Disruption

We have been walking for at least one hour, the midday sun heavy on our backs as we make our way toward another village with many fields on the outskirts of the capital city, Gungara. This neighboring village is further North compared to where Nyore and Chipiri live. As we walk, I feel a strange kind of peace in the air. I have been spending more time with Chipiri lately, keeping an eye on him for his safety as well as helping him with repairs in the village. I am repaying the debt I owe to Nyore for healing me when I was on the brink of death, too close to disappearing forever, without even fully understanding what Yulin has been waiting for from me all this time.

This temporary protective duty is not as bad as I thought. The more time I spend with Chipiri, the more I learn about the man beneath the quiet demeanor. He possesses a strong sense of responsibility. His dedication to others is impressive. He is not just the unspoken leader of this village. He is also someone the nearby villages trust, someone they can rely on.

I have also learned a bit about his dry humor. It is subtle, but I think I like it. One evening, as we sat down to rest, I could not help but notice Chipiri glancing around the village, his eyes scanning the horizon like he was on the lookout for something.

I smirked. “What’s the matter? Looking for trouble?”

Chipiri turned to me with a grin. “Just making sure trouble isn’t nearby, ready to hunt me down as the guard from last time implied.”

I leaned back against the wall, letting out a sigh. “Well, if trouble’s been after you this long, maybe it’s time to get used to it. And for once, you have a robust warrior near you, ready to fight if needed.”

Chipiri shot me a look, his grin widening. “Are you speaking about yourself? A woman good at fighting, I have never heard of this.”

I shot him a mischievous grin. “Trust me, you wouldn’t last five minutes.”

He smiles, not knowing how much truth is behind the joke. I cannot blame him. I have to say that the blade Nyore lent me is rather well hidden. The sheath is covered by my pants and aligned along my left leg. I have not used this technique often, but it does conceal the object efficiently if one has a large belt to cover the handle. The most annoying point is when I need to crouch and look natural. I must extend my leg backward while keeping it outstretched. Still, I am supple enough to manage.

Within the last few days, Chipiri and I had some moments of shared amusements. It was not much, but it felt comforting after all the things I have been through recently. I think we are starting to understand each other a little.

Today, we are heading to the fields outside of Gungara. I am learning more about the surrounding villages near Gungara, and Chipiri seems to be the thread that ties them all together. His name is known everywhere. The people respect him. Even in the face of the growing tensions between the villagers and the king’s recent decisions regarding the construction of troublesome water mills, Chipiri does not back down. He steps in when people need help, even if it means risking his own safety.

As we arrive at our destination, the fields of sorghum stretch before us, their tall stalks bending gently in the breeze. Sorghum is a crop that seems almost alien to me in its beauty. The long, slender green leaves fan out, reaching toward the sky in sharp, elegant angles, while the grain clusters atop them form soft, almost fluffy heads of pale gold. They look simple, but there is something enduring about them. And to the villagers, these fields are lifelines. They are food, they are resources, and they are the difference between survival and starvation.

According to Chipiri, most of these fields belong to Tonderai, the Fields Advisor of the king, a powerful figure with influence that stretches into every corner of the region. From what he told me, Tonderai is one of the king’s closest advisors. He has a wealth beyond comprehension for the common villager. Thanks to his status, he also has guards to patrol the lands and watch over the sorghum fields belonging to him. The villagers know that any attempt to steal from him is met with brutal punishment. His power is undeniable, and no one dares to defy him.

“But Tonderai’s not the only one, is he?” I ask, breaking the silence as we walk. “The king has more advisors, right? I’ve heard their names mentioned once or twice.”

Chipiri nods, his gaze distant as if he is weighing his words. “Yeah, there are four of them. Tonderai is the Fields Advisor, of course. But there’s also Mutsa, the Justice Advisor. Anesu, the Trade Advisor who handles trade, and Rugare, the Military Advisor.”

I let the names sink in for a moment, running them over in my head. “So they’re the ones calling the shots around here, then.”

Chipiri grunts in agreement. “They all have their own interests, their own goals. Mutsa’s focused on law and order, but sometimes he’s more interested in maintaining control than justice. Anesu’s all about wealth, and Rugare? He’s only interested in power. But Tonderai… he has the fields, the resources. He’s the one who holds the land. And with it, he holds a lot of influence. In some way, he is probably the most powerful of them all.”

I look out over the endless stretch of sorghum, the golden stalks swaying in the breeze. “Seems like he’s untouchable.”

Chipiri’s jaw tightens slightly as he nods. “That’s the thing. No one dares touch his land. He’s got too many eyes watching. And even if someone tried, the consequences would be… severe, and not only for the theft but also for their family. This happened some times in the past. Sadly, people have learned this lesson the hard way after losing precious families of this village…”

As I sigh with pain, imagining the horrors that happened nearby due to the Fields Advisor’s ruthlessness, something wrong catches my attention. The lands around us does not look as they should. They seem to be suffering. I see it in the scorched patches of earth where the plants have withered away, leaving behind nothing but dry, lifeless soil. Since I spend time with Chipiri, I have heard rumors of entire forests dying off, of wildlife disappearing, and of fields of sorghum being wiped out, their life force drained, leaving nothing behind but pale husks. It is as though something is consuming the very essence of the land. But there is one thing even stranger with all of this: the plants’ consuming phenomenon never happens in Tonderai’s fields. His crops remain vibrant and untouched, while the rest of the land withers and decays.

While we walk through one of the affected areas, I can see the sorrow in Chipiri’s eyes. He does not need to say anything for me to know what he feels. The villagers depend on these resources, and the unexplained destruction is making their lives even harder. Fewer trees to build, fewer animals to eat, fewer places to gather firewood.

“I don’t know what’s happening, Xia,” Chipiri says quietly, his voice tinged with frustration. “Every day it gets worse. And yet Tonderai’s fields stay untouched. It doesn’t make sense.”

“I can see that,” I reply, my eyes scanning the barren land. “It’s like whatever is causing this knows where to stop. Almost as if it’s targeting everything except the lands belonging to the Fields Advisor.”

We walk in silence for a few moments, lost in our thoughts. I can feel the weight of the situation pressing down on both of us. It is not just about sorghum or crops anymore. It is about survival. The villagers are running out of options, and Chipiri is doing his best to keep them afloat by building huts, organizing harvests, and finding people to help where he can. But even he cannot do it all alone.

“You’re doing what you can,” I say after a moment, meeting his gaze. “The villagers are lucky to have you.”

Chipiri offers a small smile, but it does not quite reach his eyes. “I do what I can,” he says, but there is a weight in his tone that makes me realize just how tired he is. “But it’s never enough. Not for the ones who need it most.”

I watch him for a while longer as we move deeper into the fields. The wind picks up, sending a gust of dry earth into the air. Then, I see it… a group of guards in their dark uniforms, standing watch near the edge of the next field. Guards on watch for Tonderai’s fields, guards possibly from The Community, exactly like the mission I did a few weeks ago. Seeing them makes me recall it more precisely. This is it. The Community sometimes helps the Fields Advisor by keeping guard over his fields. I now clearly understand that during this mission, where I worked at night to watch over sorghum fields, I have been participating in the villagers’ starvation without realizing it… Since I spend time with Chipiri and Nyore, I have discovered things about The Community that do not motivate me to go back… Yet, I am still worried for my friends.

Chipiri’s shoulders tense when we pass by the guards. One of them looks up, his sharp gaze locking onto Chipiri. I watch as Chipiri’s expression hardens, but does not falter. Meanwhile, I am relieved to discover that those guards are not members of The Community. Otherwise, I do not know how I would have reacted if Tariro had been there.

We walk through the fields, the dry sorghum rustling faintly as we pass, the sun low and warm on the horizon. The day has been long, and the weight of the work we have done lingers in our tired limbs. But something feels different now, a subtle shift in the air, as if a storm is quietly gathering. I glance at Chipiri, and the concern in his eyes tells me he feels it too.

A villager appears ahead, his posture hurried, his face pinched with distress. As he approaches, he slows his steps, carrying a bundle of dry sorghum from a nearby granary. When he sees us, his expression turns serious, and he looks over his shoulder, making sure no one is close.

“There’s something you need to hear, Chipiri,” he says, his voice low, almost a whisper. “Something is happening in Gungara.”

Chipiri stops, his attention sharpening. “What’s going on?” His tone is calm, but I can tell he is already anticipating something bad.

The villager hesitates, looking down at his hands before he speaks again, his voice even quieter. “People are starting to protest after what happened to a renowned healer. The woman tried to save the Military Advisor’s son but failed.”

I feel a strange tightening in my chest. The name “healer” makes me uneasy, and I cannot explain why.

“What happened?” Chipiri asks, voice tense, a slight edge in it now.

The villager swallows hard before continuing. “Nyasha. She was the one who tried to save the boy.” He pauses, then looks far away, his gaze shifting nervously. “But… she couldn’t. After the boy died, the guards took her… they beat her quite harshly, as it often happens to the healer who fails in their tasks.” His words are clipped, each one heavy with the weight of what he is describing. “She… did not make it. She was an old, famous healer. She was not used to failing, not used to being hurt, her body wasn’t strong enough to endure this…”

At the sound of the name, my blood runs cold. I’m frozen for a moment, the world blurring around me. Nyasha. The name hits me like a hammer. The pain comes in waves, sudden and suffocating. First, I feel the horror of the violence done to her, a healer, someone who had dedicated her life to saving others. The thought of what the guards did to her, the brutality of it, it feels like a blade in my chest.

And then, as the words settle in, a second wave of shock crashes over me. Nyasha. Her name continues to reverberate in my mind until everything goes still. I try to breathe, but it feels like the air has been sucked out of me. Nyasha is dead… She was the mother of Imani, my former lover. The same woman who had opened her arms to me, the same woman who had been kind and gentle with me, even though I had renounced a life of love and sharing with her son… This woman, this soft, forgiving woman, was… was no more.

I stagger slightly, my knees buckling beneath me. The world tilts, and suddenly, I cannot hold myself up. My body gives way, and I sink to the ground.

Chipiri is beside me instantly, his hand on my shoulder, steadying me. I hear him say my name, but it is distant, muffled. I try to speak, but the words catch in my throat. My heart feels like it is being squeezed.

“Xia,” Chipiri says, lifting me to my feet. His hand is reassuring. “Let’s get you back to Nyore’s hut. You need to rest.”

I nod, but my thoughts are tangled in a whirlwind of disbelief. Nyasha. Imani’s mother. How could this happen? The cruelty of it is almost beyond comprehension. I cannot process it all, cannot make sense of how someone who had spent her life helping others could meet such a violent, senseless end.

Chipiri supports me as we walk back. His presence is a steady anchor amid the storm raging inside me. The path back to Nyore’s hut feels endless, each step heavy with the weight of the news I have just learned. The further we go, the harder it is to breathe, the harder it is to focus on anything other than the image of Nyasha.

By the time we reach the hut, my body feels like it is about to collapse. Chipiri does not let go of me, guiding me inside with a quiet urgency. Nyore is there, waiting, her sharp eyes immediately assessing me. She does not need to ask what happened. She can see it on my face.

Wordlessly, Nyore leads me to a mat on the floor and helps me settle down. I feel like I am drowning in my own thoughts, the grief and shock still clawing at me. I cannot think straight, cannot make sense of what is happening. Nyore watches me for a long moment, his expression concerned.

“Rest, Xia,” she says gently.

I close my eyes, but the weight of the world presses down on me. Nyasha’s death is not just a personal loss. It is a loss for all of Gungara. For the people who loved her. For the people who trusted her. And now, it is a spark igniting fire in the streets, a fire that, I hope, will not be easily put out.

I drift into a restless sleep.

The moment I woke, the darkness still clung to me like a heavy blanket. The weight of the night was oppressive, pressing against my chest, as if everything I had learned today was too much for me to bear. Nyasha’s death. The injustice. I felt it digging into me like a sharp stone, relentless. I thought I would be able to push it aside and sleep peacefully, but how could I? How could I rest when the world felt like it was slipping apart at the edges?

I lay there in the quiet of Nyore’s hut, staring at the roof, my mind racing, too chaotic to focus. I could not get the images of Nyasha out of my mind. I had to do something, anything to escape the shock gnawing at me.

I stand up and leave the hut. The air feels thick with the weight of grief. I need to clear my mind, I need peace, even if only for a moment.

Spontaneously, I think of Yulin, the spirit of the moon, who has been guiding me for the past few years. I need to meditate. To reconnect with Yulin. Maybe this will bring me some clarity, something to ease the burden in my chest.

I make my way to the small grove near Nyore’s hut, where I have meditated before. The path feels familiar underfoot. The trees stand still, their shadows long in the moonlight. It is quiet, almost unnervingly so. I find the rock where I sat last time and settle down, taking a deep breath to center myself.

Stretching my hands and looking straight at the semi-circular moon, I try to focus my mind. I call for them, recalling their appearance when they appeared before me, how their body was a completion of deep blues, their strands of hair falling to the ground.

Suddenly, my eyes close on their own as I feel my mind drifting away. When I am able to see it again, I am not Xia but the unknown woman, once again. She is laughing with Masimba, her husband, while working the land. Their life transpires with simplicity and happiness as they run their tools to turn the soil and prepare for the next planting season.

Soon, the vision shifts as other things appear in my eyes. I see a being of light and fire, Akin. They are the spirit of the sun. I remember that during this woman’s life, this spirit was not called Zuva as it is today, but Akin. At the moment, the woman is standing up, speaking cheerfully to the sun spirit humanoid figure formed from radiant heat, shining like molten gold. I cannot explain it, but there is something about Akin that makes my heart race. The warmth, the power, it is overwhelming.

I watch as they answer the woman, their voice vibrating through my chest. And then it happens. A third shift. Masimba, the same one she was laughing with in the first vision, is now consumed with something darker. The jealousy in the man’s eyes is so thick, I almost choke on it. One second later, the man jumps and reaches Akin’s humanoid figure to merge it with his own body. The unexpected movement pushes the woman away. Soon… everything explodes.

The light shatters. The world seems to break apart, and the woman screams in agony. The air is filled with violence, like the very fabric of reality is torn asunder. I feel her pain, her soul being ripped away. But it is too late. She vanishes, and I am left with the deafening silence of the void.

Waking up, I still ponder what I have seen. Something inside me tells me it is not just a vision. This is a message. A warning. For the third time, I have seen the woman with her jealous husband, Masimba, attacking the spirit of the sun. This cannot be a coincidence. I am forced to admit what I have been refusing to accept. Masimba is the name Nyore mentioned when she told me about her previous life as the mother of the king of Zimori, Fari. It is also the name Gudo used to speak about himself when he joined me in my room as I was speaking with the humanoid figure of Yulin. Lastly, Gudo reacted in a similar way to what Masimba did in the vision. He jumped and tried to merge Yulin’s within his own body… I refuse to accept such a thing… How could Gudo lie to me all this time? How could he be someone else? Judging by the tools in the vision, those events must have happened a long time ago, perhaps hundreds of years… How could this be? Could Gudo be a descendant of Masimba and share the same name, or could he be the same person? But this would simply be impossible, how could a person live for hundreds of years and look so young… No matter what the answer is, Gudo, or should I say the current Masimba, possibly has more power than I thought. Perhaps something unexpected happened between the king and him, so he was forced to hide in The Community and pretend to be someone else. But then, why would he have come into my room when Yulin finally appeared in a humanoid form to speak with me? And why would he have been acting the same way as the Masimba from the vision did? I am still unable to connect everything, but I know for certain that I will not like the answer…

I feel sick to my stomach, the weight of all those thoughts pressing down on me like a stone in my chest. The vision is a puzzle, a maze, and every time I try to piece it together, more questions pop up.

I sit there in the grove, the silence of the night wrapping itself around me. I cannot stop the thoughts from swirling. Gudo, Masimba, Yulin, Akin. The explosion, the jealousy, the pain. It is impossible to make sense of it all, at least not yet.

Feeling that I will not receive any clear answer from Yulin once again, nor will I find new answers in my mind, I slowly stand up from the rock as the cool night air brushes against my skin. Walking back to the hut, I shift my thoughts back to Nyasha and what happened to her. Feeling the need to take action, to do something so I do not drown in sorrow, I decide that tomorrow I will speak with Nyore. I need to understand what truly happened to Nyasha in Gungara. For now, though, I need to sleep. I need to let the night take me again, let it numb the questions, the fear, the uncertainty.

As I lie back down on the mat, I feel the weight of everything pressing on me. But I will survive this. I have to.

Tomorrow, I will face it all. For now, I will rest.

The day after my restless night, I wake feeling weary, though the fog in my mind has slightly cleared. There is still a heaviness in my chest, but I have to keep moving, keep pushing forward. I have to know what is happening in Gungara.

Nyore must sense the conflict within me when I wake that morning. She does not ask me how I am, not directly. Instead, she prepares a warm bowl of porridge, as she always does, and when she places it in front of me, she says simply, “You should see for yourself.”

I know what she means. She is talking about the protests, the anger that is simmering in the capital city. And despite the lingering sorrow in my chest, I cannot avoid it anymore. I have to go.

I nod in agreement. “Let’s go.”

Nyore does not press for any more words. She simply gathers her belongings and prepares to leave with me. As we walk together toward Gungara, the world seems unusually quiet, as if holding its breath, waiting for something to snap. The landscape around us has an eerie calm, the tall grasses swaying in the breeze, and the distant chatter of village life becomes a soft hum in the background. The air feels thick with anticipation. I am not sure if it is the tension in my heart or the world around me, but everything seems to carry a weight today.

When we finally reach the outskirts of Gungara, the city buzzes with activity, but it is not the usual hustle and bustle I am used to. There is a sharp edge to the noise, an underlying current of fear and defiance.

As we enter the heart of the city, I immediately notice the crowd. It is mostly women, their faces set with determination, though the weariness in their eyes is impossible to miss. They have gathered in the square, shouting in protest, but their voices are more subdued than I expected. The streets are crowded, yet there is a sense of hesitation in the air. They are angry, but careful, as if afraid that one wrong move will cause everything to collapse.

On the other hand, the guards are the most noticeable thing. Their presence is overwhelming. Their bodies loom like dark silhouettes, standing in the corners of the square, blocking the entrances and exits, keeping a tight grip on the streets. As I watch, one guard kicks a woman in the side, sending her crashing to the ground with a sickening thud. The crowd tenses, but they do not respond with anger. They cannot. The threat of more violence is too great. Another woman is roughly grabbed by her arm, dragged away with brutal efficiency. No one dares to intervene, and the onlookers stand frozen.

It is not just the physical violence that gnaws at me. It is the way the women look. They stand tall but bend under the weight of fear at the same time. Their eyes flash with fury, but there is also a quiet desperation. There is nothing they can do. They are at the mercy of the guards, of the king’s advisors, of the system that has crushed them for so long. Their cries are barely audible, swallowed by the harsh commands of the guards and the general noise of the city.

I feel the anger welling up inside me. This should not be happening. But there is nothing I can do either. I glance at Nyore, and she gives me a look that says everything I need to know. She is furious, but she is not blind. She understands the limits of what we can do here.

The whole scene feels like a slow, suffocating crush. These people, their voices fading under the threat of violence, their bodies bruised and battered, yet they do not stop. They are fighting a battle they cannot win, not with the forces against them. But they have no other choice, like me, they bleed inside for the loss of Nyasha, the loss of someone who never deserved to die for such a reason, no matter the land, the country, the Kingdom, or the Empire, you should not be killed because you tried to save someone’s life…

I turn away, my eyes blurring, but I force myself to focus. We cannot stay here long. The guards will start arresting anyone who keeps on with the rebellion. We have to leave before they notice us…

As we make our way back through the streets, the weight of what I have seen presses down on me. I do not speak, not at first. Nyore does not speak either. She is lost in thought, her face shadowed by a deep, sorrowful expression. I can tell she is processing everything the same way I am. It is not just the violence we witnessed. It is the hopelessness in the air. The sense that these people are fighting not just against the guards, but against a system too large and too entrenched to break.

When we reach the village, Nyore turns to me as we approach her hut. Her expression is hard, but there is a quiet understanding in her eyes.

“Xia,” she begins, her voice steady, “there is something I have been thinking about. You saw what happened in Gungara today. Those people, those women, they cannot fight back. They lack the knowledge to do so. They are not trained. Except for the male guards, no one is, no one except you. You know how to fight, you told me, and I can see it from the way you move with flexibility and awareness. You could help those people, you could help those women.”

I look at her, confused. “Help them? How?”

“Teach them,” Nyore says, her eyes intense. “You have seen how they struggle. You have seen how they are beaten, arrested, and silenced. You are the only woman I have seen who knows how to fight, who can defend herself. You have fought your own battles. You have the strength to teach them to stand up for themselves. To raise their voices and fight, not just with their words, but with their bodies.”

I shake my head, uncertain. “I cannot teach them to fight. I cannot teach them to get arrested or to get killed…”

Nyore’s gaze softens but remains firm. “The women of Zimori, many of them have already lost so much. They need to know that they are strong enough to stand up. They need to be able to protect themselves, to have the courage to take action when it is needed. You can give them that.”

I swallow hard, the weight of her words pressing into my chest. I know I cannot just stand by and do nothing. But at the same time, the thought of pushing these women into something that might lead them to arrest, to violence, makes my stomach turn. I have seen the fear in their eyes…

“I do not know, Nyore,” I reply, my voice faltering. “I do not know if I can teach so many. I do not know if I want to. I do not want to be the reason they are hurt… or worse, killed…”

Nyore does not respond right away. She just watches me, as if weighing something in her mind. Then, after a long pause, she says, “I know you do not want that. But sometimes, Xia, you cannot just stay on the sidelines. You have to take action. It is the only way anything will change.”

Her words sting, but they also ring true. I do not have an answer for her. I do not know what the right thing to do is.

I take a long breath, feeling the weight of everything press on me again. The protests, the violence, the women, and the secrets I have learned. I feel lost, unsure of the path forward, unsure of what to decide, and unsure of what Yulin is waiting for me. The moon refuses to make me feel their presence, and the life I had begun to find comfort in has completely disappeared under layers of lies and uncertainty.