The Kuta I
The path to the Kuta stretched ahead of Kandundu, winding through the palace grounds.
She walked steadily, though each step felt heavier than the last.
The sun was low now. Its light was fading, spreading long shadows across the courtyards. People moved through them slowly.
The palace was in mourning.
Women knelt near the walls, some crying openly, others silent. Men stood in small groups speaking in low voices, but even those conversations stopped when Kandundu passed.
All of it pointed in one direction.
The Kuta.
The Kuta stood ahead.
And Liyunyi walked beside her.
"They've been inside for a while, Mukwae," she said quietly.
Kandundu nodded.
"I can hear them."
Even before she reached it, she knew.
This was not just mourning inside.
It was an argument.
The voices grew louder as she approached—overlapping, sharp in places, controlled in others.
The kind of voices that did not wait their turn.
The kind that pushed forward.
Kandundu paused once at the entrance.
Then she stepped in.
The reed curtain moved aside.
The voices did not stop—but they changed. They lowered slightly. Attention shifted immediately toward her.
Inside, the air was warm and heavy.
Indunas sat in a wide circle, staffs resting across their knees. Their faces showed grief, but also strain.
At the center stood her brothers.
Mubukwanu was rigid, arms crossed, jaw set. His grief was not visible on his face—only control.
Silumelume stood slightly behind him, quieter, watching the room instead of reacting to it.
Kandundu stepped forward and bowed.
"Indunas of the Aluyi."
"We greet you, Mukwae," came the response from several elders.
An elder leaned forward.
"You arrive during a difficult matter."
Kandundu nodded.
"I understand."
Her eyes moved across the circle.
"I hear there is discussion about placing the next Litunga on the throne before our father is buried."
A low murmur moved through the room.
Mubukwanu answered immediately.
"And why should there not be?"
His voice was firm. Direct.
"The kingdom cannot stay still. The people are already uncertain. They want to know what comes next."
He looked around the circle.
"The river does not stop flowing because one stone falls in it."
A few elders nodded.
Others did not.
One elder spoke.
"The kingdom must show strength."
Another countered.
"But tradition must also be respected. The burial of a Litunga is sacred."
The room tightened.
Silumelume raised a hand slightly.
He did not rush his words.
"If the coronation is done too early, it will be questioned," he said. "If it is delayed too long, it will also be questioned."
He looked at the elders.
"Either way, there are consequences."
Kandundu stepped forward again.
"Indunas."
The room quieted.
"We all want stability," she said. "But stability does not come from rushing."
Her gaze moved across them.
"Our father ruled this kingdom for many years. Today, the people are mourning him across the land."
"If we crown another Litunga before he is buried, what message does that send?"
A quick reply came from one elder.
"That the kingdom is moving forward."
Another shook his head.
"Or that we have forgotten him."
That word settled heavily.
Forgotten.
Kandundu nodded slightly.
"The burial of a Litunga is not just tradition," she said. "It is respect. It is how we close one reign before beginning another."
She turned slightly toward her brother.
"Mubukwanu… would you want your reign to begin while our father is still unburied?"
Mubukwanu did not look away.
For a moment, he said nothing.
Then—
"My reign begins when the kingdom requires it."
The room shifted.
Not loudly.
But enough.
Some elders looked down. Others exchanged quiet glances.
The disagreement was no longer unclear.
It was divided.
Kandundu felt it.
Not just argument.
But ambition forming beneath it.
Unspoken—but present.
She stayed still for a moment longer.
Then she straightened.
Not in defiance.
In understanding.
This was no longer only mourning.
Something else had begun.
And she had seen it clearly now.