Abengoni

by Charles R. Saunders

  After her would-be foe retreated, Kalisha looked left and right to determine whether there were any others who thought they could rob her of what she had rightfully filched. There were none. Still on her guard, Kalisha quickly made her way out of the building.

  As she left the Beit Amiya for the last time, the young tsotsi smiled in anticipation of what Jass Mofo’s reaction would be when she emptied her sack at his feet, especially when he saw the Mask of Nama-kwah. And this time, she would chew the khat he was certain to offer her.

  3

  Jass Eshana swung into the saddle of his quagga. Dozens of other Matile soldiers also mounted up, the quaggas’ hooves stamping against the street as the animals snorted and neighed in anticipation. The Dejezmek hefted the lance he carried, and was reassured by its weight and balance. The long, heavy weapon he and the others would carry held his last, desperate hope to break the back of the Uloans’ invasion.

  Ordinarily, he would never have considered using cavalry in a street battle. The narrow confines of the city’s streets worked against the effective use of mounted troops. But this conflict had been far beyond the ordinary since the moment the Uloans and their jhumbis had swarmed onto Khambawe’s docks. The battle was going badly for the city’s defenders. Defeat appeared imminent. Even so, a new, unexpected change in tactics could well turn the tide in the Matiles’ favor.

  Eshana had assembled his hastily gathered force in a wide square normally used as a produce market. Here, the quaggas would have ample room to maneuver while the Dejezmek worked out the final details of his battle plan. When the Uloans reached the market, a surprise would be waiting for them.

  Saddles creaked and harnesses jingled as the last defenders of Khambawe awaited Eshana’s order to attack. Firelight glinted from the steel tips of their lances and pooled in the wide eyes of their steeds. Hands reached out to soothe the eager quaggas.

  The Matile heard the Uloans long before they came into sight. Their incessant chant – Retribution time! – punctuated a chorus of maniacal shrieks.

  Then they appeared, bursting into the market-square like a swarm of locusts. Blood dripped from their weapons and trickled across the scar-patterns on their faces and bodies. Flames of frenzy blazed in their eyes as they bellowed their chant as if it were a challenge to the world.

  Eshana knew the Uloans had reached a state of complete battle-madness, in which they would kill and keep killing until no more of their enemies stood before them – or until no more Uloans remained on their feet. The islanders’ advance had to be broken – now.

  “Forward!” the Dejezmek commanded.

  He spurred his quagga toward the Uloans. His troops followed him. He lowered his lance and tensed his arm muscles to absorb the jarring shock that would come when the point of his weapon impaled flesh and bone.

  At the sight of the mounted force that confronted them, the Uloans halted their advance. But the contorted expressions on their faces never changed; their screaming never stopped. Showing a discipline that contrasted with their maniacal appearance, the islanders parted ranks, opening a path for the jhumbis that had come behind them.

  The quagga Eshana rode was battle-tested. It had faithfully carried him on punitive attacks against rebel Jasses who no longer respected their ties to the Empire. And he had ridden it on lion hunts, in which he and the quagga came within spear-length of the great cats before he plunged his lance into their tawny hides and took their manes as trophies.

  But something about the jhumbis – perhaps a stench of the supernatural that was beyond the perception of humans, but not animals – panicked Eshana’s quagga this time. Eyes rolling in fear, the beast stopped short and reared, pitching Eshana from his saddle.

  The other quaggas reacted similarly. In the blink of an eye, a potentially devastating cavalry charge became a turmoil of screaming, stampeding quaggas, fallen riders and broken lances. As the few Matile who had not been thrown struggled to control their steeds, the Uloans, led by the jhumbis, rushed forward in a wave of imminent mayhem. And the “Retribution Time” chant filled the market square.

  Of this, Eshana knew nothing. He lay where he had fallen: neck broken, dead eyes staring sightlessly at the smoke-streaked sky.

  4

  “Clasp hands,” Kyroun instructed.

  Everyone in the circle obeyed. Tiyana’s right hand was enfolded in that of her friend, Keshu. With her left, she held the hand of a blue-robed Almovaad – Byallis, with whom she had become acquainted, if not friendly. She noted that Ruk, the giant Northlander, was seated on the other side of Keshu. Keshu was a big man himself, but he appeared small next to the Acolyte.

  She also caught herself staring at Ulrithana, the Shadimish Adept. In general, Fidi were different on the surface from the Matile. But Tiyana sensed in Ulrithana an otherness that went deeper than dissimilarities in skin and hair color. She could not understand it more than that, and there was no time to explore the matter any further.

  “Open your minds and hearts to Almovaar,” Kyroun instructed. “Prepare yourselves to enter into the Oneness. Allow Almovaar’s essence to become part of you.”

  In her mind, Tiyana bid a regretful farewell to Nama-kwah. At least, she now knew the Goddess’s final warning had referred to the Uloans, not the Fidi, as she had once suspected. And she supposed she should be grateful for that much. Then Tiyana opened herself to Almovaar’s Oneness.

  She kept her eyes on Gebrem and Kyroun. The Seer led the Believers in a chant that had the rhythm of a song. Byallis had turned her head toward her, and now began to mouth the chant into Tiyana’s ear. And she saw Ruk speaking into Keshu’s ear as well.

  The words, in the language of the Fidi, were meaningless to her. And she knew Gebrem didn’t understand them, either. Yet as the chant grew louder, she saw her father’s lips move. And she heard his voice join that of Kyroun, pronouncing the same words as if they were in his own language.

  Although the sight and sound startled Tiyana, she did not have time to react to it any further. For now her own mouth had begun to move, and the words of the chant were drawn involuntarily from her throat.

  Fingers of fear touched Tiyana’s spine. She heard Keshu’s deep voice beside her, speaking the alien syllables. When she tried to look at him, she found that she could not move her head. Again and again, she tried to perform the simple movement, and she could not do it.

  Now the fear-fingers clutched hard. Tiyana tried to pull her hands out of the others’ clasp. It was impossible. Her body no longer belonged to her; it no longer responded to the commands her brain gave it.

  Still chanting involuntarily, she stared at the abi, which still lay in front of Kyroun and Gebrem. The rod was beginning to glow ... and change.

  In the silvery light that surrounded the abi, the symbols of the Matile gods that had been engraved along its length ages ago shimmered, then faded until the metal rod became smooth and featureless as a shaft of starlight. A moment later, it rose into the air and hung in front of the Seer and the Leba. To the wide-eyed Tiyana, the abi – if it could still be called that – appeared to beckon to her father, as well as the Seer.

  Kyroun ended the chant. All fell silent. Then he reached out and grasped the glowing rod. It appeared to merge with his hand.

  The Seer looked at Gebrem.

  “We must do this together, in the Oneness,” he said.

  Gebrem hesitated. The disappearance of the symbols from the abi marked a turning point. Instincts instilled by the practice of ashuma told him there would be no way he could go back to his old life once he touched the transformed instrument of power.

  And just what was that life? he asked himself.

  His city was burning around him. His people were dying. The world he had known was ending. Gebrem’s hand crept toward the rod that had been passed down unaltered for countless generations. Now it had changed. And it was time for him to change as well.

  His fingers curled around the rod.

  And everyone assembled in the circle,
Amiya and Believer alike, cried out in agony and wonder at the force that suddenly flowed like a surge of lava through their bodies and souls.

  5

  Deities do not die. Weak or strong, worshipped or abjured, they dwell in their infinite, timeless Realms beyond the world. Within that isolation, the petty concerns of the mortals’ sphere can be as distant, or immediate, as the gods and goddesses desire them to be ....

  In their Realms, the Jagasti dwelt in isolation. Long ago, they had forsaken direct involvement in the lives of their worshippers. They retained a tangential and superficial role over the centuries that had passed since the calamity of the Storm Wars. Now the people who venerate them were in peril. But the Jagasti could do nothing; they had spent too much of their endless time in their own Realms, and their potency in the mortals’ world had diminished accordingly – and voluntarily. And so their Vessels had abandoned them and turned their worship to a new divine being.

  Once they had walked among the Matile, and were part of their lives. Now they could only watch helplessly as a new conflict shook not only the world of mortals, but the Jagastis’ Realms as well.

  Only one deity continued to play a direct role in the world of mortal—Legaba. The other gods had long since cast him from their company. They considered him a fool and left him to pursue his twisted dreams. Now that those dreams were becoming a terrible reality, they still did nothing ....

  6

  Legaba’s Realm was a gray, gloomy place replete with leafless black trees. The branches of the trees intertwined like huge spiderwebs, and were bowed down as though in perpetual sorrow. Neither sun nor Moon Stars shone in Legaba’s Realm. Still, a dim twilight illumination glistened in drops of water that clung like oily perspiration to the tree trunks. The trees did not grow out of soil, but out of water ... dark water covered with green slime and festooned with grass that was sharp as the blades of knives.

  Legaba’s Children – pythons, toads, crocodiles, water-rats and other creatures of the dank swamplands – crawled and slithered through the trees and splashed noisily in the foulness that surrounded their maker. More than anything else, though, the Realm teemed with spiders ... spiders of all shapes and sizes, from tiny creatures no bigger than a thumbnail to gigantic predators the size of lions.

  In the midst of his endless swamp, Legaba loomed like a mountain. His immense, arachnid body was larger than an elephant’s. Eight eyes burned like crimson coals in his formless face. But instead of the eight limbs of the spiders that surrounded him, Legaba had dozens, each one thicker than a python’s coils. Those limbs waved constantly, as though stirred by an errant breeze. But there was no wind of any kind in Legaba’s Realm ... only an oppressive humidity that weighed the air down like a gigantic blanket of wetness.

  Legaba poured his twisted ashuma into the supplicant souls of his minions in the mortals’ world through the medium of Jass Imbiah. He knew they were winning their battle. And when it was over, the ultimate victory would belong to him, not his followers, regardless of what he would lead them to believe.

  He also knew his own battle had yet to begin. The one who aided the doomed worshippers of the other Jagasti was coming to him. He knew it. He could feel it. As if in anticipation of what Legaba had already sensed, his Children swam, scurried and dove away from him, even the spiders. For they knew the coming battle would be his alone, not theirs.

  Suddenly, Legaba’s limbs ceased their movement. His eyes flared like small suns. Then, with a loud, rending sound, the fabric of his Realm was ripped apart as though it were nothing but a sheet of flimsy cloth.

  A white-gold opening split the dark sky. The aperture quickly extended down to the swampy soil. Trees toppled; stagnant water bubbled and hissed, fleeing creatures screamed as they were boiled alive.

  Then, out of the substance of the light, Legaba’s adversary took form. Manlike in shape, Almovaar stood as tall as a tree. Like a silhouette of light, his face and body showed no features.

  A substance that resembled sand turned into motes of light that swirled around him. No words passed between the two deities as Almovaar confronted Legaba. None were necessary.

  Almovaar stretched his arms, and the trees closest to him burst into golden flames, casting unwelcome illumination on the desolation that surrounded Legaba. In response, Legaba’s numerous limbs stretched with frightening speed toward Almovaar. One by one, they wrapped around the intruder until he could no longer be seen, his light snuffed out as though it had never existed.

  Then Legaba’s tentacles contracted, squeezing inexorably, compressing the once-imposing manifestation of Almovaar into a sphere no bigger than a berry.

  Legaba’s multiple eyes flared in triumph. Then the sphere exploded, and bits of Legaba’s flesh hurtled through the fetid air. Legaba’s body shuddered, and his fragmented tentacles hung limp, powerless, even though they continued to move.

  His form restored, Almovaar towered over Legaba. His effulgence blazed even brighter, and Legaba’s vast bulk appeared to shrink under the merciless illumination.

  Then a javelin of light appeared at the end of Almovaar’s hand. At first, the weapon was part of the deity’s substance. And then, suddenly, it wasn’t. Like a bolt of lightning, it flashed toward – then into – Legaba.

  Legaba’s tentacles writhed wildly, smashing limbs from the nearest trees. His body bulged and contracted like a blacksmith’s bellows. His eyes sizzled and sparked, then grew dim as Almovaar’s spear of light consumed him from within.

  Golden fissures appeared on Legaba’s surface. They spread and connected until they formed a web that ensnared him in immobile agony. Legaba lay helpless, netted like some gigantic fish. Or like a spider snared in its own web. Of his Children, there was no sign.

  Almovaar cast a final, disdainful glance at his vanquished foe. Then, in a blinding burst of incandescence, he vanished from Legaba’s grim Realm, leaving only his net of golden fire behind to dispel the darkness.

  Deities cannot die. Immortality is both their blessing and their curse. But they can be made to suffer – as can their worshippers.@

  7

  Like Legaba, Jass Imbiah sat at the center of a vast web. She confidently wove its strands from her place on one of the many ships that crowded the harbor of Khambawe. She monitored and controlled the movements of her fighters and jhumbis. Her huangis, some of whom remained with her on the ship while the others were positioned in other sea-craft and in the city, had easily held the negligible ashuma of their Matile foes in check.

  For a fleeting moment, the more-potent magic of the Tokoloshe had caused Jass Imbiah some concern. But the Tokoloshes’ numbers were too few, and the ashuma Legaba continually poured into Jass Imbiah was more than enough to offset the minor threat the Tokoloshes’ magic posed.

  Although the Uloan ship rocked gently, Jass Imbiah remained motionless, eyes staring straight ahead, face composed in a mask of concentration. In the depths of those dark eyes, however, the huangi gathered around her could detect an ember of triumph that was about to burst into an all-consuming incandescence.

  Khambawe was burning. Its people were dying in droves. Jass Imbiah had tested the power of her Matile counterpart, Jass Gebrem, and found it sadly wanting. She had taunted him to demonstrate her contempt, then unleashed the full magical might Legaba had invested within her.

  Now, as Legaba had promised Jass Imbiah’s ancestors, Retribution Time had come. Soon, the mainland would belong to the Uloans ...

  Jass Imbiah went rigid. The huangi tensed in anticipation. They believed Legaba was about to ride her a final time, imbuing her – and them – with the final measure of ashuma needed to ensure victory.

  The huangi were wrong in their assumption. But Jass Imbiah could not tell them that, or anything else. She could not tell them Legaba was ... gone. One moment, he was as much a part of her as her bones and blood; the next he had vanished like a ray of sunlight cut off by a cloud. And in an awful burst of insight, she realized that the cloud would never pass,
and Legaba was gone from her forever.

  She longed to cry out in protest and despair. But she couldn’t. The moment Legaba left her, another presence filled her in his place. It was the adversary Legaba had revealed to her on the islands after the message from the mainland had arrived.

  In her last instant of life, Jass Imbiah attempted to shout a warning to the huangi. But no sound escaped her throat. Instead, her mouth stretched across her face in a rictus that caused blood to drip from its corners. Her eyeballs bulged in their sockets. Her nostrils flared to an unnatural width.

  Then, before the horrified gazes of the huangi, Jass Imbiah’s body imploded, as though her skull and bones had suddenly turned to water. Like a burst bladder, her body collapsed within her robes. Her remnants stained the floor of the ship’s cabin.

  And the huangi stood alone ... powerless... helpless ....

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  The End of the Uloans

  1

  Waves of sorcerous potency streamed through Jass Gebrem. Blue radiance enveloped his body. His transformed abi shone like the most brilliant of all the Moon Stars. In that blaze of light, he could barely make out the features of Kyroun, who remained at his side. The Amiyas and Believers who surrounded them were little more than blurry shadows that blended with the background.

  Within the Oneness, Gebrem, Kyroun and the others had witnessed Almovaar’s victory over Legaba in the Spider God’s Realm. And they had seen the demise of Jass Imbiah, as well as the resulting panic among the suddenly powerless huangi and their followers. And they knew that although the battle had shifted in their direction, it had not yet been won. There was more that needed to be done if Khambawe was to be saved.