'I asked him to repeat it, that is all,' the soldier said.
Dhamballa moved closer to the man. 'Do you know what happened today in Maun?'
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'Yes, houngan,' said the soldier. 'Another Catholic holy man was killed.'
'He was shot in the back of the head, as you would have done,' Dhamballa said. 'That changes things for us. When we move into Orapa, we must show the world that we are not murderers. This man must be with us.'
'I understand,' the soldier replied.
'You will see to it, then?' Dhamballa asked. 'You will see that he arrives safely?'
'Yes, houngan.'
'If Seronga contacts you again, let me know,' Dhamballa added. 'We leave within the hour.'
Dhamballa left, and the soldiers helped Father Bradbury to his feet.
As they walked toward the shore, the priest found it strange to be back in his body. He felt tired and hot again. Thirst and hunger returned. But whether it was to make him brave or more pious, Father Bradbury knew one thing.
God had showed him the edge of eternity for a reason.
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FORTY-SL
Okavango Swamp, Botswana Friday, 6:42 P.M.
Dhamballa shut the door of his hut. He was surprised to notice that his forearms were weak, his fingers shaking, as he turned on the lantern. He felt disoriented and alone.
The Vodun leader did not want to believe what the soldier had told him-that Leon Seronga had ordered the killing of the priest. The man Dhamballa knew would not give such a command. Not only was it bloodthirsty, it was against everything the peaceful revolution they had worked to achieve stood for.
Yet, do you really know Seronga? Dhamballa thought ruefully. He is an officer, and officers yearn for promotions, for power.
But Dhamballa must not think about that now. It was time to put the material world aside and let the gods speak.
Dhamballa removed a tiny chest from inside his desk. He set it down on the mat, knelt beside it, and raised the lid. Carefully, he removed a white cloth. He set it on the mat and unwrapped it. There were five chicken bones inside the cloth. A source of sustenance and fertility, the chicken was sacred to Vodunists. These were bones that Dhamballa had dried himself when he began studying the art of the houngan. He had baked them in the sun and in heated sand, drawing out all the moisture and making them hard, like ivory.
He reached into the chest and removed a pouch. He undid the drawstring and took out a pinch of cornmeal. This powder, known as ma-veve, represented a direct connection with the healthy and fertile earth. He spread the powder over the cloth, then steepled three of the bones on top of it. Only the largest
of the bones was marked. It bore notches in the surface from top to bottom. Then he palmed two others and gently rolled them between his palms. He closed his eyes. The noise of the breaking camp seemed distant. The rolling of the bones often put the Vodunist in a trancelike state. Dhamballa's own houngan mentor had once told him that the man was the real medium. The bones were simply a totem to focus and guide the spirit of the houngan. During this brief journey, they did not provide detailed information about the future. Rather, they read currents in the river of human endeavor. They foretold where the currents would lead. The details were for a houngan to discover through deed and meditation.
Dhamballa released the bones. While they were still airborne, the gods breathed upon them. The Vodun leader could feel the breath as it rushed past him. The two tossed bones struck the other three.
Dhamballa opened his eyes. He studied the pattern in which the bones fell. They confirmed his fears.
Until tonight, the bones had landed in patterns that suggested peaceful trials for himself and his adversaries. Trials of religious resolve, of philosophy, of endurance. They pointed to the moon or sun to tell whether the ordeals would come during the night or day. They pointed east, west, north, or south to tell him from which direction the challenges were coming.
But something had changed.
The house of bones had fallen with all of the pieces crossing one another. That meant chaos was in the offing for the Vodun leader.
There were two more throws to make. The first toss told him how the future would be if the currents went unchanged. The second toss was a look at whether the events might be changed. If the bones landed exactly as before, then the future was fixed. First, there was something he must do.
Dhamballa picked up the largest of the bones. This was the bone with the hash marks cut in its surface. He tugged a hair from his head and carefully worked the strand through a small slit in the base of the bone. Then he wound the rest of the hair
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