Then the jhumbis stood up. And they shambled out of their dwellings, leaving patches of clay behind where they had sat or stood. With slow, measured steps, they trudged past the bodies of huangi sprawled on bloodstained altars. And they walked out of the cities of the dead to rejoin the living, and play their allotted role in Retribution Time.
3
Awiwi’s tears dampened Bujiji’s chest as they lay in the darkness of his house in Ompong. His fingers traced the spider-scars on her back as she lay quietly at his side. She wept because Bujiji was only one day away from sailing off with the armada that would bring Retribution Time to the mainland. Like all the other Uloan warriors, Bujiji had vowed before Legaba that he would return to the islands in triumph over the blankskins – or he would not return at all.
Awiwi’s faith in the prophecy of Retribution Time, and in the ultimate ascendance of the islanders over the mainlanders, was complete and without question. But that faith had not prevented her tears from falling as she lay with her lover one last time before the war began, because she knew that the victory could not come without a price.
Bujiji had reassured again and again her that he would return to her arms. When the huangi had purified him in a pool in the forest near Ompong, it was as though Legaba’s own power had passed through the pores of his skin and entered his body, infusing every muscle and nerve with the Spider God’s ashuma. He felt immortal; invincible. The blankskins would fall before him like grass crushed underfoot and, unlike the mwiti-grass, his victims would not rise again. Victory was assured.
As well, Bujiji had long since overcome the consequences of his near-tardiness in retrieving Sehaye’s message from the mainland, and had not blamed Awiwi for it. Jass Imbiah had not punished him for the marks of the ubia-vine’s teeth on the message-tube, and he had even gained a measure of repute as the man who had brought the news that initiated Retribution Time. When the war against the Mainland was over, he could expect even greater renown to come his way.
But when he had explained that to Awiwi earlier this night, she had wept.
Bujiji understood the reason for Awiwi’s tears, which flowed until she fell asleep. Her faith was not as strong as her fears. For that reason, he didn’t tell her about some of the other things he had seen during the intense preparations for Retribution Time. He had seen the jhumbis, who were kept in places separate from those inhabited by their living kin. The jhumbis were ancestors; they were revered and they would play an important part in what was to come. Even so, the sight of them was terrifying. Bujiji could well imagine the effect the jhumbis would have on the blankskins.
As well, the jhumbis had a purpose beyond that of spreading fear on the mainland. Bujiji had seen the huangi train the jhumbis in rowing the Uloan warships. And he had seen the results of those efforts: the jhumbis’ preternaturally enhanced strength had propelled the massive warcraft like giant arrows through the waters off the coast of Jayaya.
Bujiji was thinking about what such speed could do against the blankskins’ warships when Awiwi spoke.
“Bujiji. Listen to I.”
A heartbeat of silence passed before Bujiji responded.
“I and I thought you was asleep,” he said.
“Bujiji. I and I having a child.”
This time, the silence lasted longer. But during that time, Bujiji held Awiwi close to him in a clasp that was at once firm and tender.
“How long you know this?” he asked.
“Not long.”
“Why you not tell I sooner?”
“You were readying yourself for Retribution Time,” she said. “I and I not want to make problem for you.”
Again, Bujiji fell silent. Then he gave Awiwi another, longer embrace.
“This I and I promise you, Awiwi,” he said. “Our child will walk on the Mainland. And the blankskins – they will be slaves to he.”
Bujiji’s prophecy only partially reassured Awiwi. But she did not tell him what she thought. It was not the right time to do so. Instead, she nestled her head on his shoulder and clung to him as long as she could until the time came for him to go.
4
The Uloan armada stretched across the horizon as it sailed into the misty strait that separated the islands from the mainland. No farewell ceremonies marked its departure; Jass Imbiah had told the huangi there was neither time nor ashuma available for such rites. All the ashuma she and the huangi could muster would be needed for Retribution Time. The task of controlling the jhumbis would, by itself, consume more ashuma than the islanders had ever produced. And that task was only one of many they still faced.
On the island’s crimson beaches, the women, children and elders watched as the many contingents of ships set sail to the place at which all the island’s fleets would converge before heading for the mainland. There was no cheering or other show of celebration among the crowds gathered on the beaches. The Uloans’ jubilation would be deferred until the future, when the ships would return in triumph.
No one doubted the inevitability of victory. The prophecy, spoken by a dying Vessel of Legaba in the grim days that followed the final devastation of the Storm Wars, had said that during Retribution Time, the dead would walk alongside the living on streets cobbled with the skull-domes of the Mainlanders. The clay-covered inhabitants of the cities of the dead would arise only once, and that one time would be the signal of doom for the Mainland. The only uncertainty was when that time would come.
