Abengoni

by Charles R. Saunders

  Beneath her, Nama-kwah saw no ground ... only more sky, and more clouds. Gentle winds swirled around her, lifting her translucent wings, keeping her aloft. The warmth of the wind caressed her, even through the protective covering she had created for herself.

  One moment, Nama-kwah was flying alone through the infinite sky, well aware that her presence would soon be known to Ufashwe. Then, without warning, she was surrounded by birds that seemed to have materialized from the sky itself. Avians of all shapes, sizes and colors swooped and swirled around Nama-kwah, subtly guiding her toward Ufashwe. The songs and cries of the birds mingled into a chorus rather than a cacophony, and their music was pleasing to Nama-kwah’s ears.

  These variegated birds were Ufashwe’s Children. Like the fish that were Nama-kwah’s Children, the flock mirrored the birds that existed in Beyond World: eagles, flamingos, parrots, ibises, ox-peckers, guinea-fowl, marabous, honey-guides, hawks and songbirds. Ufashwe’s sky-Realm lent beauty even to the vulture and other despised scavenger-birds.

  Birds of other types flew amid the flock – creatures that would never be seen in the sky over Abengoni. Large in size and wingspan, with long, elegant beaks and crystalline, almost transparent feathers, these birds were of Ufashwe’s own making; manifestations of his dreams. They looked at Nama-kwah with eyes that glinted with intelligence, and when they opened their beaks, they sang like no bird had ever sung in the World Beyond. They mingled freely with their fellow Children, neither receiving nor expecting any deference because of their differences.

  In Ufashwe’s Realm, the birds that were his Children enjoyed eternal flight. Never would they need to alight on the ground or cling to a tree-branch. The sky was theirs – forever.

  More of Ufashwe’s Children appeared, until they almost completely surrounded Nama-kwah. Although the birds conceded her the space necessary to spread her wings, she could no longer see the sky. She could see only an ever-changing mosaic of feathers, beaks and eyes. Other birds joined the song, and their music echoed in her ears as she flew.

  She allowed Ufashwe’s Children to carry her along with them, knowing that they would eventually take her to the Wind God. She listened to their songs, and thought about what she was going to say to her fellow deity when she saw him.

  After a time, she could sense that the flight of the flock was slowing. Then, abruptly, they were gone – vanished, as though they had never existed. And Ufashwe hovered before her, suspended in the never-ending sky.

  3

  Like the birds of his own creation, Ufashwe was covered with feathers that were made of clear crystal. But the wings that spread from his back to encompass a wide swath of sky were pure cloud ... white, billowing, beautiful. His face, like Nama-kwah’s, was similar those of the Matile. But, also like Nama-kwah’s, Ufashwe’s visage was a vision of perfection, without any of the blemishes and irregularities that characterized human faces.

  Ufashwe’s eyes shone like diamonds. Those eyes looked deep into Nama-kwah’s, and probed even deeper into her being. He knew why Nama-kwah had come into his Realm. And he knew how he would answer her still-unspoken question. And he knew how she would respond.

  Regret is certain to come, he thought.

  Even so, he greeted her by reaching out with a hand that was bedecked with tiny, crystalline feathers. In turn, Nama-kwah extended her own hand, still sheathed in its protective covering, which was sufficiently translucent to show the jewel-like scales that covered her skin.

  Their fingers touched, and a current of ashuma passed between them in an exchange of warm feelings.

  A moment later, they withdrew from the contact. With a gesture of his pinions, Ufashwe beckoned Nama-kwah to join him in flight. Together, they winged through the endless sky of Ufashwe’s Realm, floating over or arrowing through the clouds that formed a white landscape amid the bright blue background.

  Soon, they were joined again by Ufashwe’s Children. The flock kept pace with the two deities. This time, however, the birds’ songs were stilled, out of respect for the silence Ufashwe and Nama-kwah maintained as they allowed the eternal wind to buoy them through the sky.

  Finally, after a period of time that could not be measured by any reckoning humans employed, Nama-kwah spoke. Her words echoed not only in the sky, but also in his mind.

  “Brother, the Children of the Beyond World need us,” she said. “Will you help me to help them?”

  “Sister, I cannot do as you ask,” Ufashwe replied, his voice as soft as a rainy-season breeze.

  “And, as you well know, you cannot do as you wish with the People of Beyond,” he continued. “So it is better not to wish it at all.”

  Nama-kwah looked at him with eyes that were filled with the tears of the sea.

  “But they need us, Brother,” she insisted.

  They addressed each other as Brother and Sister because all the Jagasti – even the despicable Legaba – were siblings, spawned at the same time in the same womb located in the fecund center of the Worlds-Beyond-the-Realms. The people of the Beyond World of Abengoni had emerged from an entirely different womb; they were not of their deities’ creation. Still, the Jagasti had adopted them after they heard Etiya’s song, and nurtured them until ....

  “Remember what our ‘help’ has done to them in the past, Sister,” Ufashwe said implacably.

  Nama-kwah turned away from his unblinking gaze. Her memory of the calamitous Storm Wars was as fresh as though it had happened only recently rather than centuries in the past.

  “Legaba will destroy them,” Nama-kwah said.

  “Legaba is, and has always been, a fool,” Ufashwe returned. “And so are those who blindly worship him.”

  Nama-kwah did not have to give voice to her agreement with Ufashwe’s opinion. For after the Storm Wars had come close to ending the world they had fostered, the Jagasti had agreed to keep their interventions to a minimum, and never again bestow power that could be misused.

  All ... except Legaba.

  Legaba had become too similar to the people who paid him obeisance and reveled in his power. The Spider-God’s adherents had desired domination over their fellow humans; Legaba craved similar ascendance over his fellow Jagasti. The pact the others had made had contained Legaba’s ambitions, and reduced his capacity for mischief. But he could not be suppressed entirely.

  In the end, an approximate equilibrium had prevailed for centuries. Legaba could trifle with the Uloans, influencing and manipulating them as he desired. But the scope of his sway would be confined to the Islanders alone. The rest of the Jagasti would refrain from interaction beyond a proscribed level with the Matile. Nama-kwah and a few others had come close to that limit on several occasions. Except for participation in Callings and other rituals, Ufashwe had confined himself to his own Realm, as did the majority of the other Jagasti.

  Now, that equilibrium had been broken. Legaba was once again seeking supremacy in the Beyond World. And a new deity, who was not of the Jagasti, had come to the Matile.

  Ufashwe gave no indication that he had contemplated the coming of the foreign god, whose name was Almovaar. But Nama-kwah had. So had the other deities, and the Wind God had as well after the Jagasti had communicated throughout their Realms and decided how they were going to respond to the advent of the new god and the reawakening of Legaba’s senseless aspirations.

  And they had decided to do ... nothing.

  Legaba’s latest design for dominance would be countered by the coming of the new god. The Jagasti had scrutinized Almovaar from afar since the time they discovered his presence in the Beyond World. His strength was formidable; he had been able to shield himself from their attempts to deeply probe him and his Realm. Still, they had learned enough about him to realize that he was more than capable of thwarting Legaba’s schemes.

  Thus, most of the Jagasti had chosen to end even their minimal involvement with the Beyond World. The Matile were free to embrace another god. The Jagasti, in turn, were free to create their own Children in their own Rea
lms, and be satisfied with their complaisant behavior, which was so different from the obstreperousness and unpredictability of the mortals.

  The Jagasti were not as one in their thinking. Even so, those who disagreed with the majority still agreed to comply with the majority’s wishes. All – except Nama-kwah. The Sea Goddess found herself unwilling – or unable – to accept the ultimate abandonment of the Matile, even though she alone was powerless to forestall it.

  She spoke of her misgivings to Ufashwe.

  “I do not trust this new god,” she said. “We should be the ones to contain Legaba, not him.”

  “Nevertheless, the Children of the Beyond World have chosen him,” Ufashwe said.

  “But only because we have given them no alternative,” Nama-kwah responded. “They did not abandon us; we abandoned them.”

  Her sharp tone created an eddy of tension between them, and the Children of Ufashwe wavered in their flight alongside the two Jagasti. The heads of the birds cocked toward the deities, and sounds of distress emanated from their beaks. Ufashwe and Nama-kwah flew on in a silence that was finally broken by the Wind God. Before he spoke, he swept his cloud-wings in a gesture that took in half the sky.

  “This is where we belong, Sister,” he said. “Our Realms are of our own making. And so are our Children. Let the Beyond People have their new god. And let us have our peace.”

  “I fear for what will happen to them, Brother,” Nama-kwah said.

  “They are no longer our concern, Sister,” said Ufashwe.

  The finality of his tone precluded any further discussion. Nama-kwah knew she could never convince Ufashwe to join her in another intervention into the World Beyond. And if he, to whom she was closest, remained indifferent to her entreaties, so, too, would the others.

  Deep within, she understood him. Had she not developed such a close bond with her Vessel, Tiyana, Nama-kwah might have shared Ufashwe’s lack of concern. Like him, she would have been satisfied to relegate herself to her Realm, among her Children. She could not completely surrender her fondness for her soon-to-be former worshippers. But she could not help them, either.

  She reached out her hand to Ufashwe to signal the end of their discussion. His hand touched hers, and again the ashuma flowed between them.

  “Farewell, Brother,” she said.

  “Farewell, Sister.”

  Then Nama-kwah veered away from Ufashwe and flew back to her Realm. This time, the Children of Ufashwe did not accompany her.

  4

  And now, it was over. Legaba had been defeated by the new god. The Matile had forsaken the Jagasti, just as the Jagasti had abandoned them. The destruction had been immense, although not comparable to what had happened during the Storm Wars. That time had marked the first retreat of the Jagasti from involvement in the Beyond World. But that retreat had been only partial. A minimum of contact with the ephemeral lives of the people of that world had been maintained – just enough to offset the continuing ambitions of Legaba.

  Now, Nama-kwah reflected as she hovered in the water of the borderland and watched the corpses and the wreckage continue to defile Khambawe’s harbor, the withdrawal of the deities would be complete. Legaba was no longer a threat. He would remain dormant in his Realm for a long time, even as its passage was perceived by the Jagasti.

  And now the Matile had Almovaar. His coming had disrupted the equilibrium that had kept Legaba in check. That was the danger of which she had attempted to warn Tiyana during First Calling.

  And now, Tiyana was gone from Nama-kwah. The vessel had abandoned the Mask of the Sea Goddess, and Nama-kwah had no had other means to contact her Vessel. And the Beyond World was lost to Nama-kwah as well.

  But what was that world, compared to her Realm, and those of the other Jagasti? Her Realm belonged to her; she could shape and reshape it as she pleased, unlike the Beyond World, which shaped itself.

  Still, she felt a lingering attachment to the Beyond World and its impermanent, intractable people. And she knew something else. Her Mask had fallen into other hands ... the hands of one who was not an Amiya, and had not been trained in the ways of communing with the Jagasti. It was only a tentative link, and not a very strong one. But it was the only connection Nama-kwah had left. She would maintain it, because she did not trust this new god, Almovaar.

  Almovaar had made no attempt to communicate with the Jagasti, and his Realm was impenetrable to any incursions from them. Nama-kwah wondered what he was hiding in his Realm. But of all the Jagasti, only she had expressed any curiosity about the newcomer. The others, like Ufashwe, were content to leave the Beyond World to its own fate.

  So, too, would Nama-kwah. Still, she would keep her connection with the holder of her Mask. That was all she had left of the Beyond World.

  Turning away from the aftermath of the carnage, Nama-kwah swam through the border waters and back into the clean, clear blue of her Realm. Her Children trailed behind her in a long, luminous line. And behind them, the scavengers of the sea continued their grisly work of devouring the dead.

  PART THREE

  CITY OF BELIEVERS

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Rebirth

  1

  Like a heavy, moist curtain, the last shower of the rainy season descended on Khambawe. The earlier torrents of the season had washed away the blood of the fallen, as well as the malodorous ichor that had been all that remained of the Uloans’ jhumbis. The streets of the Jewel City glistened in the dim sunlight filtered through the ranks of clouds that hung low in the sky.

  The corpses and wreckage from the terrible day and night of the battle against the Uloans had long since been removed from the city’s harbor. The hordes of sharks that had feasted on the dead had returned, well sated, to the open sea, as had the scavengers of the sea-bottom. Only the few Matile ships left unscathed from the combat remained on the water’s surface, bobbing placidly at their berths. Other, newer, sea-craft were in various stages of construction.

  The Ishimbi stood in their age-old location as though they had never walked; never helped to seal the demise of the Uloan invaders by destroying their ships. Rain had stripped away the mud and gore that had covered the statues’ stone skin, but the seaweed from the harbor remained. Garlands of flowers laid daily by grateful Matile still festooned the Ishimbis’ feet.

  Evidence of the rebuilding process abounded in the streets of Khambawe. Burned buildings, of which there were many, had been either demolished or reconstructed. New houses rose in the vacant gaps along the streets. Charred trees had been removed; the ones that remained were now flourishing in emerald splendor, and new ones sprouted in place of those that were burned. The market squares again flourished, with wares of all types on display over which good-natured haggling continued past sundown.

  However, there were still abundant reminders of the time of death and destruction. The City of the Dead had almost doubled in size, with a new section set aside for the peculiar graves of those who had come from Beyond the Storm. No one in Khambawe had been left untouched by death in some way, with family and friends newly buried in the City of the Dead. Even so, the time for mourning was over. Few now visited the metropolis of tombs. There was too much that needed to be done. The extent of the destruction the Uloans had caused was so great that another cycle of wet and dry seasons would have to pass before the Jewel City would be whole again.

  Before the coming of the White Gull and the Almovaads, the expanse of Khambawe beyond the City of the Dead had been alive only in appearance. Beneath the surface of the city’s life, the advance of decline and decay seemed irreversible; the end of the Matiles’ civilization a mere matter of time. But now, the foreshadowing of doom that had loomed like a death-shroud over the city was gone. Now, the people of Khambawe and other cities were celebrating hope.

  From the earliest of their days, the Matile had held a Coming-of-the-Sun ceremony to mark the end of the rainy season, just as First Calling heralded its beginning. The Coming-of-the-Sun was conducted on land rat
her than the sea, with the Amiyas for the Jagasti of the sun and sky leading the celebration of the season’s change.

  But now, for the first time in hundreds of years, there would be no Coming-of-the-Sun rite. The people of Khambawe had renounced their old, powerless deities. The Beit Amiya was now the Temple of Almovaar, and the Amiyas had become Adepts in the magic of the new religion the Fidis had brought with them. And nearly all the Matile had, in effect, become Almovaads – Believers. The few who had not converted kept their skepticism to themselves. And no one advocated any restoration of the Jagasti.

  Another event had been planned to take the place of the Coming-of-the-Sun. When the rainy season came to an end, Jass Gebrem would be formally crowned Emperor of Matile Mara – the first Leba ever to ascend to the Lion Throne.

  The coronation would confirm in ritual what had long since been reality. Gebrem had, in fact, ruled the Empire since the day the remains of Dardar Alemeyu and Issa were interred in the royal section of the City of the Dead. Among some people in Khambawe, however, an undercurrent of intrigue flowed as they speculated on who the true Emperor was: Gebrem – or the Seer Kyroun, whose growing influence in the Matile court was obvious to all observers.

  Until the sun broke through the clouds, the streets of Khambawe would remain empty, as custom dictated. Within their homes, the Matile adorned themselves with their finest clothing and jewelry in anticipation of Gebrem’s enthronement.