The Lies of the Ajungo (Forever Desert #1)

by Moses Ose Utomi

“Seeing,” they told him at the beginning of every training session, “is conviction.” The power came from translating understanding into belief, from standing so firmly in one’s knowledge of the world that the knowledge itself became an armor—and a weapon. The more Seers knew, and the stronger their belief in what they knew, the more powerfully they could absorb and channel the energies around them.

But there was a cost to Seeing. Whatever damage he inflicted, he felt himself. A large part of a Seer’s training was numbing oneself to the sensations of the world—to joy

and sorrow, anguish and euphoria alike. “Lami was not always so calm,” Asilah had explained. “She was a fiery girl. But as she learned to See, she had to numb herself to protect against the pain.”

“All power has a price, young Tutu,” Funme warned. “Only give...

“Are you deaf too, you—” the guard began, but the blunt end of the Blind Man’s staff took him in the throat. He collapsed to the ground, gasping, and the Blind Man finished him with a blow to the head. Asilah let out a shrill ululation as her camel sprang forward, charging down the dune and into the valley. She wielded a new, makeshift whip that she’d fashioned out of Bango’s leather straps. Funme was just a step behind her, gripping the reins with her remaining hand. Tutu

They were equally overwhelming—the venom of disgust and the conflagration of anger; the sad realization of his oppressor’s depravity and the deep, welling lust for revenge.

This death felt good. Death had always seemed like something that only happened to innocents, but this woman wasn’t innocent at all. Nor were her guards. They were guilty, and cruel, and the sight of their bodies sprawled in the sand was as refreshing as a long draught of crisp, cool water.

“Is this what the Ajungo hate so much?” she asked, wiping drip from her nose and sniffling. “All we want is to be happy. To enjoy those we love. Is this what they work with so much passion to take from us? Can their greed not be satisfied?”

“Young Tutu, I thought you were clever,” the Blind Man said sharply. “Have you ever seen Ajungo? Have you ever heard the drums of Ajungo soldiers in the distance? Have you ever smelled Ajungo fires on the wind? Of course you understand.” Funme put her arm fully around him, drew him close. “There is no Ajungo,” she said gently. “There has never been. Only our own obas. Only us.”

In the silence that ensued, Tutu realized that his time in the desert was at an end. The nights spent traveling beneath the bald-faced moon, the delicate days hidden from the sun. The campfire stories and songs at sunrise. Sparring sessions as the jackals watched silently from atop distant dunes. Sleeping like tomorrow was promised, a belly full of water, a head full of dreams.

The soldiers leveled their spears and took up battle stances, waiting for the command. They were willing to kill for their oba. For this woman and her co-conspirators, who were responsible for the misery of the world. Maybe they didn’t know the truth. Maybe they did. Tutu didn’t know which was worse.

Beneath the Palace of Lies, stored in the plateau atop which it was built, rippled a reservoir of crisp, cool water. Long, thick tree roots spidered across the surface of the water, drinking it in at dozens of points.

But he already had a plan of his own. He didn’t need Funme’s companionship anymore. He didn’t need anyone but himself.

Sad to see the rejection of community here