Chapter 19 - The Foundation of a Kingdom

The first step in building a kingdom was knowing exactly what—and who—they had to work with.

Khisa stood before a large wooden table in the center of the council hut, a sheet of stretched leather spread before him. It had taken him weeks of careful surveying, questioning, and recording to reach this moment. But now, he finally had the first census in the history of Nuri Kingdom.

"Eight thousand."

That was the total population.

The room was silent as Lusweti, Nanjala, and the elders processed the number. What had once been two warring clans, with scattered captives and refugees, had now become a single people.

Khisa took a deep breath and continued, dividing the numbers into relevant groups:

Warriors: 1,500 – These were men and women trained in combat, some still recovering from injuries. They would serve as the backbone of Nuri's defense.

Hunters: 700 – Skilled in tracking and taking down wild game, they would ensure a steady supply of meat.

Farmers: 2,500 – The largest group, responsible for growing crops, herding livestock, and gathering edible plants.

Blacksmiths and Artisans: 300 – They worked with metal, wood, and clay, creating weapons, tools, pottery, and other necessities.

Miners and Stoneworkers: 600 – With resources like iron and copper in the hills, these individuals would soon be vital for trade and weapon-making.

Healers and Herbalists: 250 – Wise in medicine, these individuals treated wounds, crafted remedies, and guided the sick back to health.

Elders and Spiritual Leaders: 150 – Advisors, storytellers, and those who communed with the ancestors.

Children and Untrained Youth: 2,000 – Too young to work, but the future of the kingdom.

As the numbers sank in, Lusweti stroked his beard. "This is good work, Khisa. We know what we have."

Khisa nodded. "Now, we must decide how to use it."

He had already taken steps in that direction. Over the past month, he had mapped out the land—rivers, hills, forests, and the abandoned slaver paths. His plan? Expand slowly but surely. They would claim all the land surrounding the Abakhore and Angwenyi villages, stretching to the valley the slavers once used.

Some elders hesitated. "Expanding so soon?" one asked.

"If we do not control the land, others will take it," Khisa countered. "We need space for our people to live, plant, and build. And we need to secure the roads leading to the valley. It will not happen overnight, but we must begin."

Even the skeptics saw the wisdom in his words.

Lusweti placed a firm hand on Khisa's shoulder. "Then it is decided. We expand."

Khisa wasted no time. He gathered builders and craftsmen, using the clay-rich soil to create bricks. The first priority? Houses.

The village was transforming. The sounds of hammers striking wood, the crackle of kilns baking bricks, and the laughter of children filled the air.

One of Khisa's greatest joys was watching the children build their own play area.

Naliaka wiped her forehead dramatically. "This is hard work! I thought play was supposed to be fun."

Ndengu, lifting a thick log with ease, smirked. "It will be fun once we're done. Right, Khisa?"

Khisa chuckled, watching them from where he was setting up posts. "You tell me. It was your idea."

The children, both from the old Abakhore and Angwenyi clans, had taken it upon themselves to build their own space. Using fallen logs, smooth stones, and woven ropes, they created swings, balance beams, and even a climbing wall.

At first, some of the new children were hesitant—they had spent years under slaver rule and barely knew how to play. But as the days passed, their laughter grew louder, their steps lighter.

By the time the play area was finished, it was no longer about where they came from—it was about where they belonged.

It wasn't just the children who were finding joy in building Nuri.

One afternoon, Khisa walked toward an open patch of land where a group of villagers was hard at work. Spears and hoes had been replaced with axes and machetes, cutting down thick grass and clearing away rocks.

Ndengu ran up to him, panting. "We're doing it, Khisa! We're making a Mbumbwa field!"

Khisa raised an eyebrow. "Who said you could?"

Naliaka grinned, wiping dirt off her cheek. "No one. But everyone wanted to play. Even the Angwenyi."

Khisa looked around. Warriors, farmers, even former prisoners were helping clear the space. Mbumbwa had once been just a game, but here, it was a symbol of unity.

That evening, the first game of Mbumbwa in Nuri Kingdom was played under the setting sun. For the first time since the war, people weren't just surviving—they were living.

As Khisa and Lusweti finalized the land divisions, Matenje, a former high-ranking member of the Angwenyi, stepped forward. He was broad-shouldered, middle-aged, and carried the weight of someone who had once commanded great respect.

"You have done well counting our people," Matenje said, his voice steady but firm. "But land is power, and I do not see my people getting their fair share."

Khisa, seated beside Lusweti and the elders, regarded him carefully. "Every family is given land to farm and space to live. No one is left out."

Matenje shook his head. "The Angwenyi had vast lands before. We lost warriors in the battle. Should we not be given more to compensate for our losses?"

A murmur ran through the gathered leaders. Lusweti's expression darkened. "This is not Angwenyi land anymore. This is Nuri."

"Spoken like a man who has already claimed his throne," Matenje countered, crossing his arms.

Lusweti's jaw tightened, but it was Khisa who spoke. "This is not about kingship. This is about survival." He leaned forward. "What do you truly want, Matenje?"

"I want what is fair."

Khisa studied him. "Then you will get what is fair—the same as everyone else. But if you seek more for yourself at the expense of others, that is not fairness. That is greed."

Matenje's gaze hardened, but he said nothing more. Instead, he bowed his head slightly—not in submission, but in patience.

Later that evening, Lusweti, Khisa, and the elders gathered around a fire.

"Matenje is dangerous," Elder Akhule said. "He speaks for many who still hold onto the past."

Lusweti exhaled sharply. "I won't have this kingdom divided before it even begins."

Khisa, deep in thought, finally spoke. "If we force them to accept change without listening, we create enemies within our own walls."

The elders fell silent.

Khisa continued. "Matenje won't act immediately. He is waiting to see how things unfold. We should keep an eye on him, but for now, let's focus on building."

Lusweti grunted. "If he does become a problem, we will deal with him swiftly."

Khisa nodded. They had planted the seeds of unity—but not all seeds grew in harmony.

---

Despite the underlying tensions, work began in earnest.

The warriors and builders constructed brick houses, a sturdier alternative to traditional huts. Women and children cleared a play area, with young Naliaka and Ndengu leading the charge. They laughed as they carved out swings, climbing structures, and a large open space for games.

The warriors and even some of the new members of Nuri gathered to clear the Mbumbwa field. At first, it was a chore—but soon, the game itself became infectious. Laughter and cheers rang out as warriors and villagers alike joined in, uniting under something greater than themselves.

The atmosphere was one of hope, of a future worth fighting for.

But Khisa knew that shadows lingered beneath the surface. Not all wounds healed overnight. Not all hearts accepted change easily.

For now, though, they moved forward.

And forward was the only way to go.