Chapter 7 - The weight of Gold and Blood
Khisa kept up his training routine with the children. He finally got around to making the training weapons and incorporated some light sparring into their practice. The past few days had been peaceful, almost idyllic. The bricks for the play area were almost fully dried—it would probably take about four more days. Then, he could finally begin making the play area for the kids.
It felt good to see the village so lively. The warriors had even started playing Mbumbwa, finding that it helped with flexibility and reflexes. Khisa had been careful not to introduce too many changes too quickly. He wanted them to enjoy the simple pleasures first, to let happiness settle into their lives before he did anything drastic.
He had time.
Or so he thought.
Khisa was laughing with his friends when he heard it—shouting, high-pitched wailing, the unmistakable sound of panic. His body tensed. It was coming from the village entrance. He exchanged a quick glance with the others before sprinting toward the commotion.
A group of women stood at the entrance, their faces streaked with tears, their bodies shaking. Their cries filled the air, cutting through the village's usual calm. Several young warriors surrounded them, attempting to calm them down, but they themselves looked unsettled.
Khisa's stomach twisted into knots. He could feel the weight of something terrible pressing down on him, suffocating him.
Then he saw Mama Nanjili.
Her eyes were red and swollen, her hands clutching at her chest as if she were trying to keep herself from falling apart. She was wailing, her voice raw with grief.
Lusweti emerged from the main hut, his powerful frame stiff with tension. His presence alone quieted the chaos slightly, but the anguish in the air remained.
"Enough!" His voice boomed. "Why are you screaming and crying? What has happened?"