“Shango is dead!” he cried. “I imprisoned his godhood in the body of the black calf you sacrificed when I brought you the herd! Well do I know your customs, O Ku-Djenne. Now, I am the master of the rains ... and they will not fall until the souls of all belong to me!”
“But we did not sacrifice the calf,” said Sankruu. “My once-son interceded, and he and the calf were banished to the wilderness.”
For the first time, the stranger appeared to lose his composure. Uncertainty surfaced in his cold eyes – but only briefly.
“No matter!” he shouted, as if to reassure himself. “You still do not know my name, and your souls are still mine.”
Some of the Ku-Djenne shrank back fearfully when they heard those words. But not Sankruu. The chieftain drew himself up to his full, still-impressive height, and spoke in a quiet tone.
“You will not, while I live, have the souls of the people of Ougon – no matter what your name may be.”
“Then die, fool!” the stranger shouted.
He gestured to the horned demons.
“Take them!” he cried.
Slowly, the creatures advanced. Despite their obvious terror, the men of Ougon prepared for battle. But the closer the demons approached, the weaker the warriors’ will became. With a growing sense of horror, they became aware of sudden, subtle changes beginning to occur in their bodies ...
Suddenly, a shout rang across the pasture, breaking the concentration of mystic forces that were slowly turning the men of Ougon into death-cattle.
“Wa Nkeri!” a clear, strong voice cried. “Wa Nkeri!”
All heads turned to the source of the shout. The sight that met their eyes was as incredible as that of the stranger and his death-cattle. They saw Ahmadu, exiled son of Sankruu, sitting astride an enormous black buffalo. The time he’d spent in the desert had toughened the youth; he had become as lean and hard as a young leopard. Flashes of sunlight glittered from the point of his makeshift spear and the scythe-like horns of the buffalo.
“Wa Nkeri!” Ahmadu shouted again.
Then the buffalo charged into the ranks of the demons. Its horns smashed left and right, sending broken bodies sailing through the air. With deadly effect, Ahmadu wielded his makeshift spear, all the while shouting his curious battle-cry: “Wa Nkeri!”
At first, Sankruu and the others could scarcely believe that Ahmadu had dared to defy his banishment. Then, in a flash of insight, the chieftain realized the significance of the huge buffalo and the name Ahmadu was shouting. Forgetting his weakness, Sankruu raised his staff high over his head.
“Wa Nkeri!” he cried. “Hear your name and tremble, you masked dog!”
After only a moment of hesitation, the others followed, all yelling the same war-cry. Fired by fear and hatred, they fought furiously against their demonic foes, even as the changes in their bodies began to reverse.
The effect of this sudden turn of events was immediate and astonishing. Crying out in terror, Wa Nkeri stared wildly as the Ku-Djenne and the buffalo wreaked havoc among his demons. Then the buffalo came toward Wa Nkeri. Ahmadu leaped lightly from the animal’s back and stepped aside. And the buffalo lowered its horns and charged.
“No!” Wa Nkeri wailed. “My spells imprisoned you! The power of the Mashataan is mine! I did not endure a thousand rains of imprisonment beneath a mountain in Cush to be thwarted like this. Die, Shango!”
From the outstretched hands of the sorcerer, twin bolts of emerald incandescence shot out and struck the face of the charging buffalo. As the bull bellowed in pain, the odor of charred flesh filled the air. Still, the huge beast barreled into the gray-clad form, impaling it with a sidewise swipe of its horns. Half rearing from the ground, the beast slammed the shrieking sorcerer down.
Then the buffalo trampled Wa Nkeri into the dust until noting remained but a mound of pulped, bloody flesh and shattered bones. Wa Nkeri had screamed far longer than would an ordinary man beneath the great, pounding hoofs.
With Wa Nkeri’s death, the demon-things ceased their struggles and crumpled to the ground. Sankruu and his companions stared blank-eyed at the carnage around them. Then they averted their gazes, for the bodies of the former death-cattle were reverting to their original human form. The sight was not a pleasant one ... nor was the awful understanding of what the Ku-Djenne had been eating during the rainless rain ...
Sankruu moved Ahmadu, intending to greet his son and rescind the banishment as a reward for the youth’s heroic deeds this day. But when Ahmadu looked at his father, something in the younger man’s eyes forestalled the words Sankruu was about to say.
The buffalo came to Ahmadu. Though its face was singed, it showed no other effects from Wa Nkeri’s fiery attack. Ahmadu stroked the burnt flesh for a moment. Then he looked at his father again. Without speaking, he nodded to the bull – a signal for what was to happen next.
Without warning, the buffalo swung its head at the youth. One horn punched sickeningly into Ahmadu’s chest. The point pierced his heart, killing him instantly. Then, as Sankruu and the others looked on in disbelief, the shape of the buffalo began to swell and expand, as though its flesh could no longer contain the powerful forces within it. Finally, the beast burst asunder, and in its place stood a gigantic, man-like form, black as a thundercloud and carrying a titanic, double-bladed axe that resembled the horns of a buffalo.
“Shango,” the awe-struck group of Ku-Djenne murmured as one.
“Yes, I am the Thunderer,” the deity boomed. “If only the generous Cushites had slain Wa Nkeri before they buried him. But now, thanks to Ahmadu, I am free to stride the skies once again, and bring the rains you need.”
“But ... why did you slay my son?” Sankruu asked in anguish.
“By your own words, he had to die,” Shango replied. “For he had nowhere else to go, and a sacrifice was needed.”
Then, in a deafening
