by C. T. Rwizi
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Text copyright © 2020 by C. T. Rwizi
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Published by 47North, Seattle
www.apub.com
Amazon, the Amazon logo, and 47North are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.
ISBN 13: 9781542023825 (hardcover)
ISBN 10: 1542023823 (hardcover)
ISBN-13: 9781542020589 (paperback)
ISBN-10: 1542020581 (paperback)
Cover design by Shasti O’Leary Soudant
First Edition
For Doreen
CONTENTS
MAP
DRAMATIS PERSONAE
PROLOGUE
PART 1
Mirror craft—magic of...
“Aago, are we...
1: Musalodi
2: Ilapara
3: Musalodi
4: Ilapara
5: Musalodi
6: The Maidservant
7: Musalodi
PART 2
Earth craft—magic of...
“How many hours...
8: Kelafelo
9: Musalodi
10: Kelafelo
11: Musalodi
12: Kelafelo
13: Musalodi
PART 3
Storm craft—magic of...
“Ah, daylight. Beautiful...
14: The Enchantress
15: Isa
16: Musalodi
17: The Enchantress
18: Isa
19: Musalodi
20: Isa
PART 4
Blood craft—magic of...
“Aago, why do...
21: The Maidservant
22: Ilapara
23: Musalodi
24: Ilapara
25: The Maidservant
PART 5
Fire craft—magic of...
“Why the long...
26: Musalodi
27: The Maidservant
28: Ilapara
29: Isa
30: Musalodi
31: The Maidservant
32: Ilapara
33: Isa
PART 6
Void craft—magic of...
“Aba says I’m...
34: Musalodi
35: Ilapara
36: Kelafelo
37: The Maidservant
38: Isa
39: Musalodi
40: Ilapara
41: Kelafelo
42: Musalodi
43: The Maidservant
44: Musalodi
45: Isa
46: Ilapara
47: Musalodi
Black magic—magic of...
Epilogue
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
DRAMATIS PERSONAE
Yerezi Plains
MUSALODI, a young man
MUJIOSERI, his brother, a ranger
MASIBURAI, his brother, a ranger
VASININGWE, his father, chief of Khaya-Siningwe
ABA DEITARI, his uncle, a general
AMA LIRA, his stepmother, a teacher
MONTARI, a young boy
ANENIKO, a ranger
NIMARA, an Asazi
ALINATA, an Asazi
AAKU MALUSI, an old mechanic
IREDITI, queen of the Yerezi Plains
AMASIBERE, mystic of the Sibere clan
AMASIKHOZI, mystic of the Sikhozi clan
Umadiland
ILAPARA, a young mercenary
THE MAIDSERVANT, a mystic and a warlord’s disciple
KELAFELO, a young woman
THE ANCHORITE, an old mystic
AKANWA, a young girl
TUKSAAD, a mysterious wanderer
THE DARK SUN, a warlord
BLACK RIVER, his disciple
HUNTER, his disciple
SEAFARER, his disciple
SAND DEVIL, his disciple
NORTHSTAR, his disciple
THE CATARACT, a warlord
BLOODWORM, his disciple
KWASHE, a mercenary
BAMIMVURA, a mercenary boss and money lender
BACHANDO, a general dealer
MHADDISU, a young thief
Kingdom of the Yontai
THE ENCHANTRESS, a mysterious woman
ISA ANDAIYE SAIRE, a princess
KALI, her brother, the crown prince
AYO, her brother
MWENEUGO SAIRE, her father, the king
THE CONSORT, her mother
ZENIA, her cousin
SUYE, her cousin
JOMO SAIRE, a prince, son of the herald
PRINCESS CHIOKO SAIRE, the king’s herald
OBE SAAI, a Sentinel, nephew of the Crocodile
DINO SATO, a Sentinel, son of the Impala
IJIRO KATUMBILI, a Sentinel, son of the Bonobo
ITANI FARO, head of the Arc coven, a high mystic
THE SIBYL UNDERGROUND, a clairvoyant mystic
The Ten Headmen
THE CROCODILE
THE BONOBO
THE KESTREL
THE IMPALA
THE LION
THE RHINO
THE BUFFALO
THE CARACAL
THE HARE
THE JACKAL
PROLOGUE
They say that on the day he was to become a man, he cried and wet himself in fear as soon as the uroko bull charged out of its cage in a blur of fury. They say he fled out of the dusty enclosure while his brave peers stayed to take down the bovine monstrosity with nothing but their bare fists.
Their faces were daubed with white earth, their knuckles wrapped in reedfiber. They wore nothing but loincloths as red as the moon and hide skins hanging over their rears. They were there for glory and for manhood.
And what could be more glorious to a Yerezi man than proving himself worthy of a place among the Ajaha rangers, the truest warriors of his people, whose bones are blessed with the power of their clan mystics? What could be more valorous than prevailing over the dreaded uroko, whose hooves could crush skulls, whose muscles ripple like currents in an oily black river, whose horns glint like sabers in the light of the setting suns? What could be worthier than facing this most perilous test of manhood before an audience of four thousand battle-tested Ajaha, whose rowdy cheers make the air itself tremble with fear?
Surely nothing on earth, but Musalodi ran that day. He ran and never looked back, and they called him a coward, and he believed them.
PART 1
MUSALODI
ILAPARA
THE MAIDSERVANT
Mirror craft—magic of light
Transfiguring the moon’s essence into luminous interference patterns to conjure illusions. Used by illusionists to enchant lamps for illumination.
—excerpt from Kelafelo’s notes
“Aago, are we not part of the Redlands?”
“Of course we are.”
“But we’re not like the other tribes, are we? We shut ourselves in, and we don’t talk to anyone else.”
“There are hyenas out there, my child. When you see hyenas prowling outside your gates, you shut them out so they don’t come in and eat your children.”
1: Musalodi
Khaya-Siningwe—Yerezi Plains
“Maybe we should head back.”
Near a gushing brook in
the central lowvelds of the Yerezi Plains, Salo keeps picking his way through a curtain of tall grasses. The binary suns are high points of light in a clear midmorning sky. Two New Year’s Comets have blazed across the heavens since the incident with the uroko bull.
“Did you hear me, Bra Salo?” Monti says as he straggles a few paces behind. “I’m tired, and my aba says there are hyenas this far south of the kraal. What if they find us?”
A rebuke briefly stirs Salo’s tongue, but he suppresses it, reminding himself that Monti is still just a child. Exceedingly wise for his age and annoyingly curious at times, but still a child. His fear is understandable. “That’s why I brought my bow,” Salo says, “and lucky for you, I know how to use it.”
The brook comes into view as they emerge from the grasses. Salo leaps across to the other side and keeps going without waiting to see if Monti follows.
“What if it’s a tronic hyena?” Monti says behind him. “What would you do then?”
“I’m a fast runner.”
“But what about me? I can’t run as fast as you.”
“You brought your bow, too, didn’t you? So you can defend yourself.”
“But what if it’s a whole pack of them?” Monti says. “Or worse, what if a redhawk comes down and sees us?”
Salo keeps walking, his footfalls silent beneath his worn leather sandals. “Then you should have thought of that before you followed me here.”
He left the kraal alone, or so he thought, and by the time he noticed he’d grown a tail in the form of a precocious nine-year-old boy, he’d already gone too far to turn back.
“Please, Bra Salo,” Monti whines. “I want to go home.”
Salo keeps walking.
“Pleeease?”
Salo sighs deeply and finally stops, pushing his copper-rimmed spectacles farther up his nose. He turns around, intending to scold the boy, but the instant he sees his face, a laugh barrels out of his chest.
Monti’s sunset eyes, normally aglow with mischief, blink up at him with betrayal. “What’s so funny?”
“The look on your face,” Salo says. “Next time, don’t follow people around unless you can keep up.”
Monti pouts and looks away. “I thought you’d be hunting for mind stones.”
“Well, not quite,” Salo says. “And you’d have known that had you bothered to ask.”
“You came back with a mind stone last time you went out,” Monti says with a scowl.
“A happy coincidence. I almost literally stumbled across it.”
Deciding he has tormented the boy enough, Salo crouches to bring himself level with Monti’s small frame and places a gentle hand around his nape. “Cheer up, little man. I have a secret I’m about to let you in on, but you have to promise not to tell anyone. Can you do that for me?”
“A secret?” Monti says, his eyes widening a little. “What is it?”
“First you promise; then I’ll show you.”
Monti licks his lips, seeming to weigh his desire to go back home against the prospect of finding out a new secret. Predictably, his curiosity wins out. “I promise.”
Salo gives him a gap-toothed grin and rises back up. “Follow me, then. It’s just over that hill.”
They continue walking south until they crest the hill, then venture into the sun-streaked grove of musuku trees growing on the southward slopes.
They hear it before they see it: first a muffled rustle in the trees, then a high-pitched squeal and a flash of color as the creature pokes its head out of a clump of branches directly ahead. Its reptilian eyes watch them skeptically as they approach, paying special attention to the newcomer, but it must decide he’s harmless, because it eventually slinks down the tree in a sinuous motion, clinging to the bark with its clawed, stocky legs.
Upon seeing it, Monti stops and lets out a gasp of surprise. “Imbulu! Bra Salo, it’s attacking us!”
“No, she’s not,” Salo says. “She’s just coming to greet us.”
The imbulu—a tronic monitor lizard—is as long as a grown man is tall. Its curved little horns shimmer like pure silver; its metallic scales change color depending on the angle of view. As it slowly pads forward, it tastes the air with a forked tongue, swinging its thick tail from side to side.
Monti begins to back away even as it approaches. “I don’t know about this.”
“Relax,” Salo tells him. “She’s friendly.” He moves forward to meet the creature, going down on one knee so he can scratch the ruffled skin beneath its jaw. The imbulu responds by lifting its head to give him better access, which makes him smile. He looks back at Monti over his shoulder. “See? What did I tell you?”
Monti keeps eyeing the lizard suspiciously. “So this is your secret? Is it your pet now?”
“Ha! Can you imagine? A pet imbulu.” Salo shakes his head. “No, I’m just helping her. She was badly injured when I found her, and the mind stone inside her head had been corrupted. I’ve tried to repair it, though. She seems better now. She’s actually quite young, if you’ll believe it—almost a baby, even.”
“A baby? But it’s so big!”
“Oh, they get bigger.”
While Monti gawks, Salo turns to examine the circular discoloration on the imbulu’s head and is satisfied to see that it has continued to diminish. When he first came upon the creature only a week ago, that discoloration was a frightful wound that would have surely proved fatal without his intervention.
“I need to take another look at her mind stone,” he says, standing up. “In the meantime, you could feed her if you want. She hunts rodents mostly, but she also loves the taste of milk.”
“What if she bites me?” Monti says. “I could get sick. My aba says their bites can infect a whole herd with sickness.”
“She won’t. She knows I’m helping her. And if you’re with me, then she knows you’re my friend.”
Monti keeps staring at the beast, curiosity and fear once again warring openly on his face. “You have the milk?”
“I do.” The quiver on Salo’s back is part of a leather harness strapped around his bare chest, to which his bow, waterskin, and utility pouches are fastened. He unfastens the waterskin and offers it to Monti, who warily steps forward to accept it. “Trust me—you’ll be best friends by the time that skin is empty.”
“If you say so,” Monti says.
As he squats down and slowly brings the skin to the lizard’s mouth, Salo considers the little serpent bracelet of enchanted red steel curled around his own left wrist: his talisman. Obeying his silent command, the talisman stirs, its crystalline eyes projecting beams of prismatic light that sweep over the lizard’s body.
A mirage of superimposed waves subsequently takes shape above the talisman, displaying the energy state of the mind stone inside the imbulu’s head. The illusions look somewhat ethereal through the round lenses of his reflective spectacles.
No one knows why, but in the wilds of the Redlands, the arcane essence of the moon can sometimes weave itself into certain life-forms, giving rise to tronic beasts—exotic machine-organic hybrids with metalloid features and mind stones inside their brains. People figured out long ago that with finesse, these stones could be manipulated to control the beasts and, if recovered intact, could be harnessed as sources of arcane energy potent enough to animate machines or even cast spells.
Salo had been out searching for energy signatures emitted by dead tronic beasts when his talisman detected a faint but live signal. At the end of that signal was the imbulu dying next to a brook, its mind stone thrown so far out of equilibrium that most of its tronic abilities, such as self-healing, had been corrupted. He went on to spend many hours searching for errors in the cipher prose governing the mind stone, trying to repair what he could with his talisman to keep the imbulu alive.
He was reasonably successful, though he’d never repaired the mind stone of a live animal before. In fact, the energy waves shown in the mirage are still somewhat out of sync. But this is nothing the creature won�
��t survive.
He glances away from the mirage and down at Monti, who’s now cooing at the imbulu while he strokes its neck. Having guzzled a full skin of cow milk from his hand, it obliges him.
“So,” Salo says, trying not to smirk, “what do you think of my secret?”
“I think she’s beautiful,” Monti gushes, and it’s like he’s a completely different person. Gone is the frightened boy of minutes earlier; this is the wise and annoyingly curious boy who tailed Salo from the kraal. “Dear Ama, I wish we could take her back with us.”
Salo smiles, seeing in Monti the same transformation he felt when he first discovered the creature. He was wary of it at first, but the simple act of feeding it quickly changed his perspective. “That’s why you can’t tell anyone about her. If you do, they’ll kill her.”
“I’ll tell no one, I swear,” Monti promises, and Salo believes him.
Crack.
The loud snap of a twig somewhere off in the distance.
Monti shoots up to his feet. Salo almost gets whiplash when he jerks his head to look, and what he sees makes him temporarily forget not to curse around children.
“Shit.”
Monti’s wide eyes stare up at him, full of panic. “What do we do?”
“It’s too late. He’s seen her.”
“She could run.”
“He’d just catch her, and then she’d die.”
The imbulu registers no alarm as it flicks its tongue curiously in the air, perhaps figuring that another one of Salo’s friends means more milk for its belly. A wave of protectiveness washes over him, and he sends his talisman to sleep with a thought, snuffing out the illusions. He crouches next to the lizard and hooks a gentle arm around its neck.
“How does he keep finding me?” he complains to Monti. “Do I leave a trail of pheromones and glitter where I walk or something?”
“He’s a ranger,” Monti says with a shrug. “My aba says a ranger could track a fly across the lowvelds if he set his mind to it.”
“How wonderful.” Salo pets the imbulu worriedly, praying to the moon to preserve the poor beast. Hasn’t it suffered enough?
The moon must not be listening, however, as Aneniko continues to trot down the hill toward them astride the tronic quagga stallion he captured and subdued shortly after becoming a ranger two comets ago.
A ruff of thick fur sits around his bare shoulders. Armor pieces of polished red steel adorn his arms and legs, each piece expertly engraved with magical ciphers. His loincloth—long enough to wrap in loose folds around and between his thighs, reaching down to his knees, as is customary—isn’t the ordinary white worn by Salo and most other Yerezi men but the deep-red hue of blood reserved for warriors of the highest caliber, those who carry the blessing of a mystic inside their bones.