For several moments now, Rumundulu had remained silent in an attempt to comprehend the consequences of what Mungulutu had just told him. He concluded that his wisdom was too limited to encompass the enormity of Mungulutu’s message; its significance loomed larger than anything he or any other Tokoloshe had ever encountered or contemplated. It was as though some huge hand had suddenly swept hundreds of years of history and custom aside, and left in its place only a yawning, incomprehensible chasm.
Rumundulu could only shake his massive head in disbelief as he pondered the unthinkable. He had been in a conference with Bulamalayo, his figurehead among the humans, when he felt the insistent, pulling sensation that told him he was being summoned by Mungulutu. Bulamalayo had immediately understood what was happening, and simply nodded as Rumundulu walked away with a rigid gait, as though invisible strings controlled his limbs.
Gaze fixed on a horizon visible only to himself, Rumundulu had not returned any of the many greetings his fellow Tokoloshe and the Fidi dwarves had given him. The Tokoloshe had seen such a detached gaze in his eyes before. Well did they know the reason it was there, and they were quick to step aside and allow him room to pass. However, some of the newcomers perceived Rumundulu’s behavior as brusque until the Tokoloshe took them aside and explained the nature of the summoning their leader obeyed. The dwarves understood then, although their eyes continued to follow his passage.
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.
