The middle of the continent had two Omuzi; the large city in the north was Omuzi Pume that the caravan was going towards. In the south was Omuzi Anga on the great inland lake that fed the river downstream to Omuzi Mosa.
The fourth great city was Omuzi Wend on the northwestern point of Naru, the inland lagoon and seaports larger than those in Omuzi Mosa were. Central Naru had the most considerable cultivation of crops; although the east coast could be used, it was not as safe.
The Boloi spread out their protection from their Omuzi, only the recent construction starting in the northeast of a new Omuzi would pull more Naru to that side of the continent. Not that it was well populated, it was more than large enough for the Naru people, and they did not allow foreign immigration.
It had been part of the culture of the Naru and the Quo, the Boloi had maintained the practice even with their advances and the new government. Their only concession had been to allow other nations places to live and have embassies in Omuzi Wend.
Many of the Abadlali trained to forage and hunt for food, supplemented by what they bought or traded as they went along. This particular route was sparser than most because of the lack of villages. There were very few Naru settlements, so the caravan had to subsist more from the land to the south.
Most of the men would range out slightly ahead of the caravan and southwards. With their stamina, they could easily return to meet the slower wagons before nightfall. At night, they all prepared the evening meal together.
Some of the elders stayed among the wagons, while the women tended to the wagon train and the education of the children. Nighttime was the physical practice for the plays and acrobatics, training and exercises.
Most of the academic learning was done while traveling.
*
“Exalted Boloi, how may I be of service?”
“Concentrate on your pronunciation, Odon.” Latai chastised, not hard but firm.
“Yes, Mother.”
She sat on the wooden bench just above the front of the wagon, the reins, connected to wooden rings in a set of straps that held the oxen’s heads, held loosely in her hands. The big beasts followed the next in line placidly and without much need for instruction from her, unlike Odon at the moment.
She looked back over her shoulder and could see why her wayward son was not getting the words quite right. He was entertaining Ayana with a small game of polished stones and wooden rings.
“Odon,” she said sternly, although with a warm smile inside.
He gave a startled glance up to see her looking back at him. He gave a nod of respect and turned back to face her, legs crossed. Ayana gave a deeper nod and shuffled the game backward so that she could play alone.
“Now, try again, please. The opening phrase will always say a lot about how much you truly respect the Boloi. Your diligence and care with the words is the sincerest form of respect you have.”
“Yes, Mother.”
Odon began the sequence of phrases once more, and Latai listened with only half of her attention for any obvious flaws. The young man could already speak the language of the Boloi fluently; the extent of his vocabulary was complete.
She made him practice to ingrain the perfection required, the Naru pride. It was only when he was distracted that he tended to fall short, which was the main aim of the exercises.
Naru attention to detail took a lot of focus and concentration. From a young age, they all had to learn how to maintain this for hours. Latai happily listened to her son continue, feeling very proud at how he was growing.
His reading had improved enough that he was teaching Ayana Naru writing.
“Odon.”
“Yes, Mother?”
“Why don’t you take a break, go see if you can find your friend.”
Odon slumped in relief; Latai could see it out of the corner of her eye and smiled. The long journeys were filled with hard work to keep the younger children distracted from the tedious traveling.
The adults were patient, they had learned this aspect of their life, but the children and especially the energetic Odon were less inclined to wait. So keeping them busy with chores, studies and training were best.
However, there must also be time for children to be children.
“Thank you, Mother.”
Odon looked over at Ayana playing quietly. “Do you want to come along?”
His sister looked up and gave a sweet smile, her dimples crinkling up at her cheeks.
“I’ll stay here and talk to mother.” She giggled. “You can go.”
“Why thank you.” He bowed low as if she was an empress giving him permission.
Odon hopped over the side of the moving wagon to land smoothly in the grass. With a wave at his mother, he took off at a run moving ahead of them alongside the wagon trail.
Latai turned her head to smile at Ayana.
“You are so kind.” She said.
Ayana gave her dimpled smile again. “I know!”
*
The wagons moved at a pace about twice as fast as a man would walk, which in the distance involved wasn’t very fast.
Odon was able to sprint along the entire caravan line of wagons if he wanted, he would outrun them easily at his top speed. But his slow jog was enough to catch up with the wagon that had Thabo in it.
His friend saw him coming, his own lessons were easier but involved things to do with building or repairing the stage like carpentry and some basic engineering. On the road, Thabo would practice math, designs and drawing with smaller blocks representing parts and joins.
Thabo’s nightly practice was the practical aspects of repairs and work on new wood or shaping other pieces.
Odon saw his friend speak with his own mother quickly before receiving permission to hop down and join Odon.
The two of them grinned and took off at a run, as boys generally behaved; they made it a race, to get past the front wagon as quick as they could. It was only a few minutes, and Odon won, far enough ahead of Thabo for the difference in their speed to be clear.
The two of them slowed to a walk, keeping ahead of the caravan by a few hundred meters.
“It’s not fair you know, I’m built for strength, not this kind of sprinting,” Thabo complained.
Odon shrugged. “You always say that.”
“It’s always true.”
They laughed together at Thabo’s feigned pain.
Up ahead of them the boys spotted a pool of water, probably from the recent rain that had swept down from the arid lands to the north. Angling themselves towards the pool, they took up a slow jog, looking to the sides for long dried reeds as they went.
Thabo picked up and discarded a few before settling on what seemed a nice firm but still flexible stick. Odon looked carefully before finding his own. By the time, they got to the pool they were already bragging.
“I’ll get mine further than yours.”
“Look at my stick, its longer, I’ll have a lot more swing on mine!”
As they had hoped, the ground around the pool contained a good quantity of mud, up here in the north it was sticky like clay and could be clumped onto the end of their sticks in solid handfuls without falling off.
The game was to dip in the stick, pull it up at an angle and get some of the clayish mud onto the end. Then the boys would flick their wrists, both standing in the same space, to see how far and with how much of a splash onto the grass, they could throw the mud.
A dry reed whirred through the air and a few meters away the mud hit with a dull splat.
“That was a poor throw; I’ll let you have another to make up for it,” Odon told Thabo.
Thabo grimaced but was happy to take another shot, Odon’s last throw had been at least three meters further along. He dipped the stick, angled his wrist and picked up another large clump. Checking the aerodynamics of the misshaped clay, he figured that this one would not be heavy enough to fall short.
He flicked his wrist and watched with confidence as the mud flew up, it w
ent higher and higher until suddenly it developed a wobble that spun it over in a second and sent it down into the grass.
Still short of Odon’s last throw.
“Another free try?” Odon asked kindly.
Thabo had grown up with Odon, so he knew that tone, he turned around with his eyes squinted.
“You, you are cheating.” He accused.
Odon put on a face of innocence, it was a good one, and he was a great actor after all.
“I would never.”
“Oh yes, you would.”
“Not to my best friend.”
“Oh, especially to your best friend, you can’t handle losing to me.”
“I can.”
“Then prove it.” Thabo cried out, he had been pushing his stick into the soft mud behind him while he kept Odon’s attention.
He spun around while bringing the stick up and flicked it sideways, a move that would sometimes drop the mud right off, so it was risky, but could also create a lot more momentum.
Just as his new projectile was clearing Odon’s mud splat, the clump blew apart and upwards with a small popping sound.
“Oops.”
“Ha, I got you!” Thabo spun back around to see Odon holding both hands palm upwards next to his head with a shrug to show he gave up.
Thabo shook his head with mock sternness. “You are using magic, when did you get good enough to make such a small bolt?”
Odon lowered his hands and looked over at the mud in the grass.
“I’ve been practicing with the toy balls we have, trying to knock them around as softly as I can.”
Reading something in Odon's expression, Thabo asked. “It isn’t going that well is it?”
“My aim is a bit off because the bolt flares out, so I can hit the mud and knock it down if I get some time to concentrate. That one you just did was great caught me by surprise, so I used too much force. When I practice on the balls, I send them all over the place.”
Odon smiled wryly.
“I am getting better.”
“I’m jealous you know,” Thabo said.
Among Naru honesty was a given, their culture was one that taught decency and aversion to deception. Their civilization was based on these foundations; otherwise, it could collapse or be taken advantage of as so many of the foreign nations did.
Odon put his arms by his sides and gave a low bow to his friend, showing a respectful apology.
“You are always so polite Odon.” Thabo was embarrassed at the gesture.
“I’m not angry, it’s just that your talents in the acrobatics, the acting, the swings, you have all of that, and you have magic. I can barely push up my strength, and Pitso doesn’t even have the kind of magical energy that I do.”
“I have the talent, and I’m doing my best to use it for the entire troupe,” Odon said.
He did not use a sulky tone or have anything in his posture or features that showed resentment.
Neither did Thabo, who would completely agree that Odon was doing everything he could to use his superior skills to the betterment of everyone. Such a true Naru he was that sometimes that behavior also put Thabo to shame.
Not that Thabo or Pitso were bad Naru, not at all, just that Odon took everything to such a high level of perfection, the kind of drive his younger friend had was sometimes a little scary.
“Well keep practicing; perhaps we can have you blow out some candles in a play.” Thabo joked.
“Oh!” Odon whipped up some clay and flicked it at Thabo, drawing a darker brown line of dirt across his friend’s calves.
“Now you have it.” Thabo cried, using his own stick to whip out a glob of grit and sand at Odon who nimbly dodged aside, his own stick dipping down into the mud again.
The game quickly devolved into a running chase around the mud pools between Thabo and Odon. Mud was liberally flicked around, creating streaks along the grass where the boys missed each other and leaving muddy lines on their bodies and clothes where they did not.
By that time the caravan had caught up to them with the lead wagon moving past at the usual slow pace. The oxen bellowed in greeting, turning their heads at the youngster’s antics, something of interest in their long steady plod along the road.
“I need to get back to my studies.” Odon stopped their game, dropping his stick to the grass and throwing up his hands in surrender.
Thabo stopped and made to fling another clump of the muddy clay, then smiled and dropped his stick as well.
“OK, come along then. I know why you really want to get back; you don’t enjoy your studies that much.”
“What do you mean?” Odon asked.
Thabo raised both of his eyebrows looking at Odon.
“Odon, if I had an older brother, I might know something about it, but even if I did, I would never want him to be as protective of me as you are of Ayana.”
“Just wait until you do have an older brother.” Odon replied with a vague smile, his mind on the love of family.
They jogged back down the line of wagons, Thabo jumped back onto his family wagon and waved goodbye at Odon who took up a sprint to get back, looking forward to joining his mother and sister.
*
A few hours later with the sun past noon Odon worked through the Boloi language, carefully watching his mother’s back for any sign of her turning around or showing any displeasure. They had been traveling now for a day over four weeks, which put the caravan three weeks out from Omuzi Pume.
He was looking forward to seeing the Omuzi again. It had been two seasons since they had last performed there, and knowing Boloi Pume, it must have grown even more.
The day had plodded along as slowly as the oxen, but the sun was now moving down ahead of the caravan train. It would not be long before the men returned and they set up camp for the night. It would be nice if they found a wild deer.
Another night of seared rabbit and dried fish was getting boring.
Odon was startled out of his vague thoughts of food and the part of his mind that was repeating the Boloi language by an explosion of fire he could just see from his place behind his mother. The noise was not muffled and sounded like someone had allowed a barrel of lamp oil to catch alight and then explode.
Some people cried out up ahead, the sounds filtered in with the bellows of oxen, the beasts suddenly frightened out of their placid lives.
“Mother, what is it?”
Latai stood on the plank to get a better view over the caravan and waved back at her son.
“Stay down, Odon. Look after Ayana.”
Glancing aside, he saw his sister had big eyes, and she was also staring out where flames spewed up into the sky. He gently grabbed her shoulder and gave her a shake to get her attention.
“Come here, Ayana.”
She scampered the short distance over to sit next to him on the carpet that covered the wooden-plank floor. Smoke blew into the caravan; it had a noxious tinge to it as the fire consumed the scrub grass.
From what he could see, figures were coming over to the caravan from the north. They wore mismatched pieces of armor, leather straps with wooden plates. They all carried wooden clubs, hammers, or spears tipped with sharpened stone.
“Inja,” his mother whispered barely loud enough for Odon to hear.
She probably hadn’t expected him to hear the ominous word. The Boloi used it to describe the Naru who had rebelled against their ways, turning their backs on all other Naru—the so-called dog warriors that hid in the deeper hills and forests of the continent.
These were coming straight out of the arid lands.
Another burst of fire sprang up, this time directly ahead of them and accompanied by the screams of oxen. A trapped animal set on fire screamed, a horrible sound, and Odon covered Ayana’s ears to help block it out while his mother flinched.
The air turned thicker with the scent of cooked meat.
Odon saw it before his mother did.
“Mother is that…” He pointed past her.
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She turned to see the horror on his face and then followed the line of his finger.
Standing off a bit, away from the caravan and from where the Inja spread out in a rough line among the carts, stood a being on fire. A long orange and red robe fell down to the ground and hid any sign of feet. That was intimidating enough, but what was more impressive was that the entire robe was on fire.
A heat haze surrounded the figure, and flames spread like liquid over the arms and body in a curling mass of bright yellow and tips of blue.
Where a head should be was only a soot-black sphere.
Flame sputtered and caught on it in short spurts that sent ash sailing up. It raised a robe-covered arm to reveal a three-fingered hand as black as the sphere that resembled its head. A single flick of the two largest fingers sent flame and a subsequent explosion rattling alongside the caravans nearest to Odon’s own.
Out of the haze and smoke came three Inja.
With their dirty, sand-covered clothing and smoke clinging to them, they looked as far from decent Naru as it was possible to be. Nevertheless, Odon was far more concerned about the figure wreathed in flame. He just could not grasp the possibility—no, he did not want to even think of the possibility.
Was this an Asagi?
He looked to his mother for reassurance, but she had gone pale, her dark caramel skin a much lighter shade bordering on a sandy color. Her head was still, but from the white of her eyes, Odon could see she was glancing back and forth between the Inja approaching their wagon and the strange being.
She still had her arm back, her hand warding Odon and Ayana as if her physical act could protect or shelter them somehow.
The closer of the Inja among the three had a malicious smile.
“You there! Get down off that wagon. Don’t make a fuss now.”
His two companions lifted the corners of their mouths in ugly smiles as well, eager to see if Odon’s mother would put up some sort of fight.
“Stay there,” Latai said to Odon, giving him a stern look.
Convict Fenix Page 52
