Resnick, Mike - When the Old Gods Die

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When the old gods die

Ngai, who rules the universe from His golden throne atop the

holy mountain Kirinyaga, which men now call Mount Kenya, created

the Sun and the Moon, and declared that they should have equal

domain over the Earth.

The Sun would bring warmth to the world, and all of Ngai's

creatures would thrive and grow strong in the light. But even Ngai

must sleep, and when He slept He ordered the Moon to watch over

His creations.

But the Moon was duplicitous, and formed a secret alliance

with the Lion and the Leopard and the Hyena, and many nights,

while Ngai slept, it would turn only a part of its face to the

Earth. At such times the predators would go forth to maim and kill

and eat their fellow creatures.

Finally one man, a _mundumugu_ -- a witch doctor -- realized

that the Moon had tricked Ngai, and he made up his mind to correct

the problem. He might have appealed to Ngai, but he was a proud

man, and so he took it upon himself to make certain that the flesh

eaters would no longer have a partnership with the darkness.

He retired to his _boma_ and allowed no visitors. For nine

days and nine nights he rolled his bones and arranged his charms

and mixed his potions, and when he emerged on the morning of the

tenth day, he was ready to do what must be done.

The Sun was overhead, and he knew that there could be no

darkness as long as the Sun shone down upon the Earth. He uttered

a mystic chant, and soon he was flying into the sky to confront

the Sun.

"Halt!" he said. "Your brother the Moon is evil. You must

remain where you are, lest Ngai's creatures continue to die."

"What is that to me?" responded the Sun. "I cannot shirk my

duty simply because my brother shirks his."

The _mundumugu_ held up a hand. "I will not let you pass," he

said.

But the Sun merely laughed, and proceeded on its path, and

when it reached the _mundumugu_ it gobbled him up and spat out the

ashes, for even the greatest _mundumugu_ cannot stay the Sun from

its course. That story has been known to every _mundumugu_ since

Ngai created Gikuyu, the first man. Of them all, only one ignored

it.

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I am that _mundumugu_.

* * *

It is said that from the moment of birth, even of conception,

every living thing has embarked upon an inevitable trajectory that

culminates in its death. If this is true of all living things, and

it seems to be, then it is also true of man. And if it is true of

man, then it must be true of the gods who made man in their image.

Yet this knowledge does not lessen the pain of death. I had

just come back from comforting Katuma, whose father, old Siboki,

had finally died, not from disease or injury, but rather from the

awful burden of his years. Siboki had been one of the original

colonists on our terraformed world of Kirinyaga, a member of the

Council of Elders, and though he had grown feeble in mind as well

as body, I knew I would miss him as I missed few others.

As I walked back through the village, on the long, winding

path by the river that eventually led to my own _boma_, I was very

much aware of my own mortality. I was not that much younger than

Siboki, and indeed was already an old man when we left Kenya and

emigrated to Kirinyaga. I knew my death could not be too far away,

and yet I hoped that it was, not from selfishness, but because

Kirinyaga was not yet ready to do without me. The _mundumugu_ is

more than a shaman who utters curses and creates spells; he is the

repository of all the moral and civil laws, all the customs and

traditions, of the Kikuyu people, and I was not convinced that

Kirinyaga had yet produced a competent successor.

It is a harsh and lonely life, the life of a _mundumugu_. He

is more feared than loved by the people he serves. This is not his

fault, but rather the nature of his position. He must do what he

knows to be right for his people, and that means he must sometimes

make unpopular decisions.

How strange, then, that the decision that brought me down had

nothing at all to do with my people.

I should have had a premonition about it, for no conversation

is ever truly random. As I was walking past the scarecrows in the

fields on the way to my _boma_, I came across Kimanti, the young

son of Ngobe, driving two of his goats home from their morning's

grazing.

"_Jambo_, Koriba," he greeted me, shading his eyes from the

bright overhead sun.

"_Jambo_, Kimanti," I said. "I see that your father now

allows you to tend to his goats. Soon the day will come that he

puts you in charge of his cattle."

"Soon," he agreed, offering me a water gourd. "It is a warm

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day. Would you like something to drink?"

"That is very generous of you," I said, taking the gourd and

holding it to my mouth.

"I have always been generous to you, have I not, Koriba?" he

said.

"Yes, you have," I replied suspiciously, wondering what favor

he was preparing to request.

"Then why do you allow my father's right arm to remain

shriveled and useless?" he asked. "Why do you not cast a spell and

make it like other men's arms?"

"It is not that simple, Kimanti," I said. "It is not I who

shriveled your father's arm, but Ngai. He would not have done so

without a purpose."

"What purpose is served by crippling my father?" asked

Kimanti.

"If you wish, I shall sacrifice a goat and ask Ngai why He

has allowed it," I said.

He considered my offer and then shook his head. "I do not

care to hear Ngai's answer, for it will change nothing." He

paused, lost in thought for a moment. "How long do you think Ngai

will be our god?"

"Forever," I said, surprised at his question.

"That cannot be," he replied seriously. "Surely Ngai was not

our god when He was just a _mtoto_. He must have killed the old

gods when He was young and powerful. But He has been god for a

long time now, and it is time someone killed Him. Maybe the new

god will show more compassion toward my father."

"Ngai created the world," I said. "He created the Kikuyu and

the Maasai and the Wakamba, and even the European, and He created

the holy mountain Kirinyaga, for which our world is named. He has

existed since time began, and He will exist until it ends."

Kimanti shook his head again. "If He has been here that long,

He is ready to die. It is just a matter of who will kill Him." He

paused thoughtfully. "Perhaps I myself will, when I am older and

stronger."

"Perhaps," I agreed. "But before you do, let me tell you the

story of the King of the Zebras."

"Is this story about Ngai or zebras?" he asked.

"Why don't you listen?" I said. "Then you can tell _me_ what

it was about?" I gently lowered myself to the ground, and he

squatted down next to me.

"There was a time," I began, "when zebras did not have

stripes. They were as brown as the dried grasses on the savannah,

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Resnick, Mike - When the Old Gods Die

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