Now I started this a few months back, and I never got around to updating it. I've had some time off recently, so I decided to start it back up, with heavy editing and actual follow-up. Plus, the Zulu are some of the most badass people on Earth, which helps.
The POD is where King Shaka isn't assasinated; in OTL he was killed by a trio of conspirators who then proceeded to completely undo everything he had created, causing the decline of an empire and kicking off the Mfecane, which decimated the black tribes of that area. Furthermore, this ATL sees Shaka restored to sanity and mental wellness, making him do responsible things like father an heir and not murder thousands of his own subjects, as he did in OTL.
This will set off a bunch of butterflies, the most notable of which keeps the Zulu stable and powerful enough to seriously contend with certain white invaders. The Voortrekkers are going to find these "Kaffirs" to be worthy opponents, and the British are in for a far worse surprise than the defeat they suffered at Isandlwana. Far more than South Africa is going to be influenced and changed by the resurgence of Zululand.
Prologue: Regicide
September 1828, Ulundi(1)
It was a dark night over the kraal as the three men crept through the yard, silent, their faces grim and determined. They were all heavy, one with fat, the rest with muscle; they moved quietly, like great cats. At their waists were buckled pouches of poison and they clutched in their hands short, brutal iklwa spears that gleamed of sharp death. Their skins were clammed with sweat, and their breathing raspy with fear, for they were about to commit a deed that few had the bravery for; unannounced and uninvited,their very presence here was forbidden, and their intention was one of regicide.
They were a corrupt trio, these men, schemers and plotters who thirsted for the power of rule. Two of them were brothers to the man they plotted to kill, while the other was a chief who had pledged his loyalty long ago. For years they had waited under the shadow of their master, the king; for years, they had hungered to sit upon the mahogany throne that hugged the earth of the great kraal, from where one could exert his will over all the land. Like all such men they professed ideals of freedom and justice, but instead, groping for power,they had decided to end their ruler through one single act of violence. As Cassius, Brutus, and Casca had plunged their swords into Caesar the three would set upon Shaka, king of the Zulu, and in their treachery win themselves power over the land that better men had won through strength; Mbopa, he would become first among the iziCwe, while Mhlangana would assume lordship of the upper Highveld. And Dingane, the fat one, he aimed highest of them all, for after the deed was done he would murder his fellows and win himself kingship over the empire that stretched from the Barrier of Spears(2) to the Pongola River far to the north.
They could not have found a better time to strike. The host of impis that guarded the royal kraal were to the south, sweeping across the blue Tugela in a ritualized march, and what few guards remained had been given enough cattle to keep them quiet. No man loyal to Shaka walked the king's grounds, and the conspirators could move without hindrance or opposition.
The gate was close now; they cast surreptitious glances about the yard and broke into a loping run, ambling toward the great doorway of the inner palace. They ascended the stairs, their hearts thumping with anticipation; they licked their lips and shifted their hands on their spears, and slithered into the darkness between the tall doors.
They moved slowly, crouching low as they entered the hall of the king. From a pathway fires lit by the dung of bulls flickered and spat, throwing light over the hall and making the beadwork and weapons burn darkly. As three shadows the men moved into the recesses of the building, hiding themselves behind pillars of beaded clay, and as they advanced their breaths caught in their throats; Dingane stifled his gasp of fear and Mpoba clenched his teeth, for in the middle of the Zulu kraal, the king himself reclined on a seat of dark mahogany.
He was massive upon that brown throne, his muscles thick and shining, his eyes black with brooding, bedecked in regalia that gave him a dark majesty. Mbopa was tall, Mhlangana was strong, and Dingane was large, but the king was a titan, like a rock rising from the seas; he seemed to be bigger than an elephant, more powerful than a rhinoceros, more terribly regal than a lion. This was a man far above the petty three who waited in the shadows to slay him.
For upon that seat of power sat Shaka, son of Nandi of the Langeni and Senzangakhona of the Zulu, ruler of an empire that clenched the Umfolozi and the Highveld in a fist of iron, and for a moment a feeling of terror sank into the hearts of the three men. But they were here, and they were commited, and all three knew that the deed had to be done.
The king did not stir from his reverie. His shining head was rested in the cradle of a great hand and he was hunched over, seemingly deep in thought. Silence drowned the room, and the three tensed, readying themselves, their teeth clenched. In seconds they would dash forward and sink their spears deep into his chest, and then they would rule the Tugela and the Umfolozi, and the Zulu and the Langeni, and the hundred others who herded their cattle atop the Highveld. For one sprinting run and a quick, savage thrust, Shaka’s empire would be theirs.
Five long moments passed, and there was silence.
Then the bead of marble, falling, striking the floor with a shrill crack that rove through the quiet and the darkness, horror dropping into all three of their bellies like the bead that had fallen, kicked loose by Dingane’s foot in his anxiety. In that moment Shaka lifted his head, his eyes narrowed, and he began to rise from his seat, his hand closing around the haft of the axe that lay at his foot.
Fear seized their hearts with fingers of iron, and Mbopa, maddened, exploded from behind his pillar, racing for the throne, his spear poised for the king’s heart. Shaka snarled in surprise, but he stepped to the side and avoided the piercing weapon; he struck his attacker in the face with a blow that made him bleed from his nose, and wrapped iron fingers around Mbopa’s neck, lifting him bodily and raising his axe, ready to split the man’s skull. But then he saw the assassin’s face, and paused, his eyes wide with shock; “Mbopa?” he cried, for Mbopa was a chief of the iNduna, and had fought at Shaka’s side in the past. “Treachery, from you!”
Their plan thrown awry, Mhlangana and Dingane knew they had but one option . Terror beating at their hearts, they twisted out from behind their pillars and ran forward as fast as they could, hoping, praying that they could end the king with a lucky stab. But Shaka saw them, and he roared in rage, knowing of their treachery and their cowardice, and he hurled Mbopa away with an impact that broke the iNduna’s spine, planting his feet firmly into the floor, his axe raised and his eyes wild and mad with fury.
Mhlangana uttered a war cry and leaped for his king, his spear readied to rip through the chest and slice deep into the neck. Shaka reached out with one arm and seized him around the throat, lifting him aloft as he swung down with the axe; his bellow of fury was drowned in Mhlangana’s scream as the blade tore through his shoulder, severing his arm from his body. It flopped down to the earth, grey and dead, and Shaka roared again, this time cleaving into the joint of his neck. Mhlangana hung mangled in his grasp and the king flung the corpse away, to reveal Dingane, who stood rooted to the spot. In his fear, he had spilled the contents of his bladder across the floor.
One hour later justice was passed, and the sentence given. The two corpses were thrown into a house filled with hyenas and jackals, and devoured; the building was then burned to the ground. Dingane, however, had a heated stake hammered into his rectum, from which he was hoisted on high, bleeding from his mouth. When the sun reached its zenith and his agony became unbearable, he was brought down and thrown onto the savannah, barely alive, from where the beasts of the plain ripped him to death.
But it would be the deaths of these three men that would change the course of history forever, for in another world they would have succeeded in their fatal mission, and so doomed the great nation that they would try to rule. From this attempt on his life Shaka would be shaken from his madness, and would go on to lead his Zulu empire towards conquest and victory. His people would defeat the Boers, dominate the Xhosa, and challenge the greatest empire on earth, forging from their strength and their hardship a nation that would change the history of not only an entire continent, but the whole world.
1) No one really knows exactly where Shaka was killed OTL; I'm guessing it was Ulundi, his capital.
2) Drakensberg Mountains.