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WEREWOLF

The Origin of Jerbeaua

The gods worship a line drawing
of a woman, in the shadow of the sea,
which goes on writing.

PROLOGUE—The Prophet Speaks

I am Xavyor, prophet of The Titans. Although I have been chosen as the vessel for which the story of the Titans must be told, I am no writer, so forgive any future blunders on my part. My literary proficiency is a work in progress.

Presently, I am locked away in a tiny apartment, in Houston, Texas. I will not be here for long, for the Titans will summon me, soon. This amuses me, still.

Before the Battle of the Planes, there were no Titans, and the idea of anyone summoning me anywhere was absurd, to say the least. Now, it is my lot in life.

Excuse my improper tongue. I keep forgetting. I am now a scribe, a bard. I must maintain a certain composure.

As you may recall, I am dying from a degenerative form of cancer. The doctors at the Texas Medical Center have no idea how to treat my condition, and my diagnosis is fatal. The Titans have come together to see if they can relieve me of the disease.

In the meantime, I must wait here and tie up all of my loose ends. Brandi, my fiancée, is still waiting for me to tell her if I am going to marry her. I haven't paid last months bills (they were due last week, but as you already know, I was detained). Not to mention the fact that there is no guarantee the Titans will be able to cure me. To keep my mind off my troubles, I have been commissioned to record the tale of Jerbeaua, the immortal she-wolf.

For the record, werewolves are not immortal creatures by nature. They grow old and die, like mortal humans, with one difference—they have unbelievable strength when in their beastly form. Jerbeaua, however, is a very special creature.

Jerbeaua was not always immortal. She was a human once, much like me, filled with familial frustrations and unrequited love. Her life, however complicated, is a tale that should be told, so that others may know of the woman who gave up everything to protect life on the first plane of existence. The world will someday need to know how Jerbeaua became what she has become.

I am Xavyor, the prophet and chronicler of The Titans. Let me tell you of a time when gods controlled the earth, and monsters roamed the land…

Chapter ONE—In the Beginning…

The year was 1460 A.D. King Ali of the Songhai Empire, north of the Niger Valley, dominated West Africa, and while the West of the continent of Africa lay in horrific turmoil, the East was comfortable and content. The Europeans invaded the western nations, and were setting up dependent colonies in many countries. The Portuguese, relentless marauders, secured the coast of West Africa under the leadership of the infamous Prince Henry the Navigator.

Invasions of African countries remained unyielding. Prisoners were taken from its many tribes—the Western Bantu, the Mandingos, and the Bemba. From the Ngoni and the Lozi, to the Hutu and the Tutsi. Although having use of iron, the simplistic weaponry of the Shona, Kikuyu, and the Zulu could not compare to the firepower of “the gun.” Even the Arabic nation who dwelled in the area of Mombassa, were under Portuguese subjugation. Only one nation seemed immune.

The Maasai, the nation of no fear, were the only ones who managed to avoid the European invasion. Aggressive warriors, the Maasai struck fear into the hearts of other African tribes. These East African nomads were able to defeat the Bantu tribes, and pilfer their land, long before the Portuguese insinuation, taking control over areas in Kenya and Tanzania. The Ancients—The Maasai.

The Ancients were renowned for their charm, their proficient skill, and their imposing bodily form. The Maasai frightened even the most powerful men.

Maasai were stunning in appearance; dark cocoa skin, muscular limbs, wide noses and sharp bone structure. Living masterpieces, they were, with their high cheekbones, tiny ears, and majestic hands, ripe for killing. Flight of foot and swift of hand, the Ancients was a tribe to be reckoned with, never having lost a battle.

The plight of West Africa began to change, in 1482 when Sao Jorge da Mina—Elmina—was constructed. In time, this exploration would give birth to the Transatlantic Slave Trade. Tribes that were once fierce and undefeated would find it harder to remain safe from seizure. Many men and women would be captured, and sold into servitude.

The Maasai knew nothing of this demonic spoilage. Unable to be controlled due to their warrior spirit, many of the Maasai men and women continued on with their lives, unconcerned with the plight of the West African. In the midst of the pain and suffering of the warring nations and European exploration, family life continued among the Maasai.

One beautifully warm sunlit day, a young Maasai woman, named Sommi, was given in marriage to a Maasai warrior named Jumai. Sommi was merely fourteen years old, while Jumai was twenty-five, but Jumai was rich, possessing a herd of twenty oxen.

On the eve of Sommi’s fifteenth birthday, in the year 1480, Sommi bore Jumai a son. They named the child Ra’lin—a child of the sun.

Ra’lin was a handsome child. Ambitious and fierce, he aggressively attempted to pass the stage of junior warrior long before his time. A Maasai elder found Ra'lin, one noonday, rushing toward a female lion as she searched for food. The boy's spear was extended. The elder summoned Jumai, who rushed to his son's aid. Jumai explained to Ra'lin that it was not time for him to attempt such a feat. He was far too young, and would surely be defeated.

That night, Sommi stared into her son's eyes as he quaked with frustration from having been prevented from attacking the lion. She could see the yearning in his soul, and could foresee that once her son passed through the stages of manhood, he would be more than a strong senior warrior like his father. Ra'lin was destined for greatness.

At the end of Ra’lin's seventh year of life, Jumai and Sommi were taken captive by a group of West Africans while tending their herd. The warrior and his family had been preparing for the morning cattle bloodletting, a tradition of the Maasai who were known for drinking the milk of cattle mixed with blood. The kidnappers, pawns of the conquistadors, traveled the continent during the hours of darkness to capture anyone who appeared helpless so as to hand them over to their Portuguese commander.

The Maasai family was unprepared. Jumai fought with all of his might, managing to spear more than one of his attackers. He fought to no avail, as he was coffled and taken toward the Atlantic, never to be seen again. Sommi and Ra'lin were shoved into separate large sacks. The ends of the sacks were tied tightly with rope, and neither Sommi nor her son was able to escape.

The West African marauders headed west, where Sommi witnessed unspeakable horrors. They crossed paths with the Portuguese militia, who blew metal into African flesh with their mighty artillery, sparing only those who were willing to serve them. Sommi pleaded with her African captors, begging for her and her son to be set free, petitioning them to let her go back to her husband's family who lived within the circle of her kraal.

Her abductors refused. Sommi held Ra’lin tight against her breast. She screamed to the soldiers in Maa, but they ignored her pleas.

A Portuguese soldier ran toward her, his rifle hung by a shoulder strap and lay against his back. The soldier tore Ra’lin from Sommi's embrace. Flinging Ra’lin under his left arm, the soldier hit Sommi with a stern blow, knocking her to the ground.

Ra’lin was heaved into the arms of another soldier, who ran away with the boy. Instead of shooting Sommi, the soldier who assaulted her hoisted her from the ground. Powerful was this man who carried Sommi away from the battle.

Sommi was coffled and tied to the back of a horse, where she remained while the soldiers continued their onslaught. Women were raped and beaten right before Sommi’s eyes. As they were violated over and over by numerous men, and eventually left for dead, Sommi wept, for she could do nothing to help them.

Children were taken to a Portuguese encampment and immediately put to work. A small number of women and children were uncooperative, fighting off the Portuguese with all the strength they could muster. These rebels were executed for their insolence. Sommi, on the other hand, behaved docile and obligingly thus insuring her own survival.

Although she was one of the Ancients, Sommi believed this was no time for arrogance. Her only hunger was to be with Ra’lin again—to hold her son in her arms. She had to stay alive, if only for him.

Those captured were taken to stations, where the soldiers prepared them for labor. It was at this station, Fort Qandisa, where Sommi fell into the hands of a Dutchman named Bartelmus Maesdam.

Unusual was this man—Maesdam. A man from a land divided by the feuding provinces and a dominating church, Maesdam was wealthy and owned some of the only land in Holland that failed to be confiscated by the church. He traveled the world looking not for treasure, but for some unrequited joy.

Maesdam, so filled with heartache, daily avoided returning to his homeland. The Black Death swept through the region of his native soil, destroying most of the life that lay in its path. Maesdam’s family lacked immunity. The poor man buried his wife and child only a month before his expedition to Africa. The journey was his way of suppressing his pain.

After a year of exploration, he stumbled upon the Portuguese settlement of Qandisa, and relinquished a great deal of his own gold for the privilege of staying in the area.

The mercenaries dragged Sommi into the fort, and suddenly Maesdam’s heart began to race. Their eyes met, and instantly he discerned Sommi’s pain. Years seemed to pass in only a few moments, and as the tears rolled from Sommi’s dark eyes, Maesdam knew he had to have her for his own.

The trade of human stock was not unusual, but it had not yet truly begun between Europe and Africa. One quick word with the fort captain, and a bag of gold later, Maesdam was able to take possession of the young Maasai woman, immediately attempting to comfort her. Although taken aback by his kindness, she willingly fell into his arms.

The Europeans did not invade her Eastern lands of Kenya and Tanzania until the late 1700's, so the Ancients did not see one of fair skin until the 1800's. Sommi was therefore the first of her people to ever see a man such as Maesdam.

Sommi was amazed by Maesdam's pallid coloring, his bright colored eyes, and his thin lips. She stroked his hair, which lay straight against his head. He was such an amazing creature! She imagined him to be her god Engai.

Without uttering a word, staring longingly into Maesdam’s green eyes, Sommi told her rescuer of her woe. Maesdam sighed.

“I will take care of you,” Maesdam promised. He took Sommi back to his settlement in the Niger Valley. There he introduced her to his servants, making it very clear that Sommi was to be treated with great care.

Although three decades older than Sommi, Maesdam found pleasure in being near the young woman, for she was matronly and wise. He was well educated, and spiritually in tune with Sommi’s needs. Whatever Sommi desired, she received without so much as a word uttered from her full pouty lips.

It was a sweltering afternoon; the day Maesdam took Sommi to his house in the valley. Sommi was allowed to bathe in a nearby stream. Maesdam observed her. He watched as the water from her rag rolled from her neck down her smooth, russet back. Consumed with passion, Maesdam lowered his suspenders, as he began to remove his clothing. He had to have her, that very moment.

Maesdam wrapped his arms around Sommi, and kissed her neck. The young woman froze, knowing what was to come, realizing there was nothing she could do to stop the assault. He entered her from behind, resting his strong chest against her back as he thrust his rigid manhood inside of her violently. Tears rolled down Sommi's cheeks as she thought of her beloved Jumai. He would never be with her again. Maesdam's touch was all she would ever know for the rest of her life.

Maesdam took an interest in making Sommi’s life productive as he commissioned a governess to teach her to read and write. Sommi was given a special station, as keeper of hearth—servant of the home—and in time, she learned Maesdam's language and developed a special connection with her new family. She was comfortable, but not happy.

It was the night of Maesdam’s Winter Solstice gathering when she asked for him. Maesdam was entertaining some of the Portuguese settlers, for the purpose of increasing his business. Maesdam and his guests were filled with wine and were in good spirits. Sommi, carrying a flask, was refilling the men’s empty glasses when Maesdam asked the woman, in a drunken daze, “My beautiful Sommi—mistress of the hearth—if you could have anything in the world, my darling, what would you desire?”

Sommi replied without hesitation, "I would like to see my son again. We were torn apart before you found me and I miss him dreadfully."

Maesdam, filled with wine, consumed with passion and the spirit of the Winter Solstice, felt obligated to keep his word. He searched each nearby commune and each far away village, but there was no sign of the Maasai child. It was not until he made a deal with a Portuguese mercenary on the eve of the New Year, that he found Ra’lin.

The child had been sent to Northern Africa, the land of the Moors, for reasons unknown. Maesdam sent his loyal servants to attain the child who was purchased for a significant amount of gold and precious stones.

It was a starry night, and Sommi stared up at the midnight sky. She dreamed of holding Ra’lin, dreamed of kissing his little hands and round cheeks. Her observation was completely unexpected. She saw her master as he escorted an eight-year-old boy across the open grassy plain toward the porch where she sat in disbelief.

Ra'lin raced into Sommi's arms. She looked up at Maesdam knowing she would owe him her life, and her love, from that moment on.

However, things would not go well between the Maasai boy and the Dutchman.

In 1488, from Maesdam and Sommi's love affair, a girl child was born. Sommi called her Osun—Maa for ‘love.”

Ra'lin raced through the house yelling at the top of his lungs. His baby sister was born! There could be no happier child! Sommi was pleased as she placed the baby in the young boy's arms.

“This is your sister, Ra'lin,” Sommi said as she stroked the boy’s head, “You must take care of her. She will love you more than anything, for you are her brother. You are her blood.”

Ra'lin looked at the baby and smiled. He believed he would love her forever.

The night the child was born, Maesdam paced the floor, struck dumb with joy. Maesdam could admit he loved Sommi more than life, but only in his heart. Having regular contact with family and friends in his native land, he dare not tell them of his true feelings for the African woman.

Most of all, he hated the fact that she had a child with another man. It mattered not that the man was her husband. The thought of the warrior Maasai ever having touched Sommi made the Dutchman cringe, and he felt an equal dislike for the warrior's son.

With this realization, Maesdam acknowledged he and Sommi would never be able to love each other wholesouled. The world could never know of his love for the woman. Not if he expected to keep his prominence in his native land.

Their daughter would serve as the only evidence of their love—the only genuine proof of the couple’s devotion. The girl would live her life torn between two worlds—two identities—that of her Dutch father and her Maasai mother.

Maesdam finally sat down. After heavy contemplation, he made an alternate decision concerning his daughter’s name. She would not be called Osun. She would be named after the ancient goddess of virgins and warriors—the goddess Jerbeaua—who never knew true love, for she had the body of a beautiful woman but the head of a coyote. No man would admit to loving her because of her animal countenance, while no beast would stand beside her because of her human form.

Maesdam stormed over to his desk, and etched the name of the child in the servant log—Jerbeaua. He let the ink dry then shuffled the papers of the log. At that very moment, his daughter’s fate would be sealed forever, and Maesdam would never know.

Maesdam, curious as to Sommi's level of loyalty, offered Sommi her freedom from his servitude presenting her with sufficient riches and even a servant to take wherever she wished to go. He wanted to know if he truly possessed her.

While filled with the desire to go back to Tanzania, back to the tribe of Ancients she adored, Sommi could not deny her love for Maesdam. Instead of choosing to return to her people, she begged to remain in Maesdam's home as a servant.

Maesdam embraced Sommi, pleased with her loyalty.

Around the corner stood the little Maasai, who stared at his mother, his eyes filled with rage. Ra'lin wanted his freedom. He wanted to be with his people and his father. How could his mother forsake what she had always known? Even though he was but a boy, Ra'lin realized his life would never be as he dreamed. He would not have the strong mother he deserved or the warrior father he worshipped. The pale skinned man hated him. The boy could tell instinctually. Children can always tell.

Maesdam glanced over Sommi's shoulder. Witnessing the pain in Ra'lin’s eyes, Maesdam sneered.

“Your father may have had her first,” Maesdam thought as he glared at the youngster, “but she belongs to me.”

Ra'lin knew, that day he had lost his mother forever.

MAASAI ASSOCIATION The HOLLAND Ring