A long, long time ago, before the epoch of monarchy or the installation of Pharaoh’s dynasty, when men were still simulating gods and mighty warriors were transmuting into deities of worship; when there were secret portals littered around chambers and crevices of ancient caves through which men and gods were being transported in and out of the earth, Kemet was divided in two.
The pyramids were yet to be built, for slavery was not a thing. Powers were inherent in and conferred by the gods on whom they would, and societal sanity was upheld by well-guarded codes and laws whose custodians were bound not to undermine their sacred place. The societal balance was hinged on their ability to be neutral and impartial, and their roles were maintained with integrity through the ages.
Kemet was prosperous and the people were accommodating and peace-loving. Though the nation was divided into two tribes, namely the Northerners and the Southerners, they related as brothers and spoke the same language. The only differences between them were certain customs, their separate regional governing council and their accents, by which you could easily tell them apart. Everything else they shared in common.
Then came the cataclysmic war that started out as a resolvable dispute, but soon escalated so fiercely to become a full-blown conflict.
There are quite a number of versions of the story as to what caused or provoked the war, but none could ever be enough justification for the untold massacre and wanton destruction that followed.
The dust of a hundred years of protracted war was just settling upon Southern and Northern Kemet, and the ashes of its furious inferno were yet to be blown away in the minds and memories of people who once considered themselves brothers. Generations were still in recovery from the horrors of the century, as fluid animosity still permeated the wounded hearts of the survivors yet to be healed of their pain inflicted in diverse measures.
It was the turn of the harvest. Hope was being rekindled, as life was beginning to feel normal again. Nefratiti, the warlord in the South, had invited the elders and the chief priests from the North, alongside the Northern warlord Khafra, to a crucial meeting. It was the first of its kind that a meeting of such high-status delegates would be held outside a neutral ground, since the war. The parchments sent out as invites to each delegate bore olive leaves, an affirmation of the peace treaty that followed a nearly endless war.
The meeting was held in Nefratiti’s vast courtyards, an open portion of the highly fortified mini-city he had built. It was home to himself and his unalloyed Southern army. Khafra, the chief warlord of the North, the Elders and the chief priests of the Northerners were all present as well as their Southern counterparts. There, they all gathered at the invitation of Nefratiti, patiently awaiting what he had to say. Pleasantries were brief and courteous. All delegates were seated around a big round stone table beneath the canopy of an old oak tree.
Nefratiti got up from his seat, ever an imposing sight of great height. Making a courtesy bow, he began his speech in a firm, but pained voice. “We have just come out of a difficult era. An era of brothers maiming brothers with dangerous apathy and wantonness. We… you all have survived the nefarious era of killing your brothers which was not a noble thing to do.” He intentionally maintained lingering eye contact with others around the table as he spoke. “We fought this war and we are now in a rather edgy stalemate.” His gaze halted upon Khafra.
Khafra had led the North against the South of Kemet; a war that ended in stalemate, more because both Nefratiti and Khafra matched power for power. This left no one in any wonder as to whether the two warlords could conjure the elements of nature at will, and both had the ears of the spirit. It was a difficult war to fight; each warlord always knew what the other had up his sleeve.
“Our lands have been marred and the ancient gods are not happy,” continued Nefratiti, as he leaned forward to make his point. “The desolation of our lands has made our nations become a laughing stock amongst the company of nations. That was our invention, but we will recreate our nation. Yes, we shall start to rebuild Kemet! We shall start to gather the ashes of the ruins and place each block back upon another. To achieve this, however, we have to do one thing." Those words seemed to be hanging heavily in the air. The others around the table remained quiet, their eyes all fastened on him encouragingly so that he would continue his speech.
"We have to amalgamate ... come together as one entity!” he finished off, clamping his hands together for emphasis.
Everyone remained quiet for a few moments. Some members of the assembly began to look at one another, as though waiting for the first person to respond to Nefratiti's solo rendition.
“Why should we listen to you Nefratiti, and why should we amalgamate? For what reason should we follow your plan? A lizard that follows the footsteps of a hawk will soon end up in the hawk’s belly,” said Khafra derisively.
Sighing, signally that he was looking for calmness, Nefratiti spoke up again.
“You should listen to me because the menace of the war has devastated our lands, as you can see. You should listen to me because I am Nefratiti, the son of Bubah, and Orisi is my father. You should listen to me because Soku, our common ancestor is behind me, and Agulu, the god of gods, speaks to me ...” He left the words lingering in the air.
“When a proud worm parades himself in any way to be supreme in the presence of crows, such pride will be extinguished when he becomes a feast in the night. Why do you have to bring Agulu into this? Your lack of respect will put an end to your loftiness soon, then you will become extinct. But for the people seated, I would have called Dathur, the god of lightning and thunder to strike you silly,” ended Khafra angrily.
Both of us know that you don’t possess that capability or the capacity, Khafra,” Nefratiti said, pointing his staff towards Khafra.
Before Nefratiti could rest his lifted arm, Khafra pointed his staff up to the sky in a fit of rage. At that instant, a flash of lightning came down, accompanied by the most vicious roar of thunder as though expressing its caller’s rage for vindication, sending everyone around running helter-skelter for safety. Unable to take any more senseless display from Khafra, Nefratiti sternly hit his staff on the ground thrice. Then came the tremor, as the ground began to shift. By this time, everyone was in a state of pandemonium, as chaotic quakes took over the vicinity. A figure appeared in the middle of the two great warlords. Just as swiftly, the chaos and the flagrant demonstration of powers stopped abruptly.
Balagah, the great, had returned.
Balagah was an ancient man who only appeared once in a century. He was said to have been a regular human before a whirlwind took him to a place unknown. By the time he came back, he had become a demigod and semi-immortal and was seen only at indeterminate times.
His body looked frail and pale, but his long grey hairs dazzled like the brightest moonbeam. His eyes were sunken deep into the hollows of his skull, making the blue streaks in his iris barely perceptible.
Balagah always wore a pure white linen robe that covered his feet whenever he appeared. The last time he did appear was just before the start of the war. Balagah had warned them about the imminent conflict, but he was not heeded. The people ignored his warnings and even displayed attitudes of great disrespect. Balagah continued to discharge his duty relentlessly before going back to where he had come from, a place no one knew.
The protracted war started six months after he went into his hundred years of hibernation.
“You two should be ashamed of yourselves,” began Balagah in his thin voice, his eyes darting from one warlord to the other. “Displaying your powers in such a manner is such a shame! And you should both hide your heads in the sand. You have both violated the Bamu code which both of you swore to uphold.”
The Bamu code is the secret code that all the mighty men in Kemet swear to, which is not to misuse or dangerously display their powers without tangible reasons. This code has been in existence for thousands of years.
“As a result of your violation of the Bamu code, you will both have to engage in the Contest of Powers when the moon completely covers the sun, at the hill of Jungah. This verdict is indisputable. As you well know, the loser will die, and the winner will be assigned the True Leader who will chart a new path for the people.” Silence greeted this new declaration. Slowly, Balagah looked from Nefratiti to Khafra, allowing time for his statements to sink in and take effect. “This is a winner-takes-all contest,” Balagah continued in a tone of officiating finality.
More awe-stricken than moved by Balagah's verdict, Nefratiti gushed out in adulation, “In my lifetime, I never thought I would set my eyes on you, oh mighty Balagah. The long age of the Acacias cannot be compared to the age of the Cedar. The mystery of ages lies with you, and he who undermines you undermines immortality,” he finished with great admiration written all over his face.
In Nefratiti’s personal opinion, Balagah’s overall look was regal, not like the grumpy ancient man people had made him out to be, and it was an honour to finally meet the legend. However, feeling the deepest need to state his case in the light of his offence, he continued apologetically, “With good intentions have I convened this meeting, mighty one. I never thought it would come to this shameless display of power between us like children who have just learnt how to hunt. The provocation of Khafra was unwarranted.” It felt rather like a plea.
“My ears will not continue to hear this! Nefratiti had no right to gather us together at Memphis to propose his ludicrous idea of amalgamation, O great Balagah.” Khafra was still angry and spoke with disdain.
Inching closer to the ancient man, Khafra continued, “I felt insulted by Nefratiti’s insensitivity to the animosity that still rests in the hearts of our people. Their pain and loss are still palpable. What we should concern ourselves with is how to heal and sustain the fragile peace we have experienced in the past few years, and not stand here, listening to the gibberish spewing out from the mouth of Nefratiti. Honestly, I am ready for the contest. After all, it would not be the first time. We have had a foretaste of what it feels like from the war we fought for over a century. One of us dying in this contest is the lesser evil to be chosen over having to plunge our nations into war again. I hereby accept the contest, O great Balagah.” Khafra shot Nefratiti a defiant look and retreated with a bow.
An eerie quietness could be felt as the conversations seemed to come to a conclusive end. Nodding his head in decisive agreement, the ancient man straightened himself and slowly raised his left arm outstretched in front of him. “When the moon completely covers the sun, both of you will come to the hill of Jungah, in the presence of the Kukus. There, you shall determine your supremacy. There, one of you shall die, and there the spirit of Agulu will take over once again,” Balagah bellowed and vanished forthwith.
As the tension in the air eased off from the near-catastrophic events of the day, everybody dispersed soberly to their abode. Khafra and his Northern entourage gathered together to discuss matters. Their major task was to head back home to the North as soon as they could. They could still make it back in a good time.
Not much was said all through the journey. All that could wait till they got home and reconvened at the regional summit due in a fortnight. Khafra, however, had a lot going on in his mind, as he considered the contest he had agreed to and the disadvantaged position he seemed to be in, being that the odds were obviously against him already. Because though both Nefratiti and Khafra possessed and exhibited supernatural powers, owing to their equally strange births, and both could contact or communicate with the spirits and conjure the elements at will, Nefratiti could visit the Vale, Khafra could not.
Being a battle between two individuals, the outcome of the contest seemed to tilt favourably towards Nefratiti. The rules of this kind of contest, which give allowance for each contestant to seek external assistance, favoured his opponent more. Except Nefratiti is stopped from visiting the Vale, floating a flimsy thought… Surely, Nefratiti could be stopped, and he knew just how.
Khafra didn’t have to ponder on this for too long.
