The wind was warm and fragrant with the smell of sun-split jackfruit as Khisa rode out of Buganda, treaty secured and tucked in a leather case at his side. A sense of triumph pulsed in his chest—not loud or boastful, but firm and steady. Buganda would send its children to Nuri. The bond was forming.
He didn’t linger. There was too much to do. The students would arrive in Lusimba in less than two moons, and preparations needed to be flawless. Khisa was already thinking through classroom designs, accommodations, and teachers when the first drops of summer rain struck the roof of his escort’s cart.
He also needed to prepare the trade materials. He hoped that the Kabaka was able to win this battle on his own.
"Who do you think did it Ayaan?"
[We know a foreign power is involved, but the kabaka does not. He can only survive if we help him.] Her soft mechanical voice rand in his head.
"I figured. I will only step in if he asks, I can’t meddle too much or else they might turn their backs on us." He muttered.
In his wake, the medics of Nuri continued their work across Buganda’s rural districts, now with deeper cooperation from local healers and clans.
The disease was under control.
Villagers washed their hands more regularly, and herbalists began integrating soap into their routines. Children could be heard singing cheerful rhymes in Luganda and Kiswahili, little ditties that reminded them to boil water, cover food, or scrub wounds clean.
In one clearing near the swampier districts, Wanjiru and Ajuma stood under a makeshift canopy made of woven reeds and canvas. They were surrounded by herbalists, medicine men, and wide-eyed apprentices. Huge pots bubbled gently, the oily scent of soaproot and palm fat wafting into the air.
"This is the lye," Wanjiru explained. "We’ve neutralized it by boiling it with ash water and filtered it through banana fiber."
"It burns if used alone," Ajuma added, stirring the mix with a carved paddle. "But once it’s cooked properly with oil, it becomes gentle. You can even use it on wounds."
An elder frowned suspiciously, his fingers stained dark from years of bark-pounding. "Why give us this knowledge? Why not sell it?"
Ajuma’s face softened. "Because this is something the ancestors would want us to share. You wouldn’t sell air or sunlight, would you? Soap is like that. If it can save even one life, it should belong to everyone."
Her words spread faster than the plague ever had.
By the time the Nuri medics began packing up to leave, whispers of admiration followed them through the villages. Some Bugandan warriors began calling them The Flame-Fingers, for their healing touch that didn’t scorch but mended.
Forest Trail, Three Days Later The rightful source is novel-fire.ɴet
The shadows under the canopy of mahogany and miombo trees stretched long across the forest path. Cicadas sang their endless song as the Mkono wa Giza caravan moved silently across the trail, boots muffled by damp leaf litter.
Wasike rode near the front with Tiriki at his side, flanked by the younger recruits—Joyi, Samia, Chege, Halima, Kipchoge and the other five—who had joined the mission as medics. Now, they returned home, weighed by the silence of unfinished business.
Samia broke the quiet. "Commander... I don’t understand. We knew it was sabotage. We could’ve tracked them."
Joyi grumbled. "Yeah. With our skillset, we could’ve found the cause without implicating the Kabaka. Why stop now?"
Wasike sighed but didn’t answer. Instead, he exchanged a glance with Tiriki.
That night, they made camp near a slow-moving river. Fireflies blinked lazily above their tents, and the coals of the cooking fire pulsed like a heartbeat in the dark.
Once everyone was fed, Wasike motioned for the younger ones to sit. The senior officers gathered around them, the flames casting long shadows across their faces.
"You’re right to ask questions," Wasike said, setting down his spear. "And because you’re not just soldiers—you’re Shadow Guard—you deserve real answers."
He nodded to Tiriki, who picked up from there.
"You will face many situations in your careers. You’ll have the power to act, the knowledge to pursue a lead... and still, you’ll have to walk away."
"Because strategy is about timing," Tiriki said. "Buganda is in crisis. Their politics are delicate. If we dug deeper, we could destabilize the entire kingdom."
Wasike gestured with a stick, drawing a rough triangle in the dirt. "Buganda is ruled by the Kabaka, advised by the Clan Heads and a Council of Elders. That balance is fragile. We have intel—unconfirmed—that before the disease, some clans were already preparing for war. If we exposed the sabotage, it would look like the Kabaka let outsiders root out his enemies for him."
Chege squinted. "But wouldn’t they be happy he stopped the disease?"
"In a perfect world, yes," Wasike said. "But in politics, mercy is weakness and help from foreigners is betrayal."
"So what was he supposed to do?" Halima asked softly. "Let his people die?"
Tiriki smiled. "Now you’re thinking like one of us."
Halima blushed and looked away, but she sat straighter.
"I have a theory," Tiriki continued, "One I can’t prove. If Nuri hadn’t stepped in... the Kabaka would have been forced to go elsewhere. Someone planted that disease. Someone who could then offer a cure—at a terrible price. Either for power, or to gain control of Buganda."
Kipchoge groaned and rubbed his temples. "These things are so complicated. I’m not smart enough for this."
"You’ll learn," Wasike said with a grin. "Strategy, politics, deduction—it’s all part of your duty. And it’s why you were chosen."
Joyi leaned forward, poking the fire with a stick. "So... what do we do if that faction does make a move?"
"We watch," Tiriki said, eyes dark. "And when the time comes—we strike. But not a moment before."
Samia looked unconvinced. "So we just... do nothing?"
"We prepare," Wasike said. "Quietly. Like a snake in the tall grass. And when they bare their fangs—we’ll already be behind them."
As the fire dwindled, the recruits drifted off to their tents, leaving Wasike and Tiriki alone beneath the stars.
"You think they’re ready?" Tiriki asked.
"They have to be," Wasike replied, glancing west toward Buganda. "Something tells me this was just the beginning."