c charm which
the son of the Lord-of-many-Lands, the King-God, had sent to
Eyes-in-the-hands and repeated the prophecy that he should trumpet like
unto a wounded cow elephant, eliciting many grunts of admiration and awe.
Then he inquired for Sakamata and MYalu, and upon hearing the account,
reported that they were both traitors and had been condemned to die by the
magic of Bakahenzie and Marufa.

Each and every chief felt that he had been betrayed by Sakamata. Even
Yabolo, his relative, particularly because his visionary schemes had come
to nought, was against Sakamata. Sakamata had heard the message of the
drums, "The Fire is lighted." But of the details of the return of the
Unmentionable One and of the new King-God he knew nothing, although every
other Wongolo man, woman, and child, knew it. The terror of the tabu, of
the power of the Unmentionable One, was more overwhelming than his fear of
Eyes-in-the-hands, wizard and ex-member of the inner cult though he be.
The Unmentionable One had returned, a miracle! In a thousand signs of
birds and beasts, twigs and shadows, Sakamata saw omens of evil. He knew
that he was an outcast, that his fellows were plotting; that they knew
something that he did not; yet he dared not tell Eyes-in-the-hands lest he
be killed on the instant, not by Eyes-in-the-hands but by the mystic power
of the Unmentionable One.

Farther down the line, in a small hut, lay MYalu motionless. His mind was
a whirling red spot of rage and pain, obliterating the image of Bakuma,
his ivory, and everything. From the base of the spine to his neck he was
criss-crossed with bloody weals administered with a kiboko (whip of
hippopotamus hide) by one of the black giants who formed the door guard at
the tent of Eyes-in-the-hands. More stimulating to his anger even than the
excessive pain was the indignity, that he, MYalu, son of MBusa, a chief,
had been flogged like a slave before all men! Could he have gotten free he
would have leaped upon zu Pfeiffer, god or no, and torn him to pieces with
hands and teeth. But he could scarcely move. Never had such an act been
conceived by MYalu. The native dignity and reserve was shattered. He lay
upon his belly and glared with the eyes of a maddened and tortured animal.

The yellow glare in the open doorway was darkened, but MYalu did not stir.
The figure of Yabolo, a short throwing sword in hand, moved towards him
and squatted down, muttering greetings. MYalu made no response.