Abengoni

by Charles R. Saunders

  Izindikwa moaned. Then she convulsed. And then the head of her child began to appear. Chiminuka’s hands helped the infant along as the muscles of Izindikwa’s body slowly pushed it out of her womb. Each push was accompanied by another outcry. When the child fully emerged at last, Izindikwa fell limp and silent.

  The child was a boy. He had the fair complexion and straight hair of his father, and the broad features of a Tokoloshe. The infant drew his first breath, then began to wail. His crying echoed through the embassy building like a summons to celebrate. And the men in the other chamber did exactly that, bellowing and laughing with joy and deal the now-grinning Hulm buffets that would have disabled all but the sturdiest of humans, blows that Hulm happily returned.

  But when Chiminuka came into the room only moments later, the tumult died down. The expression on the Tokoloshe woman’s face was far from celebratory. The infant’s cries continued; otherwise, silence suffused the chamber.

  “What is wrong, Chiminuka?” Rumundulu asked.

  “The child lives,” Chiminuka replied. “But Izindikwa is dead.”

  Hulm could only shake his head in disbelief as the others looked at him with expressions ranging from sorrow to anger. What was on their faces was only an echo of the maelstrom of emotions that suddenly roiled inside him.

  And the newest Tokoloshe continued to wail, as though he were acknowledging the price Izindikwa had paid to allow him to be born.

  3

  Keshu was inside Tiyana – inside her body, inside her mind, inside her soul, inside her heart. The soft sounds of their love-making echoed in the semi-darkness of Tiyana’s bedchamber in the Beit Amiya. Through the new ashuma of Almovaar, their passion had become manifest, embodied in a warm, amber glow that emanated from their enjoined bodies. Within the subtle luminescence, the beads of sweat on their skin sparkled like bright dots of gold.

  Their union was more than merely physical; it was spiritual and magical as well. Just as the minds of all the Almovaads had merged to release the sorcerous power that had defeated the Uloans, so, also, could two individuals link at the deepest possible level of intimacy, to reach a Oneness with each other that could be shared by no one else.

  That was where Tiyana and Keshu were now. Even as their bodies moved together beneath the single, cotton sheet on Tiyana’s bed, their souls joined into a single entity, as though together they had become a whole beyond what either of them could be as individuals. It was that convergence, as well as Keshu’s climactic thrusts, that pushed cries of ecstasy from Tiyana’s open mouth.

  In the time before the traditional world of the Matile was torn asunder, any sharing of love between Tiyana and Keshu would have been unthinkable, because of the difference in their stations, even though they were both Amiyas and as such, theoretically equals. But that theory would never have been allowed to progress to practice.

  Once Tiyana’s days as Nama-kwah’s Vessel were over, she would have been given in marriage to one of the Degen Jassi, and she would have had children and lived the rest of her life as a wife of a member of the Emperor’s Court. Her place in the line of succession to the Lion Throne meant little to her then; she had stood far behind Dardar Alemeyu’s hoped-to-be-born heir and Jass Eshana, not to mention her own father.

  Despite Tiyana’s indifference to her status, if she and Keshu had become lovers prior to the coming of the Fidi and the Uloans, they would have had to do so in utmost secrecy. And if that secret had ever been discovered, Keshu would have been put to a painful death, and Tiyana would have been stripped of her rank and exiled into the lands of the Imba Jassi. Such was Matile custom, passed down without question over scores of generations.

  But now, the age-old social hierarchy of the Matile no longer mattered. Its meticulously layered strictures of social strata lay in as much ruin as any of the heaps of charred rubble in Khambawe that the Matile had cleared to make way for new structures to arise. Among the Almovaads, all Adepts were of equal status. And both Tiyana and Keshu had quickly become Adepts, easily transferring their skills at harnessing the weakened ashuma of the Jagasti to the disciplines required to control the powerful sorcery Almovaar placed at their disposal.

  And so they were free ... free to fulfill their love in ways that would have been beyond their understanding in the time before the arrival of the Almovaads. Free to acknowledge what had become known to both of them only during the first time they had entered the Oneness.

  Finally, their passion subsided. The golden glow ebbed even as the perspiration on their bodies dried. For a long time they lay quietly, still wrapped in each other’s arms, skin touching skin, soul touching soul.

  Keshu was the one who broke the long, sweet silence.

  “How long will it be before you must do what the Emperor has requested of you?”

  His voice was low, almost a whisper. He had asked his question as though he were reluctant to hear the answer. As it was, Tiyana’s reply did not come until several long moments had passed.

  “Soon,” she said. “Too soon.”

  She pressed her face into the space between his neck and shoulder, as if she were about to weep. But she didn’t. And in the deepest part of their Oneness, of the connection the Almovaads’ magic had given them, Keshu knew Tiyana would never shed any tears over the duty the Emperor and Seer had given her. They both knew the task they had chosen for her was a test ... a measure of Tiyana’s capability to take her father’s place on the throne when the time came for her to do so, as it must regardless of how intensely she hoped Gebrem would live forever.

  “I wish I could go with you,” Keshu said.

  “I do, too,” said Tiyana. “But there is so much that needs to be done. And so few of us to do it.”

  Keshu was silent. But he understood what she was saying. Not all of the former Vessels had been able to adapt fully to the transition from ashuma to the new sorcery the Almovaads practiced. Some of them clung unconsciously to previous times and old ways that had defined their identities. So for those who had done so successfully, the burden of helping to restore the Empire was heavier – but not too onerous to be welcomed and embraced, even when it forced lovers like Tiyana and Keshu to be apart for a time.

  “Even though I want to go with you, I have my duty as well,” Keshu said. “Still, even when we’re far apart, I’ll be with you. Our Oneness will last forever, Tiyana.”

  “I know,” Tiyana whispered.

  She embraced him fiercely, as though she were making certain her skin would remember the touch of his, no matter how long the responsibilities they had been charged to fulfill might separate them. Keshu returned her ardor. And soon, the glow of their passion again illuminated Tiyana’s bedchamber, and soft sounds echoed from its walls.

  4

  Kyroun had been given his own complex of chambers in the Gebbi Senafa, which befitted his status among the Matile and his close relationship with the Emperor. In previous times, the Emperor and the Leba had been estranged because of the antagonism between Gebrem and Alemeyu, and Gebrem had resided in the House of Amiyas rather than the Palace. The Seer’s presence in the Palace symbolized the alliance between the two men.

  Now, though, Kyroun knew that partnership was about to be put to the test. And he could not foresee whether or not it would survive that trial, which Kyroun knew would come sooner rather than later.

  Like Gebrem, Kyroun was clad in a plain garment and seated in a meditative posture on the floor in front of his bed. He could have joined Gebrem in the golden desert that was Almovaar’s Realm, if only to observe what passed between the Emperor and his god. But he chose not to do so. There was no point; he already knew what Almovaar would say to Gebrem. However, he did not know how the new Emperor would react.

  He would soon find out, though. And he was waiting for that moment. So he was not surprised when Kyroun entered the chamber, unannounced and without ceremony.

  Gebrem looked as though he were still in Almovaar’s bleak fastness. The hot wind had left the braids of
his hair askew, even though only his spirit had been away, not his body. His eyes were red, as though tiny granules of sand still stung them. And when he spoke, his voice sounded like the rasp of a sliding dune, similar to the voice of Almovaar.

  “You knew,” he accused. “You always knew, Kyroun. Yet you didn’t tell me. Why?”

  Gebrem’s eyes blazed. Kyroun could sense the gathering of the Emperor’s nascent power. It was a power that might well have matched his own, for all that it was still new to Gebrem. The Leba had assimilated Almovaad magic far more quickly than any of the Amiyas; it was as though he were born to wield it. The Seer knew that his future, as well as that of Gebrem and the newly reborn Matile Mara Empire, depended on how he replied to Gebrem’s anguished question.

  He answered it with a series of questions of his own.

  “If I had told you, would you have accepted Almovaar? And if you had not accepted Almovaar, would you – and the Matile Mala – be where you are today? Would you, or your daughter, or anyone else here still be alive? Would this city still be standing?”

  Gebrem’s eyes didn’t waver from their intense lock with Kyroun’s. But the flames of wrath in the Matile’s gaze slowly diminished to embers. And the scowl on his features relaxed, becoming an expression of deep melancholy – and, perhaps, regret. Finally, Gebrem turned and departed from Kyroun’s bedchamber without saying another word.

  He never replied to the Seer’s question. He didn’t have to. For both men knew what his answer would have been.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Shadows After Dark

  1

  The tsotsis must go, the Emperor, as well as the Degen and Imba Jassi had agreed. More than a menace, the gangs of thieves were traitors as well. The people of Khambawe retained bitter memories of the way the tsotsis had looted their homes and robbed them in the streets even as the Uloans were rampaging through the city. The gangs had proven to be as destructive in their own way as the invaders.

  In times past, Khambawe’s authorities were helpless to stem the tide of lawlessness rampant in the Maim and beyond. No longer were they ineffectual. No longer would they allow the tsotsis to rule the streets after the sun went down.

  No longer ...

  Kece froze in fear when he looked back and saw a second shadow beginning to appear on the wall behind him.

  Don’t trust shadows after dark ....

  That was the new watchword among the tsotsis. Life in the Maim had become more arduous than ever since the new Emperor had decreed his intention to reclaim the area and finally eradicate the infestation of outlaws from the city. The tsotsi sets, already decimated by the fighting against the Uloans and each other, were now hunted relentlessly by squadrons of soldiers and vigilantes. Those who were not killed on the spot were captured and taken away, never to be seen again. And rumors concerning where they had gone multiplied among the remnants of the gangs.

  But soldiers could be evaded and, given the opportunity, killed. Not the shadows, though. Not the shadows.

  Don’t trust shadows after dark ....

  Not long after the coronation of the new Emperor, the shadows began to appear without warning, etched on the walls and floors of the Maim. A tsotsi would suddenly sprout a second shadow behind him, and that tsotsi would die, no matter what he or anyone else tried to do to prevent it, or how far and fast the target attempted to flee. The tsotsis soon began to call the second shadows “Muvuli,” which meant “Bringers of Death.”

  Now, it was Kece’s turn to be stalked by a Muvuli.

  Kece looked up at the night-sun, and cursed bitterly. Where there was light, there were shadows. And there was always light in the Maim. It was the same light that had shone over the entire city on the night the scar-heads from the islands had invaded. Now, the Maim was the only place over which the magical orb shone: muted in the daytime, brightly at night.

  This witch-light was the Blue Robes’ doing. Kece hated the Blue Robes more than anything else – other than the new Emperor, whom he and most other tsotsis considered to be little more than the foreigners’ shamasha, doing their bidding and mimicking their ways.

  Kece’s second shadow stood only a short distance from the first. It duplicated the posture of its counterpart. When Kece instinctively reached for the hilt of his tirss, both shadows did the same. Then, when he realized his weapon would not help him, he drew his hand away from it. So did one shadow – but not the other. The Muvuli completed the motion that Kece and the first had stopped. Its movements were now independent of those of the tsotsi.

  Eyes widening in horror, Kece watched as the second shadow raised its tirss high over its head. Then the Muvuli swung downward.

  With a choked cry, Kece flinched away. The Muvuli’s blow barely missed striking the other shadow on the wall.

  Even though he knew flight was futile, Kece turned and ran, trying to outdistance both of his shadows. As his feet echoed hollowly through the deserted street, Kece cursed Jass Mofo for sending him and everyone else in the Ashaki set out in the streets to search for two people who could not be found.

  The Muvuli struck again. This time, the blow landed, the spikes of the tirss sinking deep into the back of Kece’s true shadow. Kece cried out as pain ripped through his own back and blood spurted from fresh wounds, even though it was only his shadow that had been struck. He staggered, struggling to stay on his feet, fighting to hold on to his life.

  Another shadow-blow sent the tsotsi reeling to the ground. His blood rilled onto the street’s paving stones. He continued to crawl forward even as the Muvuli struck again and again, hitting Kece’s shadow and ravaging his flesh with each blow. Kece cursed, moaned, and finally screamed in agony as the rain of death-blows tore at him.

  Finally – mercifully – Kece’s life came to an end, and he lay still. The Muvuli stood alone on the surface of a house wall, and shook shadow-drops of blood from its tirss. Then it faded out of existence, its work done.

  2

  Jass Mofo and the rest of what was left of the Ashaki found Kece’s corpse the next day. The tsotsi lay in a pool of congealed blood. His body remained undisturbed; that was how the others knew Kece had been slain by one of the Blue Robes’ shadows. Ordinarily, the Maim’s contingent of hyenas and wild dogs would have long since devoured the fresh carrion. But the scavengers never touched the remains of those whom the Muvuli had slain.

  Mofo gazed dispassionately at the butchered corpse. The other tsotsis – fewer than a dozen of them – in turn gazed at their Jass with half-averted eyes and deliberately blank expressions on their faces.

  No longer did Mofo exemplify outlaw royalty. The braids of his hair were matted and bereft of the silver and gold ornaments that had once weighed them down. His regal chamma was gone; he wore only soiled, torn black leather senafil. His hand was clenched tightly around the hilt of his tirss. If anything, the cold, affectless void mirrored in his eyes had grown deeper and darker since the night the tsotsis’ reign in the streets had ended.

  The tsotsis’ power over the Maim and the other, poorer, parts of Khambawe had become only a memory now. The outlaws’ former prey no longer feared them. The Emperor’s soldiers ruled the city by day, and the Muvuli owned the night. One by one, the tsotsis were disappearing, either through death or capitulation to the new realities of the city.

  But Jass Mofo refused to surrender. Two obsessions drove him onward, even as other tsotsis gave up their miscreant ways and attempted to become part of the new Khambawe – or if not that, escape it.

  “He be careless,” Mofo muttered as he looked down at Kece. “Should’ve watched he-self.”

  Ordinarily, silence would have greeted Mofo’s statement. This time, though, one voice dared to allow itself to be heard.

  “If you not send him out here, he not be dead.”

  Whispers of indrawn breath accompanied Mofo’s motion as he turned to face the speaker, who was Jumu, the only Ashaki who still had the courage not to cringe before the leader of the set. Jumu had not been op
enly rebellious, but he had come close to reaching that line before. Now, he crossed it.

  “What you say, Jumu?” Mofo asked softly.

  “You got bad ears, or what?” Jumu said coolly.

  Jumu didn’t drop his gaze when Mofo looked at him.

  Jumu tightened his grip on his tirss, and his face took on an expression of daring and determination. He had thought about this confrontation for a long time, and had convinced himself that Mofo had lost his edge, that the Ashaki Jass was no longer to be feared, that he was ready to be taken.

  Jumu thought he was ready to challenge Mofo, to pit his prowess with the tirss against that of his leader.

  He wasn’t.

  Mofo had grown leaner than he was before. But he wasn’t any slower. And he had always been the quickest tsotsi in the Maim.

  Before Jumu could say or do anything more, Mofo’s tirss reached out to him – and bit. The impact of the weapon’s sharp spikes sheared away half of Jumu’s face. Then Mofo struck again, laying Jumu’s chest open to the bone and exposing his still-beating heart.

  Eyes wide and round, Jumu crumpled to the ground, dead before he had a chance even to cry out. His fresh blood mingled with the pool of congealed gore that surrounded Kece.

  Mofo turned to the rest of the set and stared at them all, each in turn. None of them met his cold gaze.

  Then he said the words the Ashaki had come to dread; the words they had been hearing every day since their loot had been stolen by the Fidi, Athir, who had beaten them at their own game.

  “Find the Fidi-tsotsi,” Mofo said. “Make him give back what he take from us. Kill him – slow. Then bring me his seed-sack. Heard?”