by Jean Lorrah
When Chulaika still resisted, Wulfston demanded, “What are you afraid of? Is there some danger on the island?”
“I cannot be certain,” she replied. “I have never been here before. Although it is said that there is little violence on Freedom Island, you may be certain that should we encounter trouble, we can expect no help from the inhabitants.”
Zanos gave her a confident smile. “I think we have enough strengths and talents among us to handle any trouble.”
His wife nodded her agreement, but asked Chulaika, “Just what is it you fear? Surely Z’Nelia’s influence could not reach so far.”
“Couldn’t it?” the African woman countered. “She has spies everywhere on the continent. Why not here?”
The handful of black people on the dock proved less than friendly, though not openly hostile to the strangers. To test whether he would be understood, Wulfston asked to have the letter he had prepared sent back on the next ship to the Aventine peninsula. He handed over coins, hoping the missive would reach its destination. Then they went on to the marketplace.
The half-mile walk was on a well-worn road lined with squalid huts. Children played in the dirt, while their mothers clustered nearby in the shade of a tall tree. It was of a type Wulfston did not recognize, and sitting in its branches were multicolored birds singing unfamiliar songs. More than just another land, he reflected. It’s almost like entering, another world.
The group of native women stopped talking as they passed, staring at the strangers-no, staring directly at him.
“Astra,” Wulfston murmured in the savage language, “why are those women looking at me that way?”
The Reader followed his gaze and concentrated. “They’re low-level Readers, my lord. My impression is that they are intrigued with your appearance, and are wondering who you- Oh, Hesta!” she muttered, and turned away, blushing.
“What’s wrong?”
Zanos, who had apparently been “listening in” on his wife’s scan of the women, choked back laughter.
“Uh… they’re Reading through your clothes, Lord Wulfston.”
Fighting the reflex to cover himself with his hands, Wulfston gasped, “What!” then forced himself to walk tall, shooting an angry glare at the women that would have sent any citizen of his own land scurrying away in terror. The result on the group of women, however, was an explosion of laughter.
“They’re breaking the Reader’s Code!” he protested to Astra.
“They would be in the Savage Empire,” she agreed, “but who knows whether in this part of the world Readers have even developed a code?”
They switched back to Chulaika’s native language, and Astra asked her about it. “Each order of Seers has its own rules,” the African woman explained. “I’m sure those women belong to no order, but even if they did, I doubt that our Seers and Movers could ever agree on a single set of rules.
We are too many different tribes and peoples, as you will soon see.”
The marketplace was a sprawling arena of bustling activity, its perimeters defined by merchants’ huts, tents, and open-air booths. Although it was not as crowded as a busy market day at home, the travelers found it difficult to navigate the crosscurrents of people.
Everyone seemed to travel in groups, as if being alone were unacceptable here. Or dangerous.
Wulfston noticed that the business being conducted did not involve the exchange of coins, only barter. Of course, refugees would not have silver or gold. Coins marked merchants, always under suspicion of trading in human flesh.
Wulfston touched the money pouch at his belt, and suddenly felt more an intruder on this island than a visitor. He felt even less certain that his letter would reach Aradia.
Zanos said, “The market seems to be divided into territories.” Wulfston saw what he meant: tall, thin men sold their wares in the northern part; short, almost childlike people on the east-
But it was a small booth on the southern perimeter that drew Wulfston’s attention. A young couple were selling wooden utensils. The man was beardless, but still he. closely resembled the Lord Adept in build and skin color.
He reminds me of my father, Wulfston realized. His natural father. No, on closer examination this man didn’t really look like his father as Wulfston remembered him, but there was family-tribal? — resemblance enough to give him the irrational feeling that if he walked over to that booth he would be welcomed with open arms.
Knowing his perception was clouded by memory, Wulfston remained where he was, letting his eyes move over to the man’s wife, who was light-skinned and very pretty. She was painting animal figures on the outer edge of a large bowl, just as Wulfston’s mother had done at his family’s pottery stand. Over to the side a little girl was watching her young brother, a boy no more than three years old-
The same age I was when it all happened. It’s like looking at my own past!
The young woman glanced in his direction, and her eyes widened. She edged over to the man and whispered something, then went to bend over her children.
A hand touched Wulfston’s shoulder. He turned reflex-ively, staring into Chulaika’s eyes, but he could not seem to hear what she was saying. His mind was still on the family that looked so much like his own.
When he turned to look again, they were gone. The booth was empty.
“Lord Wulfston,” Chulaika said, “Zanos claimed he saw some ‘Madurans’ over there”-she gestured toward the western side of the square-“and ran off. His wife followed him. She seems concerned.
These ‘Madurans’-they are his tribe?”
Wulfston nodded. “It never occurred to me that enslaved Madurans could end up this far south.”
“That is the essence of the slave business,” Chulaika said quietly. “People are sold in lands far from their homes, places where their features are considered unusual. They don’t know the language, they stand out in a crowd, so there is little chance of escape.”
Suddenly she looked around. “Chaiku? Chaiku!” Her eyes were suddenly wide with panic.
“He’s just wandered off,” Wulfston said, trying to see through the river of people flowing around them.
“Chaiku!” she called, her voice quickly approaching hysteria. “Chaiku!”
“Don’t worry,” he said firmly. “We 11 find him. He can’t have gone far.”
But Chulaika continued to call her son, pushing her way through the crowd. Wulfston followed her, certain the little boy would wander back to where he had started.
“KANA LA SABENU Z’NELIA! KANA LA SABENU Z’NELIA!”
The shouts cut through every other sound in the square.
The world went silent for a moment, everyone looking in every direction at once. Then a woman yelled something and people scurried away from the center of the marketplace.
It was as though curtains parted, revealing little Chaiku- index finger in mouth, cheeks stained with tears-looking around bewilderedly for his mother.
And then the crowds parted further to reveal the screaming man, several yards beyond the child and lurching toward him with a drunken stagger.
He was brandishing a knife!
“KANA LA SABENU Z’NELIA!”
By now, Chulaika had reached her son and was scooping him up in her arms. Wulfston ran toward them, shouting for her to get out of the way as the man increased speed and raised the dagger.
Chulaika stood frozen, staring at her oncoming death.
The Lord Adept jumped to his right to see his target clearly, and threw enough Adept force to knock the knife out of the man’s hand.
It was as though the attacker had been thrown against a stone wall-bones snapped loudly, the knife went flying behind him, and his shouts became a groaning gurgle as he dropped to his knees. He fell forward, to land at Chulaika’s feet.
“Are you all right?” Wulfston asked as he approached her. She nodded vaguely, staring down at the man.
Her right hand held Chaiku’s face buried in her left shoulder, muffling his frighte
ned sobs. Her eyes held an expression Wulfston could not discern, a strange mixture of fear and anger.
Suddenly Zanos and Astra were there, she kneeling over the prone form, he protectively standing over her and scanning the curious onlookers. “He’s dead, Wulfston.” she announced, looking up at him sadly.
“His neck is broken.”
“I didn’t mean to strike him so hard,” he muttered, fighting down a sick feeling. He hadn’t misgauged his powers that badly since adolescence. He looked at Chulaika. “What was he shouting?”
She blinked. “Death to the enemies of Z’Nelia.”
“Lord Wulfston, I think we should return to the ship,” Astra said as she rose. “I don’t like what I’m Reading from this crowd.”
“I agree,” Chulaika said quickly. “This man may have friends.”
Wulfston had to agree. He let Zanos lead the way out of the marketplace, hand on the hilt of his sword.
The trek back was long and silent. Only when the ship was in sight did Wulfston relax enough to ask Zanos about the Madurans he had sought in the marketplace.
“There’s a small colony of them on the island,” Zanos replied quietly. “A storm enabled them to escape the ship carrying them to the mainland slave markets. Since no ships from here travel to Madura anymore, they are cut off from their homeland. Considering what Astra and I saw of Madura under Maldek’s rule, I told them it’s just as well.”
Captain Laren and some of his crewmen were loading supplies, and the Night Queen put out to sea before nightfall. Wulfston gathered Zanos, Astra, and Huber for a private conference in the cramped quarters that were the only private accommodation available to the Lord Adept.
Astra used her powers to make sure no one was eavesdropping-particularly Chulaika.
“I’m even more suspicious of that woman now,” Wulfston said tightly. “All her answers seem to be truthful, but something tells me that what she does not say is much more important than the information she’s given us. “
“Well, ‘ Astra said doubtfully, “I don’t think she could have lied about what that man with the knife was saying. He was obviously out to kill Chaiku, Chulaika, and you.”
“Perhaps he was a hired assassin,” Huber suggested, “sent by Z’Nelia.”
“If he was,” Zanos commented, “he was a poor choice. It’s very hard to sneak up on prey when you’re drunk.”
“Besides, no one knew we would stop on Freedom Island, ” said Wulfston. “No-wait. Sukuru and his people knew we would stop there because they did.”
“Coujd Z’Nelia’s allies have captured them?” Zanos mused. “Made them reveal that we were coming?”
Huber doubted it. “Even if someone Read it from them, Sukuru and his crew are only a day or so ahead of us. We’re still four days from Africa-not enough time to put an assassin on the island.”
“Unless he was already there,” said Astra. “And what if he was a Reader himself? These people have no Code to stop them from invading people’s privacy. If that man picked up Chulaika’s thoughts and realized that she was Z’Nelia’s enemy, he could have attacked her without thinking. Maybe he was jus.t drunk enough not to realize he had no chance against us.”
Wulfston said, “If that’s so, then I’m even more worried. An ally or servant of Z’Nelia’s so far from the mainland… just how far does her power extend?”
The language lessons continued, but Wulfston found it harder to concentrate. And he did not sleep well.
On the third morning, Zanos said to him, “You’re like the fighters I used to train for the Aventine arena.
Some of them would be restless for days before an important match.”
“And how did you help them relieve their tensions?” Wulfston asked.
“Sometimes,” the Maduran said wryly, “I’d send them to Morella’s House of Pleasure.”
Wulfston gave him a look of mock annoyance. “I don’t think that applies here.”
Zanos chuckled. He knew the Lord Adept was virgin-sworn until he found the woman who would provide his heir. “Sorry. Seriously, though, you need to get your mind off what lies ahead. When they were too tense, I would often set my gladiators a new challenge, something they’d never done before.
For example, you are a powerful Adept. I might challenge you to combat, with the stipulation that you not use your powers to win.”
Wulfston looked at the powerfully muscled Maduran. As an Adept, he much overmatched Zanos, but without the use of powers- “I wouldn’t know where to begin. I’ve never even learned to use a sword.”
“I had to keep my powers secret in the Aventine Empire,” said the ex-gladiator, “so I had to learn. “
“Perhaps you should teach me swordplay,” said Wulfston. “I may well have to hide my identity in order to get close enough to rescue Lenardo. “
“No,” replied Zanos. “The sword has many forms, each with its own style of combat. I could not possibly teach you enough in a few days to do you any good. But there is something that is useful anywhere in the world: the tactics of hand-to-hand combat.”
Wulfston stared. “Wrestling? With you?” Zanos must weigh at least a third more than he did. “Without Adept powers I’d never dare come within reach of an enemy of your size!”
The Maduran’s massive chest muscles rippled with his laughter. “I’ll show you some tricks of combat strategy and the use of strength. Like you, I’ve learned to work with nature. But Adept combat sometimes goes against that principle.”
“You mean because most Adept combat is a matter of powers and stamina. Drain your enemy’s strength before he can drain yours.”
“Exactly. Novices in the wrestling pit think the same way: wear down your opponent with brute force.
But the seasoned fighters learn to turn an opponent’s weight and strength against him. Let me demonstrate… Ho there, Telek!” he called to a tall, muscular deckhand who was watching from near the stern. “I’ve heard you’re pretty good at fighting.”
The crewman gave Zanos a lazy smile. “I’ve been in a brawl or two,” he conceded, casually moving toward the gladiator.
Wulfston did not have to be a Reader to sense the anticipation rippling through the crew and some of the other passengers. Like the Lord Adept, many of them had noticed the looks of appraisal passing between Zanos and Telek. As the two largest men aboard, strangers to each other, it would be natural for them to speculate. Zanos did it out of habit, since judging men in the gladiatorial arena had been part of his profession.
Telek’s reasons were another matter entirely. Wulfston had overheard several crewmen boast about his fighting prowess.
“I need your help to show something to Lord Wulfston,” Zanos said to him. “Just some basic fighting moves.”
Wulfston did not much care for the oily smile that Telek gave in response, but he remained silent as Astra appeared at his elbow. The Reader’s confident smile told him to trust Zanos.
In size and musculature, the two men were almost identical. Telek’s deeply bronzed skin and sun-bleached hair contrasted, though, with Zanos’ exotic coloring. The sailor stripped off his shirt, cast it aside, and stretched.
The two men faced off, each taking a basic wrestler’s stance. A ring of spectators formed around them as the fighters began circling. After several feints, they smashed together, each seeking a superior hold.
Telek found it first, twisted his huge bulk, and tossed Zanos over his right hip.
Laughter erupted from some of the crewmen as the gladiator crashed to the deck. Wulfston saw Astra blink hard.
“That was what you had in mind, gladiator?” Telek smirked.
Zanos rose deliberately, smiling. Telek took two steps and tried to grasp Zanos’ arm. In a blur of speed, the gladiator grabbed the sailor’s wrist, spun around, and threw Telek over his shoulder. Several crewmen jumped out of the way as their comrade landed so hard the ship rocked.
” That’s what I had in mind,” Zanos said calmly. Wulfston followed his gaze to C
aptain Laren, who was feigning disinterest in the demonstration. The Lord Adept sensed that the captain disapproved, but would allow them to continue… within limits.
Telek bounced to his feet, no longer smug. He approached Zanos a little more cautiously-but soon found himself flat on the deck again. This time a cheer went up for Zanos.
Telek scrambled to his feet, glaring. Zanos’ smile became nasty as he backed away, beckoning to his opponent. Telek charged, bellowing. Zanos evaded his grasp, gripped the seaman’s forearms, planted his foot on Telek’s chest, and fell backward, tossing the man over his head.
The ship had stopped rocking before Telek regained his feet this time. Zanos stood waiting. Silence fell on the Night Queen as the two men stared at one another.
Suddenly Telek let out a long, hearty laugh, breaking the tension. Zanos grinned as the sailor threw him a careless salute and walked away, retrieving his shirt as he went.
Someone tossed Zanos a towel as the circle of spectators dispersed. Wiping the sheen of sweat from his torso, he said, “You see, my lord? I used his own weight against him, so I didn’t wear myself out. If that principle could be used in Adept combat, a man could fight much more efficiently, without risking exhaustion.”
“But both of you were using Adept powers, weren’t you?” Wulfston guessed. “Just before that last toss, Telek braced his powers, and you countered with yours.” Wulfston could not have explained how he knew that, except from years of experience with Adepts of all levels of ability.
“Zanos, what was the real point of that demonstration-to find out which of you was the better fighter?”
To Wulfston it appeared that this skilled gladiator had lowered himself to brawl with a common thug.
Zanos shrugged. “It seemed the perfect opportunity to get that question answered.”
“But was it important to do so?” Wulfston asked.
“Yes,” was Zanos’ only response. “Let’s go back to where we started, my lord. With the same basic techniques, you could take on someone even larger than me without using Adept power.”
Wulfston was still skeptical, but willing to take Zanos’ instruction. However, he had to ask, “How do we keep each other honest about not using our powers?”
