Not much time passed before it became obvious to Eshetu that the Thabas had not pushed farther into Kembana territory. Imbesh had been their only target. The destruction of Imbesh was the lesson the Thabas intended to teach Jass Shebeshi. But Jass Shebeshi would need many more such lessons before he would acknowledge the foolishness and futility of his ambitions, Eshetu mused bitterly.
With no sign of the Thabas to the north, Eshetu turned and headed southward, toward the Thabas’ own country. Although he retraced his steps part of the way, he bypassed the remains of Imbesh. He had no desire to again see what he had left behind there.
The Thabas’ trail was easy enough to follow. They had no reason to attempt to conceal the marks of their passage. Long in the past were the days when Matile armies penetrated unimpeded deep into the Thaba hills to capture slaves for the mines and the fields. The Thabas had never forgotten those days. And they would not allow the Matile to forget them, either.
Their new chief-of-chiefs, Tshakane, seemed determined to turn the fractious Thaba tribes into a single assegai, aimed directly at the Matile. Jass Shebeshi had hoped to blunt the thrust of Tshakane’s spear and to make a thrust of his own. Now, that hope was buried beneath the ashes of Imbesh.
As he continued his journey, Eshetu would sometimes see a discarded scrap of clothing or a lost ornament from one of the Imbesh women and children. The forlorn items reminded him that he, alone, could never rescue his people. But he could, in however limited a way, avenge them. If he could find a Thaba warrior alone, he could kill him. And then another ... and another ... as many as he could until his own life was taken. It was a bleak – and likely short – future. But the opportunity for revenge gave him a grim satisfaction.
Soon enough, the ground began to rise in gentle ripples, upward and upward until undulant waves of verdant, tree-clad, flower-spangled, river-threaded hills stretched before him – the Thaba country. And, in the distance, he could see the slow-moving mass that was the raiders and their captives. As the days passed, he cautiously drew nearer to them. But he could not carry out his plan for vengeance. The horde of Thaba warriors were as disciplined as any Matile army had ever been, and he could find no stragglers to kill.
With no other strategy in mind, Eshetu continued to shadow the Thabas. He survived by foraging; the land was as abundant as it was beautiful, and so he had no need to risk discovery by stealing supplies from the Thabas.
He made no attempts to discern Desta or Sallamawit among the indistinct mass of captives. He knew that to see them while knowing all-too-well that he could do nothing to rescue them would have pushed him beyond the edge of madness.
Days passed, each one no different from the next. The Thabas pushed southward, their pace matching that of the cattle they had taken from Imbesh. Eshetu watched and waited. Then the day came when a smaller group of Thaba warriors joined the ones who had destroyed Eshetu’s village.
And that was when Eshetu saw the strangers.
4
“There were four of them,” Eshetu said as Gebrem and Kyroun listened intently while reliving the kabbar’s experiences through the medium of the Oneness.
“They all had pale skins, like yours,” he continued, looking at Kyroun as he spoke.
“Three were men; one was a woman. One of the men was tall and brawny, like the Thabas. His hair was the color of fire. Another was shorter, with brown hair. He carried a drum unlike any other I have seen. The third man was small, with thick black hair and a black beard. His body was covered in blue robes – again, like yours. And the woman ...”
Eshetu paused and shook his head as though he still could not give credence to what he had seen.
“She was taller than any of the men, and her skin was paler. Her hair was like strands of spider-silk. And her ears were ... larger than usual, and their tips were like the points of daggers.”
Again, Eshetu paused. He looked at both the Emperor and the Leba, as if he were gauging whether or not they believed him.
“Were these strangers captives?” the Emperor asked.
“I don’t think they were,” Eshetu replied. “They were carrying weapons. But the Thabas were still watching them closely. And it looked to me as though they didn’t understand the Thabas’ language – not that I understand it myself. Still, the strangers spoke differently, and the Thabas had to use gestures to make themselves understood.”
Eshetu’s fingers flexed involuntarily in the grasp of the Leba and Emperor, as though he were imitating the Thabas’ gestures. Both men released their holds on the kabbar’s hands. For reasons he could not have explained, Eshetu felt relieved that the contact had ended. However, he had still not finished his story.
“I had never seen such people before. But I remembered that I had heard of pale traders who had come from a land far across the sea – the Fidi – in the songs and stories of the old days. But even in the songs, there had never been any mention of people like the woman.
“I knew then what I had to do. The Jagasti had not allowed me to live only to throw my life away. They had spared me to be the one to see that the Fidi were among the Thabas, and to come here to tell that to the Emperor Alemeyu.
“And so I came to Khambawe, leaving women and children of my village in the hands of the Thabas. And when I came, I learned that the Fidi are also among the Matile; that Alemeyu is dead; and the Jagasti are no more.”
Eshetu’s story was done. He bowed
