The Song of Alodia

The Shadow of Damu

BEING THE ESSENTIAL PRELUDE

Among the hills of the grassy highlands there once lived a hare of great renown named, Damu. Legend had it that he was born at a run, straight from his mother’s womb, the largest and fastest in the litter. His ears and hind legs were both long and powerful. His eyes and nose were both pink and keen. He was both strong and swift. Damu was second only in greatness to Tapu himself, the prince of all hares who became Damu’s closes friend.

Damu was also endowed with an excessive appetite for procreation, unequaled by any other hare alive. His lust, however, found it match in his own excessive pride, which served to keep his hunger in check. For though Damu could have any doe of his choosing among the many forms of the highlands, he refused to settle for anything less than his due.

So, it happened that Damu spent all his days testing the does, giving chase to them through the many hills of the highlands. However, he caught them all so easily and quicky, pinning them by tooth and claw around the scruff of their necks, his lust was forever frustrated by the ease of conquest.

“These does are not worthy!” Damu would cry out in disappointment.

“Where is the challenge for which my gifts were meant to meet? These does are too common. A hare such as I requires the uncommon, the unique experience of mating with his equal.”

Thus, while Damu chased the does through the long grass of the hills, he never once found a doe that was not easily subdued.

Then one sunny afternoon, while in hot pursuit of another doe, Damu broke from the cover of grass out ito an open flat plain. Confused by the foreign nature of the broad open space, Damu ran in large circles upon the plain. He noticed there for the first time that another hare was keeping pace with him as he ran.

The strange black hare would grow and shrink as Damu turned first this way and then that way beneath Jumara, the sun. He had never seen his shadow before, and he mistook it for another hare. He pursued his quarry across the plain. It seemed he was always on the verge of catching it, but no matter how fast he ran, Damu could not catch his own shadow.

He was alarmed at first when he noticed his prey would always vanish when chased into the tall grass. But being a clever hare, he knew it must have doubled back to the plain at the last second, and sure enough, he’d always find it there.

So, it was then that Damu would spend his days chasing his shadow out on the plain. He finally found a mate worthy of his greatness.

Eventually he learned that his quarry was not so quick during the hottest phase of the day, when Jumara was at his highest point in the sky. At that time, Damu found he could mount the back of the black hare, and for the firs time he could finally deposit his seed.

When word of this spread, the other hares of the grassy hills descended one by one to the edge of the plain and watched in astonishment as Damu chased and copulated with his own shadow over and over again.

“Banyoro,” some had called him, meaning crazy or foolish. When less kind they would call him babido, meaning deviant. For many hares among the forms of the highlands were angry at such a waste.

“Damu is among the greatest of us,” said one. “Second only to Tapu himself. His Strength and speed of foot should have been preserved and passed on to out children. Instead, his seed will be left lying wasted in the dust.”

But it wasn’t long before the hares of the highland hills were spared from witnessing further the great waste of Damu. For, as it was his wont to spend all his days upon the open plain, it wasn’t long before the much larger shadow of Jabwe passed between Damu and the sun.

So, it was at last, within a swift flurry of large wings and flashing talons, that Damu and his shadow were both removed from the plain forever. All that remained of the greatness of Damu were the pools of his seed, a few drops of blood, and a tuft of fur blowing about in the warm breeze.

AT THE BEGINNING OF this story Tapu was a dazzling white hare midway upon the journey of his life. Tapu was the prince of all hares and could often be found grazing upon the many swells of the upper grasslands—a brilliant patch of white among waves of gold. It is there that his greatest story begins.

One morning Tapu was unable to enjoy his usual meal of stems and bulbs, having woken within the early mists of dawn from a terrible dream. He had dreamed of his friend, Damu. He could not recall the details of the nightmare concerning his beloved friend, but he was left with an overwhelming sense of foreboding that he could not shake.

He had just decided to abandon his morning meal in order to seek out Damu, when a dark hare emerged from the mists and approached the glowing white prince. The dark hare told Tapu the story of Damu and his shadow, and how he was snatched up in the talons of Jabwe—the vulture of death—and carried off to the underworld, Alodia.

At first Tapu dismissed the dark hare and refused to believe this tale about his close friend. He returned to his foraging upon the hillock and tried not to think about it. But the more he tried not to think about it, the more he thought about it.

Finally, he went to the hill where he knew Damu had made his form, and though he recognized his friend’s imprint in the grassy hollow, Damu was nowhere to be found. He heard the tale once more, this time by those who had actually witnessed Damu mating with his own shadow before Jabwe seized and carried him off to Alodia. He then went and saw for himself the stains of Damu left upon the open plain.

Tapu wept.

The sudden and violent death of his best friend both angered and frightened the white hare. He began to question the justice of mortality and asked himself why creatures must die at all. Death had never struck Tapu so near. It shook him to the extent that he vowed then and there to venture into the underworld of Alodia to correct this terrible flaw in nature. He was going to bring immortality back to the world above along with his friend Damu.

That evening Tapu sang to the moon, calling upon the lunar goddess, Jukun, who shone full and bright in the night sky. He sang openly of his grief to the moon, and so great was the hare’s anguish, Jukun could not ignore his song. She looked down upon Tapu, whom she had always favored, and longed to comfort his mournful heart. Tapu sang to her of his desire to go to Alodia and retrieve both immortality and Damu, and he asked Jukun if she would help him.

“Give up this foolishness, my little hare,” said Jukun. “You are wandering from the path of truth. The utmost depth of all the universe is not a theme befitting childish tongues. And for all your cleverness, you are out of your depth this time and know not what you ask.”

But Tapu refused to be dissuaded. So Jukun sent her herald, Nok, a giant owl who flew silently out of the night and swept up Tapu in a single large claw. Nok carried Tapu high above the sleeping world as swift as the wind and on into the west.

“Where are you taking me, O spirit of the air?” Tapu asked.

“I am Nok, the elemental agent of Jukun. I am to deliver you on your way to Alodia.”

“And which way is that exactly?”

“There are only four roads from this world into Alodia,” said Nok. “The first road requires descending Obamti—the Great Baobab—the axis tree which links the four realms of existence. But the colossal serpent, Gao, resides there at its base, wrapped about the trunk with her tail coiling around herself. She’s set as warden to the Great Baobab and will suffer no living thing to pass along her way.”

“I don’t want to go that way,” said Tapu.

“The second road,” said Nok, “is to descend through the waters of Lake L’Tandayika. If one could breathe water, one could descend through the lake where it drains as the Alodian Falls into the underworld below.”

“I cannot breathe water,” said Tapu. “I don’t want to go that way.”

“The third road,” said the giant owl, “is the Bridge of Good and Evil. It is the bridge of judgment where pure souls find it broad and easy to cross, but wicked souls with their heavy burdens find the way difficult, slipping off as it narrows and falling into a chasm of torment.”

Tapu was silent as he considered that for a moment. Finally he said, “I don’t want to go that way.”

“That is probably wise, though all roads are inevitable roads to ruin,” said Nok. “However, Jukun instructed me to set you on the fourth road. You are to travel the river that flows not to the sea. Yours is the path of the sun, Jumara, down the River Po, and on into the west. Once there, you will enter through the main gate of Alodia with Amadou as your guide.”

“Amadou?” said Tapu with distaste. “I do not need that four-legged shadow of Jumara. You will be my guide into Alodia.”

“Jumara has no shadow, as you well know,” said Nok. “And I cannot pass through the Alodian Falls which empties into the River Po near the main gate. My plumage would be destroyed so that I would never fly again.”

So Nok delivered Tapu to the shores of the River Po, just as the sun, Jumara, began to rise in the east behind them. Before departing, Nok warned Tapu that once he began to travel down the river of death, he would not be able to return the same way.

“The current of the Po is too strong to swim or navigate back upriver, and its banks become too steep and too high to scale as you go,” explained Nok. “The other three entrances are also one way. The great serpent, Gao, is even more formidable when approached from below. And one cannot swim the Alodian Falls. Then there is the Bridge of Good and Evil, which is too narrow for both the wicked and the just when traveling back to the land of the living.”

“But I am entering the womb of the world,” said Tapu. “How then am I to return?”

“Amadou will guide you to Elil—the river of fire. That is the only way back up from Alodia for you. Water shall carry you in and fire will carry you out.”

“Knowing the path is enough,” said Tapu. “I have no need of Jumara’s cat. I have proved more clever than he enough times to know Jumara—Amadou—or whatever he may call himself—will never be of any use to me.”

“You will do as you will,” said Nok, “but it is unwise to forsake the aid of Amadou. He is not merely Jumara’s cat, as you say, but is in fact Jumara himself in nature’s dress. Nothing passes within alive, nor shall anything living return from Alodia without his aid.”

But Tapu was only half listening as he busied himself in erecting a raft.

“Take heed how you go in, little hare,” said Nok. “Let not the gate deceive you by its width.” And with that the immense owl took to the air without a sound and was gone.

The River Po was as clear as a mirror as Tapu launched upon his raft and set adrift downstream. He glanced back at Jumara, burning hot in the sky above, gaining on him from the east.

I don’t need that old fool, thought Tapu, turning his back on the sun.

When he noticed the world passing by in the mirror of the River Po, the hare went to the edge of the raft to admire his reflection there. But to his surprise, instead of seeing his brilliant white fur coat he saw a mangy brown one instead. He could not see the Tapu he knew himself to be, but saw a hare the color of the earth with tattered, black-tipped ears and cruel eyes. Tapu gasped and held his paw in front of his eyes. The foot before him was still immaculately groomed with its soft white fur, and yet the foot reflected in the river was the color of dust—its fur coarse and shabby.

“What dark enchantment is this?” Tapu said to himself.

“The vanity of thieves,” answered his reflection.

“You speak?” Tapu asked in amazement.

“No more sharp than decadent claws, I’ll rip your throat and bare your flaws,” growled his grungy reflection.

“What do you mean by this?” asked Tapu.

“We will meet in darkness soon, arrogance lights your way toward doom.”

His reflection’s eyes then burned hot as coals, and it lashed out toward Tapu with flashing claws. Tapu recoiled with a shriek, falling back onto the raft. After regaining his composure and calming his nerves, the white hare resolved not to go near the water again where he knew his dark reflection was waiting for him.

As morning sluggishly flowed on into noon, Tapu’s ears twitched as he began to hear the faint whispers of singing drifting in and out upon the breeze. He recognized the music as being a requiem for the dead—a song of lamentation that blended delicately with the murmur of the River Po, barely heard but undeniably real. Tapu’s heart grew heavy at the sound. It was the sound of many voices growing more and more distinct as he continued down the river, and there was no cheer whatsoever within the singing of the ghoulish choir.

Listening to the dirge, he felt as if a great weight of despair had been placed upon his shoulder. He tried to roll up his long ears to keep the oppressive music from entering him, but the whispers would not be denied. Tapu spent a long and miserable day on the River Po as he curled himself into a ball and whimpered quietly.

But his raft continued on down the river, and the elegies began to fade as the afternoon wore on toward evening. And as the songs of woe receded, Tapu noticed the burning orb of Jumara was gaining on him rapidly, now lower in the sky over the river behind him. His raft began to pick up speed as well as the strength of the current increased. Looking ahead, Tapu saw then that the river was flowing into an opening on the side of a promontory.

As he sped toward the dark hole in the rock wall, his claws dug into the raft and it slowly spun round and round, carrying him across the threshold into darkness. He could not see a thing ahead of him, only the vanishing light of the world from the shrinking portal behind him.

When the light of the world had finally vanished altogether, the sinking of his stomach soon told him he was hurtling down at a steep angle into the guts of the world. Tapu was afraid. Completely out of control, his only sense of time seemed to vanish as he plunged into the bowels of the world, falling ever faster toward his fate.

Then up ahead he heard the beginning whispers of falling water, and he guessed that he must be approaching the Alodian Falls, where the underside of Lake L’Tandayika fell through and converged with the River Po.

The crashing of the falls ahead grew steadily—a sound like the droning of a hive—as Tapu noticed a light piercing the darkness from far behind him. The sun was setting in the world above as Jumara began his descent along the River Po as well, coming behind him down the long cavern and into the depths.

The roar of the falling water ahead was terrible, and Tapu could just make out now in the growing light of Jumara the white wall of water up ahead. He rode headlong into a cold mist which dampened his thick fur coat as much as his spirits, so that he was soaked heavy to the bone well before he reached the falls.

The speed at which he approached the thundering wall of water terrified Tapu, as he hunched down and dug his claws even deeper into his raft. And if it had occurred to him to do so, he surely would have screamed in terror, but as it was, Tapu rode upon his flimsy raft in silence right into the very heart of the Alodian Falls.

Despite his desperate grip, he was immediately separated from the raft as they were both violently pushed down into the biting cold teeth of the river. He would never see his raft again. In fact, if it were not for the strength of the river’s current, Tapu would have been lost right there himself.

The force of the plunging falls from above prevented Tapu from rising to the surface, but the freezing embrace of the river’s current carried him quickly beneath the falls until it cast him upon the shore. The River Po vanished there into the ground once more as it drained through narrow cracks along the river’s bank.

Exhausted and gasping for air, Tapu dragged himself up the bank in what little light there was from Jumara’s approach that penetrated the falls behind him. Directly in front of him—not far from the riverbank—was a massive arch carved into a rock wall, exuding a profound darkness the likes of which he had never felt before. The breath of the world passed from within its depths to assault Tapu’s nose. The scent of decaying meat was foul and unmistakable, avouching that he was looking at the gateway to Alodia.

On either side of the passage stood Sotho and Thabo, two giant scorpions with the heads and torsos of men. Sotho and Thabo were both sound asleep, each leaning on long spears gripped tightly in mighty fists.

The glow of Jumara was increasing, and Tapu feared it might soon wake the two gatekeepers, so, wasting no time, he crept toward the gateway with great stealth. This was one of Tapu’s specialties. He was skilled in the art of silence and shadow and was confident he would have no trouble slipping past those sleeping creatures.

What Tapu did not know was that he was being watched. A tall white crane stood in the River Po on long legs and had been watching Tapu since the hare emerged from the river. The crane was the eyes and ears of Sotho and Thabo while they slept. He held in his bill a large stone so that if he should ever fall asleep it would fall and its splash would wake him up. The stone represented the crane’s vigilance to his duty as watchman. His white plumage signified purity, and his red head—the fire of life. Legend also has him credited with the creation of language due to his ability to communicate with the gods.

In his role as watchman, the crane observes all those who approach the gateway to Alodia as he looks for their shadow. Only those with no shadows are allowed to pass into the underworld unmolested—only the gods and the dead.

So, just as Tapu came within a few paces of the gateway, the crane spied the shadow of Tapu and released his stone, sounding an unearthly cry of alarm which echoed throughout the cavern. Tapu made to bolt through the passage just as two giant spears slammed down before him to bar the way. The two scorpion gatekeepers were now fully awake, glaring down at the little hare.

“No mortal thing may pass this way,” said Sotho.

“You do not belong here, little hare,” said Thabo.

“My friend has passed within,” said Tapu. “He was taken by Jabwe against my will, and I have come to find out why, and to bring him back out again.”

“This is foolish conceit indeed, little hare,” said Sotho. “Do you not know where you are?”

“Do you not know what lies within?” asked Thabo. “Are you not afraid, little hare?”

“I am afraid,” said Tapu. “Yet I will go on.”

“My brother and I respect your courage,” said Sotho.

“Then you will let me pass?” asked Tapu.

“We never intended to prevent you from passing,” said Thabo.

“Everything that comes this way must pass on through,” said Sotho, “for there is no turning back.”

“But first we must do a little thing,” said Thabo, “for as my brother said, no mortal thing may pass this way alive.”

With that, Sotho and Thabo both raised their great spears to impale Tapu.

“Hold fast one moment, O mighty brothers,” Tapu said. “Is it not true that in the ancient lore gatekeepers such as yourselves may parley in riddles with passing travelers?”

Sotho and Thabo lowered their spears as Tapu continued, “And are these not the greatest of tales? Do they not describe the most magnificent creatures and events, where a riddle is offered at the fulcrum of life and death? Surely two such magnificent warriors as yourselves deserve no less a tribute within the great tales. And this also would satisfy the respect you spoke of regarding my courage. For truly, there can be no honor in slaying outright a little creature such as I without first enjoying the much more gratifying defeat of my wits.”

“Your reputation precedes you, Tapu. For whom else could you be who speaks thus in the face of death?” said Sotho.

“Nevertheless,” said Thabo, “we will grant this desire, though it merely extends your life by a hair.”

The glowing light of Jumara had been increasing all this time, and Tapu could now see intricate engravings set in the stonework encompassing the archway: a myriad of bas-reliefs depicting ancient myths both gross and refined; both terrible and sublime; both strange and familiar. His pride and confidence increased when he recognized one of his own tales immortalized there in stone: his trick on Jumara which resulted in the sun god’s banishment from the surface of the world.

May my wits not abandon me here where they are needed most, thought Tapu.

“Set your mind to this and win, so passing through you’ll keep your skin,” said Sotho.

“But failing this you’ve much to fear, though you may pass your skin stays here,” said Thabo.

The twin gatekeepers then in unison sang the following:

This you carry when you die, This does all life signify, This is changeless through the years, This Jumara surely fears.

Tapu was silent. He had thought he’d heard all the riddles, both common and secret, and yet he didn’t know this one. He worked each line from front to back, then from back to front again, but try as he might, he came up with nothing.

He felt that the key was there in the last line, laughing at him. But though he kept trying very hard to call for the answer, all his efforts still came to nothing.

Tapu was so lost in thought he did not notice the growing intensity of light there in the cavern, filtering through the Alodian Falls.

“Jumara approaches,” said Sotho.

“What is your answer, little prince?” said Thabo.

“One moment,” said Tapu. “It’s coming to me. I can feel it. Jumara is the key,” Tapu said to himself.

As his mind struggled with the riddle the curtain of water behind him glittered like falling diamonds, and a great mist began to issue forth with the hissing of a thousand dowsing flames.

“This Jumara surely fears,” Tapu quoted to himself.

The whole cavern was flooded with light and steam as Tapu cried out in frustration, “What does Jumara surely fear!”

“Nothing!” boomed a deep voice from behind Tapu, which echoed throughout the cavern.

Tapu jumped with surprise. Brought back out of himself, he at last took notice of his surroundings. He marveled at the glistening water, falling like beads of liquid light, as a huge golden lion stepped through the jeweled curtain. And though passing through the falling water, the lion remained completely dry while his amber mane radiated pure light.

“Amadou,” Tapu whispered.

“Nothing is the answer,” said Sotho and Thabo together as both gatekeepers knelt on scorpion knees, lowering their heads and spears before the approaching god.

Each step Amadou took within the River Po produced hissing steam. He then leapt with ease up the riverbank—fluid muscles rippling beneath loose skin. As he approached, he filled the entire cavern with his presence so that the very air did seem afraid.

Amadou stood proud and mighty above the little hare, strength radiating from him along with his burning light. The crane watchman made not a sound, for Amadou cast no shadow.

“You’re out of your depth this time, little prince,” said Amadou. “It will take more than your usual tricks to pass through Alodia with your life.”

“We shall see,” said Tapu.

“No, we won’t,” said Amadou. “For Jukun, my blessed lovely sister, gleaming brighter than any star, has interceded on your behalf. She sent word to me requesting my aid to save you from yourself so that she may be consoled.”

Amadou then looked down his golden muzzle at the little white hare below. “I will be your guide, and that alone will preserve your life.”

“That won’t be—”

“Enough!” roared Amadou, so that the very rocks shook beneath their feet.

Tapu shuddered, and the great lion said in a more mellow tone, dripping like honey, “Even the eyes of Tapu cannot find their way in total darkness. For most, the longest part of the journey is the passing of the gate—the Labyrinth of Alodia. It alone would consume you with its deceptive blind passages, sudden drops, and unmeasured reaches. It is settled.”

Then turning to the two gatekeepers, Amadou said, “The white hare is in my charge and shall pass through the dark lands with me.”

Sotho and Thabo remained silent on scorpion knees as Amadou and Tapu walked between them toward the gateway and the dark road ahead, thither whence they say no one returns. As they passed under the arch Tapu saw, in characters half-obscured in shadows above the gate, these words inscribed upon the rock:

THIS IS YOUR HOUR AND THE POWER OF DARKNESS. EARN YOUR GRAVE BEFORE YOU GO HENCE AND BE NO MORE.

“Come,” said Amadou, noticing Tapu’s hesitation. “Long is the way, and difficult the road.”

Once they had passed and the glow of Amadou had receded, the gatekeepers resumed their posts on either side of the gateway and soon fell fast asleep in the consuming darkness.

Tapu followed close behind Amadou as they made their way through narrow passages of stone. The ground was damp and slimy. There was the constant sound of dripping water from the ceiling—raining its cold sweat—while a putrid odor on wisps of smoke swirled among the corridors.

“What is that awful smell?” asked Tapu.

“We are walking the entrails of the world which digests the living into the dead. What odor would you expect from the bowels of creation?” said Amadou.

“The Labyrinth of Alodia,” Tapu whispered.

He noticed then many strange symbols carved into the rock walls along with richly colored murals. The painted figures seemed to swim with life in the dancing shadows created by the light radiating from Amadou. Tapu was entranced by the art—worn by the passage of time—depicting countless ancient cultures now long forgotten. So absorbed was he in the many branchings in the passages that Amadou always chose their course without hesitation.

After passing one such branching, Tapu discovered that within the stone walls were now carved many small pockets, each containing a candle of varying height. He also noticed that while some candles seemed to flicker out for no apparent reason, others would suddenly burst into flame all on their own within their niches up and down both walls of the dim passage.

Tapu hopped over to a wall; its murals and strange symbols were difficult to discern here—covered as they were in layers of soot from the candle smoke of untold ages. He sniffed a twitching nose at one of the candles, its recess set low in the wall at his level. The candle flickered at his proximity, so that it seemed for a moment it might go out.

Amadou stopped and looked over his shoulder at the little white hare. “Careful there,” he said. “They are the Ishuma. Each candle represents a living soul. When one snuffs out here, something dies in the world above. The Ishuma are all but sparks of the divine flame—the light of the living.”

Tapu cautiously backed away from the candle and continued behind Amadou. He realized then that though a few candles were old, with little more than pools of wax with their wicks bent and sputtering, most of them were new, holding wicks not even charred before their flames were snuffed out. This disturbed Tapu greatly. He was overcome with a profound melancholy he could not articulate. But seeing this also reaffirmed his resolve to see his quest through to the end.

He followed close within the glow of Amadou, keeping his distance from the flickering candles set within the walls. Soon they turned down a passage containing no candles, and before Tapu could inquire about this his keen ears picked up the muttering of voices from the darkness up ahead.

He wondered if his guide could hear the voices as well. Then, coming to another fork in the labyrinth, Amadou once more chose their path and turned right. As Tapu began to step in that direction the faint voice of a child called to him from the darkness of the left-hand passage.

“You’re going the wrong way,” came the child’s voice. “It’s this way.”

Tapu froze in his tracks and peered over his shoulder into pitch darkness.

“It’s this way. Come on, follow me,” came the voice again.

“Who is there?” Tapu asked.

There were other youthful voices as well, crying and muttering amongst themselves in the darkness. Tapu’s fur stood on end at the sound of the weeping children. “Come on, follow me,” the voice repeated. But Tapu was frozen in mid-step, hypnotized by the pleas and moaning of the invisible children.

“Pay them no mind, little prince.”

The deep baritone of Amadou snapped Tapu out of his trance. He jerked his head around to find the giant cat now looming above him, looking down at Tapu over his large muzzle with flashing eyes of crystalline amber.

“But they say we’re going the wrong way,” said Tapu. “They want us to follow them.”

“They always do,” said Amadou. “They are the Mabu, the children of darkness.”

Then without another word, Amadou turned and took up his choice once more down the passage to the right. Tapu hesitated a moment as the voices once more pleaded with him to turn and follow them. But the white hare didn’t dare to look back again into the darkness.

Focusing on the light of Amadou slowly walking away, it took all Tapu’s strength of will to make that first step down the right path, his pace gradually increasing until he caught up with Amadou again.

“The Mabu?” Tapu asked, in an attempt to drown out the moans and cries of the children behind them.

“Children who have died prior to their jawara ben-bella,” Amadou answered. “Having not undergone their rite of passage into adulthood before their deaths, they wander lost within the Labyrinth of Alodia, providing false direction to anyone who will listen.”

“And what makes you so sure your way is the right way, and not theirs?”

“I would not dissuade you from following their course had I not been charged to provide you with safe passage.”

“Yes, but that doesn’t answer my question. How am I to know we’re going the right way?”

“The writing is on the wall,” Amadou said, nodding toward the painted engravings along both walls without breaking stride.

Tapu stopped though and stretched up on his hind legs—his pink nose twitching in the air toward the markings on the wall. But he couldn’t make sense of them. Tapu was a clever hare—the most clever of the wild things in the world—but he was still just a hare in the end and could not decipher the unfamiliar glyphs.

Irritated, and with the cries of the Mabu once more calling for him, Tapu hopped to catch up again with Amadou.

“The writing is the thread that leads the wise along the true path,” said Amadou.

“And who wrote this wisdom?”

“I did.”

“I knew it,” Tapu spat. “That’s a circular argument. Following your own directions doesn’t prove that your way is the right way.”

“I’ve been walking this road before you and your kind ever came into the world,” said Amadou. Then his voice shifted slightly, carrying an undercurrent of menace. “Or perhaps you suggest that I’m lying to you.”

“Well, uh…” Tapu stuttered, sensing the danger in overtly insulting his lion guide. “Well, you see, it’s just that you and I have never exactly seen eye to eye on things in the past. I just—”

“You exaggerate your importance to both me and my concerns. It is of little moment to me if you trust me or no, but do you not trust your own senses?”

“Eh?”

“Surely with ears like those atop your head you are not deaf to the sound of the River Po which flows beneath your feet? And can you not feel its pulsing rhythm through the stones upon which you tread?”

Tapu stood and listened, but the distant cries of the Mabu echoing off the walls from behind them drowned out any sound a subterranean river might be making. He did, however, notice a slight tremor within the stones under his feet, and admitted that it could be due to a river below.

“There are many guides along the true path for those that pay attention,” said Amadou. “The River Po leads to the center of Alodia where it joins with L’Ebun, the lake containing the Water of Life.” Amadou then glanced back over his shoulder toward Tapu. “Even you should be aware of that much. So if you have no faith or wisdom of your own, perhaps you should utilize the senses you were born with.”

Tapu’s pride was pricked, but he remained silent. The obvious holes in Amadou’s reasoning were irrelevant at the moment. This was not Tapu’s world, and Amadou had—for now—the upper hand.

“It’s getting colder,” Tapu said with a shudder.

“It will continue to grow colder as we approach the center of Alodia.”

They walked on in silence for some time, and Tapu’s heart began to fill with dread with each passing step. His thoughts turned to his friend Damu, and he focused on the purpose of his quest. He became so absorbed in his thoughts and the cold creeping into his heart that he did not even notice at first when the voices of the Mabu had ceased.

When he did realize it, the newfound silence weighed upon him with no less foreboding than the cries of the Mabu had. Fear became a palpable, physical presence in the air around them, and even the glow of Amadou seemed to pall as they made their way deeper into the intestines of the underworld. The sole source of comfort for Tapu came from the slight murmur of the River Po, which could then be faintly heard flowing beneath him.

It wasn’t long as they continued on that Tapu’s sensitive ears detected a new sound overlapping that of the River Po. It was at first a mere whisper, like the rustling of leaves on a gentle breeze. As it grew louder though, it became clear that the sound was something heading straight for them from the darkness up ahead.

“What is that?” Tapu asked his guide.

“Brace yourself,” said Amadou. “It’s the Kra, and they’re almost upon us.”

Tapu drew up nearer to Amadou’s hind legs and swishing tail as he peeked around the glowing lion. Straining to see up ahead he asked, “But what—”

Tapu was cut short when the whispering sound swarmed out of the darkness as a cloud of butterflies. A multitude of colors flashing in the light of Amadou enveloped the two travelers as the tunnel filled with the flapping of little wings. Tapu crouched behind Amadou, his ears laying flat along his back—every muscle in his body tensed with the desire to run.

But the swarm flowed around them harmlessly, like a weightless river of translucent color, casting fluttering shadows and rainbow prisms along both walls as they brushed round Amadou. Tapu’s fur bristled from a thousand kisses of velvet wings swimming over him in a flurry, then passing on into the darkness behind him.

The rabble of butterflies came and went so swiftly, Tapu was left crouching in shock as Amadou once more continued on down the passage. The dimming light around the frightened hare brought him back to his senses, however, and with a burst of pent-up energy, he ran to catch up with his guide.

“The Kra are the souls of those being resurrected or reborn, trying to find their way back to the light of day,” Amadou explained.

“But I thought nothing could return to the world from where we entered—the direction they’re now headed.”

“That’s true. Normally they are drawn to me—the flame of life—but these were fleeing in blind terror.”

“Terror?” Tapu swallowed around a dry lump stuck in his throat. “Terror from what?”

“From that which is waiting for us in the darkness ahead.”

“Hold on,” said Tapu. “Just wait. How is this a good idea? I don’t think—”

“Quiet,” Amadou growled. “Listen.”

Tapu froze with his ears cupped forward and fully extended. High-pitched squeaks and squeals could be heard heading their way, along with the muted drumming of tiny taps vibrating within the ground.

“Quickly,” Amadou said, looking back at Tapu. “Hop onto my back.”

“Your back? Why, what’s—” Tapu looked around the giant lion and saw a sea of glowing red eyes in the darkness ahead, rushing along the floor towards them.

“Do it, now!” Amadou roared.

Tapu leaped with all his strength toward the lion just as a flood of rats poured over the spot he was standing. But Tapu’s jump fell short of Amadou’s back and claws dug deep into the lion’s flank, drawing long streaks of golden sap from the wounds as the hare scratched frantically at his guide before falling back down among the writhing furry ocean of rats below.

Tapu’s mind shut down as fear and instinct took over with wild abandon. His powerful hind legs kicked squirming bodies away as his forepaws slashed and tore into the overwhelming tide of squealing rats that threatened to drown him.

Tapu was still kicking and snarling when large teeth picked him up by the scruff of the neck and lifted him out of the swarming mayhem. Amadou flung the frightened hare up onto his golden back where he landed in a snarling crouch. With ears flat and eyes wild, his claws once again dug into the hide of the lion.

As Tapu watched the flow of rats race by below, his beating heart slowly began to resume a more normal rhythm, and he noticed that there were two types of rat—one red and one black.

“Were you bitten?” Amadou asked, as he began to wade through the corridor and the flood of rats began to thin.

Tapu loosened his grip from the flowing muscles in Amadou’s back and checked himself for injuries. “I don’t think so,” he said. “Was that what was waiting for us—what drove the Kra in terror?”

“No,” said Amadou. “Those were merely the Panya—the souls of those who died before having a chance to bear children. Having produced no heirs, they are doomed and denied the honor of joining their ancestors. They now spend their days scurrying through the Labyrinth of Alodia in search of a way out.”

“Those were souls?” Tapu said in disgust as he watched the last of the squealing rodents scampering quickly into the darkness behind them.

“Yes,” answered Amadou. “The red ones are good souls, and the black ones are bad souls. If you had been bitten by a black Panya, its corruption would have infected your heart, and you would have slowly rotted away from the inside out.” Amadou felt Tapu shudder atop his back and said, “They are gone, you can jump down now.”

Tapu hopped to the damp ground and looked up at the large glowing cat, noticing there wasn’t a single mark on his flank where he had scratched him before. He sighed and gazed with apprehension into the darkness behind them where the Panya had gone.

“They too flee in terror from that which awaits us,” said Amadou, answering Tapu’s unspoken question. “Fear drives them all.”

“Not us?”

Amadou did not answer but continued in silence. Tapu followed in resignation as an overwhelming weight pressed in on him from all sides and the air became biting cold.

Tapu followed in silence for as long as he could bear it. Finally he felt he would explode if he did not do something to break the tension that filled the air—the air which was blowing a foul stench right through him to his very bones.

“What exactly is this thing we are going to meet? And why must we meet it at all? And how much further is it anyway?”

“Our shadow; because we all must face it in order to pass through; and we’re already there.”

“We are? Where?”

“Here. Don’t you feel it?”

Tapu was half out of his mind with panic. He wanted to scream, to run, to fight—anything other than to continue like this. He felt the walls closing in on him, and he knew in that moment that he would never see the blue sky or breathe the fresh air ever again.

“I feel it,” said Tapu.

“It has many names,” said Amadou. “As many names as there are creatures that crawl upon the face of the world. It is known in the common tongue as a Hira, and the form it assumes depends on who encounters it.” Amadou then looked down on the little hare and said, “Fear no demons but for those you bring in with you.”

At that moment they came to another branching of the labyrinth, and for the first time Amadou hesitated. He gazed intently into the dark of the left-hand passage. “We go our separate ways now. I go this way, and you will go that way.”

“What? No!” Tapu’s voice cracked. “We must stay together.”

“No,” said Amadou. “Each of us must face our Hira alone. It is the only way. From this point all paths lead out of the labyrinth, so long as you continue forward.”

Amadou then began to slowly pad down the left-hand passage without looking back at Tapu. “My fight is with Mab, the embodiment of darkness that exists in the deepest regions of Alodia.” It almost seemed as if he were in a trance as he headed into the darkness alone, his voice trailing off as he went. “But I am the light shining within the darkness—a light darkness cannot comprehend.”

Tapu did not understand what force kept him from protesting further or held him back from bolting after his departing guide. Every fiber of his being longed to remain with the giant cat, and the sudden awareness of this dependence on Amadou rankled him to his core. Nonetheless, his heart sank like a stone as he watched the light of Amadou slowly dim in the distance, leaving Tapu alone in utter darkness.

He sat still as death, watching until the last light of his guide was gone. His unblinking eyes groped the pitch dark for something to cling to, but there was nothing there but a blanket of blackness smothering him from all sides. He did not want to do this anymore. He was freezing cold, and he wished he’d never come. But he was there, and he knew he must keep moving.

Tapu moved to the wall he knew to be on his right and used it to turn and orient himself back toward the passage Amadou had indicated for him. He moved then down the corridor with a slow hop-and-step—hop and step—rhythm, his flank brushing the invisible wall which now served as his only guide.

“From this point all paths lead out, he said.” Tapu’s voice was weak and shaky. “As long as I keep moving forward, he said. Well, I’m moving forward—blast you—so you had better be right.”

Hop and step—hop and step—and on he went.

When the wall would come to a corner, turning at a right angle, he dared not investigate the possible branchings in the dark but kept to his wall and turned with the corner. The only sound other than the rhythm of his own movements was the murmur of the River Po beneath his feet.

“How can the river lead the way when every path from this point leads out? What rubbish. I bet every path throughout the entire labyrinth has water flowing beneath it.” Tapu spoke these thoughts aloud, partly to vent his growing anxieties, but also to verify that he himself still existed. The absolute nature of the darkness penetrated and filled him from within.

“He lied to me,” Tapu muttered. “It’s his revenge for all those times I outsmarted him and played him for a fool. He led me here to abandon me, lost in the labyrinth of Alodia forever.”

Hop and step—hop and step.

“But I’ll not be his fool. If I turn around now I could still catch up with him.”

Laughter split the darkness then, and Tapu leaped with fright, slamming into the wall beside him. He remained frozen, listening to the pounding of his heart within his chest.

“Ho-ho, he says he knows the fool, while his doubts begin to rule,” came the laughing voice from out the darkness. It seemed to come from no single direction but from every direction at once, as if the darkness itself were speaking in that mocking, malicious voice. Tapu made not a sound, and kept absolutely still against his wall, his blind eyes groping the darkness in vain.

“You can’t see me but see you, I see the thing you came to do. The thieving heart that dares to cheat and enters here on living feet.”

Tapu did not even breathe as he felt the chill air blow through his fur. He recognized the voice. It was the same as that which belonged to the grungy hare reflected in the River Po. He couldn’t prevent the bristling shudder that overtook him then when the cackling laughter once more broke the silence. He was not used to being laughed at, and he felt himself becoming unhinged.

“Well, come along and make your bed, among the kingdom of the dead, for here I swear your blood will shed.”

Then it finally happened—something deep inside Tapu snapped. The fear and mounting anxiety that had been accumulating for some time, and had been threatening to overwhelm him, was suddenly gone. In their place was only a ribbon of pure rage. An anger so deep-rooted that it gurgled up from the pit of his belly like vomit. It consumed him so completely that no one who had ever known Tapu could have recognized him in that moment. His every muscle shook with hate as his mouth frothed with an unquenchable thirst for violence.

Tapu screamed an inarticulate cry as he lunged off the wall and into the surrounding blackness. Claws fully extended—tearing and slashing at the cold empty air around him—he became a storm of madness, with the sole desire of finding some substance for his rage to rip into.

He ran and leaped in circles, snarling and slashing, spewing blasphemies and the most horrible oaths his fevered brain could conjure in order to draw out his enemy. There seemed no end or limit to the rush of naked emotion flowing through him. His drunkenness finally transported him then into crippling seizures as he tossed and rolled upon the ground, scraping at dirt and biting stone.

Yet again came the taunting laughter from all around him. The glee within the disembodied voice was unmistakable as it sang:

So now we come to what is true. Oh, what a piece of work are you, The clever, proud, and great Tapu.

With tremendous speed, Tapu sprang from the ground and charged into the blackness with snarling fury and gnashing teeth, desperate to find some flesh to sink them into. So it happened that he was running at full speed when his head met with the stone wall. And then he knew no more.

Tapu woke in darkness. His head hurt and his thinking was slow and muddled. At first he didn’t know where he was; then, as he staggered forward blind along a cold wet wall, his memory began to return to him bit by bit.

Feeling so far from home, his thoughts turned to his friends and relations back among the rolling hills of his country. None of them would know where he was—how near or how far. Tapu had never felt so removed from home as he did in that moment, and there was nothing he wouldn’t give to be back there again. And then too, the knowing that nobody would be coming to look for him cut deep into his awareness. The cold hare with the aching head was completely alone.

He wasn’t at all sure about what direction he was heading. For all he knew he was returning the way he had come. But he couldn’t just sit there; he had to keep moving. So, using the wall that brushed his flank as a guide, and still a bit dazed, he continued with tired feet for a long time. The only sound he heard was the quiet murmur of the subterranean river and the continual sweat dripping from the labyrinth’s stone ceiling.

After a while he thought his mind was playing a trick on him, but he soon decided it must be real. There was light up ahead. Dim though it was, pieces of wall could soon be seen stretching down the long corridor toward him.

Tapu’s heart lightened while his pace increased. And as he approached the light, he could feel the darkness at his back clinging to his fur as if it were a creature preparing to pounce on him at any moment to prevent his escape. His mounting jitters eventually got the better of him, and he bolted with a burst of speed toward the dim light at the end of the corridor.

As he neared its end, the smooth-hewn walls of the labyrinth began to take on the more jagged shape of rock, and his sprint was interrupted as he was forced to work himself between broken boulders strewn across the path. The passage was becoming more and more like a cave while his nose twitched at the first hint of fresh air coming on a breeze from up ahead.

When he finally reached the cave’s mouth, he hopped up a steep embankment to find himself in open air. Immersed in twilight, he could sense rather than see the great expanse before him. All he could make out were black shadows splashed among a boulder field that ran down the side of a steep slope—from which he appeared to be exiting.

Just below his perch he could barely make out a spring issuing from between the rocks. He assumed it must be the River Po, and he took great care as he made his way down to it in the dim light. He followed along its bank as it bubbled and ran through a deep gully which led him further down. Blacker than ink was that fording stream, and it was by a rough path that he found his way below, companioned by the murky river’s whisper. It was slow going for Tapu, picking his way down—so shattered were the rocks—but a difficult descent was possible.

Tapu wondered at the strange country. The horizon was lost in darkness. No moon walked in its night sky. No stars shone above, only a vast curtain of black encircling all. And yet the landscape was somehow bathed in perpetual twilight—enough to see his immediate surroundings, but no further.

The sound of crashing water began to build up ahead as Tapu made his way further down the gully. The distance from the disturbance was deceptive though, and instead of coming upon the cataract where he assumed it would be, the roar of water only grew louder as he continued.

Eventually, he found its source atop a high ridge, beyond which was nothing but black air. From there the River Po dropped, thundering downward in a single leap—downpouring from that lofty cliff into an unseen water below. The crash of water was so great, Tapu feared that if he remained much longer, he would soon go deaf.

The white hare stepped back from the edge and searched off away from the shoreline for a possible course that would allow him to descend from the cliff in a less precipitous manner. It wasn’t long before he found a well-worn path leading away from the River Po and running parallel with the ledge of the cliff. The path led him to a set of steps carved out of rock that extended down the slope. Tapu took the steps one at a time until his confidence finally matched his impatience, and he increased his descent to two steps per hop.

After a while he realized the crash of the River Po was diminishing behind him, and though the steps had an occasional switchback, they nonetheless took him further away from the falls. But Tapu could feel the moisture in the air coming from the abyss at his side and could sense the expanse of water below that his eyes failed to see. He knew the River Po fed L’Ebun and the Waters of Life—the lake of Alodia—which almost certainly was where the steps were leading him.

When he finally hopped from the last step the ground was bare and open. He had half expected the steps to lead directly into the lake itself, at which point he wasn’t sure what he would have done next. But aside from the cliff at his back, there was nothing there at all. A flat empty land spread out before him as far as he could see, which he had to admit wasn’t very far in the dim light.

There was nothing else to be done, so Tapu began to hop off into the night, trying to stay true to a single direction so he could find his way back to the cliff steps if he had to.

It wasn’t long before he began to hear faint whispers from up ahead, and he slowed his pace to proceed with caution. The sound was indistinct, and his long ears strained to make sense of it. He soon began to distinguish voices now and then and was able to pick out drifting shadows moving in and out of the darkness. These shadows eventually began to solidify as he approached—becoming a multitude of various forms. In the Alodian twilight the creatures took on a gray ghostly aspect as they mingled aimlessly amongst each other—mumbling in subdued voices.

Some of them noticing Tapu’s approach seemed to sense something different about him, demonstrated by their frozen silence while staring at him with empty black eyes. But Tapu felt no menace. They all, in fact, appeared oddly devoid of any feeling whatsoever as he entered their midst in the hopes of finding among them his friend, Damu.

But as he mingled within the throng a hush followed his passage, and he weaved his way between them until he emerged from the crowd to find himself along the shoreline of a vast body of water. Its surface was smooth as glass and black as the sky. He had reached the shores of Lake L’Ebun.

“The Waters of Life,” said Tapu.

His own voice made him aware of the strange silence behind him, and he turned to find a wall of motionless gray bodies extending as far as he could see—standing stock still and staring at him with dead eyes. All was silence but for the beating of his heart—the only beating heart in all Alodia.

“Who are you?” came a faint voice from the crowd.

“Help us,” came another.

“—Take us with you.”

“—Don’t leave us here.”

The pleading voices grew into a jumble of lost words as they each together beseeched the white hare. The gathering dead began to shift about, inching forward as Tapu’s eyes darted over them with alarm. He hopped down the shoreline, shooting furtive glances to the hedging crowd. Ahead, as far as he could see, the masses were lined up along the water’s edge, now closing in around him. His heart raced, and with no place to go he hopped about in a frantic circle of panic.

As he hopped around, he spotted for the first time a reef of rock protruding from the dark lake just a few feet from shore. He didn’t stop to question why he hadn’t noticed it before, for the strip of rock was nearly as black as the water itself. He simply sprinted to the water’s edge and, careful not to enter the dreaded lake, he leaped with all his might to safety—instantly aware and surprised by the warmth of the rock underfoot.

Tapu turned then toward shore and faced the crowd gathering there. He was relieved to see that they would not enter the water or attempt the leap that he had. But their ubiquitous murmuring faded significantly and Tapu stepped back and tripped alongside a large stone protruding from the reef.

Then, as he began to pick himself up, the skin of the rock beside him slid up to reveal a large eye bigger than Tapu’s whole body, which fixed on him instantly. The enormity of this overwhelmed Tapu’s comprehension as he squatted frozen in blind terror. A vertical reptilian pupil dilated within the great golden eye—itself ringed about with wheels of flame.

His whole being was trembling so much, he almost didn’t notice as the entire reef began to move. When this realization finally reached him, his trance shattered and he turned from the eye and fled back toward shore. Just as he reached the tip of the shoal, jets of vapor burst from two vents on either side of his course, dousing him with water as he passed.

The reef was rising from the water then as he leaped into space, desperate for the shore. He fell and rolled into a ball at the feet of the silent dead, who were intent on watching the emergence of this monster from the lake.

Tapu crouched silent as well and watched helplessly as he began to make out the shape of a huge crocodile’s head rising far above them—its nostrils blowing twin geysers from the tip of its dark snout. Water streamed from gaping jaws which revealed teeth as broad as tree trunks glimmering in the twilight. A rumble of thunder bellowed from its rank innards, casting the monster’s putrid breath across the shoreline—bathing it with the smell of death itself.

“Ombure,” Tapu whispered, for he knew in that moment who this must be.

Ombure was the stuff of legends—legends seldom believed by those alive—and certainly a creature Tapu himself never dreamed of seeing with his own eyes. King of the crocodiles—lord of river and lake. It is he who carries the deceased across L’Ebun to Janna, the isle of the dead.

“Who is this creature who dares, while still alive, to journey through the kingdom of the dead?” Ombure’s gurgling voice resonated with physical force through the air.

The gray forms of the dead then drew back, leaving Tapu to stand alone before Ombure, his white fur seeming to glow within the twilight. For the first time in his life, Tapu was at a loss for words when questioned by authority. He was frightened to his core, to be sure, but it was the hoops of fire encircling Ombure’s eyes that hypnotized the little hare and froze his tongue.

“The dead don’t breathe, having returned their wind to Wutan,” said Ombure. His voice rippled through the air like an earthquake, threatening to split it wide open. “I come to take these others to the far bank, but you, a living soul that still draws breath, begone from those who are already dead!”

Tapu cowered beneath Ombure’s gaze as the monster’s rumbling words washed over him. The giant crocodile then ignored Tapu as he lowered his head to the shore, and the dead approached to enter his gaping jaws one by one.

Tapu’s heart sank. Had he come so far only to be turned away now? Why hadn’t he pled his case in an attempt to gain passage?

He watched the shades of the dead in silence with a touch of envy as they loaded into the mouth of Ombure. His envy quickly vanished, however, when he noticed that the monster was weighing each passenger on his massive tongue as they boarded, swallowing those that didn’t seem to measure up. Tapu had forgotten this role of Ombure as judge of the dead—devouring those whose hearts are weighed down with wickedness.

Watching this, the little hare became even more distraught. He felt himself to be on the verge of a great despair. Yet he refused to give up. He would wait there for his own death to finally catch up with him—thereby paying his passage with his life—before leaving without his friend, Damu. Not that returning the way he came was an option available to him anyway.

So lost was Tapu within his dark thoughts, he did not perceive the growing light that was approaching from behind.

“Come with me, little prince,” came a thick familiar voice.

Tapu turned with alarm as the golden lion passed by his side without a glance. The little hare watched after Amadou for a moment in mild shock as the lion calmly made his way toward the monster crocodile. Then as if waking from a dream, Tapu returned to himself and scurried along to catch up.

The last of the dead were just climbing into Ombure’s jaws as Amadou arrived with Tapu at his heels. Ombure’s golden eyes of flame alighted on the pair, and a growing rumble grew from deep within him.

“I see you, Lord of Light,” said Ombure. “The flame-bearer may come and go as he chooses, but you come alone! Let him be off who has been bold enough to enter here. Let him go back alone, if he can do so.”

“Wait here,” Amadou said to Tapu, not taking his eyes off Ombure.

As Amadou stepped forward Tapu could have sworn the lion grew larger with each step. The light shining from his golden mane also seemed to increase in brightness as he then stood before the giant crocodile.

“You forget yourself, Ombure,” said Amadou. “This time you cry in vain, for no one can obstruct our passage. You’ll hold us but the time you ferry us across the murky pool.”

“Not here!” roared Ombure. “But by any other road, through other portals he shall reach the shore—”

“Enough!” Amadou’s voice cut across the land and made it tremble. His radiating light became so blinding bright that Tapu had to shield his eyes with his paws due to the brilliance.

“Do not cross forces that are beyond you,” said Amadou. “It is so willed by powers beyond your comprehension. The white hare is in my charge; therefore speak no more and obey!”

The wheels of flame in Ombure’s eyes burned bright then but briefly before gradually dimming in the glare of Amadou. The two titans faced each other in silence for a mere two beats of Tapu’s heart—an eternity for such as they—before Ombure relented and opened his jaws for the two wayfarers to enter.

Tapu looked up from behind his paws to see Amadou with his usual warm glow looking back at him. The white hare struggled then to overcome his apprehension and hopped after his guide as they leaped into the cavernous jaws of the giant crocodile.

The stench was horrible. Tapu realized then that he was lucky to have entered last so he could be closer to the relatively fresh air. The masses of the dead that were crowded behind were not so lucky, riding in the foul darkness of the monster’s mouth. But then—Tapu reflected—they were already dead, so perhaps they didn’t mind.

Tapu remained by Amadou’s side, resting against a giant yellow tooth protruding like a gleaming stalagmite from the crocodile’s black gums. He gazed out through the open jaws as Ombure pushed away from shore, and he saw there in the gloom that another throng had already gathered in their place ere they departed for the other shore.

The great crocodile turned and made his way out over the dark surface of L’Ebun, taking care to leave no wake to mark his passage or otherwise disturb the waters in which he swam. Tapu could not see a horizon. Only a shimmer now and then on the water’s surface would distinguish it from the black sky as the two seemed to bleed seamlessly, one into the other.

He looked closer then at these occasional shimmers on the water’s surface, as they seemed to appear at greater frequency as they crossed into the deeper waters. He hopped up closer and peered down into the black water and was surprised to find ripples on the surface, scattered here and there before Ombure passed them over, leaving the lake once more smooth as glass in his wake.

Looking closer, Tapu caught his breath as he glimpsed the brief visage of a face beneath the rippled surface before it washed away by their passage. Then again beneath other ripples, one after another, contorted faces appeared with moving lips as if crying out to him with silent screams, only to vanish as Ombure passed them over.

Tapu drew back in horror and resumed his place against the large tooth. He stared straight ahead in silence, pretending now not to notice any disturbance at all upon the water’s surface.

“Their sighs produce those ripples on the surface,” said Amadou.

“They breathe? They’re alive?” Tapu asked, maintaining his gaze straight ahead.

“A living death. They are the children of dark magic—the products of those who would cheat death.”

Tapu looked over at Amadou, whom he found returning his gaze most intently.

“Everything comes at a price,” said Amadou. “Their immortality was sought by those who refused to let them die, yet it is they who pay the price.”

“The price?”

“The price of immortality is that they cannot die.”

“I don’t understand,” Tapu said, looking back now into the darkness ahead.

“Yes, you do.”

Both sat in silence then for a long while as Ombure continued to carry them across L’Ebun, and the Waters of Life. Eventually, their silence was interrupted by a flash of lightning that illuminated the darkness ahead. And in that brief moment, Tapu not only made out the black shores of an isle ahead, but also the largest tree he had ever seen in his life—backlit by the flashing light.

“We grow near,” said Amadou. “The isle of the dead.”

“Janna,” said Tapu.

Then across the dark waters there finally came the sound of crashing thunder, full of terror, that shook the very shores on either side.

“Your journey is drawing to a close,” said Amadou.

“What awaits me there in that dark place?” said Tapu. And as he did so another flash revealed the dark island once more, and the silhouette of the massive tree growing up from its center—stretching up into eternity, with its many twisted arms branching out over the land.

“Janna,” said Amadou. “The isle not only resides within the center of L’Ebun and the Waters of Life—it is the cosmic navel—the very center of creation.”

“Yes,” said Tapu, “but how will I find my friend, Damu? It is for him that I have undergone these many trials. It is for him that I have come into this land of darkness. To whom may I speak about retrieving my friend to bring this quest to its proper end?”

“The dead will not speak to you there,” said Amadou. “You must seek an audience with the queen of Alodia herself.”

“Fa?” Tapu gasped with dread.

Yet again, the crash of thunder finally caught up and ripped across the night sky, shaking the very waters upon which they crossed.

“In this place you will find her manifestation as Ardra, and you must refer to her as such,” said Amadou. “When you finally stand before the radiance of her whose lovely eyes perceive all things, from her you will learn the journey of your life.”

“Will she—” Tapu stammered, “Will she, you think, return to me the friend who was wrongly taken?”

Amadou looked down his muzzle on the little hare below him. “She is the queen of fate, little prince,” he said, not unkindly. “And she governs by hope and chance. Some she raises up in order to cast them down. Others she casts down in order to raise them up. For most she governs by such deceptions in the hopes that they will believe what they desire, and that they will experience what they least expect.”

Finally, arriving at the isle of the dead, Tapu followed Amadou as they disembarked Ombure’s beached jaws along the shores of Janna. Hopping to the ground from the giant crocodile’s mouth, a voice called out to the hare from the host of the dead.

“We beg of you, if ever you escape from these dark places to look upon the stars of heaven—when you may wish to say: I was there!—see that you speak of us to the living.”

Tapu looked back at the gray masses climbing then through Ombure’s large teeth to the shores of Janna.

“Don’t forget us,” came another voice.

But Tapu turned away and hopped up beside his lion guide, looking out across a vast field of mushrooms that extended from the water’s edge to a distant tree line. His stomach growled as he stretched a pink nose toward a spotted cream-colored mushroom.

“They are the lives of the reborn,” said Amadou.

“The mushrooms?”

“One sprouts here below for every life returned to the world above.”

“Isn’t anything in this infernal place merely what it seems to be?”

“No.”

“Well, how do we get across without stepping on them?”

“We don’t,” Amadou said as he entered the field, crushing several mushrooms with each step. “Did you think you could seek the dead without death following in your wake?”

Having no alternative, Tapu followed behind Amadou, doing his best to remain within the lion’s large footsteps as he hopped from one crushed patch to the next to avoid trampling any himself.

Eventually, they came to the forest edge and Tapu looked up with apprehension at the black trees disappearing into the pitch-dark sky. As Amadou stepped into the tree line the darkness of the wood seemed to drink the light that radiated from him. Tapu moved quickly to catch up before he lost sight of his guide, and in his panic collided with him, tripping over Amadou’s hind legs. Pretending not to notice, Amadou continued to weave his way between the dark pillars, following no particular path that Tapu could discern.

Tapu felt the weight of the forest close in around him, and his nerves became taxed to the limit as an oppressive stillness bore down on him from all sides. Worse than that, his fur bristled with the absolute certainty that they were being watched.

“We’re not alone,” said Tapu.

“Of course not. You can see them for yourself all around us.”

Tapu drew up closer to the lion, looking off into the darkness and peeking cautiously around each tree that they passed.

“Where?” asked Tapu. “I can’t see anyone.”

“We’ve been walking amongst them since we entered the wood. We’re in the Forest of Suspended Souls,” said Amadou, nodding to a thick trunk as he passed it by. “They create their own darkness here in a forest of despair. These are those souls who in the world above chose to take their own life.”

Tapu looked then at the dark tree trunks, trying to remain as far from them as possible as they walked between them. And though they didn’t move within the light of Amadou, Tapu could sense that it was indeed the trees themselves that watched his every move.

Nothing is what it seems to be.

“Why do they disturb me so?” asked Tapu.

“They long for what you take for granted,” said Amadou. “If you were not under my protection their branches would snag and tear at you with your every move. Like all spirits, they seek the flesh. But those within this forest may never put it on again, for none deserve what they have cast away.”

“I don’t understand any of it,” Tapu said in frustration. “Death makes no sense at all. Surely it’s all just a big mistake. Surely some higher power must be able to correct it and rid the world of death once and for all.”

The two travelers walked in silence for a moment before Amadou responded. “There are many explanations,” he said. “Though I feel none will ever satisfy you. But I’ll offer you one nonetheless, and you may do with it as you choose—it is no more true and no more false than any other explanation you will ever hear.”

Amadou stopped then in mid-step, lifted his muzzle to the air and drew in a deep breath through his nose. Tapu held his, however, as he looked up at the lion waiting for him to speak. Then without a word of explanation, Amadou once more resumed his pace as Tapu hopped close behind him.

“In the beginning—because nothing can exist without its opposite—both death and immortality were sent into the world at the same time,” said Amadou. “As it happened, death was sent along with Jabwe—the swift-moving vulture—and eternal life was sent along with the slow-moving chameleon. The end result being that though immortality is offered to the world, death is much too quick for it.”

There was a long silence between them then as Tapu waited. When it became clear that Amadou was finished, Tapu finally said, “That’s ridiculous. You expect me to believe that?”

“No.”

They did not speak again until they eventually emerged from the Forest of Suspended Souls. After their passage through the dark wood the perpetual twilight that pervaded all of Alodia then seemed positively cheerful to Tapu’s eyes.

Almost immediately upon exiting the forest—after ascending the first rise—Tapu and Amadou encountered a field of anemone flowers stretching as far as the eye could see. In the dim light the scarlet petals of the wildflowers created the illusion of an inland sea of blood, fading to black on the distant horizon, from which rose the Great Baobab Tree—occasionally silhouetted by lightning.

“The Field of the Fallen,” said Amadou.

Tapu sat by his side as they both looked out across the dark red expanse. A slight breeze rippling across its surface delivered a pleasant aroma as it blew through their fur.

“This is where death first entered creation,” said Amadou.

Not taking his eyes off the hypnotic field before them, Tapu said, “What about Jabwe? I thought the vulture brought death into the world.”

“In the beginning all life was immortal,” Amadou said, as if not hearing Tapu. “It was the hubris of the first man, in his attempts to reach That Which Has No Name, and his inevitable fall from the Great Baobab, that brought death into the world. The blood from his body soaked into the soil of this very field, and life lost the gift of immortality.”

Amadou looked down then at the white hare by his side. “The gem of truth has many facets, little prince.”

The golden lion then entered the Field of the Fallen and made a slow, straight line toward the Great Baobab tree upon the horizon. After several moments Tapu released a long sigh and waded into the sea of red flowers, following once more in Amadou’s footsteps. The hare’s chin barely cleared the flower tops, and the strong aroma filling his nostrils seemed to revive him a bit as his eyes fixed on the black tree ahead. The colossal baobab thrust up into the night sky with its branches spreading over the entire land, giving it a false perspective of being near at hand. But the ocean of flowers before him told Tapu that it was still far away.

They had been walking through the field for a long time when Tapu began to have doubts about whether he might make it. The Field of the Fallen seemed to have no end. His feet were sore and his bones were weary. The little hare was drained beyond his senses and felt that perhaps he had finally become one of the walking dead himself. His ears drooped and his eyes glazed, remaining downcast on the tracks of Amadou as he somehow forced himself to keep moving.

He kept thinking about how easy it would be to just lie down and make a nice comfortable bed of the red wildflowers. To sleep and never wake up had a disturbing appeal to it. But the spark of life that yet remained within him flared in rebellion against that thought, rekindling his determination and driving him ever on.

Much later, and drunk with exhaustion, Tapu didn’t even notice when he finally emerged from the field until he once again collided with Amadou’s hind legs. The hare didn’t bother to pick himself up that time. He remained lying in the dust beside his guide as the lion lifted his head to follow the massive tree with his eyes—shooting up into the night sky before them. Tapu’s gaze wandered up the gnarled trunk as well. Flashes of lightning lit a tangle of huge wooden arms—countless arms stretching out into the dark sky, and on up forever.

“The Great Mother,” Amadou said, followed by a roll of thunder. “The Obamti. Above, she supports the heavens and the sky. Below, she upholds the world and the underworld. She is black like lacquer—always thriving. She is the original mother of all life. The Great Baobab.”

“We have to climb that?” asked Tapu.

“First, we must get past Gao,” Amadou said as his eyes drifted down to the base of the tree and stared into the darkness there. “She supports the foundations of the Great Baobab, guarding the way to the Queen of Alodia and the world above.”

Tapu’s eyes fell to the base of the tree as well, but in the dim light he could make out little within the shadow aside from the jungle of large roots twisting and flowing all about the tree’s base. But then, with another flash of lightning, Tapu saw her. Or at least he thought he did.

He almost didn’t want to believe what his eyes saw in that brief moment of light. It was the scaled body of a huge python coiled completely around the base of the tree. The dimensions of the snake were beyond comprehension. Tapu hadn’t seen her head, but he guessed that a single one of her scales must be larger than his whole body.

“This should be easy,” Tapu sighed.

“This is the path we both must try and make,” replied Amadou. “Every evening I engage in battle with Gao in order to ascend the tree as a shortcut to the world above so that I may head off and join with my sister, Jukun.”

“You fight that monster every night?”

“Yes. It’s my only hope.”

“Do you ever win?”

“Never.”

“Great.”

Amadou nodded then toward their left. “Over that rise you find the Elil—the river of fire. Upon its banks grows a particular flower—a lily of pallid hue. You must pick this flower and take it up with you into the tree as a gift for Ardra, or she will not receive you.”

“But how can I possibly get past that… thing?” Tapu said, indicating the darkness at the base of the tree.

“Leave her to me. She will be far too busy to notice a little thing such as yourself. Stay in the shadows and move quickly—but remember this: take care to pick the correct flower along the shores of the Elil. The lily of pallid hue, and no other.”

Tapu looked over to his left toward the rise Amadou had indicated and studied the gnarled roots he must climb over to reach the river of fire. The little hare was exhausted. He was also afraid. But this was what he had come to do. He must gather his remaining strength and courage, here at the end of his journey.

These were Tapu’s thoughts as he watched Amadou walking toward the tree, taking his radiating light with him.

“Wait,” Tapu said, not feeling himself quite ready yet. But Amadou kept walking as Tapu called after him. “You’ve been battling Gao every night since the beginning of time. Do you really think you might win this time?”

Without looking back the lion answered, “Does it matter?”

Tapu just watched Amadou for a moment as the golden lion calmly strode away toward the Great Baobab. Then he finally forced himself to his feet and made his way up the rise to his left. He soon came to the large roots of the baobab that weaved a twisted network of pits and wooden arches for him to navigate. Ducking under and slipping over one obstacle after another, he then hopped atop a large root that he was able to follow up and over the hill.

At the crest of the hill he caught his breath as he looked down on the Elil, a glowing river of liquid fire flowing east before disappearing down a lava tube cut into the earth. Even from that safe distance he could feel the warmth coming from the Elil—the first bit of heat he had felt since entering Alodia. Tapu had never seen anything like it. He was fascinated by the swirling molten rock cutting a red artery through the dark land—its smoldering flow belching flame and smoke as it moved.

But his reverie was interrupted by the booming voice of Amadou in the distance behind him. “Come, daughter! Once more our hour is at hand!”

Tapu looked over his shoulder just in time to see the brilliant blaze of the lion leaping up from the baobab’s roots with an earth-shaking roar towards the great serpent. Tapu could see the head of Gao then for the first time in the light of Amadou as she shot out from the shadows with a flash of milk-white fangs that plucked him from the air. Caught between jaws larger than he, Amadou flew into a frenzy of shredding claws and blinding light until Gao hurled him to the ground with a crash. But the lion was swiftly up again with renewed passion as he leaped with a roar back into battle with the giant snake.

Disturbed by a level of violence he had never seen before, Tapu quickly turned away and ran as fast as he could toward the river of fire. As he approached the banks of the Elil, Tapu found the heat overwhelming and the stench of sulfur filled his lungs. His white paws became caked with the gray ash blanketing the shoreline, but it was from this ash that there grew a multitude of poppies of various colors, and Tapu set out at once to find the lily of pallid hue.

His mind became frantic as he hopped along the shore trying to find the right flower. The heat was unbearable and rose from the flowerbed of ash in visible waves. His urgency to hurry and find his prize was further enhanced by the dull thuds and terrible crashes felt through the ground from the battle raging back at the Great Baobab tree.

Tapu was at his wits’ end and about to withdraw from the scorching shoreline when he spotted the lily at last, nestled among thorned flowers of a purplish-red color. With a cry of triumph—and careful not to prick himself on the sharp thorned flowers around it—he gripped the stem in his teeth, plucked it, then beat a hasty retreat the way he had come.

He raced atop woody causeways and under the arches of the baobab’s tangled root system with remarkable deftness. He didn’t spare a glance for the clashing gods as he passed, but focused on his course as he slipped through the shadows with all speed.

Reaching the wall of the serpent’s body, Tapu noticed the coil in the twilight was flexing and squeezing the tree’s trunk in unison with the tumult from the ensuing battle not far away. Without hesitation he scrambled up the sloping coil, his claws gripping the cracks of Gao’s stone-hard scales. He tried not to think about the absurdity of what he was doing—he was simply doing what he had to do.

Once atop the first writhing coil, a flash of lightning revealed that he was confronted by the rise of yet another wall of scales, so once more he began to climb. He did not know how long Amadou’s fight with Gao would last, and he could not afford a single moment’s rest. But the thunder that then rippled across the sky above fueled his pounding heart as he continued to pull himself up Gao’s armor with his claws.

At last, Tapu came to the gnarled, scarred wall of the tree. He leaped from the python’s back onto one of the many bulbous tumors deforming the ancient face of its trunk. He was surprised to discover—despite its aged and rough appearance—the wood was actually soft and smooth beneath his feet. The Great Mother felt more like a living beast to his touch than did the hard scales of Gao.

The hare bounded from one purchase to another as he followed a circuitous route up the tree, leaving the violent turmoil of the battling gods below. It was slow going, having to take care due to the dim light, the tree being only occasionally lit by lightning. When he came to the first set of stout branches shooting off from the trunk it seemed to him that they looked more like roots than branches. In fact, it occurred to him then that the roots below looked more like tree branches than these. It’s as if the Great Baobab had been planted upside-down.

“An upside-down tree?” he said around the lily gripped between his teeth.

Resting there atop a limb, he gazed upward at the endless progression of intertwining black arms stretching ever upward.

“How will I ever find Ardra in all that?” said Tapu. “She could be anywhere.”

“Anywhere, everywhere, and nowhere at all,” came a shrill voice from the shadows above.

Tapu rose up on his hind legs, peering into the branches above him. “Who’s there?” Then after a moment’s silence he asked, “Is that Ardra, the Queen of Alodia?”

“Ho-ho, he shows what little he knows,” came yet another high-pitched voice from further off. “He thinks you’re the queen. No doubt that makes me the king.”

“No-no,” came the first voice again. “It makes you my fool, subject to my royal rule.”

“Please,” said Tapu, “can you tell me how to find Queen Ardra?”

Then with a flutter of wings a black shadow swooped down to land in front of Tapu and another landed on the branch just above him. Two ravens studied the white hare with bird-bright eyes.

“And who might you be?” said the raven standing in front of him, “And what might your business be with our Lady?”

“My name is Tapu. I’ve come a long way to speak with the Queen of Alodia, and my business is my own,” he said, placing the lily down before him.

“You hear that, Faro?” squeaked the raven perched above them. “Such rudeness. His business is his own, he says. So, let’s leave him to it. He won’t get far.”

“He brought the lily, Jaro,” said the raven named Faro.

“The asphodel? How can that be?” said Jaro, shifting with agitation from one leg to another.

“It would appear that our friend here has had some counsel,” said Faro. Then to Tapu he said, “All right, we will deliver you to our mistress as the forms demand, but they also require of you to disclose your purpose so that we may deliver to our mistress the correct number of seeds.”

“Seeds? I don’t understand,” said Tapu.

“See? He knows nothing, Faro. I say it’s one of his tricks. I’ve heard of this Tapu—as have you—and I say we take the lily and leave him here with his tricks and bad manners.”

“No, Jaro. He has the asphodel. I don’t understand it myself, but it’s clear enough that he’s traveling under the protection of powerful forces or he’d never have made it this far.”

Then to Tapu, Faro said, “Your purpose with our queen will tell us how many of the black baobab seeds we will need to collect. The Great Mother was the first tree of the world, whose seeds are used in Fa divination. The number of seeds indicates to Ardra how many eyes she needs to open in order to see what you require.”

“How many eyes?” Tapu said.

“This is hopeless,” said Jaro. “He still doesn’t understand, Faro. Let’s leave him. He’s only—”

“I come in search of my friend, Damu,” Tapu interrupted. “He was taken unjustly by Jabwe, and I have come to bring him back.”

“Ho-ho, that is rich,” squawked Jaro. “I change my mind, Faro. I wouldn’t miss this for the world. I’ll go and gather the seeds myself.” Then with a flap of wings amid raucous laughter, Jaro departed into the branches above.

“Very well,” said Faro. “Follow me.”

Picking up the lily in his beak, Faro flew to the next branch and waited as Tapu climbed up after him. Neither spoke as the raven led Tapu up into the shadows of the Obamti—the Great Baobab.

After climbing several branches that wound up and around the tree, they came upon Jaro using his beak to break open a large woody egg-shaped fruit that had been growing from the tree. As they passed him by, Tapu saw him picking the black seeds from the white pulp of the fruit.

Faro then led Tapu into a large crevasse in the tree’s trunk, from which came no light. But Tapu followed, guided in the darkness by the narrow walls on each side and the occasional sound of raven wings coming from up ahead. The soft pith-like wood of the tree seemed to almost react to each step he took there in the passage, as if he were walking on a long, thin tongue.

Soon, he saw the dim light of the fissure reopening ahead, with the silhouette of Faro perched there on a branch waiting for him. Tapu heard a rustling noise within the darkness behind him, coming his way fast. The hare ran toward the opening as the sound behind him began to gain on him. Running as fast as he could in that tight space, he leapt through the opening just as the noise was right on top of him. Landing in a bed of white flowers, Tapu hunched down as Jaro swooped in over his head cackling with delight. Tapu looked up to see the laughing raven gliding in circles over his head, while Faro—still holding the pale lily in his beak—remained sitting on his perch in silence.

Tapu ignored Jaro and looked around in wonder. The white flowers were draped all around him like curtains hanging from the tree limbs. The sweet-scented flowers had obovate petals, each about as long as his paw—and there were thousands of them about the arboreal cavern.

“Where am I?” asked Tapu.

“Interesting question,” came a clear feminine voice as fine as silk from the shadows above. “Where did you intend to be?”

As if by command, Jaro ceased his antics and landed on a perch—opposite the fissure opening from Faro—and remained still and silent. Tapu scanned the shadows above, rising on his hind legs with a twitching nose. But he could see nothing, and the only smell came from the white flowers all around him.

“I am seeking Ardra, the Queen of Alodia. I have traveled far and am in desperate need of her assistance.” He craned his neck and his whiskers trembled in the cold twilight as his eyes strained to pierce the gloom above him. “Are you she?”

He heard a shifting then in the darkness above and could sense the weight of something large moving toward him down the tree. “I am she,” came the voice. “I am the beholder of all things, mistress and governess of elements, the principle of sight in the darkness. I am adored throughout this world and the one above by many names. I am Fa, goddess of divination. I am Shaba, the morning star.”

The thin charming voice paused then as long furry legs stepped out of the darkness—eight of them—and a giant spider larger than Amadou himself began to creep down the trunk toward Tapu.

“And I am Ardra, Queen of Alodia.”

Tapu gasped in horror and pulled back, his eyes darting toward the opening of the crevasse.

“Do not be alarmed by my beauty, little hare,” said Ardra sweetly. “I assure you it is only skin deep. What lies within is not nearly so lovely.”

Tapu could not find his voice. All thoughts seemed swept clean from his mind as he gazed in sheer terror at the spider stepping down before him. Then Faro swooped toward Ardra and dropped the lily at her feet before returning to his perch without a word.

“Ah, yes. The asphodel,” said the giant spider. “Its roots will cure the snake’s bite, you know—though too much will bring death.”

Tapu could not hold the queen’s gaze as her many eyes fixed upon him. It felt as though time stopped as she studied him before saying, “I know who you are, little prince. I have watched your story unfold since you were a leveret.”

“You know me?”

“His pride found his tongue. What a surprise. Now, as you try to find your wits as well, I will for my part explain a thing or two to you.”

Ardra lowered her massive abdomen to rest on the flower-strewn floor of her lair as she curled and stretched each of her eight legs in turn while talking in the most soothing tones Tapu had ever heard.

“I hold every living thing by a thread in my web. I feel your every move—your every breath. But when a creature does wrong and goes against its nature, it is as though you cut the very thread by which you are bound to me. It is my task then to retie the threads together again. The making of this knot, however, shortens your thread and brings you closer to me.”

Ardra paused to let this sink in.

“Do you understand what I’m saying to you, little hare? Again and again—I know not how many times—I have had to retie your thread. And with each knot your decisions have only brought you closer to me. And now, here you are. In the flesh. The only living flesh in all of Alodia, I dare say. What does that tell you, little hare?”

“That I lived a long life?” Tapu ventured.

A stifled cackle slipped then from Jaro behind them.

“Too long, perhaps,” Ardra said as she shifted her weight, and pretending not to notice as Tapu flinched back. “Now, tell me what you want and I’ll pretend to be surprised.”

Tapu drew himself up with a deep breath, trying to shore up what remained of his courage and to compose his thoughts before he answered. This was the moment of truth. This was why he came all this way, risking his life at every turn.

“O beautiful Lady of the underworld, I have come for Damu. I have come for my friend, whose years the vulture’s talons have brought to an untimely end. I care not about spying out the secrets of Alodia, for love alone has led me here to the dark lands of the dead. Indeed, my love for the world entire has brought me hither, and for every living thing I thus beseech you to recall Jabwe from the world above, for death is a blight to all of us who live. Surely, it was an unintended flaw in the original design, which the power and wisdom that you alone shall wield may rightly rectify. I implore you, O glorious Lady, retie the threads of life for all and for good. But in the least, I ask for the life of my friend, for I cannot return alone, and your denial in this would triumph in the death of us both. Yes, above all, O illustrious Lady, I have come for Damu.”

Having spoken thus, Tapu was feeling quite good about himself, for he could not see how even the queen of darkness could refuse such an impassioned and well-reasoned plea.

After a moment’s silence she said, “Is that all? Such a paltry thing it is you request of me. Is there nothing more that I—with all my power and wisdom—may do for you?”

“Well, I suppose that you could also—”

“Silence.” Ardra’s voice suddenly lost all its sweetness. “You spoke correctly at the start and then again at the last. You have indeed come for blood, and it is blood I shall give you. I know not why you’ve been kept alive as long as you have by the agents who protect you, but your arrogance knows no bounds and will certainly bring you back to me for good one day.”

Tapu shrank back into the flower bed, crestfallen at this unexpected turn of events, his heart swelling in his throat.

“However, it amuses me to grant half your request,” Ardra said, once more resuming her sensual tone. “I can see that with you it will come to naught, so no harm will come of it in the end.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You will. But for now, you need only understand this—I will return to you your friend and his life.”

“Thank you, Lady. Thank you.”

“You may not thank me by and by. Your friend and his life are two things, and they each come at a price. Everything must be paid for.”

“I will pay what you ask.”

“I know you will,” she almost seemed to purr—if a spider could. “The first is a small thing really. For delivering to you your friend you will give me your whiskers.”

“My whiskers?” Tapu gasped. But as she knew he would, he reluctantly agreed.

Ardra plucked each one, taking her time as the little hare winced, leaving tracks of blood running down his white muzzle. But in his pride, Tapu bore his pain well and refused to cry out.

“Now, for the breath of life so your friend’s flesh may depart from my realm, you will give me your lovely white fur.”

The hair on Tapu’s back bristled in horror and a small whimper escaped his lungs at the thought of having his beautiful white coat ripped from his back. But again, as she knew he would, he reluctantly agreed. Ardra set in upon the hare, shredding the fur from off his back. It was a scene from a nightmare beyond description. Yet throughout the entire ordeal Tapu’s strength of will broke only once as he cried out in pain—a long piercing lupine howl that moved even the ravens, Faro and Jaro, to weep as they looked away.

When it was all over, Tapu was little more than a quivering piece of naked meat—a pink raisin streaked with blood, trembling in a hunched ball.

“Now, was there anything else I could do for you?” said Ardra, sweet as honey.

Tapu was silent.

“You still have some ears to sell—perhaps a foot or two? No? Very well.” The dark queen rested back on her large abdomen and tapped a foot as she pretended to think aloud. “Let’s see, the Elixir of Life from the Obamti would restore life, I suppose. Gao herself nurses the milky resin from the Great Baobab tree.” Then looking down at the stupefied hare, she explained, “When your world quakes above, it’s from Gao squeezing the sap from the Obamti, shaking the realms it bridges in the process.”

Ardra studied Tapu for a moment then—the hare no longer able to meet her gaze.

“But alas,” she went on, “it’s not quite the thing for your case. The Elixir of Life requires you to drink of it in perpetuity in order to retain the life it instills. No, there is only one solution to your problem.”

Then Ardra turned to her ravens. “Faro, bring me the amaranth for our little friend.”

Faro immediately took to wing down the dark fissure of the tree, only too eager to get away from the pathetic spectacle that was made of Tapu. Then, as if on cue, Jaro flew down from his perch and deposited the black seeds of the baobab at the feet of his mistress.

“Ah, yes. Let’s locate your friend now, shall we?” The large spider examined the seeds for a moment, brushing them with a hairy foot as several of her round, black eyes sparkled from within. “There, it is done. He’s on his way here and will meet you at the base of the tree.”

Tapu looked up as if returning from a dark dream, the faintest glimmer of hope stirring in his eyes.

Seeing this, Ardra asked, “Would you care to make another speech now? Another tribute to my beauty and illustrious wisdom? Or perhaps you’d like to thank me again, hm? No?”

The giant spider rose, lifting her large abdomen from the flower bed, and Tapu watched her every move as she turned toward the trunk of the tree and began to climb slowly back up its face.

“Well, it seems you’ve lost your tongue again,” she said with a sigh. “A pity, really. I did so enjoy hearing your views on the design flaws of creation.”

Then just as she was stepping into the shadows overhead, Faro reentered her lair with a flower in his beak. Placing it in front of Tapu, the raven then returned once again to his perch. Tapu looked down at the flower, stunned. He recognized the sharp-thorned, violet-colored flower immediately as one of the many that grew along the shores of the Elil, where he found the asphodel lily.

“It’s the amaranth,” came Ardra’s voice from the darkness above. “The flower will completely restore the original health and form of whoever eats of it.”

Tapu stared at the flower before him.

“Now, leave me. Your friend is on his way.”

Mustering all his strength, Tapu pushed himself onto shaky legs, and picking up the amaranth between his teeth, he slunk, naked and drooping, toward the opening of the crevasse.

“Do with it as you will,” called Ardra as Tapu passed beneath her two ravens. “And though you didn’t ask me for my oracular advice, be warned—you only paid for the one flower, and that is all you shall have.”

As Tapu stepped into the darkness of the fissure then, his departure was attended by delicate laughter coming from the Queen of Alodia. “Feel free to drop in any time, little prince.”

Tapu passed through the dark, narrow rift within the baobab in a total daze. But once he breached the opening and was once more back in the open, his energy began to return.

The thought of his friend, Damu, waiting for him at the base of the tree also did wonders to revive his spirits. He had accomplished what he had set out to do, and it was almost all over.

He was glad to hear Amadou and Gao were still going at it as he descended the tree. And if anything, their struggle sounded even more fierce than it had before. He was thankful for the distraction so he could once more slip by Gao undetected, but he wondered how much longer their combat could endure. With the amaranth still gripped in his teeth, he tried to hurry as he hopped down from branch to branch—the bare, spongy skin of the baobab reminding him of his own nakedness. He quickly pushed that thought away as he focused on his descent.

Finally dropping down onto Gao’s writhing back, he simply slid down the sloping side of the coil, landing with a thud atop the lower one. Then, doing the same again, sliding down Gao’s remaining scales to the ground—rubbing his flesh raw in the process.

Yet again, he was reminded of his lack of fur, and a growing anger began to burn deep within him. But he picked himself up and pushed all thoughts away as he looked about eagerly for his friend.

He couldn’t see Damu anywhere.

Tapu worked his way up and down the tangled roots along Gao’s coils, scanning the gloom for any movement at all. He made his way up and roosted upon a high arching root so he could see anything that might be approaching. Then, placing the amaranth down in front of him, he scanned the horizon.

There was nothing there.

But the earth still shook from the battle being waged, and the roars of Amadou now voiced Tapu’s own raging emotions. Ardra had purposely humiliated him. She attacked his vanity and shorn from him his vestments, leaving him exposed and naked to the world. He looked ridiculous. He looked down at his naked paw and arm—at the pink shriveled skin streaked with blood—and shuddered with shame.

“She tricked me,” Tapu said aloud, looking out again for any sign of movement. “Damu is not here. I bet he isn’t coming at all.” Anger and bitterness bit deep into his heart. “She took my whiskers and my beautiful white fur, then lied to me.”

Tapu looked down at the flower between his pink feet. “I bet this was a lie, too. I saw dozens of these on the bank of the Elil. How special could it be?” Then it occurred to him that since he knew where to get more himself, he could eat this flower to regain his fur and whiskers and still get another for Damu. He could have it all—if it even worked.

“But Ardra warned me I could only have the one,” he chided himself.

It was a terrible struggle for Tapu, but in the end Damu was not there, and he didn’t even know if the amaranth would work. And Tapu also managed to convince himself it would be prudent to test its efficacy on himself. If it worked, he’d simply go pick another from the shoreline. There was also the nagging question of what Damu might think if he met him looking the way he did.

“It won’t work,” said Tapu with conviction. His doubts had won out and without another thought, he ate the amaranth.

But it did work.

When Tapu looked down again at his paws he saw his beautiful white fur had returned. And when he lifted them to his muzzle, he felt his long, sensitive whiskers fully restored. He looked himself all over as his heart rejoiced. He was once again the glorious prince, Tapu.

It was a short-lived joy, however, as he realized then what he’d done. He’d eaten the flower meant for Damu. And of course, it was at that exact moment he spotted a long-eared hare bounding his way out of the distant shadows among the roots of the baobab.

“No… What have I done!”

Tapu was split between wildly conflicting emotions as the love for his friend swelled within him while he watched his approach. Unable to constrain himself, Tapu leaped from his arch and ran with all his might to meet his friend. The two hares came together in a collision of fur, rolling to the ground as they cuffed and nipped playfully with great excitement. So overcome with happiness at seeing each other again, the two friends ran in circles around each other until Tapu finally came to his senses and interrupted the jubilation of their reunion.

“Quick, there’s no more time to waste. Follow me,” and he was off in a flash of white fur.

Up the hill, hopping over and under the interweaving roots, he paused only once at the crest of the rise to assure himself Damu was still there with him. Tapu laughed to find his friend right by his side. Of course he was there. Damu was very fast—even in death. Indulging a moment longer to look into his friend’s eyes, Tapu’s laughter did much to relieve the overwhelming tension that had accumulated within him during his quest. He did not fully realize the burden he had been carrying until that moment when he began to put it down.

The battle between Gao and Amadou was drawing near to them then, and the incredible roar of the lion brought Tapu back to the present, and he once again bolted away. Down the hill he went, running toward the river of fire with Damu right behind him.

When Tapu reached the blanket of ash on the river’s edge, he saw that Amadou and Gao’s fight had been pushed to the shoreline upriver. With no time to waste, the white hare began his desperate search among the flowers for the bundle of amaranths from which the asphodel had been growing. There were poppies everywhere within the bed of ash, and the shoreline was of such a uniform nature that there was no distinction that clued him to where he had previously found them. So, he had no choice but to work his way upriver systematically.

Tapu’s white fur became caked with ash. When he heard the terrible roar of Amadou from up ahead it had a quality the hare had not heard before. Looking up, he saw Gao holding Amadou within her fangs before hurling the golden lion into the river of fire. The ensuing roar of Amadou shook the entire isle of Janna as he struggled heroically to swim back out of the molten rock. It was to no avail, however, as he was inexorably carried away downriver toward Tapu.

Pushing this drama aside, Tapu forced himself to resume his search. He was greatly alarmed by the scene he’d just witnessed, though not as much as he would have been had he fully understood the ramifications of Amadou’s plight. Nonetheless, he somehow sensed his time was running out.

Besieged by the insufferable heat from the Elil, combined with his driving need to hurry and find the amaranth, Tapu was once more at his wits’ end. It seemed to him that the end of his wits had been his exclusive domain since his quest began—and he was tired of it. Yet he had to push on, having no choice but to do his best.

So many poppies. Did he start his search too far up the shoreline? Was he going the wrong way?

“There!” Tapu cried out, and a great weight was lifted from his heart. He had finally found the bundle of violet flowers by the edge of the Elil.

Racing to the small patch of amaranths, he hunched over and—careful to avoid the prickly thorns—bit through its stem. But just as he lifted his head again he was snatched up bodily into the air by the tips of his ears and swung out over the river of fire. Amadou had plucked him up in his teeth as the Elil was sweeping him past.

“Put me down!” Tapu shrieked, dropping the flower that he held in his mouth as he did so. The amaranth vaporized with a flash on the surface of the Elil.

Suspended by his ears in the lion’s teeth as the current carried them away from shore, Tapu kicked and thrashed—utterly hysterical. He was driven out of his mind, cursing and screaming to be put down, not realizing in his madness that it was all too late. He twisted round, scratching and tearing at the lion’s mane and muzzle with all four feet, but Amadou held him fast.

“I had no choice,” said Amadou around his grip on Tapu’s ears. “Nothing can go against the currents of the Elil, and I could not abandon you there.”

“You idiot! You fool! Damu is right there!”

“The breath of life is not in him, and the dead cannot travel the Elil.”

“But it would have only taken a moment—I had the amaranth.”

“There was no moment to be had.”

Tapu twisted round and gazed back in horror to the dark shores of Janna. His heart swelled to burst as he looked with longing upon his friend. The long-eared outline of Damu stood out upon the bank, sitting motionless in the gloom as they both watched each other slowly slipping away.

Overwhelmed with grief, Tapu released all his remaining strength in a long howl of anguish. Then, being completely drained, he slumped in defeat as his body swung back around over the scorching hot river.

He had failed. And though he still breathed, he never felt so dead.

Tapu would speak no more to his lion guide, and his enmity burned deep within him, while Amadou himself was beginning to ignite into flames along the surface of the river. It wasn’t long before they came to the lava tube that bored far into the earth. Flowing down into the subterranean tunnel, the Elil carried Amadou and Tapu deep beneath Lake L’Ebun and the Waters of Life—away from Janna, and ever eastward.

The tunnel was an oven, and the heat slowly began to alter Tapu’s appearance, as his failure to retrieve his friend had already altered his soul. He had to curl up into a ball to keep his long feet from dipping into the river of magma as he hung by his ears. And since Amadou himself was almost completely on fire, the little hare’s back was toasted flaxen brown from the lion’s burning mane. Eventually, even Amadou’s muzzle became enflamed so that the tips of Tapu’s ears were burned black—matching then the end of his bushy tail which had been singed as it dipped too close to the Elil.

These scars that marred his beautiful fur coat would prove to be with him for the rest of his life, leaving his snow-white belly as the only reminder of his former glory. In fact, so intense was the heat of the Elil during his long passage through the tunnel, his alterations became baked into the very fiber of his being so that every descendant of Tapu carries his deformities to this day.

The river of fire eventually began to rise though at the easternmost extremity of Alodia, ascending quickly to the surface of the world above through the mouth of Mount Thule. This legendary volcano marked the eastern edge of the world, through which Jumara—the sun—was born each day. So, as they rose together in flame from the depths of the underworld, Amadou once again underwent the final transformation to his solar incarnation.

Sensing their speedy ascension within his empty belly, Tapu looked up at last, and his heart so full of sorrow did rejoice to see, through a round opening far above, a sea of stars—like glittering gems in the night sky. At long last, he was coming home.

But then, as they approached the lip of the volcano, the flaming grip upon his ears—combined with the inflamed hatred he now harbored for Amadou—sparked an idea that many would later call the greatest trick of his career.

Just as they were emerging from Mount Thule, and little remained of Amadou but the muzzle by which he gripped Tapu, the hare reached up and plucked a whisker from the burning lion. With a mighty roar, Amadou released Tapu and dropped the belligerent hare onto the face of Thule. Tapu ran down the mountain as fast as he could, staying ahead of the flowing lava at his heels, while carrying away the burning whisker of Amadou in his teeth.

He ran and he ran, with the energy of a newborn leveret. And he didn’t pause until reaching safety, when he then heard the distant cry of a heron singing to the rising sun: “You are born through flame, O shining one. You are the god Jumara, supreme force of life. Great are you—great are your works—O Jumara, who fill the worlds with your might.”

And when Tapu looked up into the sky he saw the rebirth of Jumara and the start of a new day.

It was a long journey back to the rolling hills of his people, and he had many adventures along the way that are recounted elsewhere—being separate stories each in themselves. But the drive of the tale ends with Tapu returning to the world with the burning whisker he stole from Amadou—and in so doing, snatching a victory in the moment of his greatest defeat by bringing the gift of fire to the world above.

A footnote to this tale, however, which is an appropriate appendage and should not be overlooked, is that many years after his return home the still-embittered Tapu got it in his head that he should descend once more to Alodia in another attempt to bring back his friend, Damu. He reasoned that he was now armed with the knowledge that would guarantee success the second time around.

However, when he sang The Song of Alodia to the moon and the lunar goddess—Jukun—in the night sky, begging her to grant his request, the lunar goddess laughed at him and said that she did not even believe he was Tapu at all. She told him that the prince of hares was a glorious white hare—with a warm heart and light temper—not a plain flaxen-brown hare with black-tipped ears and tail—with a sour and bitter disposition.

“Tapu was indeed a prince among hares,” said Jukun. “And I did honor his carefree spirit as one of my most cherished children. But alas, those who aim at great deeds must also suffer greatly. Many moons ago my beloved Tapu left this world for the dark lands on a noble quest. And as it is the gods’ custom to bring low all things of surpassing greatness, so it was that the little hare I did so cherish never did return.”

Here ends The Song of Alodia, the Second Part of the Napatawalata

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