My head snapped back, and my legs jerked awake as I slipped face first from atop the watchtower. I cursed and slammed my heels, out of instinct more than anything, and prayed the worn clay would hold. It did, but I could feel the sting of torn skin on my ankles brimming with blood while the rest rushed to my head. I hung for a moment, let my eyes adjust till I could make out the ground. The conch had fallen, I saw, but seemed to be in one piece. Carefully, I stretched out an arm, snagged the string with the tip of my finger, and fished it from the sand.
It took all my strength to curl onto the tower seat, the dream forgotten to my bleeding heels and the six torches burning on the beach. It’s almost time, I thought, and I said it out loud so I couldn’t take it back. Only after did I notice the shadow in the distance: a mast and black sails, and a hull massive enough for every man in Umlomo. And the whole village was right there, night-blinded by the burning bones, dozing off from the droning summer songs. And there I was, the only soul to see them coming, the signal ready in my hand, the mouth piece pressed against my lips.
But the ocean had spoken, and likewise, my decision had been made. Let the others have the stars, and let me tell my tale.
I pitched the shell and it shattered at my feet. Part of me worried whether someone had heard, but that part was Kashim the Dreamer. I left him atop that ugly tower, climbed down on bloody feet and cried over the beach.
“Let rest the tombs of my ancestors, I beseech the Moon, sink my teeth into its silver fruit. Imbue my breath with truth brighter than the stars that illuminate the land, words that burn like the sun, turn the water into sand, man into ashes. Grant me strength from passion. I am Kashim, hear me!”
I started my march.
“Long before the dawn, three giants were born into chains—slaves whose backs were bowed under the weight of creation. They were Mother Earth and Father Wind, and their Golden Son—together the legs which bore the world above the masterless abyss.”
The seventh torch dipped into the flames, yet heads were already twisting my way, faces of contempt from the elders and shame from my family. Kato gave a tired sigh as I sang.
“But there were jaws beneath the tides of chaos, and one by one, they gnawed at the giants’ feet. The Son was first to fall. That brought the Mother to her knees, and though the Father stood stronger than the others, even he could not bear the burden alone. In mourning, he cast the world into the sea and breathed his vengeance onto the gnawing beasts.
“With a word, he stripped them from the water and bound them with names and shapes. ‘Men,’ he called them. They became his slaves and, by his command, raised a great kingdom separate from the dregs. None would remember the darkness from which they came.”
Too late, Umlomo saw the slavers on the shores north and south, and more were coming. The sounds of their oars mixed with the screams of the crowd, so I shouted louder,
“But the dark was in Men, and there they found their Mother, dead and bloated at the bottom of their souls. They feasted on her corpse, and with the strength of the Earth, rose up in rebellion against the Wind.”
I looked to the fleeing village, saw scarred cheeks and squinted eyes charging from the shadows, but it was Umlomo who stamped out the bones as it abandoned its elders. Hawa was first to go, stuck like a suckling boar, then they opened Elder Kato’s throat. A few men turn around to fight. J’bar’s father was one of them, and I saw his nose erupt at the stroke of a cudgel. He collapsed, like all the others, fetters slapped onto his wrist and ankles.
I marched on, invisible in the dark and clinking din as I stole to the shore and into an empty raiders’ skiff.
“Rebellion turned to war. The Father against his children again and again cast Men into the abyss. In the dregs, they lost form, yet even with their cause forgotten, the gnawing beasts rose up and in vengeance murdered the Wind. They sucked the marrow from his bones, devoured his entrails, but even that was not enough,” I cried, my voice growing hoarse and the oars so heavy that I lost my breath before I’d escaped the shore. But I could feel the dawn burning and the thousand eyes staring from the slaver vessel. What must they have thought, watching me paddle into the monster’s mouth? Could they hear me shouting?
“They were glutenous hunger. They were pounding hands and stamping feet. They were gnashing teeth wanting a being to sunder, and as one, they chanted, ‘Bring out the Son!’”
I invoke Thee, Bornless and Blind Leviathan, who dwellest in the depths of the Abyss.
I am thy prophet, Kashim, unto whom King Solomon hast committed his mysteries: the Annals of the Black Goat, the secrets of the moon, the stories of the sun.
Evoke!
Ye with eyes on the inside. Come alive again. I beseech.
Hear me!
First Verse
Kill the boy, Cain thought, kneeling in the altar as he had done a hundred times before. He buried his calloused toes in the dirt and caressed the shards hidden beneath. They were
