Thinking such thoughts, I was wandering at eventide between the great kraal and the river when I came upon old Masuka gathering herbs.
“Greeting, thou holder of the royal spear and the royal shield,” said the old man, looking at me sideways, like a bird, out of his bright eyes. Again I felt uneasy, for his words were exactly those which the King had uttered—his tone mocking and ill-omened.
“Greeting, my father,” I answered, trying to seem unconcerned. “Now we have yet another magician among us—this time a female one.”
“That is so, Untúswa. Ah, ah! what was my ‘word’ to thee? ‘The she-eagle will return and—the alligators shall be fed.’ Did I lie in that?”
“Not so, my father. Truth was there in the word, for it has been shown this day.”
“Your black cow has given good milk, my son. Whau, Untúswa! You should be an isanusi yourself, who did so readily read the way of the Bakoni witch-song. But now great things are to come upon us—upon you: yes—strange things.”
“What is the strangest thing which is to come upon me, my father?” I said, again seeking to pry into the future.
“Ha! The place of the Three Rifts,” he answered, darkly.
“But I know not such a place, my father.”
“Thou wilt know it, Untúswa; thou wilt know it—one day.”