“Farewell, Brother,” she said.
“Farewell, Sister.”
Then Nama-kwah veered away from Ufashwe and flew back to her Realm. This time, the Children of Ufashwe did not accompany her.
4
And now, it was over. Legaba had been defeated by the new god. The Matile had forsaken the Jagasti, just as the Jagasti had abandoned them. The destruction had been immense, although not comparable to what had happened during the Storm Wars. That time had marked the first retreat of the Jagasti from involvement in the Beyond World. But that retreat had been only partial. A minimum of contact with the ephemeral lives of the people of that world had been maintained – just enough to offset the continuing ambitions of Legaba.
Now, Nama-kwah reflected as she hovered in the water of the borderland and watched the corpses and the wreckage continue to defile Khambawe’s harbor, the withdrawal of the deities would be complete. Legaba was no longer a threat. He would remain dormant in his Realm for a long time, even as its passage was perceived by the Jagasti.
And now the Matile had Almovaar. His coming had disrupted the equilibrium that had kept Legaba in check. That was the danger of which she had attempted to warn Tiyana during First Calling.
And now, Tiyana was gone from Nama-kwah. The vessel had abandoned the Mask of the Sea Goddess, and Nama-kwah had no had other means to contact her Vessel. And the Beyond World was lost to Nama-kwah as well.
But what was that world, compared to her Realm, and those of the other Jagasti? Her Realm belonged to her; she could shape and reshape it as she pleased, unlike the Beyond World, which shaped itself.
Still, she felt a lingering attachment to the Beyond World and its impermanent, intractable people. And she knew something else. Her Mask had fallen into other hands ... the hands of one who was not an Amiya, and had not been trained in the ways of communing with the Jagasti. It was only a tentative link, and not a very strong one. But it was the only connection Nama-kwah had left. She would maintain it, because she did not trust this new god, Almovaar.
Almovaar had made no attempt to communicate with the Jagasti, and his Realm was impenetrable to any incursions from them. Nama-kwah wondered what he was hiding in his Realm. But of all the Jagasti, only she had expressed any curiosity about the newcomer. The others, like Ufashwe, were content to leave the Beyond World to its own fate.
So, too, would Nama-kwah. Still, she would keep her connection with the holder of her Mask. That was all she had left of the Beyond World.
Turning away from the aftermath of the carnage, Nama-kwah swam through the border waters and back into the clean, clear blue of her Realm. Her Children trailed behind her in a long, luminous line. And behind them, the scavengers of the sea continued their grisly work of devouring the dead.
PART THREECITY OF BELIEVERS
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Rebirth
1
Like a heavy, moist curtain, the last shower of the rainy season descended on Khambawe. The earlier torrents of the season had washed away the blood of the fallen, as well as the malodorous ichor that had been all that remained of the Uloans’ jhumbis. The streets of the Jewel City glistened in the dim sunlight filtered through the ranks of clouds that hung low in the sky.
The corpses and wreckage from the terrible day and night of the battle against the Uloans had long since been removed from the city’s harbor. The hordes of sharks that had feasted on the dead had returned, well sated, to the open sea, as had the scavengers of the sea-bottom. Only the few Matile ships left unscathed from the combat remained on the water’s surface, bobbing placidly at their berths. Other, newer, sea-craft were in various stages of construction.
The Ishimbi stood in their age-old location as though they had never walked; never helped to seal the demise of the Uloan invaders by destroying their ships. Rain had stripped away the mud and gore that had covered the statues’ stone skin, but the seaweed from the harbor remained. Garlands of flowers laid daily by grateful Matile still festooned the Ishimbis’ feet.
Evidence of the rebuilding process abounded in the streets of Khambawe. Burned buildings, of which there were many, had been either demolished or reconstructed. New houses rose in the vacant gaps along the streets. Charred trees had been removed; the ones that remained were now flourishing in emerald splendor, and new ones sprouted in place of those that were burned. The market squares again flourished, with wares of all types on display over which good-natured haggling continued past sundown.
However, there were still abundant reminders of the time of death and destruction. The City of the Dead had almost doubled in size, with a new section set aside for the peculiar graves of those who had come from Beyond the Storm. No one in Khambawe had been left untouched by death in some way, with family and friends newly buried in the City of the Dead. Even so, the time for mourning was over. Few now visited the metropolis of tombs. There was too much that needed to be done. The extent of the destruction the Uloans had caused was so great that another cycle of wet and dry seasons would have to pass before the Jewel City would be whole again.
Before the coming of the White Gull and the Almovaads, the expanse of Khambawe beyond the City of the Dead had been alive only in appearance. Beneath the surface of the city’s life, the advance of decline and decay seemed irreversible; the end of the Matiles’ civilization a mere matter of time. But now, the foreshadowing of doom that had loomed like a death-shroud over the city was gone. Now, the people of Khambawe and other cities were celebrating hope.
From the earliest of their days, the Matile
