But now, for the first time in hundreds of years, there would be no Coming-of-the-Sun rite. The people of Khambawe had renounced their old, powerless deities. The Beit Amiya was now the Temple of Almovaar, and the Amiyas had become Adepts in the magic of the new religion the Fidis had brought with them. And nearly all the Matile had, in effect, become Almovaads – Believers. The few who had not converted kept their skepticism to themselves. And no one advocated any restoration of the Jagasti.
Another event had been planned to take the place of the Coming-of-the-Sun. When the rainy season came to an end, Jass Gebrem would be formally crowned Emperor of Matile Mara – the first Leba ever to ascend to the Lion Throne.
The coronation would confirm in ritual what had long since been reality. Gebrem had, in fact, ruled the Empire since the day the remains of Dardar Alemeyu and Issa were interred in the royal section of the City of the Dead. Among some people in Khambawe, however, an undercurrent of intrigue flowed as they speculated on who the true Emperor was: Gebrem – or the Seer Kyroun, whose growing influence in the Matile court was obvious to all observers.
Until the sun broke through the clouds, the streets of Khambawe would remain empty, as custom dictated. Within their homes, the Matile adorned themselves with their finest clothing and jewelry in anticipation of Gebrem’s enthronement.
Regardless of how some viewed the current state of their kingdom’s politics, nearly everyone eagerly anticipated the coming ceremony. The event symbolized not only a transition of rulers, but also a change in the destiny of the Matile people.
2
Long before the end of the day, the sun finally vanquished the clouds, and the last rain ended. Khambawe glistened as though it were a newly built city rather than one that counted its age in thousands of years. For all its antiquity, however, Khambawe had changed. And so had the people who now happily thronged its streets.
The Matile were answering the summons of music that wafted in gentle, but insistent, waves throughout the city. Drums mimicked the heartbeat of a newly invigorated populace. Horns and flutes heralded the advent of new possibilities; fresh dreams; revived purpose. Stringed instruments – some of which were Matile, others brought by the Fidi – enticed people’s feet to dance.
The music was sourceless, pervasive; no part of the city was beyond its reach, yet no one could see who played it. It was yet another sign that a new magic had come to Khambawe ... a magic that had proved much more effective than the ashuma of the old days.
By the thousands, the Matile streamed through the streets toward the palace of the Emperor. From the humblest to the highest, they were clad in their finest chammas and other garments. There was no separation by social status: nobles of the Degen Jassi mingled freely with merchants, artisans, even beggars. All had suffered grievously during the Uloans’ invasion; no family was unaffected by its consequences. Everyone, rich and poor, had fought against the invaders with equal ferocity and desperation. And everyone who survived had paid a price for the victory.
The influence of the Fidi in Khambawe was clear. More than a few of the Matile had dyed their hair in shades of yellow and red in honor of the newcomers, even though the hair of many of the Fidi was dark. The beads and metal ornaments that decorated their braids blended well with the exotic hair coloring. And many Matile wore solid-blue chammas that marked their status as Initiates among the Almovaads. Every day, more Matile in Khambawe were joining the new religion whose god had saved them from destruction.
The more traditional people from the outlying provinces had not yet taken up the hair-coloring trend or the blue chammas, although some had become Almovaads after they heard about how the city – and the Empire – had been saved. As always, their simpler garments and hairstyles contrasted with the ostentatious finery of their urban kin. On this day, though, the Matile’s regional rivalries had been put aside. The country-dwellers knew full well that if Khambawe had fallen, the Uloans would have attacked them next. If not the Uloans, then the Thabas, who would have been emboldened once they heard that the heart of the shrunken Empire had been shattered.
The Fidi walked with easy familiarity amid the crush of Matile. Whether or not they were Believers, the Matile were grateful for the role the people from Beyond the Storm had played in saving their city from the Uloans. And they expressed that gratitude with all the hospitality they could muster.
The Fidi had changed as well during their time among the Matile. Most of them had adopted elements of Matile dress and hairstyles. Their chammas bore blue-green stripes that symbolized the sea from which the people of Cym Dinath had come, and their hair ornaments clicked in rhythm with their footsteps, just as they did with the Matile. The Abengoni sun had darkened the skin of all but the fairest of the outlanders, so much so that in some cases it was difficult to distinguish their color from that of some of the Matile who surrounded them.
Smiles and pats on the back greeted the people from Beyond the Storm as they walked in the procession to the Palace. Since the end of the battle against the Uloans, the Fidi had wanted for nothing, even as they provided more than their share of assistance in the rebuilding of Khambawe.
Only the Tokoloshe and the Fidi dwarves remained apart from the rest of the crowd. Yet even they mingled with each other as though there were no differences
