husband murdered the midwives and then turned on his wife and child.”
“That’s terrible…” David says.
“It is tragic,” Bhekumbuso nods, “but that is not the end of the story. Nyarvirazi had only ever transformed at the full moon, to satisfy her need to hunt, but now, threatened at spear point and fearing for her child’s life, Nyarvirazi transformed in the middle of the day for the first time. She lashed out with her claws, snapped with her fangs, and ripped away not only the spear, but the arm that was holding it. Her husband attempted to flee from Nyarvirazi, but the princess cried out to the wilderness and the other lionesses answered her call, tearing the man to pieces. Once the lionesses had had their fill of the wicked man, Nyarvirazi changed back into a woman, picked up her child, and led the lionesses back out into the wilderness.”
“Never to be seen again,” Peter infers.
“Oh, no; they saw her all the time,” Bhekumbuso says, “Nyarvirazi became the queen of the lions, and ruled over them as they were another kingdom. Nyarvirazi would visit her father in his kingdom just like anyone in her situation might. Her father’s people loved her, as they never had to fear the lions again. Eventually, Nyarvirazi’s son returned to his grandfather’s village to marry, and Nyarvirazi herself had other sons and daughters – or cubs, perhaps – and it is from one of those royal blood lines that the two of you descend.”
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