Kyroun saw the face of the first Matile to wield ashuma, and heard his name: Jaussa, an ocher-daubed, befeathered shaman who stared in fear and wonder at the eldritch energy that glowed brightly in his outstretched hands, consuming them even as he watched.
When later Matile shamans learned to harness that awesome power, they used it to drive the Zimwe into a wasteland far to the east. The Tokoloshe, realizing that their own sorcery was no match for ashuma, wisely made an alliance with the Matile and retreated to their underground domains. The great animal herds grudgingly retreated from plains that became farmland, and orchards replaced vast forests.
Freed from the constant struggle to survive, the Matile learned to build in stone rather than straw; to record their thoughts in written symbols; to fully explore the power of the gift for which Jaussa had paid with his hands; to walk with the Jagasti, who had decided that the Matile were once again worthy of their company, long after they had first heard Etiya’s song ... Akpema of the sun, Nama-kwah of the sea, Alamak of the stars, Ufashwe of the wind, Halasha of iron, and many others ....
Kyroun saw magnificent cities begin to rise throughout the north of Abengoni, glittering like stars in a midnight sky. Their names whispered in his mind: Khambawe, Tesseni, Aglada, Jimmar, Ibela and dozens more. Each of those cities was the capital of its own kingdom. With the menace of the Zimwe and competition from the Tokoloshe gone, the Matile kingdoms ultimately became bitter rivals, incessantly warring against each other, conquering, overthrowing, re-conquering and overthrowing again.
First Khambawe would hold sway over the others, then Tesseni, then Aglada, then Jimmar, then Khambawe again in a never-ending cycle of battle and bloodshed. Finally Dardar Issuri, warrior-king of Khambawe, was able to conquer the other city-states one by one, finally melding the whole of the north into a vast empire and siring the dynasty that continued to rule until this day.
Kyroun saw Gebrem and Tiyana’s image of Issuri in his mind: a huge, dark lion of a man, braided hair flying as he mowed his enemies down in battle after battle. Legends whispered that Issuri was the son of Akpema, God of the Sun, and the ashuma of the Jagasti had flowed in his veins along with his blood.
The newly-united Matile kingdoms became the mightiest empire Abengoni had ever known. At the Matile Mala Empire’s pinnacle, the people of Khambawe and the other cities had lived lives of unimaginable luxury. Their land was fertile and rich in precious metals and stones, which they crafted into exquisite jewelry and art objects. Their armies, aided by the power of ashuma, were invincible. Only distance limited the reach of their conquests.
Those acquisitions began in the south, where a hilly landscape marched ever upward, finally forming an escarpment of mountains that marked the division between the north and south of Abengoni. This vast hill country was called Thaba, as were the large, brawny people who dwelt there. The Thaba people were scattered tribes of farmers and nomadic herders who had long ago shunned the changing ways of their lowland neighbors, and had since been left to themselves – until the ambition of Issuri’s heirs sent mighty armies into the hills to place the contentious tribes firmly under the new Empire’s heel.
The Matile built no cities in the Thaba country. But the people there chafed under the rule of the northerners, who enslaved them and carried them off at will, unwittingly emulating the depredations of the serpent Adwe. In their own land, Thaba slaves worked the rich reefs of diamonds and gold that honeycombed their hills. Others groaned under the Matile lash on the farms of the lowlands and performed the tasks at which the shamashas would later toil in the cities.
Stubbornly, the Thabas resisted Matile rule, and their warriors sometimes managed isolated victories over Empire troops. But the magic of their inyangas – diviners – proved no match for the might of ashuma, and the Thaba rebellions inevitably ended in defeat, with the Matile inflicting increasingly cruel reprisals. Resentment grew like a rancorous tumor in the Thaba hills, but the Matile were blind in their arrogance, and did not deign to notice the hatred. Besides, the Matile had long since shifted their hunger for hegemony to other places.
A parched desert covered much of the territory to the south and west of the Thaba country. This sun-blasted landscape was called the Khumba Khourou, or Great Thirstland. The Khumba Khourou was inhabited by the Kwa’manga, a small-statured, golden-brown people who had long ago learned the secrets of survival in an arid land.
Relations between the Matile and the Kwa’manga were peaceful, though the Matile considered themselves superior to the smaller people despite the fact that the Kwa’manga were born magic-users. However, the desert-dwellers employed their talents only to help them survive their chosen environment and to defend themselves. The Empire left the Kwa’manga alone; there was no glory to be gained in dominating a desert.
The sea, though, was another matter.
Almost by accident, the Matile had discovered new territory when a storm blew a fishing boat off course, pushing it to the vicinity of a chain of large islands located just beyond the horizon of the seacoast. The fishermen found no humans on the islands, only giant birds, huge-eyed, monkey-like creatures, and semi-animate plant life. After the fishermen made their way home and told their tale other, more adventurous, Matile colonized the islands.
They called their new home the Uloas – the god-gifts. Although they maintained close ties of trade and kinship with the mainland, subsequent generations of Uloans gradually developed their own, separate way of life.
As their power grew, Matile from both the mainland and the Uloas
