Dark Matter: A Century of Speculative Fiction From the African Diaspora by Sheree Renée Thomas

Author:Sheree Renée Thomas [Thomas, Sheree Renée]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
ISBN: 9780446525831
Amazon: 0446525839
Publisher: Aspect - Warner Books
Published: 2000-07-18T04:00:00+00:00

The king of Dedougou is bald as an egg.

His belly sags like an elephant’s,

His teeth are as few as a guinea fowl’s,

And his bela has no voice.…

In the court of Konondo, the people cried out in horror when every strand of the king’s hair fell from his head. Konondo shrieked in pain and fear as his teeth dropped from his mouth like nuts shaken from a tree. The pain became agony when his belly distended, ripping through the cloth of his regal robes. Only the bela Bankassi’s voice failed to echo the terror and dismay that swiftly became rampant in Dedougou. Tortured, inhuman mewlings issued from Bankassi’s throat, nothing more.

Gimmile had his vengeance: Soon, however, the bela learned he had not been blessed by Legba’s gift of Baraka. For Legba’s gifts were always accompanied by a price, and Legba’s price was always a curse.

Gimmile could still sing about the great deeds of warriors of the past, or about gods and goddesses and the creation of the world, or about the secret speech of animals. But the curse that accompanied Gimmile’s Baraka was this: The songs he sang about the living, including himself, came true!

“And it is a curse, Dossouye,” Gimmile said, his tale done, his fingers resting idly on the kalimba’s keys.

“Word of what I could do spread throughout Mossi. People sought me out as vultures seek out a corpse. They wanted me to sing them rich, sing them beautiful, sing them brave or intelligent. I would not do that. I had wanted only to repay Konondo and Bankassi for what they had done to me. Still, the Baraka remained within me… unwanted, a curse. Men like the daju you killed surrounded me like locusts, trying to force me to sing them cities of gold. Instead, I sang myself away from them all.”

“And you—sang this rock, where no such rock has a right to be?” Dossouye asked, her voice tight with apprehension.

“Yes,” Gimmile said. “I sing, and Legba provides.”

“Legba sent you this tower,” Dossouye said slowly, realization dawning as Gimmile rose to his feet. Gimmile nodded.

“And Legba has also sent—”

“You,” Gimmile confirmed. His smile remained warm and sincere; not at all sinister as he flicked the keys of his kalimba and began to sing.…

Dossouye’s hand curled around her swordhilt. She meant to smash the kalimba and silence its spell… but it was too late for that. Gimmile’s fingers flew rapidly across the keys. Dossouye’s fingers left her swordhilt. She unfastened the clasp of the belt that secured the weapon to her waist. With a soft thump, the scabbard struck the cloth-covered floor.

Gimmile placed the kalimba on a nearby table and spoke to it in the same manner Dossouye spoke when issuing a command to Gbo. As he walked toward her, the instrument continued to play, even though Gimmile no longer touched it.

Scant heed did Dossouye pay to this latest manifestation of Gimmile’s Baraka. Taking her hands, Gimmile raised the ahosi to her feet. She did not resist him. Gimmile sang his love to her while his fingers tugged at the laces of her cuirass.

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