by Marc Secchia
Shifta swelled visibly. “Tell the Captain I am ready to serve.”
Shioni was too excited to sleep much that night. Dawn could not come soon enough. She and Annakiya were the first people up and ready in the Palace.
As first light shaded the rugged hills of Gondar with the tender care of an artist, the combined Sheban and Gondari force trotted through the great gates of the city fortress. They were so early, they woke a number of roosters en route. Shioni smiled at their disgruntled, sleepy crows. And people came stumbling out of their doorways in surprise, rubbing their eyes as the cavalcade rumbled past, shaking the dust and straw out of the eaves of their conical huts.
“They need to warn these people,” said Annakiya, dressed for once similarly to Shioni, in a tunic top and riding leggings, with a hardened leather breastplate for additional protection. She had tied back her long black ringlets, a slim golden coronet adorned her brow, and with a bow slung at her back and a dagger strapped to her side, she looked the picture of a warlike Princess.
“Meles will take care of his people,” said Getu. “We misjudged him. Badly.”
Shioni, engrossed in wondering if she knew this stranger who had replaced her best friend, did not however miss General Getu’s eyes alighting on her hip. His expression hardened. “Where’s the sword, girl?”
“It’s new, gashe … I’m not used to it; and it’s so fine …”
Her voice trailed off under the withering force of his gaze. She thought he was about to unleash his famous temper, but instead, in a voice like a quiet lash, he said, “Next time you disrespect a King’s gift, girl … have you learned nothing from this sorry episode with Haile? I suggest you go fetch that sword before you disappoint me further.”
Shioni gulped. “Now, my Lord?”
His bellow chased her back up the road. “NNNNNNOOOOOOWWWWWW!”
Apparently, her life was comprised of mountaintops and valleys, and little between. Shioni galloped back to the Palace, having to endure a fresh round of stares and comments. There she found the fussy little servant who was entrusted with the keys to the royal apartments, which took an inordinately long time. He complained bitterly at being roused. Shioni quickly buckled the weapon at her waist. The belt was three notches too large for her hips, but she was surprised at how familiar the weapon felt, hanging there.
‘You feel made for me,’ she whispered, as the hairs on her neck stood upright. And why in heaven’s name was she talking to a sword?
The servant’s scornful sniff reminded her that a Sheban slave was acquiring a priceless family heirloom. Shioni offered him a bright smile. “My mistress, the Princess of West Sheba,” she said, stressing the title, “requests that you thank King Meles one more time for his exceedingly great generosity. And she trusts everything will be in order upon her return.”
Thus having suggested he or his staff could not be trusted, Shioni whirled on her heel and sprinted back through the Palace, out past the guards who had laughed at her breathless arrival, and down to where her mount was waiting. It took her three glances to recognise the man waiting on a second horse, holding the reins.
“Abba Petros?”
“Did the beard give it away?” As Shioni vaulted aboard, he flipped her the reins. “Follow me. Getu sent me to find you.”
“Was he steaming?”
“I’ve seen molten lava that’s cooler than the General this morning.”
Chapter 23: An Unexpected Caution
ABBA PETROS SET a furious pace down the winding road out of Gondar. Shioni decided she should not be surprised by his sure horsemanship–he had been a traveller and explorer since before she was born, after all. But why would a priest make this dangerous leg of the journey?
Echoes off the high stone walls turned their swift progress into a kind of rolling thunder, so trying to talk was useless until they reached the marginally softer trail outside the fortress walls. Abba Petros took a well-marked route around the western edge of the city, where a number of small farms nestled up against the protecting bulk of the mountain. Abruptly their route turned and wriggled down the mountainside in a series of juniper and cypress-shaded switchbacks. Halfway down, Abba Petros slowed at a sharp turn.
“Haile would have popped out of that waterfall,” he said.
Shioni measured the flow jetting out of the sheer mountainside with wide eyes. “And he lives?”
“Apparently. When I was a youngster we used to swim down there.” The Father pointed with his chin at a place hidden by the dense foliage. “The plunge pool is deep, but there are many hidden boulders. He must’ve been very fortunate.”
“Unfortunately,” Shioni said, crossly.
“Why don’t we leave that decision to God?”
“Because it’s the wrong one, that’s why!” They clattered on down the loose scree slope before the trail evened out and Shioni could come alongside the Father again. She said, “Does God mind when we get cross … uh, about things, Abba? When we’d prefer our enemies were splattered on a handy rock?”
The priest smiled wryly. “I think the God of the universe can probably handle us being mad at him, Shioni.”
“Abba, when I was in the lion pit, were you praying for me?”
“Yes. Why do you ask … so strongly?”
“Because you were in my head.” Aware she was sounding tetchier than she felt, Shioni smiled at him. “Abba, your prayers have power. Do you realise that?”
“I thought that was the point, Shioni.”
“Well, when you asked me how my faith is, you also said you’d sometimes struggled. I just wanted you to know,” she finished in a rush, “Abba Petros, whatever you’re doing, it works. It’s real. I’d know.”
His bushy-bearded grin widened until Shioni actually caught a glimpse of his teeth. “And here I, the priest, thought I was going to counsel you after spending the night trapped with lions, and an encounter with an evil sorcerer. Instead, you’re counselling me?” He laughed openly at the crimson flooding her cheeks. “It’s fine, Shioni. Yes, a little prick to my pride. But … you amaze me. Alright? Can you settle for being amazing?”
Burning with embarrassment, Shioni stared into the surrounding forest. But she had seen a flash in Abba Petros’ eyes. A spark of surprise; then a hint of self-assurance which had been missing before.
This was lion country. Great, tangled thickets, dry and dusty, tumbling over boulders and hidden animal trails. But the main trail had been carefully cleared, probably by the King’s slaves, making a highway through the wilderness. Suddenly, something Abba Petros had said popped into her mind.
“You grew up here, Abba?”
“We’ll pass my village in a short while,” he said. “Come on, let’s pick up the pace.”
They gave the horses their head at a brisk canter. The sun rose above the horizon, as yet hidden behind the forest canopy, but in places Shioni saw the warm golden light touching the tops of the eighty-foot trees. General Getu and the troops had come fast down here, she noted from their spoor; they would have to work hard to catch up. And then she’d have a sharp reprimand to look forward to.
After a while, she said, “Colobus monkeys.”
“Lots of those,” agreed the Father. “Look, my village. Forgive me, but I need to stop a moment. Greetings. Always selamta. Come meet my grandfather–well, I call him that. My parents died of disease when I was young. I lived in his hut.”
They rode into a village of some fifteen round huts. The walls had been carefully plastered and painted in pretty patterns with ochre, red, black, and blue pigment paints. Pretty vegetable and flower gardens–herb gardens, Shioni noticed–surrounded the huts.
“What’s that lovely smell?”
“You’re smelling the ‘tan and mucha plants–incense plants,” the Father explained. “They tap the resin. Look over there.”
“I’ve never seen that before. I guess you don’t get very many around Takazze.”
Abba Petros shook his head. “You need to know where to
look. They’re all over the highlands, Shioni. But our merchants go mad for the incense from this area. They say it’s the best, and these people know the secrets of cultivating them.”
He stopped beside a hut and indicated Shioni should dismount.
“Abate?” he called.
“Petros? Is that you, my boy? Come in.”
Amused at the idea of the grey-bearded priest being called ‘my boy’, Shioni ducked into the hut behind Abba Petros. He fondly greeted an incredibly old man sitting on a cot bed, she saw, once her eyes adjusted to the dimness inside the hut. The tiny, wrinkled man had milky eyes, and short legs twisted beneath him in a way Shioni knew meant he had never walked.
“My father,” said Petros, “I’d like you to meet Shioni. She is from West Sheba.”
Shioni moved forward and kissed the old man on either cheek. He sat very still for a moment, and then wheezed, “Give me your hands, child.”
The milky eyes saw nothing, but yet Shioni felt something tingle against her senses as he held her hands in his leathery, crinkled fingers. At length he said, “If this one is from West Sheba, Petros, then I’m the son of a colobus monkey. Her kind existed here long before we Beta Israel entered the land a thousand years ago. Why have you brought me one of the ancient ones?”
“She’s not ancient, she’s a girl of about thirteen years,” Abba Petros said, raising his eyebrows at Shioni. “She’s a slave-girl of Sheba. She grew up in the courts of the King.”
“Sheba enslaved one of these? You’re in terrible danger, Petros.” The shemagele’s voice quavered with alarm. “You have to warn your King. Set her free and drive her away from the kingdom lest catastrophe and doom overtake you!”
“My father,” said Shioni, trembling too, “I will do no such thing. These are my friends and my family.”
“So you say, child,” he said, dropping her hands as though he had touched fire. “And so you will be saying when the magic rises up to devour you. I know what you are. I know how your kind ravaged this land. I can tell you legends … tales of war and suffering, and weeping and horrors beyond Mankind’s endurance …”
Whirling, Shioni bolted from the hut.
When Abba Petros caught up with her on the trail, she wiped her eyes furiously and refused to look at him. “‘What use the tears of a slave?’” he quoted gently. “I’m sorry, Shioni. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”
“Abba Petros … don’t you see? It’s my worst nightmare.”
“He frightened you. He had no right to do that.”
“But what if he’s right?”
They rode in silence for a long while, side-by-side. The words seared her mind and heart. She knew she would never forget them. I know what you are. I know how your kind ravaged this land. She squeezed her stomach to still her nausea. He had to be wrong … her kind existed here long before … a thousand years before? Then how could she just pop into existence? It made no sense!
Abba Petros heaved a sigh. “I wish I had answers. I’ll stop on the way back to question him about these tales. And–do you know the expression ‘the sins of the fathers’? Bad choices can impact the generations to follow. We learn that from the records of Israel’s history. But I also believe that we can atone for the wickedness of our ancestors. We can make up for their mistakes and set things right. If your ancestors did terrible deeds, then I think you’ve already gone a long way to repairing whatever they did.”
“Apparently I’m a thousand years old.” But despite her ironic tone, Shioni was deeply grateful to the priest. She’d been terrified of his condemnation.
He replied with a snort.
“So, you’re one of the Beta Israel, Abba? The Jews who migrated from the Holy Land? And you’re a Christian priest–how did that happen?”
“About nine or ten centuries back,” said the Father. “As for becoming a priest, that’s a long journey, Shioni–not as long as those nine or ten centuries, however.”
“We’ve a long trail ahead.”
With a low chuckle, Abba Petros began to tell her about his childhood growing up around Gondar, and of his many travels. The hours sped by beneath their flying hooves, and on the road, the number of villagers with their donkeys and households steadily grew thicker. Some would hide in the forests, the Father said. The rest would flee to the safety of Gondar itself.
They first saw dust clouds rising from the warriors, and then the column of Sheban and Gondari warriors slowly emerged from the choking haze. Shioni wiped her brow. Gone were the cool heights of Gondar. Here, the heat was so dry it sucked the moisture right off her skin; heat so intense that even the forest shade offered little relief.
“Short break,” muttered the hindmost warrior as they caught up.
The men dismounted and led their horses down to the river. Getu, Captain Yirgu, and Annakiya were debriefing several scouts. The General nodded at Abba Petros. “Good Father, did you ride via Takazze?”
“No, but we’ve an interesting tale to tell you later, General.”
“Shioni. About six hundred rebels are storming their way up this trail right now. I need to know if Haile is with them. And for heaven’s sake, try not to alert him that you’re spying. A touch as light as Azurelle dancing will do nicely.”
Shioni glanced at Annakiya’s pocket. Zi unfurled her long tubular tongue, made what was undeniably a rude waggle with it in both Fiuri and human cultures, and popped back out of sight.
Making a mental note to smack the green-eyed monster later, Shioni shut her eyes. Exactly how was one supposed to find Haile, at such a distance? Wouldn’t something snap if she stretched her mind that far? Right. If she imagined she was a bird, flying down the trail to the south, looking for the signs of many men on the move, she might … have a breeze brushing over her feathers as she shot away, far away. Someone spoke to her, but her mind was no longer present to hear them. Here came the rebels, marching northward in a great, shambling mass, but she did not find Haile with them. And she saw another group, skulking west of the trail–a planned ambush?
On the wings of thought Shioni burned a comet-trail to the south. A half-day’s travel further, when she imagined she could see the Sacred Lake shimmering on the horizon, she sensed a hint of the mind which had trapped her before. Corruption, malice, and a cast-iron purpose; a mental signature she would never forget. And he was watching her with an unmistakable knowing. Help! Eyes crimson with power fixed on her even as she banked and fled.
Hello, little falcon. His voice filled her world, a vast voice, as though the heavens had spoken in peals of thunder. Don’t you know the skies are dangerous for your kind?
Lightning seared the clear sky. Flaming, burning, Shioni fluttered back the way she had come, wounded, fading into an endless haze of red.
She woke screaming, with a warrior’s calloused fingers clamping her jaw shut. She woke with what tasted like a warrior’s old sandal-leather stuffed inside her mouth. “Hush,” said the warrior, not removing his hand until her wild struggling ceased.
“Captain Yirgu?” Well, she tried to say it.
She found herself lying on a makeshift stretcher made from two spears and a few gabis. She had seen the warriors use this trick before.
The Captain removed his hand, and then reached down to untie a knot at her cheek. “Sorry. You were moaning and we’re sneaking.” He plucked the horrid scrap of cloth from her mouth. “Whisper.”
“I can walk.”
“Good.” He tapped the two warriors carrying her. They stopped.
Shioni hopped off the stretcher. At least, her brain suggested she could do it. She flopped over the edge and would have landed flat on her face had Yirgu not caught a handful of her tunic top.
“Not yet, eh?”
“Idiot,” said Annakiya, helping her lie back again. “You stay put. That’s an order.”
“Anni, I–west. West of the trail, there’s more rebels … I saw them. It’s an ambush, Captain.”
Yirgu questioned her intently. Where
were they hiding? How many? What were the landmarks? He rushed off to report to Getu. A moment later, a Gondari scout dashed past the stretcher and vanished into the trees.
“What happened?” asked the Princess.
“Haile–he saw me coming. How, I don’t know. But he’s powerful, Anni. Even more powerful than before. He swatted me like you’d swat a mosquito.”
Annakiya looked troubled. “How far ahead is he, Shioni? We need to beat him to the lake. What if he steals the teshal? Or destroys it?”
“We must hurry, Anni, and not be delayed by someone riding a stretcher.”
“Then I’ll tie you to my saddle like a mighty warrior Princess successful on the hunt,” Annakiya teased lightly.
They led their leather-shod horses quietly for the remainder of the afternoon, circling away from the main route by animal trails known only to the Gondari scouts. Twenty-five remained, including the Princess. General Getu had sent seventy-five warriors back to ‘cause trouble’. Warned, they would hopefully avoid the ambush and lead Haile’s ragtag but substantial army a merry chase for a few days, giving King Meles time to prepare his defences. They passed three deserted villages. Two had been burned to the ground by Haile’s forces.
Shioni lay on her stretcher, wishing she could shut her eyes and simply sleep. But Haile seemed to lurk behind her closed eyelids. How had the maniac recovered his strength so fast, she wondered? Was it the staff? Or a deeper, darker magic than she could imagine? Maybe his bargain with the ‘ancestors’ included his life? The same magic which the shemagele had promised would devour her too? Shioni shuddered. Despite the afternoon’s heat, she felt chilled to the bone.
At length, her eyes turned to Princess Annakiya. Her face was a mask, beneath which, Shioni knew, she must be thinking about the teshal. A slim hope for the King. And now Haile was far ahead of them–it was a race to the end. A race to the Sacred Lake.