Abengoni

by Charles R. Saunders

  “And so I came to Khambawe, leaving women and children of my village in the hands of the Thabas. And when I came, I learned that the Fidi are also among the Matile; that Alemeyu is dead; and the Jagasti are no more.”

  Eshetu’s story was done. He bowed his head and awaited the judgment of the two unimaginably powerful men who sat across from him.

  “Look at me, Eshetu,” the Emperor said.

  The kabbar obeyed.

  “You are a courageous man,” Gebrem said. “The Empire needs more – many more – like you.”

  Eshetu bowed his head again in an expression of humility, then raised it as the Emperor continued.

  “Before you told us your story, I promised you that Imbesh would be avenged. I reiterate that promise ... and I also promise that you will play a part in that vengeance. While we make our plans, you will remain here in the Palace as my guest.”

  Kyroun spoke then.

  “You have my thanks as well. I am pleased to learn that some of my followers have survived the sinking of their ship, even though they are now held by the enemies of the Matile. They, like the survivors from Imbesh, must be rescued.”

  The Emperor nodded to the soldier, who had changed neither his stance nor his expression during Eshetu’s recounting.

  “Tewolo will take you to your quarters, Eshetu. We will talk again soon.”

  When Eshetu stood, his knees could barely support him. With only a few words, the Emperor had transformed him from landless kabbar to a man of position, a man of honor, a man of power. So much had happened to him that was beyond belief ... now, he said the only thing he could say:

  “Thank you, Mesfin ... Leba. My life is yours. I will serve you well.”

  After Tewolo ushered the kabbar out of the small chamber, Gebrem turned to Kyroun.

  “Do you know the people he saw among the Thabas?” he asked.

  “I know all my followers,” the Seer replied. “But I was not aware that any of them had survived the sinking of the Swordfish. Almovaar must have spared them for a reason ... a reason he has not seen fit to impart to us.”

  “Who are they?” Gebrem asked. In the Oneness, he had seen them as clearly as Kyroun had, but their identities remained a mystery to him.

  “The red-haired one is Niall,” the Seer said. “A quiet man and a good fighter, a loyal defender of Almovaar. The drummer is his friend, Diamid. The blue-robed one is Ferroun, who ranks high among the Believers, even though he does not possess the aptitude in sorcery necessary to become an Adept, or even an Acolyte. He was responsible for the organizational work that kept us functioning as we journeyed from Lumaron to Fiadol.”

  “And the woman?”

  A long moment passed before Kyroun went on. As he spoke again, his tone was less assured.

  “Her name is Aeliel. She is of the Elven – a secretive people who live apart from all others in Cym Dinath. Only rarely do the Elven dwell among us ... and to this day, I do not know why Aeliel joined the Almovaads. In the Oneness, she always shields her thoughts. Even I am unable to penetrate them.”

  “And now, they are among the Thabas,” Gebrem said. “Our worst enemies, now that the Uloans are no longer a threat to us.”

  “It would seem that these Thabas are a more immediate threat than we had originally supposed,” Kyroun said. “Even as we rebuild, they prepare to push across the frontier as a united force under their new chieftain, this Tshakane. We must strike them sooner than we thought.”

  “To save your shipwreck survivors?” Gebrem asked.

  “To save the Empire,” said Kyroun.

  5

  Later, in the Beit Almovaar – which had once been the Beit Amiya – Kyroun met with some of the Adepts who had not joined Tiyana on the voyage to the Uloan Islands. They were all Fidi; none of the Matile Adepts were present. When he told the others what he and Gebrem had learned from Eshetu, their eyes widened and their mouths gaped in astonishment.

  “How could anyone have survived such a shipwreck?” Eimos asked. “The fury of the storms would have reduced the Swordfish to kindling without your protection.”

  “And why those four?” asked Ulrithana. “Why Ferroun?”

  Kyroun suppressed a smile. The Shadimish Adept’s dislike of the administrator had continued even after what she had thought to be his elimination from her life.

  “More to the point, what are we going to do about it?”

  The speaker was Hara, a plain-faced, yellow-haired woman from Fiadol. She had been one of the last converts the Almovaads had acquired before sailing away from the seaport. Although Hara had never so much as dabbled in sorcery in her previous life, about which she said little, she had become an Adept almost as quickly as Byallis. She seldom spoke. But when she did, even Kyroun often listened.

  “I could not determine whether or not they were captives,” the Seer said. “Either way, they will be in danger once the Emperor begins his campaign against the Thabas. They will have to trust in Almovaar for their protection until we arrive in Thaba territory. Once we are there, we can decide on how we will bring them back among us.”

  “Perhaps they weren’t the only ones who survived the shipwreck,” Eimos mused. “There could be others.”

  “Perhaps,” Kyroun agreed. “If there are, Almovaar has not told me. But then, he did not tell me of the survival of those four. And I do not know why. Almovaar does not tell me everything.”

  “It is possible he did not want you to be disturbed in your task here,” Ulrithana murmured.

  Hara and Eimos exchanged a wry glance. They knew Ferroun was the “disturbance” to which the Shadimish woman was referring.

  “Possibly,” Kyroun agreed. “In the meantime, this news will not remain a secret for long. Nor should it. Soon, it will spread throughout Khambawe, and beyond. Many questions will be asked, by Believers and non-Believers alike. For now, our best – and only – answer is: ‘Almovaar will show us the way.’”

  The others nodded their agreement.

  “For now, we will continue our preparations for the homecoming of Tiyana and the others, who have succeeded beyond our highest expectations.”

  “She bears watching, that Tiyana,” said Hara, narrowing her eyes. “She grows very strong, very swiftly.”

  Kyroun turned to her.

  “Almovaar will decide how strong she grows,” he said reprovingly. “And how swiftly.”

  With that, the Adepts – with the exception of Ulrithana – departed the part of the House of Believers in which they had held their meeting. As soon as the others were gone, the Shadimish woman took the Seer’s hand, and he led her to the private quarters that had previously belonged to Gebrem.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Tiyana’s Homecoming

  1

  A strong sea-wind whipped through Tiyana’s braids as she stood near the prow of the Amdwa. Her silver hair-ornaments clashed to create a discordant melody. Her blue chamma alternately billowed and clung to her body, depending on the vagaries of the breeze. Salt-tinged spray moistened her face and arms as she focused her gaze on the east, the way home. Khambawe as not yet visible across the sun-dappled waves, but Tiyana knew the Matile fleet would arrive home in a matter of hours.

  To the north, she could see the vast, gray band of mist that marked the beginning of the Sea of Storms. As she looked at it, Tiyana remembered First Calling. And she remembered what the mist had brought to the Matile people that day.

  She remembered Nama-kwah as well, and the final warning the Goddess had given her before ending the tenuous contact between them.

  Danger ...

  Tiyana laughed: a bittersweet sound carried away by the wind. At First Calling, she had believed the Goddess was warning her about the coming of the Fidi. Now she was certain that the warning had been about the Uloans. Had the Fidi and Almovaar not been present, the insane islanders would have demolished Khambawe.

  She wondered if Nama-kwah was still watching her from somewhere in her Realm. And she decided that possibility n
o longer mattered to her. None of the Jagasti mattered anymore.

  What mattered most to Tiyana now was her return home. Home to her father, whose pride in her accomplishments in the Uloan Islands meant more to her than all the other words of praise that showered upon her on the Amdwa and in the Oneness. Home to Keshu, with whom she shared a private togetherness even when they were far apart, as they were now. Home to the celebration the Believers were planning, the type of festivities usually reserved for a Dejezmek returning victorious from battle.

  Someone was approaching her from behind. Tiyana knew this, even though the wind and the tinkle of the ornaments in her hair muffled the sound. And, without needing to turn around, she knew who was coming.

  The magical power – she no longer thought of it as ashuma – that her delvings into Almovaad sorcery had awakened with in her had become as much a part of her as her blood and bones. Her awareness of her surroundings extended beyond her senses. She saw her, heard more ... knew more.

  Thus, when she did turn, she was not surprised to see Lyann, second-in-command to Captain Pel Muldure, coming toward her.

  Lyann stopped at a respectful distance from Tiyana and inclined her head in greeting. Tiyana returned the gesture. She did not know the Fidi woman well, but she appreciated the fierce fighting Lyann and the other crew members of the lost White Gull had done in the battle to save Khambawe.

  Lyann had allowed her yellow hair to grow, but not much. Now she had two strings of beads braided into her locks, one on each side of her sun-darkened face. But she continued to wear Fiadol seaman’s garb of shirt and breeches, sewn to her specifications by Matile garment-makers. In Khambawe, some of the younger Matile affected similar garb.

  “The sailing is smooth,” Tiyana said.

  Lyann nodded acknowledgement of the compliment.

  “But you know,” the Fidi woman said, “in all my years at sea, I have never been on a voyage as strange as this one.”

  Lyann’s Matile was heavily accented, but Tiyana understood her.

  “Not even the one through the Sea of Storms?” she asked.

  “That was dangerous,” Lyann allowed. “But this time, the purpose was not to risk lives ...or to take them. It was to save lives ... the lives of your enemies.”

  Tiyana smiled.

  “Yes. That is different. But that is what Almovaar teaches us ... to be merciful to all, even enemies who are no longer a threat.”

  She regarded the Fidi woman for a moment.

  “Why are you not a Believer?” she asked abruptly.

  Lyann looked away. Then she returned Tiyana’s steady gaze.

  “We have our own ways, Muldure and I,” she said. “The sea is our mother, our father ... and our god. For all that Almovaar can do, we still trust to the sea.”

  Tiyana nodded.

  “The nature of the voyage is not what you wish to speak to me about, is it?” she asked.

  “No, it’s not,” Lyann replied. “It’s about Muldure.”

  Tiyana waited for her to continue.

  “He doesn’t like to stay in one place for a long time. Neither do I. And neither does the crew ... at least the ones who haven’t become Believers, and are content to stay here. The problem is, we don’t have a ship anymore.”

  “You wish to return to your own land?” Tiyana asked.

  “We can’t do that,” Lyann replied.

  She gestured toward the roiling gray band that marked the boundary of the Sea of Storms.

  “We would need the Seer’s power to get us through that again. And he is not going back.”

  “What would you like to do, then?” Tiyana asked. “And how could I help you?”

  “We have heard tales of how your ancestors explored the rest of this continent, as well as others, in days gone by,” Lyann said. “But that was long in the past. Your people have been gone from the rest of your land for so long, it is as though your world is new again. If you Matile would want to go once again to these other places, Muldure and I would like to be the ones to sail there for you.”

  Tiyana nodded thoughtfully.

  “That is a worthy idea,” she said. “Only the Emperor could make the final decision on it, though. I will try to persuade him for you.”

  Lyann nodded.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  “Muldure doesn’t know you intended to speak to me, does he?” Tiyana asked with a knowing narrowing of her eyes.

  “No,” Lyann acknowledged. “This isn’t his idea. But he’ll agree to it.”

  The two women shared a wry smile that said much about their experiences with men. Then they watched the clear horizon to the east as the Amdwa brought them closer to Khambawe.

  2

  When the fleet sailed into Khambawe’s harbor, a large throng awaited the ships’ arrival in the shadows cast by the Ishimbi statues. Garlands of flowers festooned the gigantic statues, as they had during the coronation of the Emperor Gebrem. The dry seaweed that that remained from the Ishimbis’ march into the harbor to destroy the Uloan warships remained encrusted to the statues. Although the plants’ color had faded from green to brown, they had not flaked away with the passage of time. The clumps of weed were revered as reminders of Almovaar’s deliverance of the city.

  The harbor had long since been cleared of the bodies and wreckage left behind from the Uloans’ invasion. Once again, the air smelled fresh and clean, and sea-birds swooped above the surface of the water.

  Dignitaries comprised the bulk of the crowd that greeted the ships. The rest of Khambawe’s populace was arrayed along the street that would be the route the Degen Jassi and the Almovaads would follow from the docks to the Gebbi Senafa. A string of gharris drawn by ornately caparisoned quaggas waited at the edge of the dock area to carry the procession along its course.

  The Emperor and the Leba, each resplendent in the panoply of his position, stood at the forefront of the throng. If any suspicion or animosity lingered between them over the revelations of Eshetu, they kept it well-concealed. Once the celebration of Tiyana’s return was over, the Degen Jassi would meet, and the implications of the kabbar’s tale would be discussed in full.

  Tiyana was the first to embark from the Amdwa, alighting with the grace of a bird onto the wharf. The rest of the Adepts followed, from the Amdwa and all the other ships in the fleet. In defiance of the usual silent decorum that accompanied such events, cheers rose from the dignitaries as the Adepts made their way toward them.

  When she reached Gebrem, Tiyana tossed propriety aside and threw her arms around her father who, after a moment’s hesitation, returned her embrace, much to the delight of the others in the crowd.

  “You have done so well, my daughter,” the Emperor whispered in her ear. “Yet there will be so much more for us to do.”

  Tiyana smiled and nodded her agreement. Then she went to Kyroun and embraced him in turn. He smiled at her, but said nothing. Tiyana thought she could see a hint of disquiet in his gray eyes. She decided she would talk with him later to find out if anything was troubling him.

  Then she reached Keshu, who looked resplendent in the Fidi-style blue robes of an Adept. She knew what lay beneath those robes, and she intended to spend some time alone with him after the celebration of the fleet’s return was over. They would have much to say to each other ... and they had a future to decide.

  For now, they shared a long embrace.

  “I have missed you,” Tiyana murmured as she pressed her face against Keshu’s robe and absorbed the touch and smell of him.

  “Never again will we be apart,” he promised.

  He held her tighter, as though his embrace could meld her so close to him that even a command from the Emperor or the Leba would have no effect on his resolve to make Tiyana his wife. He knew Gebrem’s eyes were upon him, weighing him on a balance between the shadow of the Empire’s past and the splendor of its future. Keshu was confident that the new ways would supersede the old, and Tiyana’s lofty status as the future Empress would not stand be
tween them.

  Other greetings were exchanged. Then, the entire aggregation of notables made its way to the gharris that were waiting to carry them to the Gebbi Senafa. Tiyana and Keshu climbed into the same gharri. The Emperor and Kyroun rode separately.

  Musicians playing melekhet horns and drummers beating out a rhythm on kebarus signaled the beginning of Tiyana’s procession of triumph. Amid the rumble of gharri wheels and the braying of the quaggas, the ranks of Khambawe’s ruling class began their journey along a street strewn with blossoms and lined with cheering people.

  3

  Adisu the leather-worker and Tamair mingled their praise-chants with those of the rest of the crowd as the gharris passed and the music played. Other members of the dissident group were scattered throughout the throng on both sides of the street. All of them strove to conceal their knife-edged anticipation, as well as the apprehension that drew sweat from their palms. There was no part for them to play in what they expected to happen at any moment. Only afterward would they act, and they would do so with no blame attached to them at all ... if Sehaye’s scheme worked. And if that strange, taciturn man was not as insane as he appeared to be ...

  The gharri carrying the foreign Leba, Kyroun, passed by the two dissidents. The white-bearded man stared straight ahead, barely acknowledging the praise the Matile were giving him – adulation that, in the minds of the dissidents, he did not deserve.

  “Look at him,” Adisu muttered beneath his breath. “He cares nothing for us at all. He ...”

  Tamair gave him a sharp jab with her elbow even as she sang a verse from a praise-song that was almost as old as Khambawe itself. Adisu understood the message she imparted, painful though it was. He joined the chorus of reverence for the Emperor Gebrem as his gharri passed. In contrast to Kyroun, the Emperor smiled broadly and raised his hand from time to time, as though the gesture was a benison to the crowd. With a slight nod to Tamair, Adisu struggled mightily to prevent his true feelings from surfacing again.