With a shimmer and a sigh, the wall behind them shifted, its very components seeming to blink out as an opening formed. Lij Matata Okoro stepped through. His breastplate joined together in ceremonial vestments. The gold band of his chakram laid flat in a circle about his neck, ready to become a bladed weapon at his touch. His jacket glimmered in the light, black with an iridescent quality. A Basotho blanket slung across his shoulder like a kaross, embroidered with the sacred triangles of Alkebulan. His head shaved on the sides, though the top appeared carved with geometric precision. The personal shield for the personal shields of the governing family.

“Get back!” He stationed himself between Jaha and the window.

“Aw, nah, baby, I’m not going anywhere.” Jaha’s voice rang sweet as a steel baton to the head, more irritated than alarmed.

“It’s a security issue.” Matata held his arm out.

“I realize that you are the Lij of this unit, but I’m the security head.”

“Former.”

Jaha was Nyamakalaw of the Griot Circle. She had made the circle her own, though her singular voice still directed much of its day-to-day operations (because the words forever honored or retired meant nothing to her). What impressed her about Matata was that, to him, his answer was always the right answer. When he ran toward a wall, he committed at full tilt. She expected the young to show their ass on occasion. That was simply what they did and how they learned. Only once he smacked into the wall would she give her input. Part of her striving to remain relevant as an elder was simply wanting to share her thoughts and have them received by young people. Both sides had to remain in a posture of learning.

“Look into my eyes.” Jaha stepped toward him with a quiet air of menace. “Do you see anything in there that reads ‘former’?”

“No.” Lij Matata’s face remained resolute, but his demeanor softened, stepping aside for her experience.

Jaha granted him a measure of grace since technically she was no longer Ras of the Niyabinghi. But she was now head of the Griot Circle, Muungano’s domestic security, which still afforded her experience he could benefit from. “What’s the situation?”

“There’s been an encroachment on our security perimeter.” Lij Matata continued to scan the room.

“What kind of … encroachment?” Jaha tired of trailing him like she was his harried assistant.

“Armed protestors. There’ve been reports of weapons fire.” Lij Matata nodded toward the window.