by Marc Secchia
“First tree,” said a warrior excitedly, handing her a rope.
“Tell that man down the cliff to stand clear,” said Shioni. A team of four warriors anchored a rope with grim resolve–an enterprising scout dangled from the other end. He had to be getting very wet indeed. “Up, Shifta.”
“Swing him clear!”
Shioni fastened the tripled-up rope to the top of the strap behind Shifta’s shoulders with a deft knot. “Take the strain, Shifta. Slowly.”
“I do have a brain larger than yours beneath this thick skull,” he retorted, pressing his tonnage forward with care. The rope leaped taut. And he walked on with ease.
“Scabby hyenas, the branch snapped,” said one of the warriors. “Next!”
In a few moments, Shioni repeated the rope-tying exercise. This time, Shifta’s strength was put to the test. He pulled a small tree out of the blockage. The scout moved again.
“Keep him tight,” Getu warned his men. “It’s slippery down there.”
More warriors trotted up from the campsite carrying a roughly-trimmed tree trunk to use as a lever. With the benefit of Shifta’s power, they wrenched a huge boulder loose and sent it tumbling over the edge. The river sucked into the enlarged gap with a hungry roar.
“Good!” the General shouted. “More of that!”
The warriors prodded with their spears, prising loose the smaller rocks. Several waded into the lake. Shioni directed Shifta carefully, heaving branches and whole trees clear of the fissure, or helping lever large boulders out of the gap using his trunk or tusks. She was unaware of the passing of time until Annakiya appeared with several men carrying a snack and water skins.
“It’s going down, look,” said the Princess.
Shioni glanced along the lake in surprise. It had only drawn back a long step or so–not very much at all.
“That’s a huge volume of water,” Annakiya stated, plainly unimpressed with her slave-girl’s response. “We’re winning the battle. And we’re having roast kudu for dinner tonight.”
“Kudu? Wow.” Shioni raised her chin. “Look, they’re bridging the gap with a log.”
Indeed, since the water level had dropped slightly, several intrepid warriors were trying to position a log across the gap to a large boulder. It looked rather precarious.
General Getu marched over for a drink. “Well, the scout says he’s found the source of the problem, Princess. A large baobab is wedged down there in the gap. He says if we can shift that, the whole mass will collapse.”
“And how’s he planning to do that?” asked Annakiya, in a waspish tone that told everyone within hearing what she thought of the idea.
“He’s wanting men down there with axes to sever the major roots at the base. The elephant to pull from up here. And as many men as we can get on ropes.”
“I see. And when they pull the plug on that bathtub? What happens then?”
Getu gazed over the lake. The far side was almost out of sight. “We’ll need brave volunteers,” he said. “My guess is that not a man of my Elites will stand back. Care to wager on it, Princess?”
“I volunteer,” said Shioni.
“You will stay right here!” roared Getu. “While you’re under my eye, you will not be climbing down any cliffs. You have already turned my beard grey.” And then he smiled. “You will do as your mistress commands.”
“Thank you, General.”
Shioni glanced at Annakiya, annoyed at her starchy reply. “I take it that means I’m riding elephant?”
“You’re riding elephant.”
When asked, every single warrior in the Sheban forces stepped forward without hesitation. Although she was impressed, Shioni also had to work on not seeming too resentful. At times, the metal circlet on her neck weighed more heavily than she could bear. Annakiya seemed to understand. She said:
“You look as grumpy as a warthog with stomach cramps.”
Shioni wondered silently how much of a thrashing a slave-girl could give the Princess of West Sheba without being discovered. Toads in her bed? A dead spider served with her breakfast? The possibilities were endless.
“My Lady’s wisdom is as jewels from the Orient,” she said sweetly.
Soon, under Getu’s direction, warriors lowered groups of men on ropes down the thinning waterfall. Several, carrying axes in their belts, balanced across the log and began to work down the far side. The sounds of chopping echoed thinly from below. More warriors laid out ropes. Only a skeleton force had been left behind to protect the camp. The smell drifting on the breeze made Shioni’s stomach gnaw at her backbone–but her duty was to ignore her stomach and harness ropes to Shifta one more time. She checked and rechecked the straps, and on second thoughts, refastened them crosswise across his chest and then retied the ropes. If she knew Shifta, the young bull would be out to prove his strength. He hopped from foot to foot–if ever an elephant could be said to hop–and twitched his seven or eight tonnes about in a way that made even the seasoned warriors give him space.
Getu went over the plan one more time with Captain Yirgu. “We must lever it outward from below while we pull from above, or we don’t stand a chance,” the Captain insisted.
“I understand the angles,” said the General. “I just don’t like the danger.”
“They’ll be on ropes, four men to each.”
“You tell them one slight shift of that mass, one extra squirt of water …”
“Sir!”
The General whirled on his heel and waved at Shioni.
“Yes, my Lord. Shifta, take up the strain.”
The bull lowered his head. The ropes attached to the harness creaked as he began to lean against them, exerting all of his tremendous strength. The warriors chanted “Heave! Heave!” as they fell to their task, twenty-five men to a rope, low to the ground, their lean, sinewy muscles bunching as they too fought the great baobab.
“And again!” shouted Getu.
The warriors roared in concert with the urging of their Captains. They dug in their heels. But they seemed to be trying to haul a mountain. For long minutes they battled without even a hint of hope, the ropes so taut Shioni thought they simply had to snap. Shifta groaned deep in his chest as he laboured. His whole body shook. Even though she simply sat astride his neck, Shioni felt sweat pop out on her own forehead. Her heart hammered against her ribcage. She realised suddenly, that in her urgency to help, she had somehow linked herself to Shifta’s work … and her head spun. She became weak and dizzy. Had he taken her strength? Had she given it to the elephant?
“And again! Heave!”
“No …” Shioni dug deep. They had to complete this. She could not let Annakiya down. She willed the tree to move … she forced it … she screamed her frustration! And then, as painfully as a tooth knocked out of its socket, she sensed something wrench free.
And she slipped off the elephant’s head.
Dimly, as though she were listening underwater, Shioni heard the warriors shout in excitement. The ready axes would slash the ropes before the great tree dragged them all down. But the sky tilted above her. Somewhere, Shifta made an exclamation of shock. His shout sounded like a long, deep moaning of the earth. Unable to help herself, she bounced off of something rough, slid helplessly downward, and tumbled to the ground. Shioni lay still, breathing. The air seemed super-heated, raw inside her throat. Her fingers scrabbled weakly in the dirt. Conducted through the ground, she sensed the great roar of the river as it burst free of the dam, tossing huge rocks about like pebbles, thundering away into the Takazze River gorge in a gout of water unlike any it had seen before.
“Shioni?” A trunk touched her neck, shook her shoulder.
“Shifta … I’m fine.”
And she threw up with gut-wrenching violence.
Chapter 10: Abba Petros Speaks
ABBA PETROS’ Eyes MIssed little. Shioni, chafing at strict orders from Princess Annakiya to stay in bed in their tent, gnawed on a spicy kudu rib-bone and gazed at the priest in mild a
stonishment. “You were an explorer and a trader, Father?”
“Not all priests grow up as priests,” he told her. “I have travelled to the Great Library in Alexandria, seen the pyramids of the Egyptians, walked the streets of holy Jerusalem, and journeyed as far as Athens, over the Middle Sea. Did you know that the Greeks call Ethiopians ‘the people of burned faces’? And I met a man similar to you there, also travelling to Jerusalem. He was Saxon, he said, from beyond the borders of the Roman Empire. A man with yellow hair.”
“Blonde,” she said, preferring General Getu’s word.
“The Saxon thought magic was the devil’s work,” said Abba Petros.
Shioni asked carefully, “What do you think, Father?”
“I’d ask you first if you believe you do magic.”
“I hear animals, Father. I feel them and speak to them. I feel what people are feeling, sometimes, and … I think I move things. I don’t know who I am, Abba Petros, nor where I’m from, but I do know I’m strange.”
“If we understood everything in God’s creation, that would be strange. I like mysteries, Shioni. Do you?”
“I like them more if they don’t involve me.”
“Oh, well put,” he laughed. In the lamplight, the Father’s wizened features and hollow cheeks beneath prominent cheekbones made him resemble an ancient prophet in the desert. “The Princess explained a few things,” he said. “I hope you don’t feel I went behind your back, Shioni. But she came to me, and asked me to speak to you. I must follow orders. And as you’d indicated you would like to talk … here I am.”
Shioni raised her eyes to meet his kindly gaze. “What if I turn out like Kalcha, Father?”
“I understand your fears, Shioni,” Abba Petros said. “If you did not doubt yourself, I would be much more concerned about you. And if you came upon this power to speak with animals so suddenly, what else might happen, you may ask? And when? But it seems to me, this is a matter of heart. By all accounts you have served Sheba mightily, even in difficult and dangerous circumstances. The choices you faced were not easy. What if you’d been wrong about the turncoat’s intentions, and brought disaster upon the Sheban forces at the Mesheha River battle? What if you had not decided to rescue Talaku and Tariku from the hand of our enemies? I heard that even recently in Takazze, you chose not to take revenge on one who tried to kill you. Most admirable.”
Shioni’s cheeks burned all the way around to her ears. “Thank you, Abba.”
“How is your faith, Shioni?”
“I … Father, I do feel there’s someone watching over me.”
“There is. You feel a rightness in your heart when you make decisions.”
Shioni stared. How did he know? “I do, Abba Petros. And when I do … magic, it doesn’t feel wrong. Even destroying Kalcha’s Apprentices did not feel wrong.”
“So how do you feel about playing the critical part in destroying Jibu, and twelve of his men?”
“They were bandits and killers,” Shioni replied, squirming at how he had phrased the question. “I enjoyed the acting. But afterward, I felt sorry for them. I wondered if I should have enjoyed it quite so much.”
“Six years ago, Jibu killed my brother,” Abba Petros whispered. “I used to pray that he would be found and brought to justice. I prayed things more terrible than that. Now? I know it is good to remember our enemies and tormentors are people like us, just those who have chosen an evil path. As God’s priest I should lead by example, in grace, humility, and forgiveness. But the last has been very, very hard for me. Now I must let it go.”
“I’m sorry, Father.”
“Thank you, Shioni. To feel regret for our enemies–that shows maturity.” He took a deep breath. “I truly believe there will be justice at the end of time, even if it doesn’t appear so now. Kalcha and Jibu will face judgement, God knows. But sometimes it seems God lets us be part of putting wrongs right, here on earth. You should not feel guilty for your part in that. Anyway, to answer your question, I don’t think you’ll become like Kalcha if you guard your heart and mind. Especially your heart, constantly. The heart is the source of what motivates us–what we love or hate, or strive for, or avoid. If the heart is lost, all is lost.”
Shioni pondered this for the length of time it took her to finish stripping the kudu rib bare. Then she licked her fingers and asked, “Where does magic come from, Father?”
“I was rather hoping you’d tell me,” he said, chuckling into his beard. Without his gorgeous priestly robes, which the Father had packed away for the journey, he might have seemed just an ordinary man, but for his beard and the hat he always wore, and the air of peace and wisdom that always surrounded him.
“Shuba told us that Tana Qirqos is supposed to hide the Ark of the Covenant. Is the Ark magic, Abba?”
“Really?” Abba Petros said, so blandly that Shioni immediately wondered what he had left unsaid. “It’s meant to have been a powerful artefact, Shioni, winning battles for the Israelites and slaying their enemies. But it was stolen. Nobody knows where it is now. Listen, I want you to try to grasp the true nature of this magic. If it is evil, you should shun it. If not, then ask yourself, is it a tool for good or for evil? Tell me, is what the elephant said true? That you moved the baobab with the strength of your will?”
Shioni thought back to her very uncomfortable interview that afternoon, and grimaced. Shifta had insisted on speaking directly to the Princess, cutting her out except as a translator. The one moment she had strayed by accident, he had been quick to correct her as she repeated his message.
“So he says. It happened before, inside the garnet mines,” she said. “Thunder, the King’s Arabian stallion, tried to leap a volcanic pipe but slipped on the far side. He said my wishing him safe pushed him in the backside. Today I moved the tree in the same way–Abba Petros, please don’t tell me I’m crazy, alright?”
“You’re not crazy,” he said, so firmly she imagined General Getu was speaking, not a priest. “I’m glad the elephant broke your fall.”
“Oh, did he? Abba, anyway, a hundred tough warriors and an elephant were all pulling on that tree. I … don’t shake your head at me.”
The Father’s expression became stern. Shioni instantly regretted the lie that had been about to slip off her tongue. “The elephant was very clear about what you achieved. The Princess, on the contrary, said she hoped her slave-girl would fall on her thick skull because that way she wouldn’t be hurt.”
“She said what?” Shioni laughed.
“Don’t be afraid of magic, Shioni. I’m not.” Abba Petros smiled now, his eyes wrinkling up until they almost disappeared into the folds of his skin. “I ask myself: why did it so happen that when West Sheba’s hour of need came, you were there and ready? I believe in the Almighty’s provision. I believe in His good plans for your life. Let me pray for you, if I may. I’d like to pray for your heart, because God cares for the heart even more than our daily bread. We can talk more another time, but I need to go tend to a merchant now.”
“What happened to him?”
“He slipped on a patch of gravel and cracked his head open. It’s serious.”
Quietly, Abba Petros gathered her hands into his. He bowed his head and his lips began to move. But a strange feeling stole over her as he prayed. There was nothing complicated in what he asked–protection, blessing, and wisdom and understanding to keep her heart pure. The power to serve West Sheba well. But what it achieved? That was another matter entirely. Was the Father producing a kind of magic, she wondered? Was his faith doing this? Or a higher power reaching through him to move and influence in ways she could barely imagine … leaving something changed, somehow, as a result?
She was stunned. Abba Petros had powers, too.
After the priest departed, she sank back on her bed, thinking: this was too strange. She was sure there was something weird and possibly sinful about equating prayer with magic. Would Abba Petros say this idea insulted God? But she had definitely felt something. She tried
to examine this feeling, struggling within herself to pin it down, the exact way he ... “Phew!” Shioni was glad her head lay on the pillow-roll, because her head throbbed and the tent seemed to sway above her as though she were on horseback.
Abba Petros was surprisingly open to her ideas. But he had also refused to accept her half-truth about the baobab. Shioni decided she liked that about him. No nonsense, several pointed questions even Hakim Isoke, Annakiya’s prickly tutor would have been proud of, and then:
“Guard my heart,” she said aloud. “Grasp the true nature of this magic. Easier said than done, Abba Petros.”
She fell asleep, and had a long, horrible nightmare about Kalcha trapping her in a bottle.
Chapter 11: The Trail to Gondar
Shioni awoke with a splitting headache. Poking her head out of the tent, she found the camp already astir with excitement. Overnight, the lake had shrunk dramatically. Warriors had already strung ropes across the remaining breadth of river. Two of them tested swimming a donkey across. The deepest part was up to the men’s shoulders, but the crossing appeared safe enough.
Evidently General Getu thought so too, because he began to roar orders without the slightest regard for anyone still sleeping.
“He just needs to clear his lungs a little,” said Azurelle, catching Shioni’s expression.
“Zi, I’ve a headache.”
“You’ll have worse than that if you don’t go tell the General to keep that racket down,” Annakiya groaned from within the tent.
“He’s just eager to get moving,” said Shioni. “And I’d rather jump into Erta’s burning pit, Anni. Look, here come Alemnesh and Mekedis.”
“Ooh!” cried Azurelle, ready as always to cause mischief out of all proportion to her size. “Let me guess. Compliments of the General, we are here to help you pack up in a hurry.”
Zi was right. Men and donkeys crossed the river in a thick stream now. Getu had men unpacking the carts of what supplies were still required. He instructed one of the junior stewards to return them to Takazze along with the help of several donkey-handlers.