Despite the fatigue from which they were just beginning to recover, Kyroun and Gebrem did not falter when they passed the last of the estates on Khambawe’s perimeter. Silently, they proceeded through a swath of clipped grass, artfully arranged flowerbeds and groves of fruit trees. In the distance, they could see the Gebbi Zimballa. They noticed that the flowers were trampled, as though many feet had trod them into the ground.
And they saw something else coming rapidly toward them.
A yellow, black-spotted shape streaked past the crowd so swiftly that only a few realized that it was the Emperor’s cheetah, Makah. The beast was running as though it were pursued by demons, and it paid no attention to the people in its path. And everyone saw the red trail the great cat’s bloody paw-prints left on the grass. The spoor came from the Emperor’s refuge.
Kyroun and Gebrem hesitated only a moment before breaking into a run. Uneasy murmurs rose from the throng that followed them.
Soon they reached the royal refuge. Its broken doors hung askew from their hinges. No guards came out to greet them. The only sound to be heard was the ominous buzzing of hordes of flies.
Inside, the Leba and the Seer and the others saw what they had steeled themselves to find. Mangled corpses lay in heaps throughout the courtyard of the refuge. Others hung from windows and sprawled on stairways. Among them were the noisome remains of many of the Uloans’ jhumbis, as well as the spider-scarred bodies of the islanders themselves.
Gasps and choking sobs escaped the throats of some in the crowd. Those who could no longer weep simply stood and stared in disbelief. The Gebbi Zimballa was supposedly the safest spot in Khambawe; even during the worst days of the Storm Wars, it had never fallen. How could so many Uloans have breached it, many Matile asked themselves. It was a question none of them could answer.
Shaking his head in sadness, Gebrem moved forward, leading the others through the palace, searching through the jumbled corpses for familiar attire, a familiar face, dreading what he knew he would find. Then, in the ancient throne room, he saw a glimmer of the blood-spattered, ceremonial armor of the Emperor.
Dardar Alemeyu’s face was a crimson mask that was almost unrecognizable. Behind him lay the hacked body of the Empress Issa. Alemeyu clutched the Sword of Issuri in his stiffened hands. The blade was crimson to the hilt. Many Uloan bodies were scattered around him, along with those of the Matile soldiers who had guarded him to the death. The Emperor had died defending his wife and his people – a death that would raise him to heroic proportions in the future annals of the Matile.
So there was something beyond vainglorious arrogance in you after all, Cousin, Gebrem mused as he gazed down at his boyhood rival and adult nemesis. There was courage ...
He allowed himself a moment to mourn what might have been, had he and his relative begun their lives as friends rather than enemies.
“So ... Eshana will be Emperor,” he murmured aloud.
Although Gebrem’s tone was low, a soldier overheard him.
“No, Jass Gebrem,” he said. “The Dejezmek is dead. I saw him go down during the charge in the Market Square.”
All eyes then turned to Gebrem. For he was the one who stood next in line to Jass Eshana in succession to the throne. Now, Gebrem was the new Emperor of Matile Mara.
6
Great throngs crowded the beaches of all the Uloan Islands. The sea-breeze stirred the garments of the women, the children, the aged, and the infirm who had not been able to participate in the glory of Retribution Time.
They were awaiting the triumphant return of the Uloan armada. The huangis had promised them that once Retribution Time was done, the ships would take the islanders to the mainland, where they would rule over their ancient enemies, who would be their slaves forever.
Every day, the people of the Islands came to the beaches and waited. They waited silently. But the moment the first sails were spotted, they would sing songs of triumph.
And every day, the horizon remained empty.
All the huangi had gone away with the armada. Jass Imbiah had needed them to help her focus the ashuma of Legaba. So the Uloans had no way of knowing the outcome of the invasion. Yet their faith in Imbiah and Legaba sustained their hopes as they waited, and day after day, the ships failed to return.
If doubt crept into the minds of the Uloans, none dared to give it voice. It was true that the end of Retribution Time was taking longer than any of them had anticipated. But it would soon come. Soon come ....
In the meantime, the ubia-vines grew bolder, slithering onto the beaches and wrapping themselves around the ankles of the unwary. The other mwiti-plants in the forests appeared to be gathering their forces, as if for battle. The safeguards the huangi had left behind were slowly losing their potency. If that protection finally disappeared ... the Islanders blocked that possibility from their minds. The ships would soon come. They had to. The final victory would be theirs. After all, Retribution Time had come.
In the meantime, the Uloans stood on their beaches like living sacrifices to the sea ... waiting ... waiting ... waiting ....
CHAPTER TWENTY
Among The Jagasti
1
Nama-kwah floated in the borderspace between Khambawe’s harbor and the Ocean-beyond-the-ocean, the boundary between the world of Abengoni and the Realms of the Jagasti. Behind her, the Children of Nama-kwah swam in endless swirls that stretched far beyond any horizon that could ever have existed in the demesne of men and women. The luminous, multicolored fish and other sea creatures appeared to be performing a ritualized dance. They swam close to the unseen,
