LOGINBy the time he was four times three hundred-seasons-old, the children of Nfemfetsu were seven hundred which his wife had borne him; two alone of which he acknowledged, for the reason that they were male and for the days on which they were born. Nferorh, the older, was born on the first day of rainfall after a period of dryness, two seasons after which came his brother Nfwashtu, on the night of whose birth Nfemfetsu saw an ember from the fire place of God; a shooting star as we now call it, fall in a fleeting, burning, arc across the sky as he stood on the Southern hills at the edge of the land, by the Suori. So the sons of Nfemfetsu were two; Nferorh and Nfwashtu.Of the two of these sons, Nferorh (Fe-ror) was wayward. Yet as the older he was the heir and his father invariably blessed him..At every moment Nferorh's deeds were unseemly with the powers which he had, and there were no responsibilities which he took, but these rather were given to his younger brother Nfwasht
After Sovrnaan was known to have rebelled against the race of mankind, and shortly before the First war, there were divisions amongst his descendants. For many were against him and many were afraid, suspicious of an onslaught against them to wipe them out, as their father had done to his brother's lineage. So at once they were scattered abroad, many fleeing from the portion of the world which till that time had been inhabited an owned by their kind. These found refuge in the lands and societies of other generations and remained there, trapped by the Suori in strange and foreign lands after the war had ended. And they soon multiplied, becoming a small community of their own, which was called the 'Cursed people', or the 'Forest people' in the South, where they inhabited the Southern forests. Many of these ones had the gift of soothsaying and prophecy. They were called Berha (Beh-rah) which meant 'Prophet', and were taken as children from their people by the blackbloods, to the h
NARRATORThere is a story, which I want to tell you about. The same is one of the deepest and most hidden and most powerful folklores of my generation. It was told me by my father; Nwabuluije (Nwa-boo-li-jay), and in just the same manner as his father had told him, and his father's father had told his father, and back through the generations as far as the mind can envision and conceive. Yet it is a story which has the same essence and effect from everlasting to everlasting, so that every one of us who is told understands the basic and innermost meaning of it; even though we are doubtful and uncertain of the little differences which have inevitably influenced our account as it moved and varied and changed down the ages, deforming and reforming in the amnesia of each man's mind, according to his own understanding. I want to tell you the story not because it is my sole desire, but because of the similarity that you have to all of us who have heard it. For I know, that
PROLOGUETHE PATIENCEHis feet were powerful as iron and brass as he tramped upon rocks and leaves and into water, and scaled over mighty logs and boulders, growling as he descended the great hill. He it was, apparently, whom the prophecy of the Berhas had warned about. The Traitor. It was greatly astonishing to realize. He near-perfectly fit the description of the prophecy. He did not look over his shoulder even as he ran. The darkness kept him safe. His eyes were bright as fire in the darkness. By the river (to which he was headed) were a woman and a girl, waiting for him; both weeping, both retched-ly beautiful, both hidden in shawls of grey pelt. His eyes lifted and beheld the river as it came into his view. So many names had the people and their predecessors for it. The river of birth. The river of life. The river of death. The river of power. The river of good and evil. It was, in any case; his destination. He was nearing the boundary called Suori; the barrier betw