Beneath the Darkening Sky Read Free Page B

the fence and chews on a stick, staring at me and Akot.
    I turn and look at the village. Every door is shut and the only people I see are more soldiers in their dark-green clothes. Akot is gone.
    ‘Akot?’ Now the soldiers are gone. ‘Mama?’ I run for Mama’s hut. She is waiting for me inside, with Papa and a soldier. My parents are wearing such beautifully
clean clothes, pure white. Mama’s weeping. She runs to me and picks me up, holding me tightly. Over her shoulder, I can see my father trying to keep a brave face. He doesn’t smile and I
feel he should hate the soldier, but he shows no hate either.
    ‘Mama,’ I whisper. ‘Why are there soldiers?’
    Mama cries.
    ‘We have come for you,’ the soldier says. ‘The revolution needs soldiers and you have been chosen to join the movement. You will share in the glory when the oppressive
government is torn down and our glorious new world rises up.’
    ‘New world?’
    ‘Yes.’ The soldier smiles. ‘Everything will be reborn in the revolution, but first we must pull out the weeds so that the flowers can grow.’
    Then why is Mama crying?
    ‘He will come with us.’ I feel the soldier’s rough hands around my waist, pulling me from Mama. She cries more and won’t let go, but he walks up behind her and touches
her arms. Then her arms relax and she lets me go. The soldier pulls me away and I watch my parents getting smaller and further away. Mama’s hands reach out for me.
    Chanting hums and rides the air from a distant chorus. Old spirit songs. Grandfather’s songs. The soldier grabs my arms, pulls me up and pushes me over into the big open circle where we
dance in festivals and play at night. All the huts face the circle, so our mothers can watch us children play. My grandparents sit in the middle and I perch in front of them on a three-legged
wooden stool. A special calabash is in front of them, filled with the red ash made from cow dung. It is magic ash, carefully prepared for talking to the gods.
    Grandfather chants with his eyes closed, calling out to the gods of the village. In the air a little cloud of white smoke floats by. It curls up and dances above us, I watch it swirl around and
around. Growing bigger and bigger. Lights spark, flash inside the streak of white cloud, and shoot out. A dozen red yellow green lights spin and dance in the air around us. Grandfather’s song
rings out.
    My grandmother gets up, holding the calabash and reaching into it. At first, her chant is quiet. I know the words because I’ve heard the song so many times. A little red ash spills from
her hand onto my head. Her song gets louder, raising a call to the spirits, begging for my protection. More ash falls. As Grandmother sings louder, her hand shakes faster and more ash dusts me.
Though my eyes are closed, I see flashes of colour twirl around me. I can feel their heat.
    My grandparents chant their songs, moving from soft, sweet sounds to harsh notes that grate on my ears. The lights spin faster, solid warmth wraps around me. They call on the gods of the village
always to guide me home. They ask the higher spirits to give me courage. They say I am going to war and that bullets only kill those who fear them, so they banish fear from me.
    The song ends and I open my eyes. The lights swarm close to my skin.
    My grandfather stands. ‘Come, child,’ he says. ‘Pass through my legs and the blessing will be complete.’
    A new chant, low and fast, flies from his lips. I crawl between my grandfather’s legs. The closer I get, the faster the lights spin and encircle me. Like they are pushing me forward. Under
my grandfather’s legs, their heat rises and fills my body, like a sun inside me. On the other side the lights raise me up, flying around and around and around. My feet leave the ground and
the perfect blue sky becomes dark. A glorious night with so many stars, I can’t even see the ancient shapes in them. Red, blue, yellow, green, purple lights fly into my