By Joshua Vise – July 24, 2024

Published in Dead Girls Walking: The Purple Volume by Wicked Shadow Press. Lulu: Paperback or EPUB

The relationship that exists between the Kwatalo people and lions has always been one of mutual antagonism and fear, stretching deep into the recesses of Kwatalo oral tradition.  Stories were told of the silent predators sneaking into the huts of sleeping individuals and carrying them away without a sound, or of farmers being stalked by prides as they tended to their herds of cattle and sheep.  The lion’s incomparable strength and hunting prowess inspired Animist beliefs within the region, but unlike many other Ethiopian tribal groups, the Kwatalo felt no admiration for them.  Instead, they considered them devil-spirits embodied in living flesh, repulsive animals that would shamelessly kill their cubs if it benefited them.  To the Kwatalo people, killing a lion was akin to conquering evil.

It had been a generation since anyone had seen a lion near Dushetalo, the largest Kwatalo village in western Ethiopia, and the people of Dushetalo viewed this as yet another benefit of the slow encroachment of modernity into the region.  New construction techniques allowed for larger and more stable buildings made of concrete rather than thatch.  A local health clinic, the first of its kind in fifty kilometers, provided care and treatment for the region’s most common illnesses, and the generator that powered it was able to deliver excess energy to much of the surrounding area.  Household creature comforts such as a television could now be found in Dushetalo, though they were still a rare novelty.  As life slowly improved for the Kwatalo, the stories of the once feared cat began to diminish in power and immediacy.  Even the eldest residents for whom lions had been a living scourge rather than a shadowy possibility told the tales infrequently and reluctantly, just as eager as their younger counterparts to embrace a new world where that particular nightmare no longer existed.

Despite this push towards the future, ancient beliefs, values, and customs do not simply disappear.  The role of tribal chieftain had long ago become a position devoid of any practical responsibility, and yet Eskender Ambasa wore it with pride.  To him, inheriting the title was not merely to inherit a legacy, but to act as a living representation of the proud traditions of the Kwatalo people.  When not serving in his capacity as a local governmental administrator, he served his people directly, officiating traditional weddings, resolving minor disputes between neighbors, and instructing the younger members of the tribe in the customs of their ancestors.  Ambasa’s selfless enthusiasm, sense of fairness, hard work, and patience made him both effective and beloved among the residents of Dushetalo, and the entire village celebrated when he and his wife Ayana announced the birth of their first child, a son that they named Desta.  The arrival of a boy meant a future tribal chieftain, securing Kwatalo culture for another generation.  Well-wishers arrived in front of Eskender’s home, each waiting patiently just outside the front door for their turn to congratulate the newest parents in the village.

 Eskender’s sense of jubilation accompanying the announcement of his first child was cut short, though, when his best friend Berhanu pulled him aside.

“Eskender,” Berhanu began.

“What is it, my friend?” answered Ambasa.  He wore a large grin, his mood still high after the successful birth of Desta.

“There may be a lioness in the camp.”

At that revelation, Eskender’s eyes lost some of their shine, though he still continued to grin, as if expecting this statement to be the setup for some kind of joke.

“What?”

“Mengesha found the tracks near the Westroad entrance,” elaborated Berhanu.

Though the village was small enough that streets were unnamed, the roads exiting the village in each of the cardinal directions were colloquially referred to as Northroad, Southroad, Eastroad, and Westroad.

“Did he see a lioness?” asked Eskender, lowering his voice.  “Did anyone see?”

“No, just the prints.”

“Then how does he know it is a lioness?”

“They’re the right size.  The size of a fist,” related Berhanu, holding his fist up as if confirming the measurements.

Eskender’s smile disappeared, and his forehead wrinkled as he thought of a way to excuse himself from the crowd without arousing suspicion.

“You must take me to them.”

“That’s why I’m here,” said Berhanu.

“Good…”

“No, you don’t understand,” interrupted Berhanu.  “I didn’t come here to tell you about the prints.”

Eskender felt a twinge of discombobulation as Berhanu took him by the shoulder and led him around the corner of his home.

 “I was following them.  See?”

In the dirt road that ran along the side of Eskender’s home, a clear set of tracks could be seen, stopping just underneath the bedroom windowsill.

*****

That night, several groups of young men formed security patrols.  They lit bonfires on the main roads just outside of the village in the hopes that the lioness would be deterred from reentering.  In the yellow light of the fires, the men talked excitedly amongst each other.  Some wished to see for themselves a wild example of the beast that had struck such fear into the hearts of their ancestors.  Others longed for a chance to kill the lioness, and their minds conjured images of the fame and prosperity they would receive at having accomplished a feat not achieved in a generation.  Still others hoped that this wandering menace would follow a path away from Dushetalo and never return.  Their conversations ran long into the night, until the first rays of dawn began to color the sky. 

As tendrils of daylight stretched upwards from the horizon, one particular group of young guardians made a horrible discovery.  A new line of fresh paw prints had been laid, and whatever had made them had marched directly through their overnight encampment and deeper into the village.  Tracing the tracks only led to more confusion, as following the prints in either direction led the men to Eskender’s home, where they inexplicably began and ended.  Deep claw marks on the windowsill were the only other evidence of the lioness’s presence, apparently made when she had scaled the side of Eskender’s home.  None of the young men had heard or seen the elusive creature as it crept past their bonfire, nor had Eskender or his family heard the lioness if she had indeed clawed her way onto the roof.

Now quite alarmed, and concerned for the welfare of his family, Eskender took drastic measures.  Breaking with traditional practices, he had Ayana and Desta moved into Dushetalo’s clinic.  He then asked to meet with the respected members of the tribal council.  A lioness in the village was cause enough to call a meeting, let alone one that moved like a ghost and seemed to target him specifically.  The tribal council rarely met to discuss practical matters, and so the entire village was abuzz, rumors and speculation dancing across everyone’s lips as they convened in Ambasa’s home.

The seven men sat in a semicircle on the floor as Eskender served strong Ethiopian coffee from a traditional Jebena pot.  Once everyone was served, Ambasa joined them on the floor, where the conversation immediately turned to the topic of the lioness.

“Thank you for meeting with me,” said Eskender, nodding respectfully in the direction of the group.  “I believe you all are aware of the situation, one that Dushetalo has not faced in my lifetime.”

“That is correct,” nodded Sehay Tebeb.

The eldest member of the council, Sehay had come of age at a time when lion attacks, though rare, still occurred, and he was the only one of the group to have direct, firsthand experience of the measures that should be taken in such a case.

“So the question becomes one of action,” chimed Jember Tafari, another respected elder.  “What do we do in a case like this?”

“As to that, I defer to Sehay,” Ambasa stated.  “He has the most experience with the matter.”

“My experience,” admitted Sehay, “was simply to be alive at that time.  I didn’t have any role in the hunts.”

“Still, that is more experience than any of us has,” added Dawit Baati.  He swept his hand over the crowd, gesturing to all of the assembled men.  “And it seems to be the right place to start.”

“Sehay, what do you remember from when you were a child? What did the village do to protect itself?”

Sehay scratched the back of his head and he shifted position uncomfortably, almost as if trying to coax his memories out from his unconscious.

“I remember the hunters.  They would go out if the livestock were being attacked.  But as to lions in the village, I can’t recall one ever staying,” admitted Sehay.  “They were too fearful to want to stay.”

“So, as long as we keep the fires going and stay inside, she is likely to move on,” maintained Eskender.

Everyone nodded in agreement.

“The only reason she would remain, then, is if she were sick,” replied Jiraa Makda, the youngest member of the council aside from Eskender.

“I believe so,” said Sehay.  “And if she were sick, she could be easily captured or killed.”

“It is settled then,” pronounced Ambasa.  “We will continue to light the fires and advise people to stay indoors.  Anyone needing to leave their home should move in groups.”

*****

The earthy smell of burning wood wafted through the streets of Dushetalo.  For most, this evoked warm memories of bread and coffee, of guests and conversation.  Eskender felt none of this as he scanned the village.  As the ring of bonfires cast an orange glow on the night sky, his thoughts turned to Desta, his young son, and this strange threat that his family faced.  While most new parents feel a nervousness borne of self-doubt, Eskender’s anxiety was tinged with the fear of the unknown, and he offered a silent prayer to his ancestors that this burden be removed from his heart.  In the hazy darkness, Eskender found his prayer answered only by the sound of a blood-chilling scream.

A small crowd had already formed by the time Ambasa arrived at the scene.  One of the young men who had responded first to the terrible cry stood near the entrance to a small grass hut, waving his hands and gesticulating wildly, telling people to keep their distance while waiting for other members of the security patrol to arrive.

“What happened?” asked Eskender, though he could feel the answer to his own question in his bones.

“It’s Jember…” the man began as he took Eskender by the arm and led him into the hut.  “The lioness.  She’s killed him.”

Jember, the man whom Eskender had seen that very afternoon, lay broken in the center of his room.  Flames from the small fire in his fire pit leapt and sparked, and the eerie shadows it cast across the floor made it appear as if Jember’s body were writhing in agony, though the deep gash across his chest and thigh removed any doubt that he was dead.  As Eskender leaned over Jember’s corpse and studied the wounds, his own heart seemed to sink within his chest.  This man was a friend and a mentor, one who had been present at his own birth.  Now, he lay dead, cut down by a scourge that Eskender had yet to see. 

Somehow, Eskender felt that he was responsible for this terrible loss, though nobody would agree with that sentiment.  He emerged from the simple hut, his face weary and tired, and confirmed to the assembled crowd the death of Jember and the presence of a lioness within Dushetalo.  While most had already come to this conclusion, having their suspicions verified sent a ripple of anxious excitement through the audience.  Ambasa asked for several helpers.  Four men would escort Jember’s body to the clinic, where it would be stored until funeral arrangements could be made.  Another pair would join Eskender and Berhanu in scouring the area, looking for any evidence of the lioness’s whereabouts.  The remaining members of the crowd were to return home immediately, informing any neighbors on their way to remain indoors until further instructions were given.

Berhanu was the first to spot the new set of paw prints.  By this time, the moon had risen high into the sky, and each track appeared along the dusty road as clearly as craters on the moon itself.  The trail cut a circuitous route through the town, sometimes following the main roads, occasionally detouring through a grassy patch, often passing extremely close to occupied homes.  As the men followed, they scanned as far ahead as the full moon would allow them to, staying alert for any sign of the lioness.  Everyone’s nerves were rattled, and the group stopped several times in their pursuit as any glint in the night took on the aspect of a pair of glowing eyes.

In a flash, the creature was upon them, materializing out of thin air as if conjured by the wind itself.  The lioness leapt past Eskender, knocking him to the ground.  She sunk her teeth and claws into Berhanu, while the other men scattered amid the cries for help from the still-living victim.  She ripped and tore, and the spattered blood on the dirt road appeared both silver and black as it reflected the night sky.  Her prey firmly in her grip, she turned her gaze to Ambasa.  Chills ran across his shoulders and down his arms as the lioness stared into his soul.  The moment lingered, and Ambasa’s heightened senses noticed every detail.  Steam shot from her nostrils and the corners of her mouth, curling over and around the body still in her jaws.  Her glossy coat shone in the moonlight, surrounding her in a shimmering aura.

Eskender’s sense of time seemed to fail him as his other senses heightened, and while he wasn’t aware of whether this terrible pause lasted seconds or minutes, he was very much aware that the aura around the lioness was increasing in intensity, until suddenly she disappeared.  No longer held aloft by the fearsome beast, Berhanu’s torn corpse hit the ground heavily.  Eskender scrambled to his side, but there was nothing he could do.  Tears began to well in the corner of his eyes as he raised them from the crumpled remains of his friend, just in time to notice that though he could no longer see the lioness, he could still see the paw prints she made as she ran away.

*****

The next day, the remaining members of the tribal council met at the clinic to view the bodies and begin preparations for a joint funeral.  Eskender, though present, tuned out most of the conversations around him, only responding when addressed directly.  The shock of witnessing an attack left him numb, and an overwhelming number of random concerns overcame his ability to focus on anything but his own inner turmoil.  The most preoccupying thought, the one he found himself turning to again and again, was this; It could have been me.  Desta would never have known me.  It could have been me.

The rest of the council was caught up in their own difficult line of questioning.  Why hadn’t the lioness carried either of her victims away?  How was she able to move around the village without attracting attention?  Had she really dissipated, as Eskender reported seeing, or was he the victim of some fear-induced hallucination?

Jember’s case was especially perplexing.  Even in times when lions were much more common, they would rarely enter an occupied hut, especially one with a cooking fire lit.  When they did, it was to carry off a victim for food, not to simply kill and disappear.  Jember’s body had no visible tooth marks, meaning that this lioness had entered the hut, ignored the fire, killed Jember using only her claws, and then escaped without attempting to drag the corpse with her.  Moreover, she had accomplished all of this without being detected. 

Eskender related his experience from the night before, detailing how he and the young men had followed the tracks, how the lioness had attacked out of nowhere, and how she had disappeared while still leaving tracks behind. 

“Can there be any reason this creature is targeting you,” asked Sehay after Eskender had finished his story.

“What do you mean ‘targeting’ me?” asked Eskender.

“Simply that since the arrival of the lioness, there has been a connection between it and you,” began Sehay as he stood slowly from his chair.  “Its prints have led to your home.  It attacked you in the street.”

“If it was targeting me, it would have killed me last night,” Ambasa pointed out, his voice betraying a hint of aggravation at the idea that he could be in any way responsible for the presence of the lioness.

“True,” said Sehay.  “If she wanted to kill you.”

“What else could she want?”

“I don’t know,” answered Sehay.  “But I fear that she will linger in Dushetalo until we find out.”

“So in times past,” probed Eskender.  “What would the Kwatalo have done?”

Sehay scratched his neck as he considered the problem.

“None of these details make sense in the context of a lioness’s behavior,” he stated.  “Perhaps it is time we consider that we are dealing with something much more serious.”

*****

Freole Ibsitu stepped out of her meager hut and into the light of the setting sun.  Like many of Dushetalo’s oldest residents, she found that she preferred the traditional gojo bet, or house of grass, over the modern buildings.  For her, it was a joy to wake up to the smell of dried straw, serenaded by the soft lowing of the small herd of milk cows that she still cared for.

Living on the outskirts of Dushetalo, Ibsitu rarely had visitors, but her power as a zār bori practitioner meant that the ones she did receive always had a purpose.  The steady influx of outside influence from the modern world had distanced the younger generation from the idea of spirit possession.  To them, the zār spirit was a superstition and a remnant of a backwards, primitive time.  They accused exorcists like Freole of preying on the deluded and mentally ill.  Still, no amount of modern thinking could convince the most senior members of the community that the zār was anything but real, and people spoke of them in hushed tones, if at all, lest they inadvertently summon one. 

The true believers viewed Ibsitu as a mixed blessing, as most zār bori practitioners were exceedingly eccentric.  It was thought that to have one practitioner in a village was a blessing, but to have two was a curse.  However, Ibsitu’s influence over the spirit world belied her natural, friendly demeanor.  She greeted Sehay and Eskender warmly, and welcomed them into her home for a ceremonial cup of coffee.  Having roasted and poured out the first cup, she sat with them on the floor.  Her guests wasted no time in getting straight to the point.

“There is a zār in the village,” Sehay declared.

“Ah,” said Freole knowingly.  “Have you seen it?”

“Eskender has,” said Sehay, gesturing to Ambasa, who nodded in confirmation.

“And who has the zār afflicted?”

“We don’t know,” answered Eskender.

“The zār spirit roams freely, but resides in a vessel, and this vessel takes on the characteristics of the invading spirit.  You cannot have a zār without a vessel host.  That is who you must find.  Make offerings to the spirit when inhabiting the vessel, and the zār will leave.”

She nodded.  The aroma of coffee and incense increased as she poured out the second serving from the jebena.

“This zār is different, I think,” stated Sehay cautiously, nodding as he politely accepted the second cup.

“How so?” asked Freole, passing the second cup to Ambasa.

“This zār is in the form of a lioness,” answered Eskender.

Ibsitu’s eyebrows immediately raised, her forehead creasing with severity.

“And you have seen this?” she probed.

“Yes,” said Eskender.

“What did you see?”

“The lioness appeared from nowhere and attacked our group.  After killing one, she became invisible, though I could see new footprints being made as she ran away.”

Ibsitu scowled.  Deep lines materialized along the corners of her mouth before she spoke again.

“An animal zār is much rarer, and potentially more severe.  It cannot be placated like the human spirit.  Instead, the zār will flee when the vessel is destroyed.”

“To destroy the vessel…” began Sehay.  “Doesn’t that mean…”

“You must kill the animal it occupies.  Consider it a sacrifice to rid yourself of a demon.”

“But how will we know which animal is the vessel?” asked Eskender.

“For that, you must follow the zār the next time it appears.”

“Wait until it appears,” restated Eskender.  “Wait until she strikes again?”

“I’m sorry.  There is no other way.”

Eskender looked over his shoulder.  Through the doorway, he could just see the sun as it dipped under the horizon.  His thoughts turned to young Desta, and that fleeting glimpse of his newborn son in his mind’s eye strengthened his resolve.

“We need to move,” he said.  “We’ve not much time.”

*****

Together, Eskender and Sehay returned to the village center, summoning the young men from each home as they passed.  They gathered in front of the clinic, where Eskender addressed the crowd.

“There is a zār in Dushetalo,” he announced, his voice solid and commanding.

At the mention of the zār, the crowd immediately became silent.  Even the skeptics among the youthful crowd felt a slight tinge of disquietude at hearing the spirit spoken of so brazenly. 

“This spirit is unlike others.  It is a lioness.  Some of you have seen her, and most of you have seen her tracks.”

A few nervous coughs were audible in the crowd, followed by murmurs among the young mentioning the attacks from the night before.

“However, we cannot drive her out without first finding the vessel animal.”

More murmurs.

“She has appeared these past two nights.  And we have every reason to believe she will appear again tonight.  We will light the fires as before.  If she does appear, we must follow her.  It is the only way to discover the host.”

A voice called from the crowd.

“If she does appear, won’t she attack us?”

Ambasa nodded.

“She may.  She has before.”

The voice continued.

“So why should we follow her?  How can we defend against such an attack?”

The murmurs among the crowd grew in intensity, and Ambasa raised his hands, asking for their attention.

“It is true.  If you follow her, you may be attacked, and there is little you can do against it.  But she will not leave until we drive her out.  How many of us will be attacked between now and then?  Is it not better to risk being attacked on our own terms, when we can work as a group?”

The scattered murmurs grew into a buzz, and heads nodded in agreement.

“We will form into groups of four.  Some will man the fires.  Others, you are to patrol the streets.  Look for prints, and be mindful of your surroundings.  With any luck, we can end things tonight.”

The mass of men clapped their approval.  Here and there, the applause took on a rhythmic quality, and soon the entire congregation was chanting the ancient song of the Kwatalo warrior.  Amid this spontaneous outbreak of song, the men formed groups and began the march to their designated positions.  In no time at all, the sky took on an orange tint, and the aromatic fragrance of burning wood wafted through Dushetalo’s streets.

Eskender joined one of the village patrols, and his band would be responsible for pursuing the cursed beast should she reappear.  Sehay, fearing his age would prevent him from any strenuous activity, agreed to watch over Eskender’s family at the clinic.  His presence with Ayana and Desta did much to ease Ambasa’s anxieties, allowing him to focus solely on the task at hand. 

Eskender and his men walked slowly and silently through the streets of Dushetalo, their ears and eyes attuned to any motion or sound that would seem out of place.  Though the bonfires were scattered around the edges of the village, he could hear the sounds of activity as men stoked the flames and engaged in loud conversation.  As he walked, doubt pulled at Eskender’s heart.  Fire and noisy activity would typically have been enough to frighten a lion, but this was no lion.  The blazes of the previous two nights had done nothing to deter the spirit from marching her way throughout the village, nor had moving as a group prevented an attack.  Even advising people to stay home seemed a feeble response, as Jember’s death had made clear.  No, nothing made sense.

Ambasa paused.

“This doesn’t make sense,” he muttered to himself.

Behind him, the men following his lead stopped, each eyeing their surroundings suspiciously.  Eskender turned to them.

“I want you to join the bonfires,” he uttered.

“Eskender…” one man began.

“No,” Eskender interrupted him, holding his hand up in protest.  “Do as I say.”

“Why?” added another, his voice a mix of caution and disbelief.

“Join the bonfires, or return to the clinic,” Eskender demanded.  “I must go alone.”

“You’ll be killed,” the first man continued.

Eskender dismissed them with a wave of his hand and turned away, intent on moving forward alone.  Seeing that his mind was made up, the other men turned and headed towards the clinic, reiterating their concerns to each other while they walked.

As he moved ahead in the darkness, Eskender slowly tried to fit the pieces together.  Ever since she first appeared, this lioness had been connected to him in some way.  Her prints had always led to or from his home.  She had deliberately jumped past him when attacking Berhanu, and then spared him as he lay defenseless on the ground.  She had killed Jember, a man whom he had worked closely with on the tribal council, but she had never threatened his family.  For some reason, perhaps his role as chieftain, this evil entity was connected to him, and though Eskender couldn’t see this connection, his intuition told him that something meaningful would happen if he wandered the streets alone.  He had no idea whether or not he would survive a confrontation, but with no better solutions, taking such a risk on behalf of his tribe felt like the right thing to do.

Eskender had only proceeded on his own for a few hundred meters before the spirit of the lioness leapt from the shadows, pinning him to the ground and driving his face into the dirt.  He felt her hot breath on the nape of his neck, and her low growl coursed through her body, through her padded feet, and into his back.  He tried to cry out, but her weight had driven the air from his lungs.  All he managed to do was lay there and moan while awaiting her fatal blow.

All at once, the weight on Eskender’s back melted away, and he raised his head just in time to see faint traces of dust wafting up from the ground, each puff accompanied by a fresh paw print made by the fleeing demon.  He scrambled to his feet and raced ahead, knowing that he wouldn’t be fast enough to catch up to her, but still hoping that he could discover the vessel animal by the time he arrived wherever she hid. 

The trail took him on several familiar twists and turns, and Eskender was soon struck with the horrible realization that the tracks were leading him back to the clinic.  He pushed himself harder, fearing that he wouldn’t arrive in time to protect his family.

Turning the final corner, the clinic appeared in the near distance, and the image of the building was immediately accompanied by Ayana’s piercing screams.  Expending all of his strength, Ambasa ran the last few meters and slammed his way through the double front doors.  He nearly lost his balance on the polished tile as he sprinted through the hall and into Ayana’s room.

If the run itself hadn’t left him gasping, the gruesome sight that greeted Eskender upon entering the room would have.  In the corner of the room, still sitting on a wooden chair, rested the body of Sehay.  His neck had been slit from ear to ear in a single ragged slash, and steaming intestines spilled from his abdomen and onto his feet.  Ayana pressed herself hard against the opposite wall, as if attempting to flee through a door that didn’t exist.  Upon noticing Ambasa’s entrance, she flung herself into his arms, her hysterical screams nearly deafening him as he held her tightly.

“The baby!” he shouted.

Eskender attempted to force his way past Ayana, but she pressed herself to him even more tightly.

“No!  No!  No!” she screamed, each word seeming to increase in pitch and intensity.

Eskender noticed that Ayana was not clinging to him, but pushing him back.

“But the baby!” Ambasa shouted again.

“No!” she continued.

He grabbed her roughly by the shoulders and stared deeply into her eyes.

“What happened?” he gasped loudly.  “Where did the lioness go?”

“Into Desta!”

At her words, all of the strength drained from Eskender’s body.  He slid out of Ayana’s grip and sank to his knees.

“That’s not possible!”

“It became a mist and flew into Desta’s nose!  I saw it!”

The terrible revelation, spoken aloud, was too much for Ayana.  She fell to the floor next to Eskender, still screaming as she pressed her face roughly against the tile.

In a daze bordering on delirium, Eskender stood and approached the bassinet.  With glazed eyes, he peered down and gazed into the face of his only son as he slept contentedly amid the sound of his mother’s anguished wails.

It was at that moment that Eskender realized that Desta was the vessel.

*****

The next morning, the villagers of Dushetalo assembled on either side of the main thoroughfare, their eyes fixated on the door to the clinic, none daring to speak.  After a while, Eskender emerged, a sleeping Desta cradled lovingly against his chest.  He walked slowly, following the road out of Dushetalo, never bothering to acknowledge their presence or look away from the face of his young son, nor did the villagers take their gaze from Ambasa until he was out of their sight.  When he returned alone later that day, there was no judgment, only the understanding that it was for the good of the tribe.