danger that we most fear, the shark that patrols the bay, the lion that rules the savannah. It is the betrayal of what we trust and hold close to our hearts that is our undoing: the captain who staves in the boat, the king who sells his subjects into slavery, the child who murders the parent.
The djombi are like the human creatures they meddle with, apt either to great evil or great good, and sometimes they switch sides.
This one was the unknown danger. He had switched sides. He had started with benevolence, with the belief that there is a fine potential in humankind waiting only to be tapped. He now viewed the whole stinking breed as a pest and a plague. We may view him as a villain, but he would see us as cockroaches.
He had made for himself a very striking shadow. During his days of borrowing shadows, he had noted how responsive the human creature could be to a messenger clothed in classic beauty. As he became more powerful, he was careful at first, making his image handsome enough, but not too handsome to excite envy, and always being careful to add that slight signature difference that underlined his alien nature. Then he did less of walking with the creatures and more of observing and influencing from a distance, and he discovered that a form closer to the ideal obtained better results for his brief visitations. Even then, if he had only realised it, he had started to slip, caring less and less about the people he was supposed to be helping, and focusing much more on the respect and admiration that he felt was his due right as a superior being. When at last he became cynical, he set his form and features to the zenith of perfection, and then, instead of choosing a subtle mark, he made his skin deep indigo—a stark and utter setting apart that provoked as much of horror as of awe, mingled as it was with that unearthly beauty.
Clothed in white linen like a chief, he walked the broad aisle of his hall. There was no smile on his face, and it looked as if there had not been one in some time. Occasionally, a muscle by his jaw twitched as if he chewed on bitter and painful thoughts, but his walk was slow and peaceful. Then he passed a pillar, and the control was abruptly abandoned. He lashed out at the innocent stone, striking a shard of square-faceted crystal from the smooth side of the pillar. The hall shivered at the blow.
He was angry, he was more than angry, he kept telling himself how angry he was, but the truth was that he was ashamed. He had not had reason to question himself and his deeds for a very long time, but now others had dared to judge him and, apparently, find him wanting. They had taken away that aspect of his power of which he was most proud, his ability to balance the forces of chaos.
He had other powers, that was true, more than enough to go his own way and do his own will, but he had never really thought of himself as having crossed over the line until this happened. Even if he wasn't working with them anymore, all he had asked was for the opportunity to continue more or less as before. He would not stop them in their foolish attempts to assist humankind, and they, he had hoped, would respect his changed opinions and leave him to his entertainments. Instead, they had effected this near-demotion, stripping him of authority and rejecting his neutrally framed allegiance to his misguided siblings.
No. He would not stand for this. The power of chaos was his. He was the only one who could control it, and he was going to take it back.
Now resolved, he snapped his fingers and dissolved the royal hall. It was just another fleeting amusement, designed to alleviate the aching boredom of purposelessness that he felt so often of late. Then he let himself fall from empty air, diving from an impossible height for many long seconds until he pierced the surface of the ocean, dragging innumerable trails of bubbled air after him. Down he went, deep, deep down, with all the momentum that the high fall had provided. The water turned quickly from clear aquamarine to a dark, murky green-blue, then a thick, smoky darkness proclaimed that the light had failed to beat this far through the layers of liquid.
Yet there
'Greetings, Lord.'
Remember that the djombi custom is to have no names. How did this one manage to snag for himself such a noble title?
'Greetings, King of Dark Waters. I am looking for a focus of chaos. Have you seen anything unusual?'
The shadowy King gurgled and swished a lazy tentacle. ‘I am the most unusual thing in these waters, and that is as it should be. Ask another. We want no trouble here.'
His words were disquieting. Had they warned the King about him? Still, no-one could lie to him; if the King said chaos was not here, it was not. He bade him a polite but cold farewell and repeated his long dive in reverse, shooting up and out of the water with such force that he went several metres into the air.
'Are you looking for me?’ came a sly voice.
The undying one spun gracefully and came to float alongside the speaker. ‘I am, and I have found you. My question is, have
The Commander of Bright Winds flapped his wingtips with a flair that was almost apologetic. ‘My Lord, would I go looking for chaos? We have enough to do here to survive without dabbling in affairs too grand for us. Ask someone else.'
Only one element of the living remained, but the thought of walking the Earth again made him pause and shiver fastidiously, as if in anticipation of dirt and grime. He braced himself and set his feet to ground. It was not hard to find her; she rarely left her savannah these days. Her right foreleg stamped, sounding the earth like a hollow drum, and her right eye looked at him with an unfriendly glitter. Djombi or not, he instinctively put himself out of range of the sweep of her trunk. Clearly the Queen of Ever-Changing Lands was not pleased to see him. He asked his question with uncharacteristic diffidence.
'Do I not have enough trouble with your kind taking advantage of the insects and inciting the humans to greater and greater damage?’ she blared in reply. ‘Of course I have seen chaos. Where the focus of it might be, I cannot tell you. Ask one of your own.'
He was slightly perturbed that she had so quickly categorised him as one of the aimless troublemakers, but he was too worried about his lost power to dwell on that for long. Swallowing his pride, he went to a well-known djombi, the godfather of the troublemakers.
'Strange seeing you here, Lord.'
It was the spider of Ahani, and when he said ‘Lord', he took care to make it sound like a poorly delivered joke.
'You know what I am looking for. Do not trifle with me.’ He was beginning to lose his temper.
'I? Trifle? I assure you, I am the one who has been hard done by. What is this new experiment you and your people are trying?'
'Not “my people'. Not before and not now. And I do not know what you are talking about.'
'I am referring to this human who now wields the power of the djombi.'
He took a deep breath. This surely was news of a most chaotic type, unravelling the natural order of things. It was as if someone had started supplying the ants with automatic weaponry. ‘No human can manage the power of the djombi. They lack the most basic of skills. They are not even designed for it. Someone has been tricking you, O Trickster.'
The spider only smiled. ‘I hear that she is a natural with the Chaos Stick.'
A burning hatred poured over his veneer of calm like flame spreading on an oil slick. To take away his power so cavalierly, and then to give it to a human? Was that not the insult that crowned the injury? He was appalled at their lack of decency. Still, they didn't call this one the Trickster for nothing. He struggled with himself, hid his emotion, and continued.
'Let us imagine for a moment that I believe you. Where is this human to be found, and what marvels has it worked?'
The spider understood him in an instant. ‘I have no more to say to you. Give a spider a bad name and let him hang you know I cannot lie to you, but you will never trust my words. Go to Makendha and see for yourself, and forget that I said anything about the situation. In fact, I wash my hands of the whole business.'
With a beautifully feigned air of offended injury, the spider stalked away.
The indigo lord returned briefly, recreated his hall with a careless thought, and began to angrily pace its floors. Its emptiness was an unbearably painful mockery, mirroring the aching gap left by the extracted power. He refused to beg the djombi to return his power, and none of the troublemakers were likely to want to help him. By choice, he had always worked alone. He had no allies, no juniors to send to do his bidding.
There was only one option. He would have to go to Makendha himself, and get his power back.
