“We will learn soon enough who it is that wields the ashuma on the ship, and who it is that sails on it,” he said. “But now, I must see to my daughter.”
Before Dardar Alemeyu could respond to the Leba’s less-than-respectful tone, a stir rustled through the crowd. Gebrem turned and saw Tiyana climbing on to the dock not far from the wrecked ship.
For the briefest of moments, it appeared that Nama-kwah herself had risen from the waters, to walk again among the Matile, the people who were the favored of the Jagasti. Then the moment passed, and it was clear that it was not the goddess, but her Vessel, naked save for the dripping Mask and silver strands of her costume, who approached Jass Gebrem, then knelt contritely before him.
The Leba reached down and gently removed the Mask from Tiyana’s face. Her features bore a remarkable resemblance to those of the Goddess, but on a mortal level rather than the plane of divine flawlessness. And the look of entreaty that infused her dark eyes as she gazed up at her father could be nothing other than totally, vulnerably human.
She knew she was not to blame for the ruined Calling. But she also knew an Amiya could not make excuses. Her father had told her that time and again since she became old enough to understand the words. She bowed her head and awaited his judgment.
Gently, the Leba laid his fingers under Tiyana’s chin and lifted her face until her eyes looked into his.
“You were not the reason the Dance on the Waves was defiled, my daughter,” Jass Gebrem said softly. “It was that.”
He gestured toward the ship that leaned against the dock like a beached leviathan.
Tiyana nodded gratefully. As she rose to her feet, Jass Gebrem turned once again to the Emperor.
“The storm has sent us this ship, Mesfin. Something must now be done. The decision is yours,” he said. “What is your will?”
The Emperor gave the Leba a hard glare, similar to the ones that had often passed between them when they were boys: Alemeyu the elder by a few years, each well aware of what the other’s position would be once they became men. Gebrem had smoothly passed the responsibility back to him. The Leba’s intonation of the word “Mesfin,” which was an honorific meaning “Majesty,” grated on Alemeyu’s nerves; he knew Gebrem considered him an unworthy occupant for the Lion Throne. Gebrem had, however, spoken the truth, even though Alemeyu was loath to acknowledge it. The Emperor had to make a decision, and make it quickly.
Then a voice that sounded like boulders grinding together interrupted Alemeyu’s dark thoughts.
“May I speak, Mesfin?”
Alemeyu looked down. The speaker was Bulamalayo, the ranking member of the Tokoloshe delegation. At any other time, his request would have been a serious breach of Court protocol: at First Calling, the Tokoloshes’ role was to quietly observe and be impressed by the glorious association between the Matile and the Jagasti, regardless of whether that connection remained intact now.
But this was not any other time.
Far from it ...
“You may speak, Bulamalayo,” Alemeyu said.
“Our magic did not detect this strange ship, either,” Bulamalayo said. “But then, we are too close to the sea.”
Gebrem nodded his understanding. All Tokoloshe were born with magic, but its source lay deep within the earth. The farther they strayed from that source, the weaker their sorcery became. And for them, the water of the sea was as inimical as air was to a fish.
“Nonetheless, the ship’s arrival could affect the interests of Tokoloshe as well as the Matile,” the emissary continued. “If you board it, we wish to join you.”
Dardar Alemeyu considered for a moment. Like many Matile, he considered the Tokoloshe a furtive, secretive people, not always to be trusted. Still, their continued alliance with the Matile was vital, given the menaces that beset the former empire from all sides.
“Agreed,” he said to Bulamalayo, who inclined his massive head in acknowledgement.
Turning to Gebrem, Alemeyu said: “Let us see, Leba, what your Calling has summoned.”
Gebrem held his peace. Inside, he seethed. Alemeyu had adroitly passed the responsibility back to him for whatever might occur next.
2
At Dardar Alemeyu’s command, Jass Eshana organized the boarding of the ship. A ramp was brought from a nearby Matile ship and positioned against the damaged hull. One company of soldiers acted as a human barrier to keep a growing crowd at bay; another formed a cordon around the Emperor, the Degen Jassi and the Tokoloshe. The rest joined their commander’s boarding party. Fortunately, the rumor that the ship was Uloan had been dispelled; the panic was gone and the crowd was mostly curiosity-seekers who pushed forward to get a better glimpse of the intruder. The word “Fidi” rustled through the crowd like a leaf borne on a breeze.
Eshana looked to the Emperor, who responded with a slight nod. Then, the Dejezmek ordered his troops to ascend the ramp. A moment before reaching its upper end, Eshana stopped short, forcing the others behind him to do the same.
Is this an Uloan trick? he asked himself, even though he doubted that the islanders were capable of such subtlety. Still, he wondered.
Could the Islanders have copied the design of the ships from the Lands Beyond the Storm to serve as a distraction? Could they even now be lying in wait to ambush him and his men, then swarm into the city?
That was unlikely ... yet still possible. With the Uloans, anything treacherous was possible.
“Draw weapons,” Eshana ordered. With a sinister, snicking sound, fifty long, curved blades slid as one from their leather sheaths. Then, one by one, Eshana and his troops dropped down to the deck of the ship and out of sight of those who waited on the dock.
Several moments passed before the Dejezmek reappeared. An uncertain expression
