Mngwa: The Bestiary Tales
By Allison Graham
Copyright 2011 Allison Graham
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Mount Meru, Africa - 2006
Mayasa swept her hair out of her face, berating herself for at least the third time that day for having forgotten her hair ties. Certainly the mountain was cold, which made it nice to have her hair protecting her neck, but it was also windy, and she didn’t need her hair obscuring her vision in the territory of Wawindaji Pepo.
She dropped to one knee in the thin crust of snow, looking down at the ground seriously. “Wawindaji Pepo, I ask you for permission to hunt in your lands. So long as the wind blows cold, I will walk under your permission. When the wind blows warm, I know my welcome is worn.” Mayasa’s tribe was very advanced in many ways, but when it came to this, they were superstitious beyond compare. She stood slowly, tapped the butt of her spear against a nearby rock, and stepped into the lands which she had always been warned to be wary of.
High-dwelling antelope were difficult to hunt, but tasty and a good way to prove oneself as a skilled hunter. Woman hunters were still looked on with skepticism, but Mayasa aimed to change that. If she could bring back one, they would respect her. If she brought back two, the tribe could enjoy a filling, thorough meal which put them all in top condition. Any more than two would be wasteful, which was wrong in the first place, but also involved the risk of angering Wawindaji Pepo. It took its territory very seriously, according to legend, and by that reasoning, so should anyone who entered it.
The breeze was frigid, and Mayasa drew her cloak around her with a shiver. She’d waited until the snows were gone. Only the strongest hunted in the snow. It was a daring and hardy life to live in the shadow of the mountain in the first place, but actually risking the weather that stung the flesh and blinded the senses during the cold months? None but the most determined could survive. Not to say Mayasa wasn’t determined - far from it. But she was, admittedly, more fragile than a man.
That wouldn’t stop her from completing the hunt.
She immediately began looking for the signs that would point her to her quarry. Chewed grass, half-moon prints in the thin layer of snow, and bark peeled away from the sparse, scrawny trees would all be good signs. Particularly the bark; a male rubbing his antlers on trees would have a large harem of females for her to aim at.
Of course, hunting was not a simple task. Mayasa knew better than to walk in and expect to see signs of the antelope right away. It could be days until she found what she was looking for; that was why she had brought so much with her.
She trod along carefully, the ground biting into her feet with every step. She had worn woven-grass pads to stop her feet from freezing, but the cold still bled through and stung. She ignored it. If her limbs began to go numb, then she would have cause for concern.
The day wore on with slow sameness, the sun going high overhead and melting the snow to a more shallow and therefore more comfortable depth. The refrozen ice on top lit and shone like fire when the sun began to fall, and it looked as if Mayasa was walking on a layer of frigid golden light. She silently admired nature’s handiwork - the mountain was truly a marvel. However, she could not allow herself to be distracted for long. The fact that the sun was setting meant that she needed to set up camp.
She slung her travel pack off of her shoulder and drove her spear point-first into the ground to ward off misfortune. After saying a brief ward, she pulled out her sleeping pouch and set it up accordingly. Strung between two thin but sturdy trees, she climbed into the sack in order to keep herself off the cold ground. They had gotten the idea for these when one of the tribal elders visited a town and saw someone lounging in what they called a hammock. It helped a lot during hunts. If you didn’t need to stay away from the cold, there were always red ants, scorpions, snakes…
Mayasa settled into her pouch and closed her eyes. Tomorrow would be a long day.
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She awoke to growling.
At first, Mayasa was prepared to face a furious mountain guardian, but once she woke up a bit more, she realized it was echoing down from somewhere higher. Sighing in gratitude, she rolled out of her sleeping pouch and looked around for the source of the growls. Finding nothing, she picked her spear up and waited a moment to see if the winds were warming. Still cold, she decided that the noises weren’t aimed at her, so she set about making breakfast.
She knew the smell of cooking food, no matter how bland the food was, would attract animal attention, and around her, she heard the sounds of curious creatures. Birds, mostly, with the occasional small rodent. She eyed the rodents carefully, wondering if it would be worth killing one for a protein-filled snack with breakfast. Ultimately, she decided no - they didn’t taste all that good, and their bites hurt. Her mashed roots weren’t all that flavorful, but they would give her plenty of energy.
Finishing her breakfast, she bundled her belongings together, lifted her spear, and looked up towards the mountain’s peak. She had a sneaking suspicion the antelope had moved further up. Their marks down here were worn or gone. If Mayasa didn’t return with prey, she would be mocked and shamed. As far as she was concerned, it was worth the risk to try heading higher.
Closer to where Wawindaji Pepo lived.
She walked under its mercy right now. It had not sent warm winds, so she was still welcome here. There would not be any problems, so long as she did not directly enter its lair. At least, that was what she was hoping for.
The day’s trek was long and unpleasant, only becoming colder as she went higher. She made good time, though, and by the time the sun was overhead, she had noticed fresh signs of the animals she was looking for - droppings, and grass nibbled down to gray-green stubble. Mayasa grinned to herself. This was the day’s first positive herald. Muttering soft praise for her good fortune, she steeled herself for a more stealthy, thorough scouring of the surrounding areas.
If her trip up was tiring, this was downright grueling. The mountain was rippled with sudden drops and sharp climbs, and she needed to check every one of them to see if the antelope were resting within. Her sureness at their presence began to falter…
…and then she found them.
They were a comparatively small herd, with two young males and seven females - plus a juvenile. It was unusual to see a young one so late in the year; it probably wouldn’t make it through the cold months. She considered shooting that one, because although it was small, it would certainly do better to die by her than by the unforgiving sheets of icy wind that would blast this area soon. She crouched low and remained silent, slinking closer to throw her spear.
Before she could attack, though, something else did.
It looked like a jaguar, but the size of a zebra and with much thicker hair. Its color was not the tan-gold of dust and grass, but the watery silver of the moon. It had leaped onto the young one with astonishing speed, tearing it open with huge claws. Each nail was black and fierce, the size of her spearhead, and she knew what - no, who she was looking at.
“Wawindaji Pepo,” she gasped.
She had never been so afraid and awed at the same time. It was amazing. It ate with such speed and ferocity, as if it had very little time to do so. The whole time, though, it was alert, surveying its territory. She knew it was aware of her presence. She also knew its patience was rapidly wearing thin, and it did not like her watching it. Mayasa bowed her head deeply before leaving, her breath catching as she did so. Wawindaji Pepo had frightened away the antelope, but that was its right. It could kill what it wanted in its own lands.
With silent reverence, she followed the fleeing hoofed animals.
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Mayasa was exhausted. Four d
ay’s hunting had gone by, though she warned her people she may have been as long as a week. She had her antelope, though, and was going to return from a single-woman hunt triumphant and proud. She was living proof that females could be efficient hunters, strong and powerful like lionesses, and the men would have to acknowledge her skill.
On the way down the mountain, she sang. She couldn’t help herself. She was in such a good mood.
As she descended, the trees lost their thin coating of blue-white frost. Patches of tough, gold grass were now visible with increasing frequency. The bird calls went from the predatory shrieks of raptors to the tittering giggles of songbirds. Her smile grew larger the closer she got to sea level. Life was good. Life was beautiful.
Mayasa had almost made it back to the ravine when Wawindaji Pepo cut in front of her.
She gasped and froze in her