Abengoni

by Charles R. Saunders

  “It’s all in the way you move your wrist,” Athir explained. “Very subtle.”

  Mofo nodded.

  “Like killin’,” he said.

  Athir tried to swallow his fear as he continued Jass Mofo’s first lesson in the art of throwing weighted dice. And all he could think about was running.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Soon Come

  1

  Jass Imbiah stood alone on Jayaya’s beach, at the place where Sehaye’s gede had arrived. No ubia-vine dared to come close to her; the altered ashuma that surrounded her like an unseen shield provided protection against mwiti and animal predators alike. As for human evil-doers, the mere sight of her – chamma billowing in the salty breeze, spider-scars clearly delineated by the light of the Moon Stars – was more than sufficient to ensure her well-being.

  “Too narrow,” Jass Imbiah said softly. “Me shoulders, them too narrow. Much too narrow for the task that is set for I.”

  The Moon Stars transformed the crimson sand of the beach into a black blanket nearly indistinguishable from the darkness of rolling sea. Jass Imbiah tried to find solace in the sound of the waves breaking against the shore. But calm of any kind eluded her, as it had since Legaba had ridden her on the day the message arrived from the mainland.

  She shook her head slowly from side to side, as though that action could ease the responsibility she had to uphold: the undertaking of Retribution Time, the ultimate culmination of the Uloans’ destiny, the final vengeance. Jass Imbiah knew what she and her people would be required to do now that Legaba had declared that Retribution Time was here. Her predecessors had also known. They had known; they had prepared; they had waited – but the call to Retribution Time was never heard.

  Soon come, generation after generation of Uloans had told each other. Retribution Time, it soon come. And they never allowed themselves to doubt that one day, Legaba would lead them to their long-awaited reprisal against the blankskins and give the Uloans dominion over the mainland.

  Jass Imbiah had never had even a moment of misgiving – until now. The source of her doubts was not in the truth of the words of prophecy that were uttered when the Storm Wars ended with so many of the Uloan Islands reduced to smoking lumps of rock barely breaking the surface of sea. And it wasn’t a lack of faith in Legaba that drove her to seek solitude on the beach this night.

  It was herself she doubted. So much of what was to come depended upon her, for she alone was the Vessel of Legaba. The Spider God’s ashuma would ensure the success of Retribution Time – if she could contain and control it in her frail, aged body without breaking apart like a dry twig snapped underfoot.

  Earlier that day, Jass Imbiah had met with an assembly of huangi from all the inhabited islands of the Uloas at her palace in Ompong. They had discussed their final preparations for Retribution Time down to the most minute details, and Jass Imbiah, the huangi of huangis, had imbued them all with confidence that they would triumph. But her confidence in herself was not as firm.

  “Me shoulders too narrow,” she said again.

  Her faith in Legaba was as deep as the ocean. Her belief in herself as the god’s Vessel was much shallower. As she stood on the shoreline, Jass Imbiah fought a battle within herself – a battle against her fears that she would fail not only Legaba, but her people as well.

  My shoulders are more than wide enough, a familiar voice said inside her head.

  “Legaba,” Jass Imbiah said, with a sigh of relief in her tone.

  She prepared herself to be ridden again. But Legaba did not intend to put her through the ordeal of possession this night.

  Jass Imbiah heard a stirring in the sand. The sound was coming from the place where the ocean met the beach. She looked down, expecting to see a gede, although now that Retribution Time had come, there was no further purpose for the magical constructs.

  She saw a shape coming toward her, barely visible in the black-crimson grains. But she could see clearly enough to realize that this was no gede. The shape was a round dome of weed, with legs radiating from its center like those of a spider. Jass Imbiah remained motionless as the weed-spider reached her. Jass Imbiah knew the weed from which the spider was formed did not come from Nama-kwah’s realm of the sea, but from Legaba’s, which was a much different place.

  And she welcomed its arrival ...

  The weed-spider’s legs reached under her chamma and coiled around her body. The susurrating sound of their movements blended with the rumble of the waves as the weed-thing spread until it completely enveloped Jass Imbiah.

  The web of weed did not constrict or smother her. She welcomed its touch as its substance was absorbed into that of her spider-scars, in the process imbuing her with ashuma – more potent than any she had ever experienced before; more than she had ever believed possible for her to bear. This was not like the times Legaba rode her, speaking and acting through her during the occasions when he possessed her. This time, Legaba was bestowing upon her a part of himself, directly from his Realm.

  Jass Imbiah shivered in agony as the absorption continued – and, despite the pain, pleasure as well. But she neither moved nor cried out. When Legaba was finished, the web of weed was no longer visible. And the rest of the spider-shape in the sand disappeared.

  Jass Imbiah’s eyes shone like stars. She stretched her arms and legs, and the air around her crackled as if charged with lightning.

  Now, your shoulders are wide enough, Legaba told her.

  Then he was gone.

  And Jass Imbiah was ready to do what she had to do, free from self-doubt and trepidation.

  2

  Throughout the Shattered Isles, activity teemed. From the largest islands – Jayaya, Makula, and Omanee – to mere flyspecks of rock that were home to only a few dozen inhabitants, the Uloans labored to prepare for their invasion of the mainland. This would be a far greater venture than the sporadic raids they had carried out over the centuries since the end of the Storm Wars. This was Retribution Time.

  The skirl of steel ceremonial drums echoed throughout the islands, urging the Uloans to redouble their efforts. Spurred by the knowledge that the time that had long been soon to come had finally arrived, the islanders spared no effort to carry out Jass Imbiah’s commands, for they knew that their ruler’s words were also the words of their god.

  In crystal-clear pools, the huangi held rites of purification. Dozens of Uloan warriors at a time immersed themselves in the water while the huangi uttered incantations that washed away all doubts and fears, leaving only the desire to fight and die for Legaba, and to annihilate the mainlanders. If they died in that cause, their spirits would become one with Legaba, and they would live forever in Legaba’s Realm beyond the horizon of the world.

  On altars atop the islands’ highest hills, other huangi conducted sacrifices. As the populace of entire towns and villages looked on in awe, the huangi slaughtered pigs and goats and huge, flightless birds, the only domesticated animals that remained on the islands after the Storm Wars, and bathed in scarlet streams of blood as the beasts died. For in the worship of Legaba, blood was power, and power was blood. After the sacrifices ended, the malignant ashuma of the Spider God coursed like liquid fire through the huangis’ veins.

  In their forges, blacksmiths dipped the swords, spears and maces they made into vats filled with the sap of mwiti-plants from the Uloan forests. The viscous liquid clung to the points and edges of the weapons. Thus treated, the blades would leak poison into the wounds they inflicted, rendering them doubly lethal.

  Carpenters repaired all the available warships and fitted new rams to their prows. New vessels were also constructed at a frantic pace. Even fishing boats were modified to hold as many warriors as possible. Not since the height of the Storm Wars had so many fighting ships been amassed for an assault on the mainland.

  And in the most remote areas of the islands, the secret places in which the Uloans interred their dead, the bravest of the huangi performed the ultimate ritual of Retribution
Time, one for which prophecy and many generations of ancestors had prepared them, the “soon come” time that had finally arrived.

  The Uloans had long ago departed from the burial customs of the mainland. Their cities of the dead were not merely symbolic; they were real. Full-scale replicas of Uloan dwellings had been erected in the hidden valleys between the islands’ rugged hills. And in those dwellings, the Uloan dead waited.

  Powerful ashuma kept the ubia-vines and other intruders away from the charnel-cities. The huangi unwove the spells of protection before they entered, then restored them to prevent any interruption of what they intended to do. The cities of the dead were built on barren ground.

  Nothing stirred; the coral dwellings were wrapped in cocoons of silence. The families of the deceased did not visit their relatives after their funeral rites were completed, for they knew that the dead would walk again at Retribution Time.

  Inside the houses, clay effigies sat on stools, reclined on beds, leaned near windows. The effigies, called jhumbis, were not intended to represent likenesses of the corpses they encased. Thick layers of dull, gray clay covered the bodies from head to foot, creating lumpish caricatures of the human form. On the faces, cowrie shells took the place of eyes and sharp shards of clamshell substituted for teeth. There were no other features.

  Jass Imbiah had dispatched a single huangi to each city of the dead. The huangi inspected the houses, ensuring that all the jhumbis inside remained intact. They all were; not even the insects that feasted on carrion flesh would go near them.

  Satisfied that the jhumbis had not come to harm during their long time of quiescence, the huangi went outside to altars that had been built long ago in anticipation of this day. Stripping off their feathered garments, the huangi reclined on the flat surfaces of the altars. And they raised long, sharp daggers high over chests incised with scars in the shape of spiders.

  From far away in Ompong, Jass Imbiah spoke to them simultaneously, whispering a single word the huangi heard in their minds – now.

  Then, as one, the huangi plunged their daggers into their own chests, and dragged the blades down to their groins, opening their own bodies in devotion to Legaba and Retribution Time. They shrieked the name of their god as they died. And their life-blood poured out of grooves cut into the altars and soaked the soil underneath.

  Inside the houses of the dead, the clay that covered the jhumbis began to change as the huangis’ blood was absorbed in the ground. The hard shell softened and molded to the contours of the corpses inside, so that the jhumbis’ forms more closely approximated that of the human. Cowrie shells settled into hollowed eye-sockets; shell shards lined gaping mouths, creating sharp-toothed grimaces.

  Then the jhumbis stood up. And they shambled out of their dwellings, leaving patches of clay behind where they had sat or stood. With slow, measured steps, they trudged past the bodies of huangi sprawled on bloodstained altars. And they walked out of the cities of the dead to rejoin the living, and play their allotted role in Retribution Time.

  3

  Awiwi’s tears dampened Bujiji’s chest as they lay in the darkness of his house in Ompong. His fingers traced the spider-scars on her back as she lay quietly at his side. She wept because Bujiji was only one day away from sailing off with the armada that would bring Retribution Time to the mainland. Like all the other Uloan warriors, Bujiji had vowed before Legaba that he would return to the islands in triumph over the blankskins – or he would not return at all.

  Awiwi’s faith in the prophecy of Retribution Time, and in the ultimate ascendance of the islanders over the mainlanders, was complete and without question. But that faith had not prevented her tears from falling as she lay with her lover one last time before the war began, because she knew that the victory could not come without a price.

  Bujiji had reassured again and again her that he would return to her arms. When the huangi had purified him in a pool in the forest near Ompong, it was as though Legaba’s own power had passed through the pores of his skin and entered his body, infusing every muscle and nerve with the Spider God’s ashuma. He felt immortal; invincible. The blankskins would fall before him like grass crushed underfoot and, unlike the mwiti-grass, his victims would not rise again. Victory was assured.

  As well, Bujiji had long since overcome the consequences of his near-tardiness in retrieving Sehaye’s message from the mainland, and had not blamed Awiwi for it. Jass Imbiah had not punished him for the marks of the ubia-vine’s teeth on the message-tube, and he had even gained a measure of repute as the man who had brought the news that initiated Retribution Time. When the war against the Mainland was over, he could expect even greater renown to come his way.

  But when he had explained that to Awiwi earlier this night, she had wept.

  Bujiji understood the reason for Awiwi’s tears, which flowed until she fell asleep. Her faith was not as strong as her fears. For that reason, he didn’t tell her about some of the other things he had seen during the intense preparations for Retribution Time. He had seen the jhumbis, who were kept in places separate from those inhabited by their living kin. The jhumbis were ancestors; they were revered and they would play an important part in what was to come. Even so, the sight of them was terrifying. Bujiji could well imagine the effect the jhumbis would have on the blankskins.

  As well, the jhumbis had a purpose beyond that of spreading fear on the mainland. Bujiji had seen the huangi train the jhumbis in rowing the Uloan warships. And he had seen the results of those efforts: the jhumbis’ preternaturally enhanced strength had propelled the massive warcraft like giant arrows through the waters off the coast of Jayaya.

  Bujiji was thinking about what such speed could do against the blankskins’ warships when Awiwi spoke.

  “Bujiji. Listen to I.”

  A heartbeat of silence passed before Bujiji responded.

  “I and I thought you was asleep,” he said.

  “Bujiji. I and I having a child.”

  This time, the silence lasted longer. But during that time, Bujiji held Awiwi close to him in a clasp that was at once firm and tender.

  “How long you know this?” he asked.

  “Not long.”

  “Why you not tell I sooner?”

  “You were readying yourself for Retribution Time,” she said. “I and I not want to make problem for you.”

  Again, Bujiji fell silent. Then he gave Awiwi another, longer embrace.

  “This I and I promise you, Awiwi,” he said. “Our child will walk on the Mainland. And the blankskins – they will be slaves to he.”

  Bujiji’s prophecy only partially reassured Awiwi. But she did not tell him what she thought. It was not the right time to do so. Instead, she nestled her head on his shoulder and clung to him as long as she could until the time came for him to go.

  4

  The Uloan armada stretched across the horizon as it sailed into the misty strait that separated the islands from the mainland. No farewell ceremonies marked its departure; Jass Imbiah had told the huangi there was neither time nor ashuma available for such rites. All the ashuma she and the huangi could muster would be needed for Retribution Time. The task of controlling the jhumbis would, by itself, consume more ashuma than the islanders had ever produced. And that task was only one of many they still faced.

  On the island’s crimson beaches, the women, children and elders watched as the many contingents of ships set sail to the place at which all the island’s fleets would converge before heading for the mainland. There was no cheering or other show of celebration among the crowds gathered on the beaches. The Uloans’ jubilation would be deferred until the future, when the ships would return in triumph.

  No one doubted the inevitability of victory. The prophecy, spoken by a dying Vessel of Legaba in the grim days that followed the final devastation of the Storm Wars, had said that during Retribution Time, the dead would walk alongside the living on streets cobbled with the skull-domes of the Mainlanders. The clay-covered inhabitants of the
cities of the dead would arise only once, and that one time would be the signal of doom for the Mainland. The only uncertainty was when that time would come. Now, after many years of hope and despair, the uncertainty was over, as was the waiting.

  If the people on the beaches feared for the lives of their husbands, sons, and brothers, they did not acknowledge such misgivings. Some – perhaps many – would die as Retribution Time unfolded. Yet the final victory over the blankskins would be worth the price in lives, however high it might be.

  Awiwi stood with the others on the beach of Jayaya. She watched the ships recede over the horizon, soon to be swallowed by the mist. Earlier, she had seen Bujiji march onto one of those ships, in company with scores of other warriors from her island. He had not attempted to catch a final glimpse of her. And if he had seen her, he would not have acknowledged her farewell wave. Like those of the other warriors, his eyes were focused straight ahead, in the direction of the mainland. It was as though the fighters’ eyes could already see Khambawe through the curtain of mist that hung between the islands and the Mainland.

  When the ships finally passed from sight, the crowds on the beach of Jayaya, and the other islands, dispersed; heading back to their homes and avoiding the ubia-vines and other hazards as they went. Now another, shorter time of waiting would begin.

  Awiwi placed her hand on her belly. It was too soon to feel any movement from the new life that was growing inside her. But she knew it was there. The mambi – the medicine-woman who, among other things, helped to bring the life-spirits of children into the world – had told her it was so.

  “Bujiji, him will return,” Awiwi said to her child. “You will greet he when the ships come back from battle. And them soon come.”