And now ...
Now she stood, rather than danced, on the waves. She wore no Mask; there was no need for her to impersonate a goddess who was no longer worshipped by her or her people. Instead of the elaborate webwork of diamonds and silver that accompanied First Calling, she wore only a plain blue chamma that whipped in the breeze. Her braids, decorated with sky-blue beads, descended below her shoulders and flew in the wind. She stood slightly above the waves, and could feel their delicate touch against the soles of her feet.
Tiyana’s face was as serene as the Mask of Nama-kwah had been. She was secure in the power Almovaar had bestowed upon her. And she felt certain in the justness of its use, and in the responsibility her father and Kyroun had given to her and the other Adepts.
She focused on the island before her. It was still a fair distance away, but with the far-vision Almovaad sorcery bestowed, she could see the beleaguered Uloans still fighting hopelessly to survive, even as the relentless mwiti forced the people off the beach.
Byallis stood at Tiyana’s right side, standing on the waves with practiced ease. At her left was a Matile man named Geremu, who was once an Amiya, and now an Adept second only to Tiyana in accomplishment. Tiyana nodded to them. They nodded back. They, too, had seen what was occurring on the island, and along with the other Adepts, they had, in the Oneness, agreed on what they had to do.
Arms spread wide, Tiyana began the task of gathering the magic she and the others needed to accomplish their goal. The others duplicated her stance. No longer was it they necessary for them to clasp hands to wield their collective energy; the link their minds shared in the Oneness was more than sufficient to draw upon Almovaar’s resources, which they now did.
Without warning, blue lightning blazed from Tiyana’s hands. Its crackling could be heard over the waves. The coruscation of eldritch force leaped from Tiyana to Geremu and Byallis, who added their own power, as did all the other Adepts, each in his or her turn, until jagged lines of energy surrounded them like a palisade fashioned from glowing serpents.
Then Tiyana thrust her hands forward, as though she were pushing against a wall. So did the others. And a myriad of lightning-like lines of force arrowed toward the island.
3
Awiwi’s resistance had almost ceased. Sea-water swirled above her waist. Her body, and that of her child, was covered with ubias. The mouths of the vines burrowed into her skin. Rows of teeth pierced her flesh. Her blood began to flow into the ubias’ tubular bodies, which expanded as they gorged greedily on her life-fluid.
Neither Awiwi nor anyone else on the beach cared any longer about the ships that had appeared on the horizon. Who the intruders were; whether they meant help or harm; none of that mattered because it was impossible for them to reach the Uloans in time to make any difference for good or ill.
Then the Almovaads’ magic struck.
Awiwi staggered and fell into the water. So did the others around her. Choking and spitting salt water from their mouths, the Uloans struggled desperately to regain their footing before the tide had a chance to sweep them away. And their eyes widened in shock when they saw what was now happening to the ubias that still clung to their bodies.
Lines of blue, crackling fire enmeshed the vines. The humans felt only a slight tingling from the force-lines. But the energy’s effect on the ubias was immediate and dramatic. The vines writhed as though they were on fire. Like a grotesque rain, they dropped from the Uloans’ bodies and fell into the sea, where they continued to twitch and convulse until they finally subsided and floated motionless. Incoming waves washed them onto the beach, where they lay like limp strands of seaweed.
On the red sands, the mwiti-roots that had sprouted from the ground were also caught in the force that swept the island. They remained frozen in place like a forest of ribs. From the tentacular roots, the lines of force expanded, enmeshing the entire island in a netting of brilliant blue light. The outcome of the Almovaads’ sorcery on the mwiti was immediate.
The grasses stopped waving, their life force suddenly snatched away. Fruits that pulsed like multicolored hearts either ceased their motion entirely, or exploded in bursts of pulp. Flowers that had clenched like hands fell apart in showers of petals that lay in heaps around their stems.
Vines that had engulfed entire towns shriveled and dropped away from walls and doors under the relentless assault of the Almovaads’ sorcery. The branches and roots of great trees ended their growth and movement, and stood still again. Even in the villages of the dead, the desecrating plant-life was cleansed by the blue webwork, leaving the empty funeral-houses uncovered and undisturbed.
In the depths of the Jayaya forest, the lone papaya tree struggled stubbornly against its fate. Its trunk, branches, and leaves were ensnared in a lattice of glowing blue lines. The gigantic mwiti trees that surrounded the papaya had all fallen motionless. For all their size and grandeur, they had proven easy prey for the magic of the Almovaads. The Kipalende part of their consciousness had subsided in the shock of the surprise attack.
But the Kipalende spirit that had found shelter in the humble papaya was more resilient than the others. Even as its companions passively surrendered their recent gifts of sentience and movement, the papaya continued is resistance. Its limbs whipped as though it were in the midst of a typhoon. Its leaves scattered; its fruits plummeted to the ground.
Yet for all the cruel damage it was undergoing, the spirit in the papaya refused to submit to the force that was destroying its host. The Kipalende’s vision of vengeance was too pervasive to be extinguished. Even as chips of its bark were torn from its trunk, the papaya continued its attempt to rally ubias and other mwiti that no longer responded to its calls.
Finally, the papaya’s trunk split as though it had been struck by lightning. Its two halves teetered, then crashed to the ground. It lay in a tomb of its own leaves and branches. The Kipalende spirit was the last part of it to die.
On the rest of the Uloan islands, the undoing of the mwiti rampage continued as the Almovaads’ strands of sorcery extended themselves far beyond Jayaya. By the time the assault was done, the animate plant life of the islands had either perished, or been transformed into ordinary vegetation. And the spirits of the Kipalende finally vanished from the islands: their dream of vengeance ended, their reason for continuing to exist defunct.
Eventually, the lines of blue fire that encircled the islands dimmed, then vanished, their work completed.
And on the beach of Jayaya, the surviving Uloans stared first at the reefs of dead ubia-vines that blanketed the sand, and the lifeless roots that jutted skyward like monuments to a fallen monarch. The Uloans’ own dead lay there as well. Only a pitiful few survived.
Then the islanders turned to face the blue-robed newcomers who were now levitating toward them, their feet lightly skimming the waves.
4
As the Adepts approached the beach, the Uloans retreated out of the water and onto the ubia-strewn sand. Shock, fear, bewilderment and exhaustion glazed their eyes and deadened the expressions on their faces. Circular wounds from the ubias’ mouths covered their bodies. Blood trickled over the raised tissue of their spider-scars. The islanders slumped in stances of extreme weariness.
The Uloans backtracked farther as the mainlanders’ feet finally touched the sand. None of them had ever seen a blankskin. Captives had never been taken in the raids the Uloans mounted, and more than a generation had passed since the last time the Mainland Matile had made an offensive against the islands. Legends and hearsay told the Uloans what their ancient enemies looked like, but legends and hearsay did not match what they saw now.
The blankskins the Uloans thought they knew had never floated across the sea like birds. They had never swathed themselves in plain blue robes. And even in their most vivid imaginings, the Uloans had never pictured Mainlanders with pale skin, or hair in colors other than black, like that of many of the small group of intruders who now confronted them. Memories of the Fidi had faded more rapid
ly on the islands than it had on the mainland; to the survivors of the mwiti assault, these new people were even more disconcerting than those they assumed to be blank-skinned Mainlanders.
Who them be? the Uloans wondered as the blankskins looked at them. Why them come? Why them save we?
For their part the Adepts, Matile and Fidi alike, looked at the Uloans and asked themselves how it was that people such as these could have been such formidable foes to the Matile for such a long time. They saw only young and old women, old men, and children ranging from suckling infants to near-adolescents. Their spider-scarred bodies were gaunt, showing the effects of dwindling food supplies. Wounds from the ubias puckered their skin like open, bleeding mouths.
The silence stretched. Then an old man stepped forward. Despite the ragged clothing that barely covered his blood-spattered skin, and the trauma he had just endured, he was still carried himself with a measure of dignity. His name was Jawai. Although he had never possessed the magical talent necessary to become a huangi, he had always been a man to be respected. It was Jawai who had attempted to use fire to forestall the ubias, and it was Jawai who now took the initiative to find out what these powerful newcomers wanted.
Tiyana stood a few paces in front of the other Adepts. Jawai believed that she was the one who would have the answers to his questions. He tried to read her intentions in her dark eyes and the calm expression on her strange, unscarred face. He could not. It was like looking at a mask.
“From Matile-land, you?” he finally asked.
“Yes,” Tiyana replied.
“Our warriors ... our huangi ... Jass Imbiah ... where them gone to? Why them not come back?”
“All of them are dead.”
Tiyana said nothing more. She anticipated a chorus of wails and curses, and, perhaps, a physical attack, against which she was well-prepared to defend herself. But none came. She had only confirmed for the Uloans what they already knew, even though they had assembled at the beach every day to wait for ships that would never return. They had known that truth, but they had not been able to accept its reality. Now, at last, they were forced to do so.
“They would not stop killing,” Tiyana said, feeling they needed an explanation. “They died bravely. But they died for no reason – for a mistaken cause. There is no ‘Retribution Time.’ There never was.”
Jawai closed his eyes as though he had just been struck. When he opened them again, he looked at the piles of dead ubias and the immobilized roots. Then he looked again at Tiyana.
“Why you do this for we?” he asked, indicating the evidence of what the Believers’ magic had accomplished. “Why you not kill we?”
“Because the war between us is over,” Tiyana replied. “Because there is no more need for killing.”
Jawai stared at her as though she had spoken the gibberish of the mad. So did the other Uloans. For half a millennium, the war against the Mainland had been the focal point of the Uloans’ existence. Without that sacred warfare; without the promise of Retribution Time’s triumph and the fulfillment of the destiny Legaba had promised them, they had nothing.
And they were nothing ...
“Legaba, him lie to I and I,” Jawai muttered bitterly. “Where him be now? Where him be?”
“Legaba is gone,” Tiyana said. “All the Jagasti are gone. A new god has come to take their place. His name is Almovaar.”
“Almovaar ... him help you take Retribution Time from we?”
“Yes. And he has helped you, too. He was the source of the ashuma that we used to destroy the plants-that-move before they pushed you into the sea. Now, these islands belong to you alone.”
Jawai shook his head as though he could not, or did not want to, comprehend what he was hearing.
“You can rebuild,” Tiyana pressed. “You can teach your children love, not hate. You can live in peace with us. The hatred between your people and mine can end. All this can be. The choice is yours.”
“Who them be?” Jawai asked abruptly, gesturing toward the Fidi who stood nearby. The Fidi were mingled with the Matile, but Tiyana knew the Uloan was referring to the outlanders.
“They are the Fidi, the people from Beyond the Storm,” Tiyana replied. “They brought Almovaar to us. Now, we bring him to you.”
Another silence followed as the Mainlanders waited and watched the islanders absorb the reality that their old way of life was gone forever, and it was their ancient enemies who were offering them a new way.
Some of the Uloans kept their eyes downcast. Others gazed openly at the blue-robed strangers, especially the Fidi, as though they could read their people’s fate in faces that were innocent of scarification.
Then, with an expression of regret and resignation on his face, Jawai bowed his head sank to his knees in front of Tiyana. One-by-one, the other Uloans followed his example.
“You have beaten we,” Jawai said softly. “Nothing left of we but the old and the young. No more huangi. No more Legaba. No more of we. I and I yours now.”
The Almovaads looked at each other in consternation. Such an abject act of submission on the part of the islanders had never been their ultimate goal. They had no desire to enslave the remaining Uloans. But now they could see that without their obsession with Retribution Time, the islanders were like children whose parents had died. Even with the menace of the animate plants gone, the Uloans had still lost their will to live.
An infant’s cry broke the silence. And that cry told Tiyana what she must do.
5
Awiwi tried to hush her baby son, but the pain from the wounds the ubias had inflicted was too much for him to bear. Then Awiwi sensed someone coming toward her. She looked up, and saw the woman who led the mainlanders standing over her.
When Tiyana reached down, Awiwi shrank away, her arms protectively cradling her infant. But when Tiyana’s hand touched the boy, his cries ceased. Turning her back on Tiyana, Awiwi raised her baby’s head so that she could see his face. He looked up at her, wide-eyed. Then he gurgled and smiled. When she looked closer, she saw that his wounds were no longer bleeding.
Awiwi felt Tiyana’s hands on her arms. Gently, the Matile woman lifted the Uloan from her knees. Awiwi turned to face the mainlander, opening her mouth to shout at her. Then she felt a faint tingle from Tiyana’s hands. Awiwi tried to pull away, but Tiyana held her firmly. Awiwi looked down at her arms ... and saw that the spider-scars were slowly disappearing from her skin. It was as though all the traces of Legaba upon her were being erased by the power of this new god, this Almovaar.
“No,” Awiwi whispered in protest as the last of the scarification faded, transforming her into a hated blankskin. But her protest was half-hearted, and was finished almost before it had begun.
Inside, Awiwi had changed even as her skin transmuted. It was as though she had shed a reeking, ragged garment that she had worn for far too long. Legaba was gone from her. She was a new person. It was as though she, and not her infant, had only recently emerged from the womb.
Tiyana smiled at the island woman. Awiwi smiled back. Around them, other Adepts were following Tiyana’s lead, lifting the Uloans from their knees and expunging the spider-scars from their bodies. Jawai was the last to accept the eradication of Legaba from his life. And he was the only one who still appeared to regret the changes the mainlanders had wrought.
It was a beginning.
The Uloans did not know the price they would ultimately have to pay for falling into the embrace of Almovaar.
Tiyana did not know it, either. Nor did the rest of the Adepts who were duplicating what Tiyana had done, not only on Jayaya but also the rest of the Uloan Islands.
Nobody knew, other than Kyroun and Gebrem.
And Almovaar ...
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Dissent
1
For all the progress that had been made in the restoration of Khambawe, the task was far from complete. Many of the interior sections of the Jewel City still lay in ruins, waiting to be reconstruc
ted. The Emperor had decreed that the entire city was to be rebuilt by the beginning of the next rainy season – what was once known as First Calling. Although much work remained to be done, the people of Khambawe were confident that they could fulfill the Emperor’s edict, even if it did seem unreasonable to some.
But there were those in the city who bore scant regard for either the new Emperor or his many pronouncements. As well, they harbored deep-seated suspicions of the Fidi outlanders and the new god they had brought to Khambawe. They did not speak publicly about their misgivings, for their opinions were shared by only a small number of their fellow Matile; and in any event it was not considered wise to speak ill of the Emperor Gebrem or the Almovaads. To do so was not prohibited, but such opinions were more often than not shouted into silence by those who believed that they owed their lives to the foreigners. For that reason, the dissidents did not espouse their views in public, and they held their meetings in places where few others were inclined to go.
This night, several people approached a house that remained the most nearly intact on a street of ruins. They came singly, and they spaced their arrivals at irregular intervals. Light from the Moon Stars created a pale nimbus that softened the jagged outlines of the broken buildings. In the distance, the night-sun that hovered over the Maim was clearly visible. Because of that silvery beacon in the sky, the people who approached the house were able to gather at night without any need to fear becoming victims of the tsotsis.
However, the dissenters felt no gratitude for that tangible gift from the new god. The night-sun and the rumors of sinister shadows that were killing off the tsotsis only exacerbated their misgivings. Their discontent was not based on loyalty to the Jagasti, who had abandoned – and been abandoned by – the Matile. Yet the doubters could not bring themselves to embrace the worship of the new god, whose adherents seemed to have profited rather than suffered in the wake of the near-disaster that had befallen the Empire.
Abengoni Page 31
