‘Let’s get ‘em,’ Chloe said, clenching her hands into fists.
Jun simply nodded, looking determined, and Paola added a weak ‘yeah’ to her friends’ expressions of enthusiasm.
‘Well, since you’re all on board,’ Zakaria said, ‘let’s start discussing details.’
***
Zakaria, alone on the peak of the mountain, after having stashed a number of emergency items in a hidden crate there, stared up in awe at the night sky. On this peak, the highest in the region, he felt as if he was a microscopic figurine in a gargantuan snow globe, with the countless specks of light all around him like luminescent fragments of artificial snow, frozen in motion against the black crystal dome of the sphere. On this moonless night the Milky Way, a concave tear of jagged, splintered lights, glittered bold and bright against the void beyond. Now that the old warrior had completed his mission, he had one last thing to do before he could retire for the night. He walked over to a nearby boulder and picked up the item he had left leaning there: his two-handed sword.
Zakaria had no need of watch or clock to tell the time; centuries of performing this ritual had embedded the stroke of midnight into his body clock as indelibly as if his DNA had been altered. This had been his temple, his cathedral, for countless mortal lifetimes now – the open night sky, whether its velvety dome, white and silver with the angle-grinder shower of spark-stars, crowned a sandy desert, or whether the inverted bowl was a black sludge of storm clouds above a rolling ocean, streaked in dazzling flashes with blinding violet veins of lightning. Here, in this sacred place, he knelt in preparation for his communion with the divine.
For his altar, his idol, the object via which he channelled his focus, he held his sword out before him with straight-locked arms, its point resting on the stony ground, its blade, crossguard, grip and pommel forming a cross. His naked fingers curled around the broad blade, its sharp edges digging into his skin but not piercing it. With his vision locked on the weapon in front of him he began to pray, whispering in his mother tongue, the old language of the lost East African Kingdom of Alwa.
‘Great Mother, source of light, conductor of the energy of the universe and giver of life to all living beings, both in this world and others beyond our powers of perception and comprehension, I, a faithful servant of the Western Council and a bearer of the Five Flames, beseech You, hear my prayers.’
He paused here to sigh and then inhale deeply. As he drew the crisp air into his lungs, his grip on the sword tightened.
‘Great Mother, as I have done countless times before, I come to You for guidance. I remain Your faithful servant, Your torch-flame against the corrupting powers of hatred, greed and malice, and my faith in Your benevolence and love remains as strong as it ever has. But…’
He trailed off and exhaled slowly, and his grip on the blade intensified.
‘But when will the time of reckoning come? When? How can the forces of evil and hatred have grown so powerful that we are at the point at which their victory is almost guaranteed? Why must we face defeat after defeat, and watch our brothers and sisters fall, one by one, while the enemy grows ever stronger? How can You have watched the slaughter and destruction of all that was once good and living … watched it and done nothing!’
Zakaria’s voice became a low, desperate whisper, and the words that crawled from his lips emerged as raspy, wrath-laden growls.
‘I have sacrificed everything for You. I had to abandon my brothers and sisters to be burned alive at Château de Montségur in 1244, for the sake of carrying away the most valuable treasure possessed by the Western Council … one of the great Councils who served You with undying devotion, even until the ends of their own lives at the hands of the enemy. They were Your faithful, unquestioning servants, loyal until death … who You allowed to be destroyed. And what of my brother N’Jalabenadou, the only other survivor of the massacre of the Western Council, Great Mother? His presence lingers in this world, I can feel it, but it has been many centuries since I last saw him. I yearn for his wisdom, his power, and his guidance. We need his strength now more than ever, Great Mother! I know that he is still alive, for I can feel it in my bones. Why can you not lead us to him? Why?! This is our darkest hour, and all hope seems to be lost. Surely You can see this! The forces of evil are more powerful now than they have ever been, and we, the last of Your servants, are at our weakest.’
He breathed in slowly, filling his lungs, aware that anger was taking hold of him and doing his best to calm himself. His efforts were futile, however; a darker sort of shadow flickered across his features.
‘And what of me?’ he hissed. ‘Why have you seen fit to gift others of my kind with all manner of powers, while I have only the power to maim and kill? Yes, I turned my back on the Councils for a long time, but I was not the only one to have done this! And the others have fallen prey to their vices far more often than I have. William is weak in the face of temptation, yet he possesses access to a greater power than any I have ever been gifted with! And Njinga, a being who is filled with anger and vitriol, is given the ability to communicate with our animal and bird brethren! Lightning Bird can bring back mortals from the brink of death, and harness the old energy of the trees and forests, yet he never served on any of the Councils of our
