The king of a western kingdom was seated on his magnificent throne with rows of his hundreds of advisors on either side. An issue had just come up for discussion and yet no acceptable solution had been put forth. Lots of ideas had been proposed by various people but none was grand enough for the great king Lyampolo. The issue at hand was the great vast pastured plain to the east with a river through its middle. For centuries, this western kingdom and a central kingdom had continually been at war for that territory. In the beginning, it had been a matter of survival because both kingdoms were going through a period of severe drought and yet the plain remained green. Control over the land shifted from kingdom to kingdom over very many years. Over time, the drought came to pass but the wars went on as a matter of pride. Generations passed. The original reason for the wars was forgotten. But the wars were still fought. That was the issue the great king Lyampolo wanted to be resolved once and for all. He imagined that he would at once rise from great king to god king were he to win the hundred year war in a grand way. His advisors were all proving to be massive disappointments when someone walked into the Hall.
He was a very tall intimidating man. A single glance would give you an idea who he was if you had ever laid eyes on the great king Lyampolo. The man was Gankambwe, the great king's son-one among hundreds.
'Boy,' the king shouted, 'you better have a very compelling reason for venturing into these halls in the middle of a very important discussion.'
'I do, oh great king.' Gankambwe responded and bowed.
'Arise and speak up!' the great king bade him.
'It's about the war of a hundred years for the great plain.' Gankambwe began, 'I have a plan that will ensure a grand victory for your greatness.'
'Do you indeed?' wondered the great king, 'Then I should have you advise me instead of these idiots. And their heads should be gifted to the maggots.'
The great king proceeded to laugh as if he had made the greatest joke of all time. He often did laugh after making such gory statements but his advisors were too scared to laugh with him. It was impossible to tell when he was just joking or making a proclamation.
'Go on, let us hear your plan.' He said to Gankambwe.
'In the empty land near the great plain, we should build a city.' Gankambwe began. Already, the great king liked what he was hearing.
The plan involved building a grand city near the plain and then filling it up with citizens, mostly slaves captured from nearby kingdoms. The city would have a replica of the palace and the barracks. They would then install a decoy king and soldiers in the barracks. Rumours would then be spread in the central kingdom about how the western kingdom had shifted its capital closer to the plain. With this city in place, it would be easy enough for the rumours to be confirmed as true. Soon, the central kingdom would attack the 'new' capital. Their victory would be assured and overwhelming because unbeknownst to them, even the western soldiers positioned in the decoy city shall work to ensure the city is lost. Regarding the decoy king, there can be two expected outcomes; either he will be killed in battle or he will be captured. In case he is killed, the plan succeeds. If he is captured, he shall agree to peace terms surrendering the plain and agreeing to shift his capital far away. In either case, the central kingdom shall launch huge celebrations marking such a hugely momentous victory and that's when the western kingdom will launch its attack.
It was a terrible plan by all measures. All the king's advisors hoped it would be rejected but that might have been motivated by their desire to retain their heads. Everyone had their opinion. The only opinion that actually mattered remained unknown for a little while.
'That is a grand plan.' proclaimed the king. 'It sounds like it might fail. Will you put up your head for it?'
'I will.' Gankambwe answered without a hint of hesitation.
'Very well.' the king reacted excitedly, 'you may actualise it. When that city is built, take all these idiot advisors. Perhaps they'll serve a purpose there.'
It took about three months to build and populate the city. As per the king's instructions, all his advisors were place in the decoy palace with the false king. The presence of the advisors must have lent a lot of authenticity to the whole act when Welaba stormed the fake palace after slaughtering thousands of the western kingdom's 'warriors'.
'Will you leave this land or die?' Welaba put it quite plainly for them all. They were trembling in the presence of the great warrior, Welaba. The 'king' was shaking more than all the others. Welaba should have sensed that something wasn't right but he was too kind and not very intelligent-naive.
'We shall leave.' They responded in unison. Welaba let the cowardly 'king' and his advisors walk out of the city before he burned it to the ground. As he watched it crumble, he believed the hundred year war had ended in victory for his kingdom. He could not have guessed that the exact opposite had just occurred.
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The thing that rolled out of the palm leaf bag extinguished all hope in the king's heart. Tears flowed from his eyes as if rivers. Sola fainted and fell to the ground. Mazima almost lost his mind. Welaba's decapitated head felt like divine punishment as it hit the ground from the plan leaf bag.
'We let you have a little victory just so we could win the hundred year war.' The tall man spoke, 'That war is now over. All that's left is a little retribution for the thousands killed in your names near the great plain.'
At the tall man's signal, all the kingdom's drunken warriors were let into the country where the king and his family were kneeling. The sight of the king's tears and Welaba's head sobered up the drunkest of the warriors. It was as if he had not walked in between rows of adoring subjects the day before. He was just a man, heartbroken, with no authority over his destiny or anyone else's.
A platform was built with protruding stakes. Firewood was stacked underneath it. The warriors watched as everything was set up. They were then matched onto the platform and tied up, five to each stake. At the end of it all, two hundred of the one thousand stakes were left unused.
'It appears your bad omen continues, your majesty.' the tall man mocked the king, 'We are one thousand people short. Do you know what that means?'
The tall man held the chin in his hand. The king stared at the ground hollowly.
'It means,' explained the tall man, 'We're going to burn some nobles along with the warriors.'
He thus sent his men to capture residents of the most affluent homesteads. In a few hours, the deficit had been found and added to the pure. There, they would burn together with their king, his wife Sola and their son, Mazima.
At the tall man's signal, fires were lit at various points. The platform was soon like a raft afloat on a raging sea of fire. The screams of the burning men could be heard at the very edges of the kingdom. The flames rose many metres into the sky and through the night. Thousands of voices were heard long after they had gone silent but not the king's voice. Once the king was done crying for his son, he was done crying. He had lost all that he could lose. He was aware that he had brought shame upon the memory of the great god king and yet he could not cry for ashes of an impossible dream.