The Matile heard the Uloans long before they came into sight. Their incessant chant – Retribution time! – punctuated a chorus of maniacal shrieks.
Then they appeared, bursting into the market-square like a swarm of locusts. Blood dripped from their weapons and trickled across the scar-patterns on their faces and bodies. Flames of frenzy blazed in their eyes as they bellowed their chant as if it were a challenge to the world.
Eshana knew the Uloans had reached a state of complete battle-madness, in which they would kill and keep killing until no more of their enemies stood before them – or until no more Uloans remained on their feet. The islanders’ advance had to be broken – now.
“Forward!” the Dejezmek commanded.
He spurred his quagga toward the Uloans. His troops followed him. He lowered his lance and tensed his arm muscles to absorb the jarring shock that would come when the point of his weapon impaled flesh and bone.
At the sight of the mounted force that confronted them, the Uloans halted their advance. But the contorted expressions on their faces never changed; their screaming never stopped. Showing a discipline that contrasted with their maniacal appearance, the islanders parted ranks, opening a path for the jhumbis that had come behind them.
The quagga Eshana rode was battle-tested. It had faithfully carried him on punitive attacks against rebel Jasses who no longer respected their ties to the Empire. And he had ridden it on lion hunts, in which he and the quagga came within spear-length of the great cats before he plunged his lance into their tawny hides and took their manes as trophies.
But something about the jhumbis – perhaps a stench of the supernatural that was beyond the perception of humans, but not animals – panicked Eshana’s quagga this time. Eyes rolling in fear, the beast stopped short and reared, pitching Eshana from his saddle.
The other quaggas reacted similarly. In the blink of an eye, a potentially devastating cavalry charge became a turmoil of screaming, stampeding quaggas, fallen riders and broken lances. As the few Matile who had not been thrown struggled to control their steeds, the Uloans, led by the jhumbis, rushed forward in a wave of imminent mayhem. And the “Retribution Time” chant filled the market square.
Of this, Eshana knew nothing. He lay where he had fallen: neck broken, dead eyes staring sightlessly at the smoke-streaked sky.
4
“Clasp hands,” Kyroun instructed.
Everyone in the circle obeyed. Tiyana’s right hand was enfolded in that of her friend, Keshu. With her left, she held the hand of a blue-robed Almovaad – Byallis, with whom she had become acquainted, if not friendly. She noted that Ruk, the giant Northlander, was seated on the other side of Keshu. Keshu was a big man himself, but he appeared small next to the Acolyte.
She also caught herself staring at Ulrithana, the Shadimish Adept. In general, Fidi were different on the surface from the Matile. But Tiyana sensed in Ulrithana an otherness that went deeper than dissimilarities in skin and hair color. She could not understand it more than that, and there was no time to explore the matter any further.
“Open your minds and hearts to Almovaar,” Kyroun instructed. “Prepare yourselves to enter into the Oneness. Allow Almovaar’s essence to become part of you.”
In her mind, Tiyana bid a regretful farewell to Nama-kwah. At least, she now knew the Goddess’s final warning had referred to the Uloans, not the Fidi, as she had once suspected. And she supposed she should be grateful for that much. Then Tiyana opened herself to Almovaar’s Oneness.
She kept her eyes on Gebrem and Kyroun. The Seer led the Believers in a chant that had the rhythm of a song. Byallis had turned her head toward her, and now began to mouth the chant into Tiyana’s ear. And she saw Ruk speaking into Keshu’s ear as well.
The words, in the language of the Fidi, were meaningless to her. And she knew Gebrem didn’t understand them, either. Yet as the chant grew louder, she saw her father’s lips move. And she heard his voice join that of Kyroun, pronouncing the same words as if they were in his own language.
Although the sight and sound startled Tiyana, she did not have time to react to it any further. For now her own mouth had begun to move, and the words of the chant were drawn involuntarily from her throat.
Fingers of fear touched Tiyana’s spine. She heard Keshu’s deep voice beside her, speaking the alien syllables. When she tried to look at him, she found that she could not move her head. Again and again, she tried to perform the simple movement, and she could not do it.
Now the fear-fingers clutched hard. Tiyana tried to pull her hands out of the others’ clasp. It was impossible. Her body no longer belonged to her; it no longer responded to the commands her brain gave it.
Still chanting involuntarily, she stared at the abi, which still lay in front of Kyroun and Gebrem. The rod was beginning to glow ... and change.
In the silvery light that surrounded the abi, the symbols of the Matile gods that had been engraved along its length ages ago shimmered, then faded until the metal rod became smooth and featureless as a shaft of starlight. A moment later, it rose into the air and hung in front of the Seer and the Leba. To the wide-eyed Tiyana, the abi – if it could still be called that – appeared to beckon to her father, as well as the Seer.
Kyroun ended the chant. All fell silent. Then he reached out and grasped the glowing rod. It appeared to merge with his hand.
The Seer looked at Gebrem.
“We must do this together, in the Oneness,” he said.
Gebrem hesitated. The disappearance of the symbols from the abi marked a turning point. Instincts instilled by the practice of ashuma told him there would be no way he could go back to his old life once he touched the transformed
