Fifteen: The Tale of Dingane

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2033 Congo River Valley

“So, boy, what do you know about your grandmother?” Dingane slid across the room, coming to rest in an old arm chair whose wood had been partially eaten by worms. At one time the chair had likely cast an air of regality, but now it was a twisted and warped version of its former self, complete with ranting lunatic.

“You think me crazy, yes?”

Mwamba was startled by the old man’s keen responses, although it was too subtle to be sure, he felt as though his mind were open to the old man in a sinister way. Dingane sighed deeply and looked up at the ceiling, the veins in his neck bulging with age and hypertension. Given the chance, Mwamba tensed his muscles, ready to run out the door to freedom.

Still looking up at the sagging wood of the ceiling, “Don’t even think about trying to escape, the fact remains that the camp has over a hundred armed men at my beck, you have no idea where you are, and you have no chance of successfully navigating yourself out of the jungle, despite your well trained skills learned from your grandmother. Yes, I know of your training, of the power of the ancestors, of the choice to refine that power into something that heals or harms, yes I know of it too well.

“You see, your grandmother and I are not that different in one sense, and that is because we both start with the same basic formula, the only difference lies in our personal choices. Your grandmother chose to serve Life, I chose Death. Each is a noble calling in its own right, but so too are the two companions equally foes, constantly struggling against one another. The same principles that your grandmother learned, and in turn taught to you, have been handed down in our people for thousands of years.”

Our people?

The old man paused a moment, searching out Mwamba’s eyes with piercing intensity. “Yes, boy, we are related in the broadest sense of the term, but of course, I am part of a generation long dead, whereas you are the newest addition to our line.

“Our people were once a proud and successful race, having carved out our existence amongst the harsh jungle; we were a small but prosperous nation, living off of the abundant resources of the deep jungle while also being afforded natural protection against aggressors. For centuries our people, the Upemba, lived in harmony with nature, and it was precisely that harmony that kept us safe from outsiders. I changed all of that.”

Mwamba felt as though he had once again entered a hallucinatory dream-like state where the realities of the world were bent and altered at the whim of horrors like the withered figure before him. Dingane smiled a gap toothed grin that tore at Mwamba like the talons of a vulture rending the flesh from the dead.

When Dingane spoke again, he spoke in the secret tongue that Mwamba’s grandmother had taught to him as a child, another aspect that both confirmed the link with Dingane while concurrently disgusting Mwamba that this creature could utter something that he considered so sacred.

“Yes, boy, I too know the ancient language, dead and forgotten by the world. It is only a fossil on your lips, something resurrected by old witches and youthful protégés, but I knew a time when our tongue was spoken by an entire nation, a tribe of proud and powerful people. Lost now it is, lost to the winds of history, but we can speak it here, now, in the long shadows cast across the face of the planet by the pride-born horrors of mankind’s darkest hours. Come and listen, boy, listen to the inheritance that you have been given, so that you too may make your choice…”

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“I was once a great prince of the Luba Empire, beloved by the people I ruled; I was my mother’s favorite, although I was not the eldest and therefore had no claim to the throne. This was not a problem at first, when I was but a boy, what did power mean to me then? Nothing, all I cared for were the pleasures of my childhood, and the pleasures of the flesh afforded to those of royal blood. Who knows what fate would have befallen our people had I lived my life differently, or had I never been born? But that is not for us to wonder about, the course of history has been set, and I shall pay my debts when the chill of death finally consumes even I.

“You see, at birth I was chosen among my people to study the magical arts in order to join the ranks of the Mbudye, the “men of memory,” those who learned to harness the power of the ancestors, a great honor indeed, and one that was never bestowed lightly. However, I know now that I was not entirely prepared for such a responsibility, for my path would soon stray.

“I too was raised as you have been, given the secrets of how to refine the powers of nature, how to make poisons or cures from the same plants, how to manipulate the elements and pierce the minds of men. I was taught the tremendous responsibility of such power, of the threat and lure of the darkness, hungry and lurking just beneath the fabric of existence. The high sorcerer of our court, Kelile, watched my progress avidly, awaiting the day that I would ascend to replace him as High Mbudye and take my place beside my brother, Mamello, who was destined for the throne.

“I suppose since your grandmother was never able to finish your training that you were never taught to fear the Shadow arts and their followers, no?” Mwamba shook his head slightly, “I figured as much, you were not ready for such a warning anyway, it would have had no effect before this day, for you would not have understood the power of the Shadow or its lure before now.

“When I was a small child I had heard tales of wicked sorcerers, damned and consumed by the Shadow arts, who lived deep in the jungle, deeper than any Upemba dared to venture. These damned priests preyed on the living and were rumored to take any who went too deep into the jungle as their slaves. Although as a child I believed these stories to be true, I became petulant as an adolescent and despite the further warnings of my teachers I decided to find out whether it was true for myself.

“At this point in my life I had become quite proficient, and was told quite often that I was the most promising student in generations to take up the priestly arts, but all that any of this did was to pave the way for my fall with the precious mortar of pride. Deep into the jungle I wandered, further into the darkness than I had ever gone before, entire days passed, and with each passing night I felt the lure of the Shadow draw me further onward, towards what I knew not. It was he who called me; he who had been calling me all along, it was Tumalogo, the immortal wizard, the ruler of the dark, and inheritor of the legacy of the Shadow.

“When I first encountered Tumalogo it was in battle, as I had come so far in order to demonstrate my power to my people by returning with the head of the evil creature. I was young and naïve, thinking that my scant power could possibly overcome one as ancient and powerful as he. Yet fate would not have me die that day, as Tumalogo had been calling me the entire time, and it was he who had whispered in my ear at night that I should prove myself by hunting him, it was he who had stroked my ego and provoked my journey, he had been waiting for me. The further that I strayed into the jungle, the more powerful he became, as I was too far from the source of my strength, and he was in his own element.

“As the stories had said, he was a monstrous being, unlike any person I had ever laid eyes on. His skin was pale and ashen, having the look of the grave on it, while his features were sharp and predatory. Of course it would not be for many years that I would discover the full history and heritage of my new master, but that is a tale best reserved for another time, if you live long enough to hear it. Despite my best efforts, his power was immense and I stood no chance of rivaling him.

“Kneeling before him, the angry sounds of the jungle around me, bleeding and begging for my life, I came to the sudden recognition of my own mortality. This man held my life in his hands, he could have ended my existence then and there, but he didn’t. Instead of killing me, he incapacitated me and took me with him back to his lair deep in the jungle. It was there that I learned the true meaning of suffering, and also where I learned that the agony of life can be worse even than the sweet embrace of death. But death was kept from me, and Tumalogo crafted my spirit to his own will, showing me

the extremes that pain had to offer, as well as giving me the ability to bend the suffering of others to my own use.

“Most importantly, Tumalogo taught me to hate, first him, and then all life other than my own. I learned the most powerful secret: the extension of my own life by means of the pain and suffering of others. I became a harbinger of doom, at first I was chained in the depths of his torture chambers, kept company only by my own screams, but as I was crafted into the powerful being you see before you now, I was gradually allowed out.

“By this point my life before Tumalogo grew faint and distant, hazy as though it were a dream and not lived experience, I learned to scorn the privilege of my royal father, and my brother became a target for my hateful jealousy. As absolute disdain for the living became ingrained deeper and deeper in my psyche, I was released at night to stalk the living and make them my victims.

“I distinctly remember my first… she must have been only about fourteen years old, showing small lumps beneath her tunic, barely a woman yet. She was down at the river’s edge fetching a pale of water for her sickly mother who had taken ill with a fever. I could smell the stench of death lingering about their house, and I could tell that her efforts were being wasted. Of course, I had only a fraction of the power which I now possess, and so I approached her from behind, knocking her out with a rock that I found nearby. It took all that I had to get her back to Tumalogo, and gleefully I entered the ancient tomb that he dwelled in, displaying my victim proudly, my first prize. When she regained consciousness I was not sure what to do, and had it not been for Tumalogo to remind me of my duty I might have faltered and let her escape. Like the adolescent that I was, I clumsily tortured her, often rendering her unconscious from the pain, but with the careful tutoring of my monstrous mentor, I began to unlock the terrible suffering of her most tightly guarded inner secrets, and her soul opened its precious flower to me, and I gladly drank of its nectar.

“She was only the first of many victims, and with each one I unlocked new ways to twist their spirits and squeeze from them the most distilled suffering as a grape is pressed and fermented into wine. Gradually entire years passed by, and my life as a royal prince was eventually all but forgotten by me as I became drank from the splendid suffering of my victims.

“Yet while I might have forgotten my previous life, they did not forget me. While I was being taught the arts of the Shadow deep in the darkest heart of the jungle, my family continued to search for me. As time passed, they grew disheartened, believing me to have fallen victim to the primal jungle, but little did they know that I was becoming one of the creatures of the night about which they whispered guarded warnings. No one had any idea of my true fate; no one, that is, except for Kelile, my old mentor and the only one powerful enough to still detect a trace of my life lingering in the distance darkness.

“While everyone else gave up hope, even going so far as to have a tomb erected for me in the hall of our ancestors, he could feel that I was still alive. Of course, he could also sense that my life force had been significantly altered, and greatly empowered by something dark and wicked. The prayers that he raised to the ancestors were intended to ease my suffering through the embrace of death; sadly, the ancestors chose to ignore his petitions and instead allowed me to return to my people a monster clothed as a prince.

“Eventually Tumalogo shared with me why he had chosen me, and hadn’t sucked my spirit dry like he taught me to do on so many of our victims. He had another purpose for me entirely, one that I readily accepted when it was shared with me.

“Tumalogo had not only taught me to hate him in order to make me stronger, he taught me to hate him so that I could complete my training. If I succeeded, my final act before succeeding him as the dark ruler of the jungle was to be his murder at my hands. I remember the exact night that he shared this with me, I had brought him another victim, and after we began torturing the unfortunate fellow he chained me up, as he was oft to do, and whipped me until my blood flowed freely from my scarred and torn back.

“Looking me square in the eyes, he asked ‘Do you hate me?’, I told him that I hated him more than anything on this whole planet, and he told me that was good, that I needed to harness that hatred, that it would make me strong, and give me the strength to finish my training.

“I demanded that he tell me what he meant, and between the lashes of the barbed whip, he hissed at me that if I wanted to become as powerful as he, I would have to destroy him.

“You see, the mere mortal death of one as powerful as he would squander the immense resources of power locked within his soul. Some Servants have even been known to be able to exit their bodies and inhabit the mortal coil of some unfortunate victim, although greatly weakened, the monster would live on.

“The death that Tumalogo quested me toward was the death of his soul.

“Immortality takes its toll, boy, and although we live on when all others die around us, eventually we tire from the sport of the living and choose to ascend to our rightful place among the dead. However, we are also bound to this planet by the very power that we have drawn from others, and this power prevents us from dying. Thus, for a Servant of the Shadow to be fully destroyed, his soul must become vulnerable so that another might absorb that energy.

“That, he told me, was why he had chosen me, to succeed him in every aspect of the word. He had grown tired, withered by the constant struggle, but he knew that he needed someone to completely destroy him if he were to move on from this world, and so he had chosen me, he felt my power as I was raised as a Mbudye, and as I said before it was he who lured me to him as a fly to the web. But rather than simply drinking of me, he weaved and twisted me into a likeness of himself; he had taken the fly and made it a spider.

“But, he warned me, I will not simply let you kill me, you must conquer me as we conquer our victims, you must face me in the darkest depths of suffering and show me how you have conquered my very existence. At that moment you will know all that I know, and absorb the wisdom from a million lifetimes. That is, if you succeed.

“You see, boy, one bound to the Shadow never commits suicide, nor does he simply allow his enemy to conquer him, this would squander the vast power that he has accumulated. For the victory to be true, it must be a real battle, and so the prize that he dangled before my nose had a powerful string attached to it, and that was the ancient beast before me.

“At first I had no idea how long it would take to overcome him, and I imagine that he did not think me stupid enough to try so quickly, much less to succeed.