//------------------------------// // Movement 4 - Recovery // Story: The Ballad of Maelewano // by Rambling Writer //------------------------------// The days rolled by, the seasons turned; We do not know how long. Things settled to uneasiness Within the zebra throngs. Across the plains the quaggas roamed; They were quite unopposed. Still cut apart, the zebra tribes Could no great threat e’er pose. Kiburi’s leading of the tribe Had a subsistent style. She took no risks and hid them from The quaggas they reviled. They had no hope to fight them off; The best course was to flee. But this course Maele loathed; a coward She would never be. And Maele’s plan of helping tribes Grew into something more. The tribes had always been apart But now, she thought: what for? There were some differences, and yet All zebras seemed the same When you took off some minor things And looked at what remained. But if the tribes could all be one, The quaggas they could best. For numbers were the main advantage The quaggas did possess. A tribe of zebras was quite small Next to a bandit group. All zebras and all quaggas, though? The zebras had more troops. They’d learn each others’ ways and laws And syncretize their clans To drive those roving bandits from The zebras’ grazing lands. But Maele soon found such a thing Was easier said than done. Kiburi kept them to themselves And other tribes still shunned. She never listened to the pleas That came from her old friend For isolation was the means By which she would defend. Still, Maele nursed this small idea And fed it what she knew. It coalesced, took greater form, As her ambition grew. One day, while in the foothills of A lofty mountain high The tribe changed course when they observed A quagga band nearby. But not ’fore Maelewano saw A group of zebras chained. They were the bait the quaggas used In drawing out more prey. So as Kiburi left them there, A plea did Maele strike; She yearned to free the chattel poor For it was good and right. Those were not from their kindred tribe, But zebras still they were. And with more zebras, then their tribe The quaggas could deter. Kiburi, though, she closed her ears, To Maele coldly said: “It isn’t safe, for if we lose, Then we’ll be slaves — or dead!” One reason, too, was personal, For she had recognized Them from the tribe who’d caused the wound From which her mother died. Still Maele pleaded, begged, and wept ’Til she made up her mind: “Kiburi, if you will not help, Then I renounce this tribe! Our zebra kin are suffering And yet you still stand by! Whichever way you spin your words, That can’t be justified!” By now, their arguments had drawn The other zebras’ gaze. ’Twas with an audience they had A parting of their ways. Kiburi took the tribe away While Maele stayed behind. She tried to make a rescue plan, But it escaped her mind. She was but one; how could she help? She had no way to aid. Then, from the path Kiburi took, Returned some warriors staid. They gave to her their brains and brawn For with her they agreed; The quagga bandits must be stopped, The zebras must be freed. Although they were outnumbered still, They now had greater hope And with some luck, they could now put The quaggas on the ropes. They watched their targets, where they camped, And where the sentries stood. With much discussion, work, and hope, They made a plan thought good. Then Maele’s group at midnight came And like the wind they raced. They killed the sentires, every one, And laid the camp to waste. The quaggas were caught unawares; Morale was torn to shreds The few survivors, terrified, Far from the fighting fled. Then Maele and her followers Cast off the old slaves’ bonds And raced into the hills to hide Before the morning dawned. The ex-slaves marveled at this act, So Maele soon explained Why she had freed the foes with which She’d fought upon the plains. “These fractured tribes the quaggas want; It makes us easy prey! But if we stand together strong, We’ll drive them out one day! Our rivalries cannot live on If this is to be true. Forget the past, forgive old hurts, And we can rise anew!” Now, she’d been known by reputation As a shamare great. Yet here she was, quite powerless, Still governing her fate. Tradition said they owed her nothing, But it was soon hanged. For through her words, one could imagine Bandit tribes defanged. They pledged to form another clan, With Maele as their chief. And every slave they came across, They’d do their best to free. They’d let no quagga fetter zebras Or their hills pass through. And so, ’twas with a humor wry They named the tribe “Mbu”. And Maele bade them to ignore The hierarchies old; They could not honor bloodlines if Their pledge they wished to hold. She needed aid from all the best, Regardless of their line. She knew that commoners could have Great genius in their minds. Moqapi was the first of those, Once lowest in her clan. But head tactician she became For brilliant were her plans. The low were high, the high were low, And everything between. Such casual shifting of the castes, The zebras hadn’t seen. But their results spoke for themselves; The second band they hit Was left destroyed by the Mbu’s Great cunning, strength, and wit. They made themselves the guardians Of those green foothills low. All slaves they freed took up their cause; Their tribe did swiftly grow. And when the bandits did avoid The Mbu’s rolling hills, They struck back out onto the plains To harry quaggas still. The quaggas found the tables turned, Their menace gone away; For where they once had stalked the weak, They now became the prey. As Maele’s tribe harassed the quaggas, Quickly did word spread That the Mbu were freeing slaves And leaving bandits dead. Her legend and her stories grew ’Til truth and lies were mixed For zebras, young and old alike, Were by the tale transfixed. She’d hit rock bottom, as had all, Yet never did give in And by her rule, some whispers claimed, A new age would begin. The tribes most small and vulnerable Began to gravitate Towards Maele’s clan; for with her help Perhaps they could be great. Yes, Maele’s acts of doing good Were bloss’ming like a seed. But none could ever dream the route On which this path would lead.