Full-Blood Half-Breed

by Cleve Lamison

  Rebelde crossed the length of the room in three long strides and wrapped his father in an embrace. “Nzuri, Baba. It is good to see you.”

  An old woman’s voice, thick with a Shimabito accent, came from the doorway behind them. “Stand aside and let me enter, you ill-mannered desert dog! Would you have me wait in the street all night?”

  “That would be my preference,” Jambiax muttered. He stepped to one side, pulling Rebelde with him, and the silver-haired Shimabito woman entered.

  “Obaasan?” Paladin’s head swiveled from side to side, gawking at his father’s father and mother’s mother, the two most quarrelsome people in the Thirteen Kingdoms. Seeing them together was like watching a strutting stray dog and a haughty house cat strolling companionably together after years of animosity. Suki Skullbender of Mayumi’s Line lived in the Higashi Shima, the islands in the East. Her journey would have been twice as long and arduous as Jambiax’s travel from the South, her visit even more unexpected. How in Muumba’s name did the two of them end up traveling together?

  Jambiax noticed the incredulous expressions and sighed heavily. Nodding toward Suki, he said, “Our paths crossed on the road from Playa Blanca. I could think of no tactful way not to escort her here.”

  “And a more obnoxious traveling companion I have never known,” Suki complained, glaring at Jambiax with dark eyes. “I have met spitting snakes with better manners than this old conjurer and his nattering witch-bird!”

  “Crone,” Jambiax growled.

  “Mountebank!” Suki screamed into his face.

  “Hag!”

  Paladin threw himself at the two of them, wrapping his arms around both. His firm hug ended the quarrel, at least temporarily. Suki twisted her body as she took Paladin into her arms, elbowing Jambiax in the gut and knocking the wind from his lungs. Jambiax released his hold on Paladin and stumbled backward, anger flashing in his eyes. He smiled it away with forced courtesy.

  While Jambiax exchanged greetings with Rebelde and Walküre by the hearth, Paladin closed his eyes and lost himself in his obaasan’s embrace. She smelled of salt and sweat and travel and many, many years, but the love he found in her wiry arms was a welcome respite from the turmoil of moments before. When he opened his eyes again, both Rebelde and Walküre shot wrathful glances at him, promises of punishments to come.

  Suki adjusted the pack on her back, and then grabbed his chin, turning his face toward hers. She purred, “Otanjoubi omedetou gozaimasu—happy birthday! How is my magomusuko, then? I assume you will be competing in the youngling trials?”

  “Domo arigato, Obaasan,” Paladin said. “I am well. And sí. I will be competing.”

  She radiated pride, her smile stretching across her entire face. But then Mbarika startled her. The raven lifted from Jambiax’s shoulder, flapped across the room, and landed on Paladin’s head. Suki stumbled back a step to avoid the tumult of feathers.

  “Mind your witch-bird!” she shrieked at Jambiax.

  Mbarika gently clawed through Paladin’s hair, rotating in a circle as if building a nest in his curls.

  “Who loves Nest-Head?” the raven croaked, “Es yo? Who?”

  It was an old ritual, begun when he had been three or four years old. She settled into his thick curls, making herself comfortable.

  “Mbarika does.” Paladin could not help but grin despite the indignity of having big bird roosting on his head. He sighed, “Mbarika loves Nest-Head.”

  Mbarika made a sound somewhere between a coo and a cronk. She might stay on his head for minutes or hours, depending on her mood, and he would suffer it with good humor. He always had. Mbarika was an exceptional bird. She was a Hearkener’s Familiar, an animal invested with a human soul. Hearkening was a field of animancy, the manipulation of the soul element, or pneuma, which allowed an animancer to receive messages from the spirits of the dead. Familiars were the mediums through which the Hearkener received those tidings. Mbarika had a tiny almazi crystal set in the middle of her forehead. Silvery wisps of a mercurial mist swirled within the perfectly cut jewel. As Paladin understood it, the crystal housed the human spirit that drove the raven’s body. He often wondered about Mbarika’s soul and whom it had once belonged to, but Jambiax was uncompromisingly tight-lipped on the subject.

  Suki and Jambiax sat on the wooden benches next to the door, took off their travel gear, and unpacked. Paladin noted with glee the rolled rug his babu carried. It was an aircutter rug, used by Wind Riders to sail the skies. If he was lucky, perhaps he would get to fly with Jambiax during his visit. He decided right then that he wanted to become a mancer even more than he had wanted to be a knight. The knights of la Orden Majestuosa de la Lámina were renowned for their bravery and valor, but they did not sail the skies like the Wind Riders of Kavunchi.

  A grin tugged at the corners of Paladin’s lips when Suki and Jambiax produced wrapped packages that could only be birthday gifts. The parcels were almost identical in size, but there was a great disparity in the wrapping. Suki’s gift had survived the long trip well. It was neatly covered in blue parchment and held together with purple ribbon. An eight-pointed thunderbolt—the totem of House Kamau—adorned the outside of the box. Suki smirked at the dust-covered, battered bundle proffered by Jambiax. The parchment wrapping was torn in several places and the whole thing was held together with a grimy piece of fraying string.

  “You cannot judge a gift by its wrapping,” Jambiax said defensively.

  “No,” Suki said through a wide grin. “Of course not. I am sure your gift is perfectly … adequate.” She cackled.

  Jambiax gave her his back and walked to the trestle table, his gaze sweeping across the room as he examined the remains of the fiesta. He frowned, confused. “Why has the celebration ended so soon? A young person turns sixteen but once! It is a momentous event. At least this is so in the South. In the Nchi ya Kusini, we celebrate a child’s passing into juvenility with days of merrymaking.”

  Suki frowned. “All you silly south-folk understand is merrymaking. The rest of the world does not have Muumban magic to make their lives as easy as the Kusini Watu. Those of us who toil to survive require rest, mancer. We have no time for the unending revels of slothful—”

  “Quiet, woman!” Jambiax snapped. “Your ignorance betrays you. Elemancy is a science. There is no such thing as magic, Muumban or otherwise.”

  Suki narrowed her eyes dangerously. “You dare speak to me in such a manner?”

  Jambiax cocked his head. “I will dare a great deal more if you do not still your foolish tongue.”

  The two stared daggers at each other, both gripping their staffs as if ready to do battle. Suki wielded a simple wooden bo staff, similar to Sunderbones. Her weapon shared her name, Skullbender. But Jambiax carried the flamboyantly decorated staff of a mancer. The weapon was called Kunguru, which meant “raven” in the old Kusini Watu language, Kikwetu. It was set with five sparkling almazi crystals along its haft, each filled with luminous vapors of the five elements: blazing red, turfy brown, oceanic blue, breezy gray, and mercurial silver. The precious crystals, extracted almost exclusively from the dangerous mines of Almazi City in Kavunchi, were powerful conduits of elemental energy and worth a fortune.

  Neither Suki nor Jambiax seemed prepared to back down from their silent challenge, but Rebelde—his patience already strained—grumbled, “Enough bickering. You will behave with civility while you are guests in our home or you may seek lodging elsewhere.”

  “Thank you, Rebelde-san,” Suki said with a respectful head tilt. “I know it must be hard for a gentleman like yourself to stand up to your loutish father. We may only hope he has learned his lesson.”

  “Okasan …” Walküre warned.

  “Yes, Musume!” Suki said. “You are quite right! I have traveled long and far to honor my magomusuko’s sixteenth year of life. Tomorrow we will watch him compete in the arena and soon he must go to his rest. Let us celebrate while we may!”

  “Suki-san,” Rebelde said, “we see litt
le cause for celebration. We do not believe he should compete.”

  Suki plopped down on the bench, eyeing Rebelde as if he had gone mad. “Why not? That is the silliest thing I have ever heard. Of course he must compete. You did. Walküre did. And if my family could have afforded the expense of travel, I too would have competed as a youth. It is part of the passage to adulthood.”

  “It is a fool’s game!” Rebelde shouted. “A mockery of war and those who sacrifice themselves in battle!”

  The sheer intensity of Rebelde’s assertion stilled the room until Walküre said, “Paladin has defied us. He has signed up for Torneo against our explicit instructions.”

  That brought raised eyebrows from both Suki and Jambiax. Such disobedience was unacceptable behavior in both the Nchi ya Kusini and the Higashi Shima. Suki frowned at Paladin, shaking her head slowly and making clicking sounds with her tongue.

  Jambiax chuckled. “So the fig has not fallen far from the tree, after all. Muumba has finally answered my prayer.”

  “What prayer, Babu?” Paladin said.

  “That Rebelde’s son should be as vexing to him as he was to me.”

  They all laughed. Even Rebelde. The shared moment lessened the tension between Paladin and his parents, though it did not expunge it altogether. Paladin had never been more grateful for Jambiax. Elemancy may not have been magic, but perhaps his babu’s wit was.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Pariah

  Few words passed among Paladin and his parents while Jambiax and Suki washed up and ate. Jambiax’s quick wit may have eased some of the tension, but the angry words hurled between Paladin, Walküre, and Rebelde had scored deep wounds that would be a long time healing. Paladin was glad for his parents’ reticence. Better they say nothing than continue to castigate him unjustly. What was his great sin, after all, but remaining true to himself? Their reprimands made as much sense as condemning a flame for throwing heat and light. Besides, he was glad for the chance to hear the tales spun by his obaasan and babu—especially his babu.

  Suki’s life was that of an old, settled woman. She spoke serenely of her quiet, balanced existence. She had received much praise for her folded paper statues over the years. She sold these at market, along with the flowers she grew in her gardens. She spent much of her time at temple, and helped the local Healer tend the sick and infirm in her village. Hers was a quaint life. Hardly exciting.

  Jambiax, however, lived the life of an elemancer. He was in fact a Daktari of Elemancy, which was the highest rank one could attain. He was not only master of all five elements, but he had invented a new application for the use of elemancy: the Phantom Equation. He was incredibly secretive about it. Not even Rebelde knew exactly what the equation was, but it had earned Jambiax his name and a place in history books. He would be listed among the small number of mancers ever to reach the rank of Daktari, less than a score in the recorded history of Elemancy. Not even Rebelde was so accomplished. He was a Nne, a master of four elements, but he claimed to have fled the south before testing for the fifth element. But even if he were a master of all five elements—turf, air, water, fire, and spirit—he would still be a Tano. Unlike Suki, with her boring existence, Jambiax spent his days conjuring fire and lightning. He rode the winds, and Hearkened to the voices of spirits. Of late, Jambiax had been in Fisi Msitu, the Hyena Forest of Hatarimsitu. He was studying with the Bouda, the same clan of Kusini Watu blacksmiths who had taught Rebelde his trade more than twenty years before. But metalworking had only been part of what he had originally gone to Fisi Msitu to study. The Bouda were the greatest feramancers in the Thirteen, perhaps the only folk who still practiced the ancient science of metamorphosis. They could physically transform themselves into “hyena-folk:” part human, part canine, all ferocity.

  Rebelde had left the Bouda before he could learn to feramance. Kavunchi had been in turmoil under the tyrannical rule of the Scarab King, and Rebelde had returned to Mji a Dhahabu to help his people overthrow the cruel House of Anonzi.

  Jambiax had spent the last two years studying feramancy. “Truth be told, I think the ability may be beyond me. Feramancy is mostly an application of animancy, and though I am strong in the soul element, I am not so strong as the Bouda. They are a curious people, unlike any other in the Nchi ya Kusini—”

  “Your tale grows tedious, witch-man,” Suki declared. “I have a present for my magomusuko and would like to give it to him while it is still his birthday.”

  Jambiax sighed. “Very well, Suki-san. I suppose you have the right of things for once. Let us share our gifts with our mjukuu.”

  Paladin wanted to hear more about the Bouda, but not as much as he wanted presents. Suki and Jambiax fetched the packages, and Suki shouldered past Jambiax, ensuring her gift would be opened first. Paladin slowly pulled the indigo garment from the box, delighting in every inch of its fine quality. The surcoat was of the latest style worn by caballeros and Knights of the Blade: sleeveless, long, and flowing. It was emblazoned front and back with the House of Kamau’s totem, the silver thunderbolt on a circular field of black.

  “Okasan,” Walküre said, “it is lovely.”

  Paladin wrapped his arms around Suki. “Arigato, Obaasan! The surcoat is splendid, as fine a garment as any I’ve ever seen!”

  “Perhaps,” Jambiax said, “but you have not yet seen what is in the other box.”

  Giddy with anticipation, Paladin tore open the battered package and found his babu had spoken true: the cloak within was as fine as the surcoat. It was made of fine wool dyed a charcoal gray, but it was the cloak’s round clasp, as big as a baby’s fist, that made it exceptional. Paladin ran his thumb over the silver. It had been intricately fashioned into a clever-looking raven clutching a Kamau thunderbolt—an eight-pointed lance of lightning—in each of its claws. The motto of House Kamau, We Speak Steel, was etched along the clasp’s border.

  “The raven was the personal totem of your grandmother, Lluvia the Truthseeker,” Jambiax said.

  Paladin was so taken by the beauty of the broach he managed only a whisper. “Muchas gracias, Babu. Asante sana. It is remarkable.”

  Even Suki nodded her approval. “That is a fine gift, Jambiax-san. I suppose even a silly south-man may perform competently on occasion.”

  “Asante, Suki-san,” Jambiax said. “Thank you.”

  Paladin gazed longingly at the last package on the table, his mamá’s gift to him. He wanted to grab and open it right there, but feared Walküre might snatch it away as Rebelde had done with the sword. He looked hopefully from the package to his mamá. She waved him permission and he tore off the wrapping and opened the box.

  For a moment, he could only stare. He had guessed it would be a bow, but gods be good, he could never have guessed it would be such an exceptional weapon. It was a composite of horn and sinew over a bamboo core, created in the Higashi Shima style, double-arched with the tips curving away from the archer. This design allowed for a smaller bow with far greater power than the average Oestean longbow and was well suited for shooting from horseback. It had a leather grip etched with the Kamau eight-pointed thunderbolt, each point representing one of Muumba’s arms.

  Suki nodded her approval. “Fine work, Musume.”

  The others murmured their agreement as they huddled around him inspecting the bow.

  “There is more, niño,” Walküre said.

  Also in the box was a beautiful leather quiver, similarly etched with the Kamau thunderbolt, filled with thirteen black-fletched arrows. Paladin ran his finger along the bow’s smooth spine. “She is beautiful, Mamá, and so I’ll call her Beauty. Gracias. Thank you, so much.”

  “De nada,” Walküre said with forced ambivalence.

  Pride in the superior artistry of the bow shone through her icy exterior, and also, Paladin thought, she was glad that he liked the gift. She quickly masked those bits of warmth. She looked away from him, saying, “I suppose you will get use of her on the morrow.”

  “Beautiful work as always
, Walküre,” Jambiax said. He rubbed his hands together expectantly and nodded to Rebelde. “Now, Kibwana, show us the sword!” He flashed a grin at Paladin. “Tonight, my mjukuu, you may be the luckiest person in the Thirteen. Sixteen years in the forging! Surely this will be among the most magnificent weapons ever created. The night of your birth, Mjukuu, your father was like a different man. Giddy with happiness. Consumed with inspiration …”

  “Yes.” Suki nodded wistfully. “Your father stormed out of the house like a madman. Claimed Muumba Himself had inspired him to create a proper weapon for a son of the Silent Warrior, Kamau.”

  “I have traveled a long, hard road to share this important day with you, Mjukuu,” Jambiax said, “and to behold this grand creation that my kibwana has spent so many years forging in secrecy. End this great mystery, Rebelde. Show us what the greatest smith in the Thirteen has created for his only heir!”

  For a sliver of a second, Paladin thought his grandparents’ eagerness might change Rebelde’s mind about the birthday present. But he recognized the stubborn resolve in his papá’s eyes. He had made up his mind and nothing short of divine intervention would move him.

  “I am truly sorry to disappoint you, Baba,” he said. “And you, Suki-san. But the boy is not ready. Perhaps next year …”

  Suki placed her hands on her narrow hips and scowled at Rebelde. “This is the boy’s sixteenth year! Have you no present for him?”

  Rebelde cut his eyes at the old woman. “I have offered him the most valuable gift of all, though he has yet to show the wisdom to accept it. I will teach him a trade.”

  Jambiax’s face sank in disappointment. “But, Kibwana, I have waited sixteen years to see this sword.”

  “And you must wait a bit more, Baba.” Rebelde sounded almost as disappointed as Paladin felt. He waved contemptuously at Paladin. “But I have created a weapon for a man to wield. It would be irresponsible to allow an untrustworthy boy to handle it …”