Abengoni

by Charles R. Saunders

  Level by level, Rumundulu had navigated a dank, twisting trail of stone that burrowed through the depths beneath the Embassy. When he reached the bowl-shaped chamber, Mungulutu’s simulacrum had awaited him like a single Moon-Star shining in the darkness.

  Respectfully, Rumundulu had waited. Then Mungulutu spoke. And Rumundulu could only stare in stunned silence after the Stone King finished. Now, Mungulutu was waiting for Rumundulu to respond.

  Rumundulu could have asked how Mungulutu and the other Lords of Belowground had reached their drastic and momentous decision. He could have asked what they expected to accomplish with their directive. He could have asked what the future was now expected to bring to their kind.

  Instead, he could only utter a single word: a question he knew all the others would ask when he told them what they must do.

  “Why?”

  “We see shadows,” Mungulutu replied.

  2

  Hulm Stonehand could only bear to gaze at his son a few moments at a time before anger and grief forced him to look away. Those feelings were not, however, shared by the Tokoloshe, who could not bestow enough attention on the infant who personified the future of their people.

  The child had been named “Humutungu,” which in the Tokoloshe language meant “hope.” Hulm heard a slight echo of his own name in that of his progeny. But that realization evoked little within him other than sorrow. His grief over the death of Izindikwa, the mother of Humutungu, had not abated. Instead, the sadness had grown stronger and more pervasive with each passing day, until it had become as much a part of him as his flesh and bones.

  Thus, he looked away as yet another Tokoloshe woman took a turn at nursing his son. The magic that had failed to enable Tokoloshe women to conceive in the past had, ironically, proved successful enough in filling those women’s breasts with nourishment. For this, Hulm could summon only a vague sense of gratitude.

  Of paternal pride, he could summon nothing.

  In Hulm’s abdicated place as father, dozens of Tokoloshe were willing to stand. Indeed, all the Tokoloshe males in the Embassy treated Humutungu as though he were their own son.

  Now, as always, Humutungu was surrounded by a throng of admiring Tokoloshe, all of whom wanted to see and touch their miracle child. Hulm stood aside, not caring to get closer, but not yet willing to depart.

  The woman who nursed Humutungu looked at Hulm, and smiled. Her smile remained even as Hulm shifted his gaze elsewhere.

  Among the Tokoloshe, Hulm was regarded with a respect that bordered on reverence. They deferred to him almost as much as they did to their leaders, Rumundulu and Bulamalayo. And they made allowances for his aloofness, for they, too mourned Izindikwa. For them, however, her name would live forever in renown, for she had given birth to the future of the Tokoloshe even as she sacrificed her life.

  None of the other Fidi dwarves stood with Hulm. Like the Tokoloshe, they respected his right to grieve in privacy. As well, most of them had established liaisons with Tokoloshe women, hoping to duplicate Hulm’s accomplishment. As yet, none of them had done so. However, optimism remained fervent, among Fidi and Tokoloshe alike.

  Hulm’s gaze returned to Humutungu and the woman who was feeding the child. The infant was swaddled in a cloth the color of granite, embroidered with decorations that looked like flecks of mica. From the little he could see of the child’s face, Hulm acknowledged the similarity of Humutungu’s features to his own. But that likeness did not fill him with joy.

  Instead, there was only a hollowness inside him. Not even his belief in Almovaar could fill that void. Although the dwarves had fully embraced the Seer Kyroun’s teachings, and had faith in Kyroun’s ability to bring them through the Sea of Storms, Almovaar had receded from their attention during the time they spent among the Tokoloshe. The Dwarven had not adopted the religion of their hosts, which involved the propitiation of gods and spirits that dwelt in the core of the world. But they were no longer so ardent in their devotion to Almovaad doctrine. As well, the Seer paid them scant attention in the midst of his involvement in the concerns of the Matile. For all that, though, they continued to give Kyroun their allegiance.

  Once again, Hulm turned away from his child and the Tokoloshe who surrounded him – and saw Rumundulu and Bulamalayo standing in front of him.

  “My friend, we must speak together,” Rumundulu said.

  The troubled look in the Tokoloshes’ eyes told Hulm that this would not be an ordinary conversation.

  3

  The Emperor Gebrem and the Seer Kyroun were in the Gebbi Senafa – and in the Oneness. The co-rulers of the Matile Mara Empire sat facing each other in Agaw’s Chamber. Kyroun’s presence there was unprecedented; never before had anyone other than an Emperor been permitted to enter the royal sanctuary. Then again, never before had a foreigner held a position as high as Leba.

  Both men wore plain, dark-blue chammas; the emblems of their status would have been out of place in the austere environs of Agaw’s Chamber. Their eyes were closed, and the expression each man’s face bore was both somber and serene.

  Within the Oneness, the Emperor and the Leba were not in the Palace, or even in Khambawe. They were standing on the crimson sand of Jayaya’s beach. Tiyana stood with them.

  A warm, soothing breeze blew in from the sea. In the Oneness, the three Adepts could experience the touch of the wind – but they felt as though the wind was passing through their bodies rather than around them.

  As if she were weaving a story-tapestry in the air, Tiyana showed her father and the Seer what she and the other Almovaads had accomplished on the islands. Even though the three of them were standing on the beach, in the Oneness they could be anywhere ... or everywhere, as in more than one place at the same time. An unwary Initiate could become hopelessly lost in the Oneness, fluttering frantically from dimension to dimension in search of his or her body before it succumbed to thirst and starvation.

  They watched as the surviving Uloans rebuilt the homes that had been destroyed during the rampage of the mwiti-plants. Dead ubia-vines and stiffened mwiti-roots had long since been cleared away or used as fuel for cooking-fires. The foliage that remained on the islands grew lush and luxuriant, and moved only when it was stirred by the wind. The taint of Legaba’s ashuma had long since disappeared, along with the vengeful spirits of the Kipalende.

  If the people of Jayaya and the other Uloan islands had possessed the ability to foresee what Retribution Time would bring them, they would have slain Jass Imbiah and all her huangi. As a result of what Jass Imbiah had unleashed, the islands’ population had been more than decimated. The only men left were those who had been too old to join the invasion force; the rest of the survivors were women and children. Their cities and towns lay in ruins that were only now being reconstructed, and food and water were in scarce supply.

  Still, the survivors were free from Legaba. No more spider-scars marred their skin. They were allowing their hair to grow, and their hopes as well. Most importantly, they were able to envision a future beyond the shattered dream of Retribution Time – a future with Almovaar, their new savior-god.

  On all the inhabited islands, the Almovaads walked among the Uloans, teaching them new ways of living and believing. The islanders had long since become accustomed to the presence of those whom they had previously derided as accursed blankskins, and even the Fidi, whose aspect had at first been disconcerting. Now, some of the Uloans had donned the blue robes of the Believers.

  Gebrem looked with pride at what Tiyana had achieved, much of which had been under her own initiative. Neither he nor Kyroun had suggested the removal of the Uloans’ spider-scars. And they had not been aware of the presence of the Kipalendes’ spirits in the mwiti-plants. The decisions Tiyana had made then had been hers alone; Gebrem and Kyroun had done nothing more than observe her progress from the vantage point of the Oneness.

  Now she stood before them in that same Oneness, in and out of Jayaya at the same time, the red sand of the beach seeming to str
etch into infinity while images of ghostlike Uloans hard at work reshaping their lives surrounded them. Tiyana was clad in a plain blue chamma, but she looked more like a goddess now than she had when she wore the Mask of Nama-kwah and danced on the waves during First Calling not so long in the past.

  Sunlight glistened on her smooth ebony skin and flashed in brilliant daylight constellations from the gold and silver beads woven into the long braids of her hair. Confidence – but not arrogance – shone in her dark eyes as she smiled at her two mentors.

  “Daughter, you have done well,” Gebrem said.

  “I agree,” said Kyroun.

  “Thank you, Father,” Tiyana said.

  Her words and her smile were meant as much for Kyroun as for Gebrem, for in the ways of Oneness and the Almovaads, he was her other father. Because of him, she was a new person. The Seer answered her with a smile of his own, which was echoed by the Emperor.

  “But there is so much more to do,” Tiyana added.

  “Yes, there is,” Kyroun said. “But the Uloans must do it for themselves. You cannot stay with them forever.”

  “It is time for you to return to Khambawe,” Gebrem said. “There is much to be done among our own people as well.”

  Tiyana’s smile faded as she realized that the some of the plans she had made for the further regeneration of the Uloans would now have to proceed without her. Then she sighed, and nodded.

  “You are right,” she said. “We will prepare the ships and leave within a few days.”

  “We will be glad to have you back,” Gebrem said.

  Again, Tiyana nodded.

  With that, the Emperor and the Leba detached their consciousness from the Oneness. Tiyana and the scarlet beach of Jayaya faded like mist, and within an instant the two men’s minds were back in Agaw’s Chamber, their spirits now rejoined to their bodies.

  As soon as they opened their eyes, the two men knew someone was awaiting them on the other side of the door – someone who had been there for a long time, and would remain until Gebrem and Kyroun emerged from the chamber, no matter how long that took.

  The Emperor and the Leba rose to their feet. With a single gesture of his hand, Gebrem opened the chamber’s door without touching it. Standing on the other side was the soldier who was in charge of the Palace guards this night, a man named Asenafe. Asenafe had fought with great distinction during the Uloan invasion, and Gebrem had rewarded him with a high position in the Gebbi Senafa.

  For all his courage in battle, though, Asenafe appeared uneasy under the gaze of the Emperor and the Leba, who waited for him to speak.

  “Your pardon, Mesfin, but the Tokoloshe, Bulamalayo, is in the Audience Chamber,” the soldier said. “He says he needs to speak with you. There are others with him.”

  Kyroun and Gebrem exchanged a glance.

  “What others?” Gebrem asked.

  “Another Tokoloshe ... and one of the Fidi who look like the Tokoloshe.”

  After another exchange of looks with Kyroun, Gebrem said:

  “Tell them we will see them.”

  “As you command, Mesfin,” Asenafe said.

  The soldier saluted, turned on his heel, and departed.

  “This could be trouble, Gebrem,” Kyroun said.

  The Emperor nodded.

  4

  Instead of the Audience Chamber, the meeting between the Tokoloshe representatives and the rulers of the Matile Mara Empire occurred in the chamber in which the Emperor usually met with the Degen Jassi. It was in this room that the fate of Kyroun and the other Fidi had been decided. Now, the Seer helped to determine the destiny of the Empire.

  As they listened to what the Tokoloshe envoys were telling them, both Kyroun and Gebrem soon realized that for all the immense power their wielded – sorcerous and otherwise – there were still eventualities that were beyond even their considerable ability to control. And that realization disturbed them more than they would have wanted to admit.

  Already, they had been surprised when Bulamalayo revealed that Rumundulu was the real head of the Tokoloshe Embassy. Misdirection, however, was far from uncommon in the practice of diplomacy among Matile and Tokoloshe alike. But what Rumundulu and Hulm Stonehand, who represented the Dwarven, said next truly stunned both the Emperor and the Leba.

  “We are closing the Tokoloshe Embassy,” Rumundulu said without preamble. “The closing is effective at once. All Tokoloshe will depart from Khambawe and the lands of the Matile as soon as possible.”

  “And we will be going with the Tokoloshe,” Hulm said. He looked at Kyroun, not the Emperor, as he spoke.

  Silence followed as the two rulers reacted to the news. Gebrem was the first to break it.

  “Our alliance ....” he began.

  “Is intact,” Bulamalayo said, speaking for the first time since revealing who Rumundulu was. His voice grated like gravel trod underfoot as he continued.

  “However, we are needed in our homeland at this time.”

  Gebrem labored to maintain a calm exterior even as he attempted to absorb the considerable impact of Rumundulu’s words. The connection between the Matile and the Tokoloshe stretched back many centuries, its inception coming long before the time of the Storm Wars. Together, the two races had prevailed over adversaries ranging from the ogrish Zimwe to the shape-shifting irimu, and they had kept the barbaric Thaba hordes first at bay, then in thrall.

  For all that time, the Tokoloshe had maintained a presence in Khambawe, even during the Storm Wars and their aftermath. And the Matile owed the Tokoloshe a further debt of gratitude for their part in the victory over the Uloans, for without their aid, the city might have been overrun before the sorcery of the Almovaads could come into play. The prospect of such a sudden departure disconcerted Gebrem. Kyroun, being less knowledgeable about Matile history, was less concerned. But he could sense the obvious importance of this development to Gebrem.

  As if he were reading the Emperor’s thoughts, Rumundulu said:

  “You do not need us anymore, Mesfin. Your new sorcery is more than sufficient to protect your people. And you don’t need much protection at that, for your greatest enemy has been defeated beyond any hope of recovery. You may even be strong enough to prevent us from leaving Khambawe. – although I suspect neither you nor I would care to put that supposition to the test. As Bulamalayo said, we are needed in our homeland, and we intend to go there.”

  Gebrem understood that that no threat was implied in the Tokoloshe’s words ... Rumundulu was only stating the facts of the matter at hand. A clash between the mystic forces the Tokoloshe and the Matile commanded would undo much of the rebuilding that had been accomplished since the defeat of the Uloans, and leave the Empire vulnerable to the growing threat posed by the Thabas to the south.

  One question repeated itself like a drumbeat in the Emperor’s mind: Why? Why was the entire populace of the Embassy “needed” in the Tokoloshes’ mysterious homeland? Rumundulu’s statement was vague, and told Gebrem little of what he truly wanted to know. Gebrem realized, though, that he was not likely to learn more if he pressed the Tokoloshe for answers.

  But Kyroun did not hesitate to ask a question of his own, which he directed to Hulm.

  “Why do you wish to accompany the Tokoloshe?”

  Hulm had earlier prepared a detailed, precise discourse explaining his people’s decision. Now, as he looked into the Seer’s eyes, he remembered the first encounter between the Dwarven and the Almovaads ....

  5

  For millennia, the Dwarven of Cym Dinath had lived secretively, much more so than the Tokoloshe of Abengoni. Although they traded sporadically with humankind and sometimes ventured into the humans’ world, for the most part they preferred to dwell in the territories they had carved out deep Belowground. They found humans to be too greedy and quarrelsome, their nature too dangerous and unpredictable, for extensive contact or alliances like the one between the Tokoloshe and the Matile to be made.

  But Belowground was not without perils of its o
wn. The Dwarven environment was far from static; the Belowground breathed and moved as though it was a living creature rather than an inert mass of stone and earth. One such movement – a titanic shift in the plates of rock deep Belowground – destroyed the territory in which Hulm’s people had dwelt for millennia. Only a few had survived, none of them women or children. Those who still lived had no alternative other than to venture Aboveground.

  There, they wandered in aimless sorrow, eking out a subsistence living as they attempted to find their way back Belowground. But they were no longer welcome in their old environs. For their fellow Dwarven considered them to be blighted by the disaster they had suffered. And they believed the wanderers carried the curse of that calamity with them. Thus, every time Hulm’s people ventured Belowground, they were met with sharp imprecations and sharper axe-blades.

  They were a weary, disconsolate group when Kyroun and the Almovaads met them during their long journey west to Fiadol. When the Seer learned what had befallen them, he gave them more than sympathy. He offered them hope for a new life in a land far away from the disaster and subsequent rejection they had suffered. They needed only to become Believers in Almovaar.

  And that is what they did.

  During the most harrowing parts of the subsequent journey, the Dwarven had remained steadfast in their faith in Almovaar, and in the Seer’s vision. They had even trusted to their new god when the Almovaad ships took to the sea, an element the Dwarven instinctively disliked, as did the Tokoloshe.

  And now ....

  “Seer, you told us that every Almovaad would find a home on the other side of the Sea of Storms,” Hulm said, giving voice to what he truly felt rather than reciting the words he had rehearsed.