500: An Anthology of Short Stories

Queen Arphixewe stared at her distorted reflection in the bronze mirror. She knew she was a stunning beauty with chocolate-colored skin, eyes so hazel in tint they seemed like two fresh acorns, and a delicate nose that flared slightly into nostrils typical of her royal line. Her plucked eyebrows matched her shaved head, so perfect in shape that chieftains, poets and kings had been known to swear undying fealty and love to it.

The Queen gave a sudden amused laugh at her musings before irritably adjusting the gold brocade shawl to cover that which marred her unrivalled perfection: the stump of her amputated left hand.

Xentla, the Queen’s favorite handmaiden, quick to notice her Queen’s displeasure, said, “Your Royal Majesty, that is a token of your unequalled bravery, so why does it vex you so often?”

Xentla dared speak thus to her Queen because Arphixewe allowed her this license. She had told Xentla on their first meeting, “I want no artifice, flattery, platitudes or obsequious phrases from you. Ever! You’ll be my Speaker of Sins. Fail even once in this duty, and your punishment shall be exile from the Kingdom of Qunqshasi. Do you accept this position, Xentla of the Qweqwa Tribe?”

Without hesitation, Xentla had responded. “Only a fool or a simpleton would reject such an honorable status, and I am neither.”

Queen Arphixewe now stated in measured tones, weighing each word for its suitability before uttering it: “Bravery it might be a testament to, but a reminder of my failure it is as well. Had I not acted in such unforgiveable haste, rushing fierce General Xhanti without considering the level of my fatigue that day on the battlefield, I would not have had to pay this price for my arrogance.”

“Granted, my Queen, that you were indeed arrogant in your belief of your own prowess in the Battle of Mqgobiku,” Xentla started to say, glancing swiftly up at Arphixewe to gauge if she hadn’t perhaps finally overstepped her freedom of speech, but the Queen was calmly waiting for the kneeling maid to continue. “But you were fighting for your people, for us, Your Majesty! When has it become a crime or folly even to have excessive pride in one’s Tribe?”

“Aah, you’re approaching the slimy slope of sycophancy, dear Xentla. Do be careful that you don’t slip and find yourself an outcast living in the boiling heat of the Phumezana Desert,” Queen Arphixewe joked.

Clapping her warrior’s hands sharply together once, she said, “Come, tell me more about this newest suitor who even now waits beyond this Audience Room. Is he at least young and virile, unlike the previous decrepit dotard who had had the temerity to think I would tie myself to him in matrimony simply because he was wealthy?”

“Your Majesty, I think this time you’ll be much more pleased to hear all about this suitor from the man himself. Allow me to say this and this only: he makes my loins sing!”

The other handmaidens tittered, giggling in girlish delight at Xentla’s shameful declaration. The Queen’s curiosity was piqued, especially when she noticed how her personal bodyguards shared stealthy, approving glances. Queen Arphixewe seated herself in a provocative manner on her throne.

She flung her shapely right leg bare to the hip over an arm of the throne; she rested her right arm on the back of the chair while ensuring that the truncated left arm was concealed beneath the shawl. She leaned back against the gem-encrusted throne, thrusting forward her perky breasts covered by a braided leather vest while fully stretching out her left leg. The scanty dark-brown leather skirt barely reached her enticing thighs.

“Let’s see if this wooer can keep his wits about him or be ruled by his undoubtedly lusty nature,” Queen Arphixewe remarked before indicating the guards were to permit the man to enter into her presence.

And what a man he was! Tall, regal and powerful, he strode into the Throne Room. The ladies-in-waiting audibly gasped, many of them nearly swooning at sight of this magnificent male. His broad shoulders were covered by the cured pelt of a lion, leaving his muscular arms bare save for the leather strips wound around each bicep. His massive chest displayed numerous white scars under a curly mat of black hair.

The man’s legs looked as thick as the trunks of small trees. He wore a pair of lace-up sandals that made no noise as he finally came to a stop barely five paces away from Queen Arphixewe’s throne. His head was shaven, but he sported a bristling black beard above a smiling mouth and a rugged face. Queen Arphixewe stared openly at the man’s empty right eye socket.

“Your Majesty,” the stranger said, bowing deeply to the Queen. “A souvenir of a battle which, I must point out, I won,” he stated boldly, grinning mischievously. “I am Prince Kwanga of the Mqikela Kingdom beyond the Ozithandayo Mountains, where Your Majesty’s beauty, bravery and wisdom are legend.”

“What did I tell you? He makes my loins ache!” Xentla stage-whispered to the Queen.

“You would have me show interest in a man physically marred? Consider marriage with a one-eyed Prince who now perhaps has halved sight and intelligence as a consequence?” Arphixewe asked sarcastically.

She could hear and see the shock of her comment ripple throughout the courtiers lining both sides of the Throne Room. They whispered and clicked their tongues in recrimination.

The Queen’s insides roiled in chagrin, for she knew she was the last one to judge somebody based on a disability. She felt like a hypocrite, but she needed to test the Prince.

“My Queen, the absence of one eye has sharpened the sight of the remainder tenfold. A hawk sees less than this here lone eye of mine.”

“Let’s see,” Arphixewe purposely emphasized the word, “just how good your vision is, Prince Kwanga. Describe to me the mural depicted on the right wall of this Throne Room without turning around to look at it,” Queen Arphixewe commanded the Prince.

Without missing a beat, Prince Kwanga said, “Oh, Beauteous One. It is a marvelous mosaic of your lands that spread from this castle to the River Mamlambo on the left and the foothills of the Cloud Mountains on the right. Elephants and buck graze peacefully under the Upside-Down trees, while two eagles soar high above the craggy peaks. In the forefront stands a majestic warrior, her back spear-straight, her gaze firmly fixed upon the horizon. Next to her rests a jet black jaguar.”

Once again, the courtiers mumbled and clicked their tongues or smacked their lips, but this time it was in clear admiration of Prince Kwanga, for he had accurately noted each and every detail of the mural. All of them waited keenly, hardly daring to breathe, for Queen Arphixewe’s reaction.

The Queen’s face broke out in a glorious smile that lit up her features like the first rays of the dawn sun striking the tops of the tall trees of her verdant forest kingdom. Prince Kwanga swayed ever so slightly on his feet.

“Exceptional, Prince Kwanga. I daresay your claim of having a gaze sharper than a hawk’s eye has nothing boastful about it.”

“Your Majesty is too kind,” Prince Kwanga said. Then he surprised Arphixewe and her retinue with his next sentence.

“As you have tested my vision, my Queen, I believe it only fitting that I should similarly test Your Majesty. Not so?” the Prince asked, his single eye twinkling with gaiety, his white-toothed grin causing Arphixewe’s heart to flutter slightly.

“Your Majesty! Stop biting your lip and batting your eyelashes. Answer the Prince!” Xentla hissed in Arphixewe’s ear. Startled out of her reverie, the Queen blinked, hastily clearing her throat to gather her thoughts scattered like errant sheep.

“By all means, Prince Kwanga. You have earned the privilege to test me as you wish. Please,” Queen Arphixewe magnanimously gestured for the Prince to proceed.

“Thank you, Your Majesty. I have a riddle for you, my Queen. Solve it, and I will gladly pledge myself and my kingdom to you, placing it and myself under your sovereignty.”

“And what if I fail to solve it, Prince Kwanga? What then would you deem the price be that I must pay?” Queen Arphixewe asked, an eyebrow arched in amusement.

Smiling even broader, his right cheek moving further up his face with the movement, half covering the empty eye socket, Prince Kwanga said, “Why, Your Majesty, the price would be nothing short of your hand in marriage.”

The assembled royal attendants were immediately abuzz at the Prince’s impudence. Half of them were in favor of his demand; the other half felt vehemently insulted. The Queen lifted her right hand languidly, instantly silencing everyone.

“You are indeed a man supremely confident of himself. It is a good quality for any Prince and Warrior to have. I agree to your terms, Prince Kwanga. Ask your riddle,” Queen Arphixewe commanded the Prince, ignoring the vocal protests of some of her entourage.

“Spirits of our Ancestors guide this foolish woman,” Xentla fervently prayed as she fell to her knees in passionate appeal.

Prince Kwanga had not entered the chamber alone; with him had come seven of his elite warriors as a personal Honor Guard. These five men and two women now surrounded the Prince in a huddled consultation. After three minutes of heated discussion about which riddle would be best to pose to the Queen, they stepped back from their Prince, all of them poker-faced and standing as immobile as stone statues. Giving a polite cough, the brawny, exceedingly handsome Prince turned to face the waiting Queen.

“This then, Your Majesty, is my riddle:

Silky smooth as the bosom of the night,

Brighter than the stars in clear sight.

As courageous as a panther injured,

A loss in body; more in beauty incurred.

Who is this?”

Consternation broke out among those present in the Throne Room. The courtiers whispered urgently to each other while the gaggle of ladies-in-waiting clicked their tongues in confusion. Queen Arphixewe was an island of absolute calm in the storm of sounds whirling about her like a blustering wind.

“Your Majesty,” Prince Kwanga called out in a brief lull in the chaos, “you may have three guesses to solve the riddle, if it pleases you,” he generously said.

Prince Kwanga was captivated by this vision of beauty, this glorious female ruler who already had his heart in thrall. He had heard many tales of her famed beauty, legends of her battle prowess; he had regarded all of them as impossible myths and inflated narratives. However, now that he found himself in her regal presence, he was hard pressed to hold a firm rein on his raging emotions.

“Oh Ancestral Spirits, let her not guess the answer so that I may have her hand in marriage,” he silently sent an impassioned prayer.

Queen Arphixewe’s throaty chuckle nearly undid the control the Prince had on his passions. “You are confident and generous. Such a rare commodity in warriors of your stature, Prince Kwanga. I think though that I shall need only one guess to solve your riddle. Are you ready for my answer, young Prince?” the Queen asked coquettishly.

“I await your answer most eagerly, Your Majesty.”

“It is obvious that the one you are describing in your riddle is none other than Mother Nature,” Queen Arphixewe replied. The courtiers applauded with gusto while the Royal Guards loudly thumped the butts of their spears against the tiled floor.

Prince Kwanga bowed his head as if in deference to Queen Arphixewe’s answer, but then the battle-scarred warrior looked up to meet the Queen’s proud gaze full-on.

“I’m afraid the answer is incorrect, Your Highness. You have two more attempts at solving the riddle, my Queen,” Prince Kwanga said gently.

Queen Arphixewe’s cheeks flared dark red, her embarrassment evident to every eye in the room. In a trice, the Queen recovered her composure. Xentla made to approach the Queen, but Arphixewe lifted an elegant finger, halting the handmaiden in mid-stride.

“Then here is my second answer.”

Just as Arphixewe was about to state that the Prince was referring to the moon, she saw him steal a furtive glance at the shawl covering her missing limb. And the true answer abruptly hit her like a fiery star thrown forcefully down from the heavens by the very first Ancestor himself, Zotyloc.

The Queen’s eyes stretched wide in knowledge; her nostrils flared in shock. Turning her head only slightly, she met Xentla’s gaze and saw that the woman had also stumbled upon the solution to the riddle.

“Prince Kwanga, I commend you on being a noble, honest, gentleman; for having been kind enough to provide me with a clue within the riddle itself. I do believe that I now hold the true answer to it.”

“Your Highness, if it be your wish, please honor the gathered with your second answer.”

“I don’t need a third guess, Prince,” Queen Arphixewe declared, once again causing her courtiers to gasp in alarm. “I am certain that my answer this time shall be indisputably correct,” Arphixewe stated.

“Then, You Majesty, I implore you: keep us no longer in suspense. Reveal to us your final answer, in light of having willingly forfeited your third guess,” Prince Kwanga replied.

“The answer, dear Prince Kwanga, is simple. The one your riddle is referring to is none other than… me,” the Queen finally proclaimed.

A hush descended upon the entire Court. The silence was so replete that the tiny plink of a drop of sweat from the brow of the Prince hitting the floor sounded like a thunderclap.

Into this silence echoed the strong but dismayed voice of Prince Kwanga.

“Your Majesty is… correct.”

Great pandemonium erupted as first the Royal Guards and then the rest of the Court hooted, whistled, clapped, clicked and ululated their delight at the victory of their beloved Queen.

Rising gracefully from her throne, Arphixewe seemed to float down the five steps, so deer-like and soft was her gait. Coming to stand before the crestfallen Prince Kwanga, whose head was bowed in defeat, Arphixewe gently placed a finger under his firm chin and lifted it up to have the Warrior look at her.

“Tell your retinue they may return to the Mqikela Kingdom beyond the Ozithandayo Mountains without their Prince, for you shall remain here with me,” she told the thunderstruck man.

“Am I to be your captive then, Your Majesty?” Prince Kwanga asked forlornly.

“On the contrary, Prince. It is I who am your captive, for you have ensnared my heart, oh husband of mine.”

Grinning from ear to ear, Prince Kwanga gave a long whoop of joy before lifting Arphixewe off her feet, turning her around in circles while the Throne Room reverberated with applause and celebration.

As the Prince placed a flushed Arphixewe back onto her feet, Xentla sidled up to her and whispered, “I knew he’d set your loins on fire!”