1,000 B.C.

Mezzezeh woke up to the buzzing alarm of the mosquitoes dancing by his ears. Lethargically, he rolled off his bed. Today he didn’t feel like a kata: a ruler of the highest worship in ancient times. A typical kata ruled over his kingdom, the katakum, and controlled thousands of warriors in his army, the katana.

Kata Mezzezeh was 21 years old, wizardly intelligent and strikingly handsome. Towering over seven feet, Mezzezeh was a strict vegan except during the last month of the West African Harmattan.

Mezzezeh was only four when he lost his parents to the evils of Kata Shimbaka. Shimbaka was a tormenter who ruled much of the known world. The wrath of Shimbaka’s katana was the most feared curse; they could wipe out a katakum as fast as they arrived. Mezzezeh’s earliest memory was the agonizing screams of his mother as the scarab beetles tore through her dark velvet skin; his father lay still and died in silence.

Mezzezeh stepped out of his palace to enjoy the view of his empire. His kingdom stretched several miles, over the mountains of doom, fire, magick and fertility. Several rivers channeled through his kingdom, but of all of them he loved the Nema.

The Nema meandered its way down to the west of Africa and emptied its contents in the River Gonda. The Nema was very sacred; it was believed to transport the spirit energies of the gods.

Mezzezeh was kata of Uroma, the second largest kingdom in the known world. Uroma was a very fertile katakum with men of courage and women of virtue. Her people were very beautiful and their skin was as dark as the earth from which they came. Their katanas were as dark as the night sky after years of baking on the battlefield. Mezzezeh had seven wives, the oldest was 41 and the youngest was 18.

As Mezzezeh made his way to the altar, he tied his dreadlocks in a knot in reverence to the gods. He took of his robe and wearing only a sarong around his waist, he lit the incense and purified his body.

The incense was made from the leaves and buds of the wisdom tree, the white widow. The essence of white widow’s existence was not discovered until the locals noticed their herds foraging and searching for the widow plant in the evening coming back drooling and calm. In an attempt to destroy this plant, the locals set fire to it and they were overcome by a mystic trance.

Mezzezeh lowered his body the ground and prayed:

“Oh gods, the night crow has laid eggs in my doorstep. One does not see the evil that swims in the air at night. But its presence manifests in the day. Only the owl sees all but it never speaks, warning us only with its piercing hoot at night. A kata must not fear for courage is a blessing you have given us. Show me the way; lead me to the light for my soul is wrapped in a blanket of thick gloomy cloud. Accept this offering from me whom you have chosen, a clueless mortal, forsake us not O gods and walk with us”.

As Mezzezeh said these words he slit the throat of the ram, dripped its blood all over the altar. Now he felt at ease. He had won favour with the gods or so he thought.

He stepped out of the altar and heard the crowing of the roosters; it was the dawn of a new day. As he made his way to his chamber, taking his strides with ease, he heard the voice of Naurah lingering in his head. She was attempting to communicate with her lover. Naurah was blind from birth, but what she lacked in sight made up ten folds with her other senses.

Mezzezeh was only a young man when he met Naurah for the first time. Some believe it was destiny; others believe she planned it. He was out hunting on a chilly morning in the 18th Harmattan season of his life in the forest of fertility, circling the mountain of fertility. He had found his prey. Now it was time to summon this untamed beast.

“Come before me wild beast for the reason you forage these grounds is to serve your final purpose.” As he spoke these words, he noticed a lady about 100 yards away in the thick forest gathering fruits in a basket. He lost his concentration, and the bull, released from its trance, ran away from the hunter. Mezzezeh heard her voice lingering faintly in his ears as he advanced towards this mysterious lady.

He noticed that she was blind. Amazingly, she had no use for eyes; she was united with her surroundings. Her touch revealed every flaw and contour to her and she had the ears of a wolf, hearing sounds mortals can’t. He lowered his spear as he approached her. He could feel her presence now.

“That was a huge bull you made me lose,” he said.

“You chose to listen my lord,” she retorted. “Do not worry about the bull. On your way back you will find it grazing by the lake that borders the twin forest and then it will come forth, but let it go. Leave it as a sacrifice to the gods then . . . No! . . . It can’t be. I’m not worthy.”

“Why do you speak in parables,” Mezzezeh interrupted.

“I must leave now,” she replied, picking her basket up and into the dark forest she disappeared.