Set in Goldenwing's Empty Horizon's universe. A crew of zebras must find a new floating island to settle before it's too late! This is an adventure of exploration and conflict.
Three tribes of zebras have lived and fought on the floating island of Punda for a thousand years, and population pressure is starting to render it uninhabitable. They must find a new place to live, and soon, or their environment and society will collapse, and thousands of zebras will die. Can zebras who have been locked in an endless cycle of war and peace cooperate when faced with impending disaster? Will the mysterious Prophetess be able to keep the peace?
A picked crew of talented young zebras sets forth on their mission of exploration, where they will discover a world unknown to them, replete with wonder, danger, and maybe just a bit of magic. On the way, they will also discover things about themselves and about one another.
This story is contemporaneous with Empty Horizons, though it is geographically remote and there are no interactions between these characters and the main story characters. It is considered canonical with the main story. The sequel Sunken Horizons is in progress.
Thank you to Goldenwing for creating this universe and letting me play in it, and also for his awesome editing work and support. Also, thank you to Disasterman for his advice on the cover art.
The zebra stallion, not much more than a colt, checked the surrounding jungle once more, then set to work. Finding a young mpira tree in the moonlight, and deeming it sufficiently strong and flexible, he looped the top with a heavy cord. He took two notched dowels from his bag, tapped one with a carved point into the ground quietly with a cloth-wrapped hammer, and tied the tree-side cord around the other, which already had a loop of cord attached to it. He mated the notches on the two dowels after pulling down with all his weight, and tested the tension from the bent green wood as he did. Carefully, he laid the loop of the snare on the middle of the path, covering it with twigs and leaves. His trap set, he crept into the shrubs and crouched eagerly, hefting his wooden war club by slipping his hoof into the carved cuff grip.
Nuru floated fifty feet above him, her white stripes darkened with charcoal, buoyed by the gas bags of the kuruka uyoga fungus. She quietly reached into a bag at her side and took out a carved wooden knob, affixing it to the end of her spear to cover the point, effectively converting it into a long club. No need to maim or kill this foal. He is but a colt, and this must be his first battle. He certainly has made enough noise for a platoon of Fundi sappers. There will not be much honor in capturing such a one, but there would be even less in killing him.
She envisioned the attack; a quick stoop through the hole in the canopy through which she was spying on him, a clean, measured strike to the back of the head, and then if he were still conscious, a reasonable demand for his surrender. She had four captures already from the previous war, and also two kills, though she regretted those. I hope this one has the wits to surrender when he is beaten, and doesn’t mistake my small size for weakness. Still, those were Amu, known less for their brains than their courage and size. The Fundi were at least clever with their hooves, if not as skilled at war as the Vumba.
Nuru checked the straps on her gliding wings one last time. Now. She unhitched the toggle holding the gasbags around her midsection, and they shot up into the air as she snapped out the bamboo and cloth gliding wings that were strapped to her fore and rear legs. She controlled her shallow dive through the canopy of the rainforest, keeping her eye on her target, while using her peripheral vision to ensure she didn’t brush her wings on a branch or hanging vine and alert her quarry. As was typical for Vumba scouts, her small stature was more than made up for by her excellent night vision and agility.
Just at that moment, a go-away bird gave its namesake call, perhaps startled by her passage. “G’way! G’way!” The Fundi youth turned and looked up at the sound. His eyes widened as he saw the Vumba nightbird, diving on him as a tai stoops on a rabbit, painted in moonlight, lacking only the feathers to complete the illusion.
Nuru’s eyes narrowed as she silently cursed her ill luck, adjusting her balance to strike him on the side of the head instead of the back. She was almost upon him, and the bird’s warning wouldn’t matter. She struck, extending herself more than she liked, knowing she would be off balance on landing.
The spear-club whistled through empty air as the Fundi threw himself flat on the ground and rolled toward her, the club missing his face by no more than an inch. Good reactions! Perhaps capturing this colt would be something of an honor after all.
Nuru landed with less than her usual elegance, chagrined that the cry of a bird had spoiled her otherwise perfect attack. She cartwheeled away from the recovering sapper, finishing in a crouch and pulling a toggle that released the bindings on her wing harness. The cloth and bamboo contraption slid off her slender limbs as she tested the spongy soil of the rainforest beneath her hooves.
The sapper had recovered, and had his warclub cuffed and at the ready, but did not approach. He was looking around warily, glancing up to see if there would be any further aerial attacks. Foolish colt, if you are going to sacrifice your mobility by using a hoof-gripped weapon, at least get one with some reach!
Nuru held her spear club with two hoof lanyards, and tumbled toward him from her two-hoofed rearing stance, the weapon describing a graceful arc as she rolled past the Fundi, staying out of the range of his shorter war club. He parried well enough, deflecting the strike intended for his shoulder upwards so her arc finished high, but he had no opportunity for a rejoinder. She began the dance of the mkuki, her spear club weaving the flamingo as she jumped in and out of range, seeking to lull her opponent into a defensive pattern. Good two-hoof fighting required rare balance and coordination, but those she had.
He grinned while he parried and dodged her series of strikes. The single hoof weapon did afford him the ability to parry strongly. “I am Jumaane... and you will have... the honor of... being the first... of many prisoners I take... Vumba!”
Why the insolent… she almost faltered in her strikes, and pulled back just before she exposed her shoulder. He is baiting me! She didn’t reply, but instead switched to a different mkuki dance, the spider monkey, stabbing out seemingly at random. While he was trying to figure out the pattern, she lunged with full extension when his club was out of position, landing on her stomach, then rebounding after making contact. His head snapped back as the club struck him in the middle of his forehead, eyes crossed as he rolled backwards, barely remaining conscious.
Jumaane reeled back and forth, stumbling blindly out to the path, shaking his head to clear it. Nuru skipped after him with a whoop, her spear club aimed low to trip him. Finally!
The world whipped sideways as her leg was yanked out from under her, and she was dangling from a cord looped around her rear right hoof. The jungle danced upside-down in her vision. Curse the luck!
The first rays of the sun broke over the edge of the island and painted the jungle with dappled gold. Jumaane stood for a moment, grinned, then trotted over to claim his wriggling, cursing prize. “I see the rubber tree is bearing fruit early this year!”
“Come and pick it!” Nuru glared; she still had her spear, and while fighting from this position would be difficult, it was not impossible. She had trained in vine fighting, being an aerialist, and this colt’s unreasonable amount of luck would have to run out some time.
“Oh, you are a mare! I shall have to take care, harvesting this particular matunda!” He reached into his satchel and pulled out a rungu, a throwing club, fitting the catch at the tail into a notch on the head of the regular war club. “Vumba mares are well known to be the deadliest fruit in the jungle. Please surrender; I hate it when my fruit is bruised.”
“Idiot! Mpumbavu! I’ll never surrender!” She calmed her breathing and watched him carefully.
“Very well, but at least tell me your name before I brain you. So I know who’s parents will be receiving my maumivu ya maumivu.”
She grimaced at the thought of this idiot apologizing for killing her with a basket of regret flowers. “If you are trying to talk me to death, it is working!” The blood was pounding in her temples; her sour jest held in it a kernel of truth. If she did not extricate herself, her reflexes and concentration would suffer for it. She needed to provoke him. “Come and kill me, you coward!”
He snarled at the insult, and the rungu came whirling at her, but aimed for her midsection, not her head. She twisted and contorted her body, the heavy wooden ball at the end of the carved stick barely brushing the coat of her stomach. But he had not stood still watching his club fly; he moved forward immediately. He was on her. Rearing, he caught her mane in his free hoof. He lifted her head. He raised his war club. And stopped.
His jaw fell open as he looked into her eyes. He moved his mouth, but said no words. He lowered the club, and released her mane, then stepped back on three hooves, his eyes locked to hers.
He was handsome, there was no denying that. Shiny, healthy coat over a lean but powerful frame, blue eyes, a well-formed, even noble muzzle, standing there with his mouth half open like an… “IDIOT!” Nuru’s spear club whirled as she bent to counterbalance the weight of her weapon, landing solidly on his stupid, open jaw. He collapsed bonelessly with a thud.
She dropped the spear club by snapping the lanyards from the holding cuffs, then pushed the empty socket of the right cuff against the tang of a short bone knife kept in a belt sheath. She unsheathed it and quickly sawed through the cord binding her hoof, rolling as she landed. She pounced on the supine Jumaane, straddling his chest, placing the knife at his throat with her free forehoof pinning his mane to the ground. His eyes fluttered open, he blinked, and then he smiled.
“I am Nuru, you feebleminded, weak-willed, Fundi idiot! Your ridiculous luck has run out!” She sneered in his face. “You had me! Why did you not strike?”
“Because you are perfect.” The clear, shining blue eyes held no guile, no Fundi tricks; the smile was as innocent as a foal’s.
She hated herself as she felt the blush bloom in her cheeks. “I am very good, but I am not perfect. If I were perfect, I would not have startled the go-away bird, and you would already be on your way to the mines to work for me for the next ten moons, chipping ore out of the hard rock.”
“That is not what I meant, oh most beautiful of all mares.”
Her turquoise eyes widened and her cheeks now blazed crimson where the charcoal had been sweated off. “I have my knife in your throat, mpumbavu! Choose your next words very carefully. Now, do you surrender, or do you prefer death?”
Jumaare inhaled and had almost started to speak, when they heard a loud BADOUM! resound through the forest.
Nuru’s mouth fell open. “The peace drum?”
Jumaane grinned. “Sounds like a truce has been called already, Nuru. Now we shall never know.”
BADOUM!
“This is ridiculous! The war just started a few hours ago! I have you! You are my prisoner!”
BADOUM!
“Umm… technically, no. I haven’t surrendered.”
BADOUM!
“You were going to!” Nuru had never felt so cheated in her life.
BADOUM!
“W-w-would you mind putting that knife away?”
The drum fell silent, and with a show of reluctance she tucked the knife back in its sheath, twisting the cuff to release it. “I did defeat you. You were stupid. You should not have hesitated. We are enemies, and a war is no place for foolishness.”
“I do not wish to be your enemy.”
“It is not your choice, it just is. It is Njia. The Way. If it were not for your luck, you would be bound and on your own way to the mines for your foolishness.” She glowered at him. “Now all I have is the memory of your foolish face.”
“It is not my fault I am so lucky.” Jumaane shrugged. “It just is. It has always been that way.”
“Your good luck is my bad luck,” she replied sourly.
“If we were on the same side, my good luck would be yours.”
Nuru rolled her eyes. “Jumaane. Born on Tuesday? What stupid kind of name is that?”
“A lucky name! I was born on the second Tuesday of the second month of my mother’s twenty-second year. Very lucky!”
“Very foolish! You relied on your luck when you should have been training, and it shows! You are sloppy. Very loud. You do not pay attention to your surroundings.”
“That may be. Perhaps you can teach me.” He grinned as she scowled down at him.
“Why would I teach my enemy anything? More stupidity!”
BADOUM! - BADOUM!
They looked at each other in shock. The war was over!
BADOUM! - BADOUM!
Nuru looked about in confusion. “This must be the shortest war in history!”
Jumaane shrugged. “Sorry if my luck spoiled the whole war for you.”
BADOUM! - BADOUM!
She frowned. “Something is wrong. I’ve never heard of—”
BADOUM! - BADOUM! - BADOUM!
They were both silent.
BADOUM! - BADOUM! - BADOUM!
Jamaane cleared his throat. “Much as I enjoy being pinned down by you, I suppose you had better let me up if we are going to answer the summons.”
She jumped off the barrel of his chest, her face flushing. “You idiot!”
The Prophetess reared on her hind legs and looked out over the assembled tribes, gathered on the plain before Mount Tumaini where the House of Punda stood. She looked, but she did not see, because like all Prophetesses, she was born blind. Let them think that I am reviewing the multitudes with my famed second sight. She tapped her right hoof against the railing of the balcony while leaning on it with her left hoof.
Mshauri raised an eyebrow; she had never seen The Prophetess Maoni nervous or even mildly agitated before. “Prophetess, is there anything that I might do for you?”
Maoni, eighty-ninth Prophetess of the House of Punda and the spiritual leader of all Zebras, stopped tapping her hoof, and sighed. “Tell me we are doing the right thing.”
“Prophetess, it is you who tell us what the right thing is.” Mshauri considered offering to groom Maoni's mane. That always seemed to relax her.
“I know child, I know. By all signs, the time is upon us. I have consulted with Kumbukumbu, and he with the other memory singers, and he concurs. All the songs they can recall say that this is the day for which we have been waiting for. What has it been, a thousand years?” She stopped tapping and scratched under her chin.
Mshauri thought for a moment. “Nine hundred and eighty six years, Prophetess. By the solar calendar.”
“Thirty generations, and more, Mshauri. Nearly two hundred thousand zebras have been born, lived, loved, fought and died on Punda. It is all they ever knew; all their dams and grandsires and more greats than you can count grandparents ever knew, or even imagined. More than twelve thousand moons, and I have been here for eight hundred of them. Or so I am told.” She gestured at her pale eyes, and laughed softly.
Mshauri laughed as well, but more out of a sense of respect for Maoni than any feeling of good cheer. The Prophetess would hardly hear the soft smile the joke warranted, and in any case, all Mshauri felt now was a cold lump in her stomach. It was almost like standing on the edge of the island and looking into the swirling, misty deeps far below, watching a behemoth broach the water and look skyward with hunger. Her hooves felt tingly at the thought. I hate heights.
Maoni thought about the strange objects that were on the table, arranged so she could touch them; the chest, the books, the strange lizard, and the… she shuddered. The other items. They had been discovered by a routine glider patrol, and had been the subject of much study. “Describe them to me, once more, please. Tell me the story of their finding. Sing me a memory song.” She turned and slowly walked to the low oval table in the middle of the great chamber from which the balcony jutted. She patted one of the cushions that surrounded the table.
Mshauri followed and stopped next to her. “I am no memory singer, Prophetess.”
“No, but you are my Eye, and have seen what I cannot. You have such a lovely voice, child; far better than those old prunes. Do play on your kora; you are so talented.”
“I am hardly vipawa, Prophetess.” She blushed under her stripes.
“You’ve had to work hard to get as good as you are, unlike some few of us.” Maoni absently brushed her flank where the ananse ntontan, the wisdom alama, was displayed in black and white, the stylized spider web’s threads now tinged with gray. “Those of us marked like this just have an easier time of it. You play and sing as well as any I have ever heard, vipawa or not.”
“Thank you, Prophetess, but you know as well as I that we have not had a musical vipawa on Punda in over a century.” Now Mshauri genuinely did smile; she knew she would give in to the Prophetess, but the game must be played for its own sake.
“Indulge an old mare in the twilight of her life, my dear. And don’t roll your eyes. After all, they are mine too.”
“Of course, Prophetess. A moment, please, so I may retrieve my instrument.”
Maoni smiled, satisfied, walked to the largest pile of cushions, and lay down comfortably in the same spot as she had for decades of reclining at meals, memory recitals, and the never ending cycle of war councils and peace councils. Even though it wasn’t strictly necessary, she closed her eyes to listen.
Mshauri took her place on the playing stool and began tuning her instrument, tightening the tuning rings and adjusting the notched bridge that stuck out from the large round sounding board. Satisfied with the key she had selected, Mshauri strummed several chords on the large lyre-harp. Her voice rose in a warm, rich contralto.
The sun had quit, the starlit night; the jungle lit by Luna’s light.
A nightbird flew to waves below, where troubles brew, and witchlights glow.
She skims the seas. The wind she rides. What mysteries might sail the tides?
What mysteries, indeed? Maoni rocked her head to the steady rhythm and simple tune of the memory song. She imagined the orphaned Vumba, raised and trained by the House of Punda as anightbird, going about her evening’s work, sampling flotsam she spotted within gliding distance of the island. Brave work, that.More than one of our nightbirds had been lost to the snapping jaws of some nightmare thing from the depths.
She dipped her net, to learn what might be hers to get upon this flight.
Her net was tore by heavy weight. The heft it bore was much too great.
A box was found by current brought, in iron bound, and clever wrought.
Maoni reached out to touch the heavy wooden chest, dry now, feeling where the wood had swollen around forged iron hardware.
Atop chest perch’d a lizard lean. All Punda searched; it was not seen.
Two weeks of woe did lizard float, a-starving so, upon his boat
Maoni touched the cage in which resided the now entirely recovered lizard. She was told it was bright red with yellow dots. The researchers estimated that it could not have lived more than two weeks, perhaps three on the outside, without a food source, allowing for rainfall to supply fresh water. But though they bickered over the timeline, they all agreed that the lizard was unlike any species found on Punda. And it wasn’t a sea creature. So that meant that somewhere, at least, there was dry land. And the box had gone into the water no more than three weeks ago.
And found within when once retrieved, was something which was scarce believed.
Inside, were found in Ponish tongue, four books; all bound when t’world was young.
Maioni reached out and touched the cover of one of the books laid out in front of her. Incredible, that these books had survived over a thousand years. Quite impossible to estimate, given the remarkable preservation spells that had been cast upon them, had it not been for the printing dates on the title pages. Zebras maintained an oral tradition, but were not illiterate. Books were often lost and were difficult to maintain in their humid climate, with no preservation spells of their own. Translating the Ponish into Zwahili was slow going, as the only existing works on the language were copies of copies of copies of written notes from several of the more scholarly Founders.
And last we found, and most forlorn; was twenty pound of twisted horn!
That grisly find, she did not touch, but she knew that there, on the table, were thirty two unicorn horns, all sawed off at the base. To what purpose, the researchers could only speculate. Many showed signs of considerable age, and long term submersion in sea water. But five of them were rather… fresher. One still has damp marrow. Maoni shuddered. Six months ago, the owner of that horn had been alive.There are still unicorns in the world. And someone is cutting off their horns and putting them in chests.
Mshauri stopped playing. “Prophetess? Are you well?”
Maoni did not immediately respond, instead tapping her hoof nervously on the table.
“The song is not yet finished. I know it needs work before I send it to the memory singers. I hope it has not displeased you.”
“It is not that, child. It is just different hearing it sung than it is hearing the research report.”She made an effort to smile. “You know what they say. If you want the facts, read a book. If you want the truth, listen to a song.”
“Do you think that is true, Prophetess?”
“It is a fact, Mshauri.” Maoni smiled warmly. “Please, go tell the chiefs I have finished meditating, or communing with the great ancestral zebra spirits, or whatever it is they think I do.”
“Prophetess, I believe you commune with the ancestral zebra spirits. Your communion with them is so close, you do not even notice. You just think their voices are your own thoughts.”
“The ancestral zebra spirits must be a confused lot then. That is an interesting and yet totally unfalsifiable hypothesis, as the researchers would say. You should put more faith in what your eyes and ears tell you, and less in what others tell you, especially when they’re dead.”
“I put my faith in your wisdom, Prophetess, even if you will not. We all do.”
“Well then, perhaps I should put my faith in your faith. Because we will only ever get one chance at this. I had better be right.” She exhaled sharply while trilling her lips in resignation. “Right. Enough communing. Bring them in as soon as I put my mysterious face on.” She stopped smiling and rolled her blind eyes towards the ceiling. “There; now I am ready.”
Three chiefs sat on cushions surrounding the central table. Maoni reclined across from them, while Mshauri stood at her side. Refreshments and treats sat before them, all untouched.
Hasira, the diminutive Chief of the Vumba, sat to the Prophetess’ left, glaring challenge with her large yellow-gold eyes, the scars of war rendering an otherwise delicate and finely striped face grim and hard.
Next to her towered the enormous and jovial Mke, chief of the Amu, smiling disarmingly. Mshauri knew that behind those merry eyes was a mind as sharp as the spines of a razor tree.
To Maoni’s right sat the taciturn Wajanja, chief of the Fundi. He was whittling some object out of a small piece of wood, his hoofcuff rotating as he brought different tools to bear on it. The Fundi were famous fidgeters.
All around the room were murals recording the story of the world before the flood, with zebras, ponies, griffins, diamond dogs, hippogriffs, kirin and other creatures portrayed in front of stylized scenes of their homelands. The diarchs of Equestria held a prominent place within a fanciful rendition of Canterlot. As one went around the room, there were images of earthquake, flood, untold destruction, and terrible loss. After that, panels showed three groups of zebras climbing long ramps from a shattered, flooded land, into what appeared to be a floating tree. The last panel was of a single floating green island, a snow-peaked mountain surrounded by rainforest, the floating tree lying upon it on a plain, broken and surrounded by zebras walking off in three different directions, except for a few, who appeared to be building a shelter out of the remains of the vessel.
There were other decorations as well. One painting was of a squadron of zebras with gliding harnesses, fighting giant birds. Another showed a column of zebras wearing heavy armor, fighting some monstrous cross between an elephant and a great black snake. Among them was a single tan colored unicorn with a long black mane, firing bolts of magic from his horn. And next to that, an ancient skull, reverently placed on black cloth; that of a unicorn, with a long, curling horn. A plate in bronze, nearly illegible after centuries of polishing, noted that Ambassador Even Temper had died fighting the Grootslang, and would always be remembered as a friend to the zebras of Punda.
On the table itself, a colorfully woven blanket was draped over a group of objects. The chiefs eyed it, and one another, suspiciously, but said nothing.
Maoni held up one hoof and made a sweeping gesture. “My friends, thank you for responding to the summons. The spirits have advised me that the time for war is over. The time for peace is upon us.” She paused for a moment before continuing. “The Time of Flight is coming.”
“The Time of Flight!? That nonsense!?” Hasira reared up and slammed her hooves on the tabletop. Even on her hind legs, she was still have a head shorter than Mke.
“Hasira, we are in the House of Punda, not a bia bar.” Mke frowned his disapproval.
Wajanja put down his whittling and cleared his throat. “Just because she stopped your war, Hasira, that does not give you the right to yell at the Prophetess.”
“My war?” She whirled on the Fundi chief. “I am not the one who flooded the mine at Dhahabu to build a water wheel! And you,” she jabbed a hoof towards Mke’s large stomach, “must be an expert on bia!”
Mke smiled broadly, patting his ample gut. “It is true.”
Maoni fixed Hasira with a blind stare. “The war is over. The peace is declared, unilaterally, in the name of our ancestral spirits. I do not exercise this right lightly. The time of peace is upon us.”
“Yes, but the Time of Flight? That is an old dam’s tale!” Hasira sat down, unhappy, but unwilling to dispute the rights of the House of Punda.
“No, chief, it is not.” Maoni stood. “It is the reason the House of Punda exists. Mshauri, would you, please?”
Mshauri reached out and removed the blanket that had been draped over the chest, books, and the cage in which the brightly painted lizard perched. There was a gasp from around the table, followed by a babble of voices asking questions on top of one another.
“Please, my friends, please.” Maoni raised her voice slightly. “One at a time. Chief Wajanja.”
“What language is on the spines of those books?” The Fundi chief was wide eyed.
“Ponish, from what I have been told. The books are incredibly ancient. Chief Mke?”
“That lizard! What kind is it?” The Amu’s jaw hung open.
“A species never seen in a thousand years. Chief Hasira?”
“What… what metal is that on the box? It is not copper, tin, or gold.” The diminutive chief leaned over the table to stroke the bands and hardware of the chest with her hoof. “It feels… hard. It should hold an edge very nicely.”
“It is called iron. It is much harder than bronze.” There was a moment of stunned silence, then Maoni spoke again. “There is more. Mshauri, would you please?”
The Eye of the Prophetess lifted the lid of the chest and tipped it forward. As the horns spilled out and rolled around on the table, the three chiefs recoiled in shock and horror.
Hasira jumped up, ran to one of the potted plants around the room, and was sick in it. Mke’s eyes rolled up and he fainted back onto his cushions. Wajanja reached out and caught one before it rolled off the table. He stared at it, turning it over. “I cannot believe it!”
Maoni’s voice was thin and breathy. It wavered with age. But she sang the last verse of one of the oldest and most mysterious of the memory songs.
When horns return to zebra sight, the sun will burn on Time of Flight.
“The Time of Flight! What does it even mean?” Hasira spat into the pot and wiped her mouth on her pastern. “Unicorn horns and strange metal, those I can see and touch, but the Flight is just an old song! Just rhyming words! It does not explain anything!”
“Not everything is in the songs, you know, Chief Hasira. Tell me, how many of your tribe have fallen through the tunnels to the sea below, in the last tenyear? More than in the past hundred years. You delve ever deeper, and how much metal have you brought to the surface? How much ore is left on Punda?”
Hasira swallowed nervously. “You are better informed that I would have thought, Prophetess.”
Wajanja reached over to shake Mke. “You should be awake for this.”
The fat chief shook his head to clear it. “Gah! What? Unicorn horns? Cut off? Is this a nightmare?”
“Chief Mke, how grow your crops these days? Why has the amount of land the Amu have under cultivation increased by half in the past tenyear, but the harvest remains the same? How much topsoil is left?”
The huge stallion hung his head. “This year, I will be taxing bia so that more grain will be available for bread. Next year, we may have to outlaw bia. Our fields are down to bare rock in some places . In another tenyear, we will not be able to feed Punda, unless we clear another thousand acres of the upland forests.”
Maoni preempted Wajanja’s reply. “And speaking of the uplands, Chief Wajanja, how are the trees? How many more now fall in storms, their roots too shallow to hold them? You’ve had to take younger and younger trees every year, have you not?”
Wajanja nodded grimly. “There is not enough wood for our artisans to work. It is not like it was in my sire’s day, certainly. And the price of bronze tools has become rather... excessive.” He frowned at Hasira. “We were building a new sawmill on the Nyeupe river to bring lumber to market from higher in the uplands. You never told us your mines had been dug so far.”
“You did not tell us you were building a new mill. But as you must know now, we are having to go all the way across Punda for ore. The heart of The One Mountain is all but dug out. That is why our tools have become so expensive. We have not enough ore for our smelters, nor copper and tin for our smiths.” Hasria looked at the table, glumly. “But you know that now.”
Mke nodded. “To explain why prices were so high, would have been to admit weakness.”
“We are not weak!” Hasira bared her teeth and glared fiercly up at Mke.
Wajanja’s voice was quiet. “The Vumba are the smallest tribe; half in number compared to the Amu. You do not grow food in the fields, nor pick it from the trees of the forest. You must buy food, or live on mushrooms plucked from the mountainside. But you are not weak. We all acknowledge that, one-on-one, the Vumba are the most skilled fighters. Do you agree, Mke?”
The chief of the Amu looked unhappy. “If we could bring you to a full battle, with our numbers and our size, we would crush you, Hasira. You and your little birds. But you will not fight fair,” he whined.
Mollified, Hasira sat back on her cushions, then smiled at Mke. “No, we do not fight fair. But we do fight with honor. And you big Amu make such excellent miners when you’re captured.”
It was quiet for a moment, then Mke’s face split with a smile and he laughed, a shuddering earthquake of good humor. “Yes, we do!”
Wajanja waited for the laughter to quiet. “We did not intend to flood your mine. If we had known this would happen, we would have built elsewhere. I hope that none of your miners drowned.”
Hasira grunted. “No; we just had to abandon it. It was low grade ore anyway. Next time we are digging under the forest, we will let you know. If there is a next time.”
Wajanja nodded glumly, and Mke’s face dropped as they considered the dismal future.
Hasira faced the Prophetess. “So, the Time of Flight, is it? Very well, Prophetess! It is time for us all to leave and seek a new island! With topsoil, trees, brightly colored lizards, and this iron you’ve shown us. Very interesting, but how will we get there? Will we all sprout wings? Learn to walk on clouds, like the old tales say?”
Mshauri spoke quietly. “Shall I bring it now, Prophetess? Is that what the spirits desire?”
“Yes. The spirits say it is time for the great secret to be revealed.” Maoni’s uncertainty vanished. “It is the time!” she declared with firmness that surprised even herself.
Mshauri swept out of the room while the chiefs sat silently, glancing between one another and Maoni, until the Eye returned bearing a golden box. She placed it upon the table and opened it to reveal a rounded, black object cushioned by cloth of gold.
Mke broke the silence. “What is it? Some kind of coconut?”
“It is the seed of Nafasi Nyingine!” Mshauri bowed her head in reverence.
“A Second Chance? A treeship like Nafasi Ya Mwisho? The old tales, indeed!” Wajanja looked at Mshauri sharply. “The original treeship left a seed behind, and you kept that secret for a thousand years?”
Maoni answered him. “Yes. Had it been known of, the chiefs would have pressured the House to grow it before we knew that we were within three weeks travel of, if not another island, at least somewhere a boat of some sort has traveled. The lizard is still alive; it could not have survived for longer than that. We now know that there is someplace for us to go, and the box came in on the northern current, so we have a general direction. And we know that there are ponies, like in the old stories.”
Hasira still looked skeptical, but she spoke more respectfully. “Prophetess, what other secrets has the House of Punda kept? And what is to be done now?”
“You will see, and you will be told. The House will need the help and cooperation of every zebra on the island. We must grow Nafasi Nyingine, we must assemble and train a crew, we must send the ship to find a new land, and we must ask the spirits to help them return to us.”
“And what if the new land is full of ponies?” Mke looked at the horns with dread.
“We will do what we must, as we always have, my friend.” The Prophetess stood. “I ask that you go to your tribes and tell them. Tomorrow, we will plant Nafasi Nyingine in the Garden of Punda. It will grow quickly, but it will consume large quantities of water and fertilizer. A year, the scrolls say, until the treeship is ready. A year for us to train a crew and store supplies for the voyage. A year of peace, and then another year for them to find our new home.
“What crew?” Wajanja raised an eyebrow.
“Nafasi Nyingine will choose them.” Maoni smiled beatifically. “With the help of the ancestral spirits, of course.”
Kichaka moved through the crowd slowly, avoiding eye contact, as she always did. She looked down with a studied enigmatic smile intended to put off, but not to offend any who might seek to speak with her. The young Amu alchemist, deep in thought… thinking about how to avoid awkward social situations. She glanced back at her flank to make sure the nyansapo alama that marked her as vipawa was still covered with her colorful kilt of parrot feathers. The last thing she wanted was attention because of the joined stylized flasks that graced her hindquarters.
Some Gift! As soon as someone sees it, they assume you have all sorts of time to spare to help with their projects because you get your own projects finished in no time. Or they are jealous because you did not have to work hard to become accomplished. For the past few years, she had tried hard to pretend the alama didn’t exist. Her parents didn’t understand why their brilliant daughter sought to work in the shadows and avoided taking credit for her own discoveries. They despaired that she didn’t have any friends.
It does not matter; my colleagues will never like me, no matter what. I constantly serve as a reminder that life is not fair; that some of us have built-in advantages. Yes, I am a genius. Hooray for me.
She continued until she got to the line that was passing through the Garden of Punda. The word was that the day after the Great Assembly, the Prophetess had planted the seed of a treeship in the garden, and zebras thronged to see this wonder. Kichaka had been tending to an experiment for the past two days, so she had a good excuse to miss the largest crowds, but she had to admit her curiosity was piqued, particularly following reports that the seed had germinated seemingly overnight, and was now a mass of tendrils and creepers that grew so quickly that it seemed to visibly move.
It was a bright, sunny day, and it was pleasant to stand in line, enjoying the sights and smells of the Garden of Punda. The zebras immediately in front of and behind her were couples, so there wasn’t anyone trying to engage her in conversation. The line was running up the broad central lane of the garden, which was enclosed by two rows of flowering hedges. Pink mallow was mixed with spekboom, the large, ornate ruby-pink flowers of the mallow contrasting with the delicate light pink cones and jade leaves of the less showy, but hardy succulent shrub.
Side paths led from the main avenue through the hedges, one to a grove of spectacular nandi flame trees, another to a bed of gorgeous, but deadly, glorious flame lilies, a third to a succulent garden full of aloe and other plants used for making salves and lotions, and a fourth to a marshy pond, full of water plants such as the rare and lovely marsh pagoda, a tall rainbow of small, delicate flowers. In the middle of the central path, outrageously showy bird of paradise plants flowered exuberantly every ten feet or so, and bees and butterflies were everywhere, collecting pollen and nectar.
Now she could see a dozen zebras carrying buckets to and from the stream that ran past the garden, past the gawking crowd to… surely that cannot be it? The heap of brambles and vines, already taller than her head, was at least ten yards long. She couldn’t see how wide it was, but it appeared to twitch, even sprout leaves and twigs as she watched. Greenish puffball mushrooms were visibly expanding as they peeked out from between the vines. She saw movement at one end and recognized the flapping of leaves from the fan plant.
This plant is a chimera! Ideas for a half dozen possible experiments popped into her mind as she waited impatiently for the line to move on. It was only when the couple ahead of her shrugged and turned to leave that she saw, and heard, what was holding up progress.
“I insist! If you want assistance from the Guild, you will need to give us samples. Surely, you can’t expect us to work with detritus when living tissue is available!” The nasal whine grated against Kichaka’s bones. Tamaa! The supercilious senior alchemist was gesturing around with a bronze pruning hook, forcing a young House servant back. Despite her protests, the stallion reached out a hoof and took hold of a writhing vine with the grippers on his hoof cuff.
“Tamaa! What are you doing?” Kichaka didn’t stop to think about the fact that she was not only raising her voice, but she was raising her voice to a senior alchemist.
Tamaa turned and looked down his muzzle at her. “Oh, it is you — Kichickoo? Whatever your name is, lab assistant, I’m taking a botanical sample. It is something alchemists do.” He returned his attention to the vine and started to press downward with the pruning hook. The filly, wearing the black neck band signifying House service, fled, shouting for help.
Kichaka gasped; the entire mass of vines seemed to shudder at the touch of the hook. It appeared to be bending away from Tamaa, who started sawing away. “Rather fibrous, aren’t we?” He pulled the vine down to get a better grip.
Kichaka wasn’t quite sure what happened immediately after that, but the next thing she knew, Tamaa was sprawled on the ground with his pruning hook in the dirt next to him, and she was sitting on his chest. Parrot feathers were everywhere, and her kilt had disintegrated. He was much bigger than she was, so he easily shoved her off and rolled to his side. “Are you insane? Go back to the kraal, now!” He rolled over, grabbed the pruning hook in his mouth, and set it back in the socket of his cuff.
She stared at the tarnished, dull bronze of the hook as he returned to his three hoof stance. This idiot hasn’t even cleaned his sampling tool! She interposed herself between the guild zebra and the bramble, which seemed to be returning to relative quiescence. “Did you not see? It was reacting! You could give it an infection with that dirty thing; this isn’t just some interesting shrub you found in the rainforest!”
“You really are insane. I am a senior guild member. You physically assaulted me, and are now disobeying a direct order. As soon as I get back with my sample, you will be out on your perky little ear, filly! You will be digging up manioc roots with the rest of the farmers! Now, get out of my way!” He snarled at her, brandishing his pruning hook in her face.
She was too angry to care. She shoved her own hoof cuff into her tool bag and felt the socket click. She pulled it out quickly, the gleaming bronze of her own hook catching the sun, the finely ground edge glittering. “This is how a professional maintains her equipment, you arrogant, incompetent, lazy idiot!” She pointed it at his stomach; he could maim her, even take an eye, but she’d disembowel him in return.
Tamaa backed up in shock. He was easily twice her weight, but that was indeed a sharp blade. “I — I —” He looked up as Mshauri came around the end of the plant, followed closely by Maoni. “She attacked me! Prophetess, this maniac attacked me and is threatening me with a weapon!”
“A maniac with a weapon? Mshauri, what do we see?” The Prophetess was unperturbed.
“The speaker is a stallion with a pruning hook attached to his hoof cuff.” The Eye of the Prophetess spoke cooly. “We recognize him as Tamaa of the Amu, an alchemist of the second rank. He has dirt in his mane and on his back, and is, for some reason, surrounded by parrot feathers. Standing between him and the treeship is a filly, or a small mare, also an Amu, and also with a pruning hook She looks rather upset about something. We do not recognize her, but she also appears to have the accoutrements of an alchemist. Her mane is in a single braid, she is rather pretty, and appears to be marked with an alama. Nyansapo, I should think.”
Eyebrows rose above the Prophetess Maoni’s blind eyes. “A vipawa who we do not recognize? Child, what is your name?”
Kichaka suddenly realized the situation she was in and who she was speaking to. Her heart dropped into her stomach and she fell back on her hindquarters in sheer terror.
“Oof? That is an odd name.”
“Kichaka, Prophetess.” Her voice was shaky, barely more than a whisper. She must have fallen back into the plant, because she felt the tendrils on her back. They were warm, which surprised her.
“Oh, she does sound fierce, does she not, Mshauri?” Then they all turned their heads as the filly who had run away from Tamaa returned from the other side of the treeship. She was followed by a large stallion who had a truncheon on a lanyard around his neck. They both stopped when they saw the Prophetess, and bowed.
Mshauri spoke. “Maridadi, why did you abandon your post?”
Maridadi pointed at Tamaa. “He was waving his knife around, saying he was going to take a cutting of Nafasi Nyingine, so I went to get Kulinda.” The stallion glared at the alchemist.
Tamaa was outraged. “I am an alchemist of the second rank! I do not take orders from low level House functionaries. Prophetess, I really need to take some samples and get back to my lab with it, if you want us to develop that nutrient fuel you told Chief Mke about.”
“Tamaa, you may have good intentions, but I will not have you terrorizing my servants. I take it this has something to do with you being attacked by our maniac here?”
“She has lost her mind! She charged into me head first and then turned her pruning hook on me.”
The Prophetess turned to Kichaka. “Is this true?”
“Yes, Prophetess.” The vines seemed to be curling around her, supporting her; the contact was comforting.
“I take it you objected to this approach of taking a cutting?”
“Well, yes, Prophetess. His blade is filthy. He could have given the plant an infection. And the way the vines were reacting, it was as though they could feel pain. It was—afraid.”
Tamaa rolled his eyes and clucked. “That is ridiculous!”
Mshauri gritted her teeth. “This is the only chance we zebras have to save ourselves, and you feel you should just take a whack at it with a knife? You do not think you need to ask permission?”
The alchemist snorted. “I am not one of your House flunkies. And as you said, this plant is our chance of saving civilization. Perhaps the Amu should simply take over the project.”
Mshauri’s eyes widened in outrage. “You threaten the House of Punda?”
“It will not come to that; you will just let us take over growing and caring for the treeship. You have no choice. This is more important than your precious traditions. Mke and the other chiefs will see things our way.” He sneered. “Or maybe you would rather come up with a nutrient formula. Punda himself might come down from the mountain and give you the recipe.”
Maoni cleared her throat. “Kichaka, since you are opposed to taking a cutting, how would you suggest going about designing a nutrient solution for Nafasi Nyingine?”
Kichaka felt her anxiety lift, like a mist being dispersed by the bright sunshine of a practical problem that demanded a solution. “Prophetess, it appears to me that this plant—or perhaps I should say creature—that Nafasi Nyingine is an amalgam of at least four types of plants. The vines are lianas; a species of giant clematis, I should think. There are puffballs growing in the midst of the vines, and I am fairly certain they are kuruka uyoga, the floating mushrooms grown by the Vumba. That would make sense; the ship will need buoyancy to fly.”
Tamaa snorted. “Supposition!”
She stood, putting her pruning hook back into her tool bag. “Observation. At the back end, there are fan plants, presumably to provide propulsion. And if I am not mistaken, I see a sapling under the vines. May I take a closer look?” The Prophetess nodded, and Kichaka reached in to part the vines and look at the center of the mass. “By the bark, it looks like muyovu, the cloud trees. They grow on the highlands and can get quite large, though they are mostly harvested by the Fundi before they grow to adult size. According to the scrolls, they can reach nearly a hundred yards, if they are allowed to. This one is growing sideways, along the ground, and — that’s odd. It looks like it is not cylindrical. More like canoe-shaped.”
Tamaa laughed. “That is outrageous! How could a tree grow shaped like a canoe?”
“Magic.” Maoni’s voice was matter-of-fact. “How does a seed survive for a thousand years? How does it contain four different plants? How does it grow so quickly? Those are all due to the magic imbued by the shamans of the ancient past. But more to the point, how do we keep it alive once it is flying?”
“Prophetess, do any of the ancient scrolls record how this was done?” Kichaka was wide-eyed with fascination.
“The roots were dug out and laid in the trough of the hull, and the crew kept them moistened in a bath. Unfortunately, the scroll with the formula they used has not been found. Perhaps it did not survive the journey.” Maoni pursed her lips. “The alchemists assured us they would resolve the problem, and it may be that we have no choice but to resort to taking cuttings. However, they will not be taking control of the project, and I would be shocked to find that Guildmaster Kikundi had any knowledge of this scheme, much less Chief Mke. He knows the other tribes would never accept such a situation.” Mshauri scowled at Tamaa on Maoni’s behalf.
“Kikundi is in his dotage. I will be the Guildmaster soon,” Tamaa gloated. “Mke will see reason.”
The Prophetess sighed. “This is not the time for politics. Kichaka, my child, do you have an alternative proposal?”
Tamaa’s face reddened. “Her? She’s just a lab assistant, and not for much longer!”
Kichaka thought for a moment. “Prophetess, if I am correct that Nafasi Nyingine is chimeric in nature, then it is simply a matter of finding a mixture of nutrients for each of the component plants that feeds all four, but does not cause harm to any of them. We can experiment on finding an optimal formula on samples of uncombined plants to give us what we feel we need in terms of growth of the parts that support buoyancy for the fungus, structure for the tree, propulsion for the fan plants, and, well, I’m not quite sure what the vines are for.”
“Control. Apparently, the shaman-pilot used the vines to control the ship, somehow. We’ll have to figure that out when the time comes.” Maoni smiled. “I accept your proposal. When can you start your work?”
Kichaka’s jaw dropped open and she fell back once again into the mass of vines. Her mouth moved, but all she could do was make squeaking sounds as the shock of what she had just done hit her.
“I will take that as an immediately. Excellent. Tamaa, do you have an objection to this course of action?” Maoni’s mouth wouldn’t have melted butter as she smiled at him.
“I most certainly do, Prophetess! The Alchemist’s Guild will never accept such a plan! This is an outrage!”
“How wonderful!” Maoni nodded. “So, the Guild is now off the project and will stay away from Nafasi Nyingine until further notice. All is settled!”
Tamaa stomped off in high dudgeon, muttering dire threats under his breath while Mshauri fought to keep from laughing. Then she stopped, and instead exhaled in wonder as she looked at Kichaka.
“What is it, child?” Maoni had a puzzled look on her face. “What do we see?”
“Prophetess, I would say Kichaka was correct that the vine is a clematis. The vines appear to be cuddling her, and one has placed a large purple bloom in her mane.”
Maoni said nothing for a moment, then she laughed. “I would say we have found our first crewmember!”
Kichaka was silent, reaching up to touch the blossom, then gently stroked the vine that had draped itself on her shoulder.
Jelani stood in front of a dozen trainees, positioned solidly in four hoof defensive posture, the padded bamboo training bat hanging from its lanyard around his thick neck. The dust of the sparring krall covered the young warriors, but had only settled lightly on him, as he had not been rolling around in it. “Lengo, Kumpiga, demonstrate how you would attack me in a general melee on open ground.”
Kumpinga swallowed hard, a fresh bruise crossing his barrel nearly perpendicular to his stripes from yesterday’s session. Lengo grinned. “Champion, I would not attack you in a general melee, because I am neither stupid, nor insane.”
Jelani grunted at the lean mare. “For the purposes of the exercise, let us say that you are both. Come on!”
Both zebras took their bats in their mouths and leapt at Jelani. The heavily-muscled zebra leapt to his left, effectively putting Kumpiga between him and Lengo. Kumpinga twisted his neck and released the bat slightly to allow the mouth grip to slip between a side and a forward position, giving it the advantage of additional momentum as he snapped his neck back, lunging as he did. It wasn’t a bad feint, and it would have been a strong attack, had Jelani’s muzzle still been there when the attack was made.
The champion didn’t even hit Kumpinga with the bat; he simply ducked the attack and then shoulder-butted the stallion backwards into Lengo. The mare was rangy and quick though, and pronked when she saw Kumpinga bowling towards her. Her forehooves caught his back and she rolled forward, but she was able to kick back and maintain herself upright as she landed.
Jelani was ready as she landed, and his bat was whistling towards her head as she recovered from the landing. Instead of trying to parry or duck, she lunged forward, hoping to get inside and under the large stallion. He was too quick, however, and simply barrelled into her with sufficient force to knock her to the ground and daze her.
Kumpinga had recovered, charging in before Jelani could place his hoof on Lengo’s throat, taking her out of the contest. The champion smiled as he fell back, parrying the sudden attack, then riposted, rapping Kumpinga solidly on the foreleg and knocking him to the ground.
Lengo rose again, but was staggering when she stumbled forward. Jelani turned back to her and swept her legs easily from under her, then placed his hoof on her throat as Kumpinga slowly regained his feet. Lengo sighed and rolled onto her back, signifying submission.
Alone now, Kumpinga backed away as Jelani trotted toward him, his bat high. The smaller stallion swore around the mouth grip of his bat, then charged straight at Jelani, his bat held to thrust. The champion parried the thrust to the side of his body, then headbutted Kumpinga, who collapsed in a heap.
Lengo groaned, getting up and shaking her head, while Kumpinga curled up on the floor, holding his head in his hooves. Jelani hadn’t even broken a sweat. “What did you fail to do, in the first seconds?”
“Call for reinforcements?” Lengo spat into the dust of the arena while she helped Kumpinga up.
“Communicate! Did you have a plan? I am much bigger than either of you, but if you had a plan, and executed it properly, you would have had a chance. Attack, maneuver, communication! Did you do your reading this week? Combat Tactics and Communication by Askari Ubongo?” Silence was his only response. “Did anyone do their reading? What could they have done differently? Mjuaji!”
The trainee he called on looked thoughtful. “They could have separated wider so you could not use one to cut the other off.”
“Yes! Good! What else… Kichwa!”
“Umm… attacked at the same time on a coordinated signal so you could only parry one of them?”
“Yes, good, you read the chapter on signals! But it is easier to remember the right thing to do, after the fact, than actually do them in a fight. Lengo and Kumpinga, take a water break. Kichwa and Mjuaji, here is your chance!”
Thirty minutes later, the trainees were sitting on the floor, rubbing sore spots, and dripping with sweat. Jelani shook his head. “Never in all my days have I seen a sorrier bunch! What will I tell Mke? I told him I could make fighting zebras out of you! I shall have to resign in shame. After the next war, you will all have the opportunity to be lumberjacks and miners, which I am told, is a lot of fun.” He snorted. “Now, since you have all worked so hard, I have a special treat for you. Get your canteens, because we are going on a field trip!”
The trainees perked up. “Where to, Jelani?” asked Lengo.
“We are going to see the treeship, to marvel at its glory.” The trainees groaned; the treeship was ten miles away. “Now, on your hooves!” he bellowed. “Form a column and move out!” The trainees turned left, their line becoming a column. “At the working canter, gait!” They started their three beat pace on their left forehooves, while the right forehoof and left rear hoof pushed forward. The right hind hooves struck the dust synchronously, followed by the left hind and right fore, then the left fore. Their bodies were suspended in air as the right hind landed to begin the cycle again, a beat of repeating triplets and a rest resulting.
Jelani’s voice rang out, a deep, clear baritone, keeping the trainees in rhythm.
We will run in the sun, for the honor of the Amu!
The trainees responded with the chorus
To the fight, we run all night!
Jelani belted out the next verse, alternating with the trainees, as both controlled their breathing.
Feel the burn, as we learn where the enemy has got to!
Honor to the Amu clan!
We will train in the rain, even when it falls in curtains!
To the fight, we run all night!
We will run through the pain, even though our hooves are hurtin’
Honor to the Amu clan!
They ran out of the kraal through the gate in the short stockade, heads high and singing, while the morning sun rose in the sky above the island edge. By the time they had reached the Garden of Punda, thirty minutes later, they were all sweating, and the only head held high was Jelani’s, still singing lustily.
“Ah! That was a good little warmup! Now, halt!” The trainees ran two more steps, roughly speaking, as they came to an uncoordinated stop. “Imagine, my young friends, if only now, after that run, you would be coming to grips with the enemy! Are you ready to fight for your freedom? Your friends? Your lives?” He chuckled. “Our foes would be embarrassed to fight you in this condition! Fall out! Walk around, drink water!”
They staggered around, taking pulls from the canteens they all carried on their side. After taking a sip, Lengo, less blown out than the others, walked up to Jelani. “So, that is it, boss?” She gestured at the oddly bulbous shape they could see over the shrubbery.
“Indeed, there it is, the hope of all Zebrakind! But you realize that it is still a quarter mile away.” Lengo swallowed as Jelani continued, “Get the rest of the troop formed up; we will march there from here.”
“Yes, boss. Troop, fall in on me, single file!” The rest of the trainees formed up behind her. When they were in position, she called out, “Troop, attention!” Jelani turned to her and nodded, and she continued, “At the parade walk, march! One, two, three, four! One, two, three, four!” The detachment walked at a stately pace up the path through the main gate as Lengo called time. Her eyes widened when she saw the true size of the tree once they were through the hedge.
Jelani turned, grinning merrily. “Still unimpressed, Lengo? How big do you think it is?”
“A hundred feet long, at least, and thirty high, Jelani. At least.”
“Pretty close. And it has only been growing for two months. Can you imagine how big it would be if our alchemists were allowed to work on it?” He scoffed. “Why, I hear they picked some half-trained lab assistant because of some stupid misunderstanding! And she chose to leave the Amu to serve the House. Does that sound honorable to you, Lengo?”
“Loyalty to tribe is everything, Jelani.” The troop continued to walk up the path, past a ladder up the side of an acacia tree, where a young House mare was harvesting some of the pods from the branches with a gleaming pruning hook. “I understand that orphans and foundlings serve the House; they have nowhere else to go. But if your family is Amu and you turn your back on your tribe, you turn your back on your family!”
Up in the tree, Kichaka paused, closing her eyes to the tears that sprang from them. The Prophetess, who had been so kind to her, had received a maumivu ya maumivu bouquet from her parents after a month of them refusing to speak to their daughter. They were consoling her adoptive parent, as Kichaka was dead to them.
Mom, how could you? She dropped the basket of pods and clambered down the ladder, then lay down in the shade of the tree, shuddering with sobs. All those nights when you held me, when I could not stop crying. You told me you would always be here for me, even if I never made a single friend! If I never met a stallion who could stomach my — strangeness. And you lied! A terrible lassitude came over her and the thought of just running off the edge came back to the top of her mind, like it always did these days. And now I have nobody I can talk to. I am not Amu. I do not know anyone in the House. I have no family. I am not a real person. I am just a useful tool.
She calmed herself, took deep breaths, and pushed the intrusive suicidal ideation out of her thoughts. Nafasi needs me. She accepts me. She may not speak to me, but we communicate. And when did I decide Nafasi was a she, anyway?
Kichaka stood, wiped away her tears with the back of her pastern, smearing her face with dust, and retrieved the basket. She collected the spilled acacia pods, hung the basket around her neck, and headed back to her lab-hut. Just need to get these boiling for the coagulant gum, then I can see about dealing with the splits on number five fan leaf. It would not do for the splits to grow any deeper, or the leaf might shred itself.
There was a cry from the crowd that was always gathered near the treeship. What!? She turned around and galloped, the pods flying as her basket whirled around her neck, unheeded. In less than a minute, she had reached the cordoned section where the House Guards stood watch over Nafasi. One of them nodded when he saw her, and waved her through.
She pulled the basket off and dropped it, forgotten, as she passed the gaggle of onlookers, ignoring their hubbub. There was a zebra stallion standing next to the treeship, his eyes wide as saucers, as the treeship’s tendrils entwined themselves around his forelegs, neck and shoulders. No! Nafasi! Not this one! Not this arrogant, big mouthed, opinionated jerk!
Jelani turned to Lengo, straining as the vines clutched him. “What is happening!?”
“I think it likes you, boss! That, or it wants to strangle you. Either way, I understand the feeling.”
“Lengo, this is no time for your jokes!”
“You cannot hit me now, so it is a perfect time for my jokes.”
“Lengo, when I get myself untangled here, I am going to spend the rest of the day teaching you how to break a choke-hold!” He tried to back up, but the gentle pressure of the vines prevented him from getting any traction.
Kichaka turned to face one of the guards. “Kulinda! Do you know where the Prophetess is?” He nodded, then said something to one of the other guards, who took off at a canter to the House proper.
“Do you know who this is, miss?” Kulinda gestured with a hoof at Jelani.
“Yes; this is Jelani, champion of the Amu, hero of the Battle of Quelimane, where he charged a column of Fundi warriors by himself to give Mke a chance to reform the lines.” She regarded Jeani with a flat expression. “Every Amu knows of Jelani Without Fear, even the dead ones.”
Jelani blinked, then his eyes widened in recognition. He took in her tear-streaked face, the black neckband of House service, and the nyansapo mark on her flank. “Kichaka? It is you?”
He knows me? Her expression faltered, then hardened again. “Kichaka of the Amu is dead. Have you not heard?”
He stiffened, as if slapped. “No. I have not. I am very sorry to hear it.”
“Be not so. Nobody liked her, and nobody will miss her.” Jelani closed his eyes and put his head down as she continued, “A half-trained, dishonorable lab assistant? Why would anyone miss a person like that?”
Shame filled his eyes, but before he could say anything, Mshauri came trotting up, her mouth dropping open as she saw who was ensnared. “Prophetess,” she cried out over her shoulder, “we see Jelani of the Amu, his forequarters entwined by the vines of Nafasi Nyingine!”
Jelani tore his eyes away from Kichaka and swung his head to see Maoni coming down the path, guided by the servant Maridadi. “Jelani? The warrior marked with the akofena? It would appear our treeship prefers the taste of vipawa!” She grinned. “And a second Amu! Will Mke not be pleased?”
Mshauri gave the Prophetess a sidelong glance. “Pleased to be losing his champion?”
“It is an honor, certainly,” Maoni cackled.
Jelani shook his head, then bowed as best he could. “Prophetess, forgive this one, but I do not know what you mean. Why has the treeship taken hold of me?”
“Because it has chosen you, my child. Punda welcomes you to his House and to the crew of Nafasi Nyingine.” Maoni, walked towards his voice and reached out with her hoof, finding his neck and then stroking his face. “All of zebrakind depends on this voyage. I am sure Mke will understand.”
He stared in stunned, horrified silence, then glanced at Lengo, who was backing away, tears in her eyes. “Lengo! Where are you going?”
“Jelani is dead. I go to tell the others. And to mourn, for I loved him very much!” Her voice broke as the tears spilled down her cheeks, then she turned and trotted to the knot of trainees who waited at the edge of the path, sobbing.
What? “No! Lengo, wait!” Jelani tugged at the vines, to no avail. “Lengo, I want this not! Prophetess!” He craned his neck as he tried to turn to her, “Please! I love my tribe! They need me!”
“They do, Jelani.” The Prophetess’ voice was serious. “They need you to do this, as do we all. I understand that for the Amu, leaving the tribe to serve the House is not as it is for the other tribes. It means breaking all ties. But know you, that this is not a dishonorable act, no more than it was for Kichaka.”
Jelani looked at her sheepishly, then sighed. “Prophetess, I meant not to imply that service in the House is dishonorable, only that I do not wish to leave my tribe. Must it be this way?”
Mshauri cleared her throat, and the Prophetess nodded to her. The Eye of the Prophetess spoke. “Kichaka had to leave her tribe to serve as Nafasi’s alchemist. I doubt that the story you have been told about her departure is correct. She prevented Tamaa from harming Nafasi, and humiliated him in the process. Then it chose her, in the same way it appears to have chosen you, by embracing you with its vines.”
“She, oh Eye.” Kichaka lowered her eyes, realizing she had interrupted, but continued, “Nafasi is a she, not an it.” Jelani glanced at her, still in shock, then looked back at the Prophetess.
Prophetess Maoni chuckled. “Good! I would rather our race be saved by a she than by an it! Please continue, Mshauri.”
The Eye of the Prophetess smiled at the petite alchemist. “She, then. She chose Kichaka, and now she chooses you. Kichaka had to leave her tribe to serve, and we decided that it would be best if all those chosen would leave their tribes, and their rivalries, behind. You have an alama, yes? Akofena.” She indicated the crossed black sickle-swords that marked his flank. “For valor. Kichaka is also vipawa. She bears the mark of nyansapo, for ingenuity. It seems that Nafasi Nyingine wants vipawa for its, I mean for her, crew. At least, that is how the Prophetess has interpreted this.”
Maoni nodded. “Do you have a better interpretation, Jelani? Kichaka has done wonderfully well, developing nutritional formulas for Nafasi’s growth, and working long hours, without complaint or demand, other then reasonable requests for lab equipment and assistants. Is that not how one renders honorable service?”
“Yes Prophetess. But why me? Because of my birthmark? It means nothing. There are other zebras as valorous as I, more experienced in battle, better leaders. And why would Nafasi need a warrior in her crew?”
The Prophetess pursed her lips. “She is bound on a journey into the unknown. There may be enemies. She, and her crew, may need to be protected by a bold, skilled warrior. And there must be some reason she has chosen you over more experienced warriors, as you said. Not one of them was caressed by her tendrils as you are now. Speaking of which, Kichaka, could you persuade Nafasi to release your fellow crewmember? He is not going to leave, is he?”
Jelani looked downcast, but he shook his head, glancing at Lengo and the trainees as he did so. Lengo blinked back tears. “Troop, fall in! Attention! About face! At the trot, gait!” Her voice was ragged as she called cadence to rest of the trainees, and they trotted back out the gate, heads low, many of them sniffling.
Kichaka stroked the vines, crooning to them wordlessly, and gradually they relaxed, releasing their grip on the warrior and gently settling around her. The warrior watched her, fascinated, as the tendrils responded to her like a living thing, a living creature responding to a gentle touch.
Jelani backed up, then bowed properly to the Prophetess and the Eye. “It appears that this is now my duty, and the House of Punda is now my family. This hurts my heart, and you I ask that you give me some time.” His face and voice were controlled and his demeanor stoic, now that he realized that his course was chosen for him.
“Of course, child. Mshauri and I will speak to you in the House kujenga,” she gestured at the large building atop the hill, “as to your duties and responsibilities, and introduce you to the rest of the House. There is a reason that Nafasi chose you, and chose you at this time, of that I am certain. There is magic in the treeship, ancient magic, that we do not understand, but I feel we must trust it. My feelings are very strong in this matter. As you get to know me better, you will come to realize that I do not state many things with certainty, but I am as certain of this as I am certain of anything.”
Prophetess Maoni turned to Mshauri. “My dear, please arrange for someone to collect Jelani’s belongings–”
“Forgive me, Prophetess,” Jelani interrupted, his voice stronger and deeper than it had been, “but those things belonged to Jelani of the Amu. They now belong to his brother, Soka. Jelani of the House of Punda has no need of, nor claim upon them. Though, perhaps someone could speak to his family about what happened to him. I am sure he would have appreciated that.”
The Prophetess nodded, then turned to Mshauri. “Would you take care of that personally, my dear? Now, before the news reaches them by other means.”
“Yes, Prophetess.” The Eye trotted off in the same direction as the training detachment, stretching out into a canter as soon as she was past the ever-present crowd of onlookers.
Maoni sighed. “I will send someone to fetch you after she returns, and you will attend us at the kujenga for your investiture. In the meantime, Kichaka, could you please get him settled in? Find him some food, and, “ she sniffed, “a bath? And tell him what you know about Nafasi. All our lives depend on both of you working together. I hope you can be friends.” Kichaka bowed stiffly as Maoni continued, “Come, Maridadi, take me back up to my room. I must commune with the spirits.” The servant sidled up to the Prophetess and spoke quietly to her, leading her back up the path with the sound of her voice.
After she had left, Kichaka spoke. “Come with me, Jelani. A bath, first, I think. We have a communal bath house here; unlike the Amu, we do not have private baths for each family. We are but one family here, all of us children of the Prophetess.”
He followed her in awkward silence, up the same path the Prophetess was being lead, then they turned left, away from the large building towards a compound of smaller ones arranged in a circle.
As he entered, he could feel the eyes upon him. Dozens of zebras looked at him, most with interest but some with guarded expressions, and a few with open resentment. Jealous that they have not been chosen for the crew? They can have it.
“The bath house is here.” She led him to a large hut with walls built of stone, rather than the mud brick of the other buildings. “It usually does not get crowded until the evening. Come.”
He followed her, ducking through the doorway, which was, as usual, built too low for one of his stature. Their hooves clicked on the wooden floor, and the boards creaked under Jelani’s weight. There was a bath attendant who looked up startled, folding towels and placing them onto shelves behind a low counter.
“Hello, Kuoga. May we bathe?”
The older mare nodded, opening the door to the central chamber, then spoke to Jelani. “I have not seen you before. Are you a guest?”
Kichaka responded. “He is family, Kuoga. Jelani is a new arrival, like me.” He nodded as Kuoga’s eyebrows rose.
“Well then, seeing as you are family, if you make a mess, clean up after yourself. I am not the maid.” She turned from the bemused Jelani. “Would you like any oils or scents, my dear?” She picked up a basket with several bottles, and put them on the counter before Kichaka. “The tea tree oil you added to the shampoo is a real hit. We have already run out. Could I get some more?”
“First things first, Kuoga. I need to get Nafasi’s number five tail fan patched and… oh gosh, my acacia pods!” Kichaka took the bottles, placed them on the counter, then took the basket. “I will bring it back in a bit, but I need to get those pods on the boil! Can you get him situated?” She took the basket in her teeth and ran back out the door.
Jelani watched her go, then turned to Kuoga. “Umm–”
“Come on!” Kuoga led him through the door to a large pool that was set into the floor, with a low lip rising around it. “Over here, I will rinse you off first. Stand above the drain, here.” She gestured at a small hole in the floor that was covered by a bronze grate. “I better get the stepladder. You are a bit on the large side. And let me take this.” She batted the canteen with a hoof, so he removed it and gave it to her.
“Kuoga, I can bathe myself.” Jelani fought hard not to blush. Communal bathing existed among the Amu, but not mixed communal bathing. Nudity was not considered shameful among zebras, clothing being the exception rather than the rule, but bathing was different.
“Bathe not yourself in my bath house, young stallion!” She pulled a step ladder away from the wall, dunked a bucket into the bathwater, climbed up next to him carrying it in her mouth, then lifted it to her hooves, soaking his head and mane. It was warm and pleasant, though Jelani felt distinctly uncomfortable.
“Perhaps a stallion could attend, then?” He backed away as she brought another bucket of water up. She put it down on the top of the ladder.
“Get back here! Your virtue is safe with me, um… what is your name, anyway?”
He sighed. “Jelani.” If she recognized the name, she gave no sign, waiting until he was above the drain to rinse his back.
She came back down, fetching another bucket. “Just one more and you can get a good soak before Kichaka gets back. Then you can give her a rinse and soak together and relax. You have a lot of tension in your back here, you know.” She poured the bucket over his hindquarters, rinsing the dust of training away. “I will give you a massage after your bath; you will be much more relaxed.”
Now he couldn’t help blushing. “A massage? Um.. thanks, but I do not think we will have time. The Prophetess wants to see us.”
“Oh, that is too bad. I have never worked on a stallion as big as you before. So, in you go!” She smacked his flank with a hoof and he jumped in surprise, then walked into the tub. The warm water almost sucked him down, it felt so good, and his belly touched the top of the water when he went down the steps on the side. He squatted to cover his back, and the displaced water threatened to overtop the lip. It felt wonderful, and he decided to just close his eyes and enjoy it. His family’s private bath had never let him fully immerse himself. He let out a sigh of contentment.
“That is the way; just do not get so relaxed that you pee in the bath.” He chuckled as Kuoga closed the door behind her. He was used to a certain degree of deference from other Amu, particularly the non-warriors, and this irreverence was as refreshing as the thought of bathing with the opposite sex was awkward. Of course, that was a lifetime ago.
He soaked in the dim room, lit only by a few narrow skylights in the ceiling. He saw brackets where torches might be placed at night, and pegs where towels and clothes might be hung. This place is well designed. A dozen zebras could bathe here, comfortably. Or uncomfortably, I suppose. He chuckled, then grew quiet as he thought about the mother who loved him, the little brother who practically worshipped him, and the graves of his older brother and father, none of whom he would ever see again, except perhaps distantly.
Tears started to fill his eyes, and he gasped as the pain of deep sorrow spread through his chest as he visualized the dances at his funeral rites, his extended family wearing the white robes of mourning, his mother staying in her home for a month, relying on neighbors to cook for her. A stele with his name engraved on it in the cemetery, with no body beneath. And when I truly die, I will not be buried among my family. My spirit will wander, searching for them forever.
The door opened and he immediately ducked his head underwater to hide his shameful display from the bath attendant. After he had regained control of himself, he raised his head and shook his mane, as though the dunking had been in the course of his ablutions.
Instead of seeing Kuoga when he opened his eyes, he beheld Kichaka, who regarded him with open annoyance. “Come on then, rinse me.”
He felt something then that he had never felt before. Beyond discomfort, worse than uncertainty. He felt fear. Cold, terrible fear that squatted in his stomach like a toad. He stared at her, unable to move or speak.
“What? What is it?”
The light from one of the skylights backlit her braided mane, and he could see the lines of her body, the glint of her large eyes, the play of lean muscle under her finely striped coat. It was not the first time he’d seen her, of course. He’d noticed her, admired her many times in the kraal, in the market, even out in the forest when he was training and she was out gathering. He had heard of her, heard what she had done for his family, but this was the first time he’d ever seen her alone. The first time he was ever alone with her.
“Has the Grootslang eaten your tongue, oh great warrior?” She flipped her braid around and caught it between her teeth and hoof, tugging at it to untie it, then shook it out so that her mane was splayed across her neck.
He said nothing, mastering his trepidation, and managed to come to his hooves. He grasped the bucket off the edge of the tub with his mouth, filling it with water. He carefully stepped out of the tub, approaching her slowly.
“Anytime you are ready, Jelani.” She chuckled. “If it is of any comfort, I do not want to be alone with you any more than you want to be with me. So just rinse me and get this over with.”
He sighed and lifted the bucket with one hoof, rinsing the dust away from her mane, back and hindquarters in a single motion.
“See? That was not so hard.” She bent to pick up the basket with shampoo, soap and washcloths, placed it on a shelf beside the tub, then lightly jumped in. “Come on.”
He shakily got in the tub, almost tripping.
“Oh for crying out loud! It is like you have never been alone with a mare before!”
He blushed and stuck his head under the water again.
She pulled him up by his mane. “Cut out the act, Jelani! Half the mares in the lab said they had you for a lover! Your prowess is, I assure you, legendary.”
He stared at her in wide eyed amazement. “They said what?!”
Now it was her turn to be nonplussed. “You mean they were making it up?”
He nodded, crimson.
“Really? You mean, never?”
He shook his head, shame and fear commingling in his guts.
A small, amused smile bloomed on her mouth, but it quickly faded, replaced with indignation. “Well, that was very cruel of them to lie about you like that! Why, the nerve of them!” She flushed red herself. “And here I thought you were some heartbreaker, loving mares and leaving them as soon as another took your fancy! I misjudged you, Jelani.” Her voice became very gentle. “I am sorry.”
He took a deep breath. “You heard what I said on the path, did you not?” She nodded, her face becoming guarded again. “I too was only repeating what I had been told. I am sorry to have hurt you. I did not know it was you.”
“You did not stop to think that the Amu alchemist who joined the House to serve the treeship might hear what was said in the Garden of Punda?” Kichaka frowned at him, unsure what he was talking about. Is he so nervous that he misphrased?
He shook his head. “I do not mean that. I mean to say I did not know you were that alchemist, Kichaka.” She blinked, uncomprehending. “I know you. You saved my mother’s life three years ago. She had dysentery and you brought her an infusion of wormwood and papaya seeds. The other alchemists said nothing could be done, but you came to our home that night, by yourself. You said it might work, not that it would definitely cure her. You made mother promise not to tell anyone, so she could not thank you in public, but she told me about it.”
“Your mother is Nyota Kijani?” Comprehension dawned.
“I mean, she was Jelani the Amu’s mother.” He turned and looked into the darkness. “Now she buries another son.”
She snorted. “Jelani, you know that tradition is awful nonsense, do you not? By tradition, I would not be allowed to give your mother an infusion after a master alchemist said it would not work, and then you would have been buried your mother for real, instead of her burying you for, well, for no Punda-damned good reason!”
“My parents are doing what they must. As, I am sure, did yours.” He looked at his reflection in the water of the bath. “Our traditions exist for a reason.”
“Easy for you to say; you have always benefited from tradition, up until now. Oldest son, prominent family, great warrior. Tradition has not been as kind to farmers scraping a living out of the dust, who are not even allowed to clear land without permission from the chief. I was only permitted to join the Guild because my first cousin was in the guild and was partially blinded while making some soil acidifier. I was of the right age to be an apprentice, and of all my cousins I was judged to have the best aptitude.” She swished her hindquarters in the water, unconsciously discomfiting Jelani.
He cleared this throat, concentrating on the argument rather than the company. “It sounds like you also benefited from tradition. The position was reserved for a member of your clan, so you did not have to compete with every Amu who wanted that apprenticeship.”
“Just because I benefit from a tradition, that does nit make it just! I would be happy to compete with every zebra on the island if that meant I would not be held back by my age!” She dunked her head angrily, splashing Jelani. He watched as her mane floated underwater like a black and white cloud, then squinted as she emerged and shook her head, water flicking left and right.
He blinked away the droplets. “Perhaps you are exceptional, Kichaka, but most zebras are not, and if a tradition works well for a hundred, should it be disposed of for the benefit of the one?”
“It only benefits the less gifted! If apprenticeships were open to all, the guild would have those best suited to alchemy from among all Amu, rather than the one deemed most qualified from each of clans. I do not expect you would understand; you can defeat you detractors in training and prove them wrong. I need to have all my experiments approved by zebras who do not understand them, who are concerned more with status and ensuring that the progression of each member of each clan is in step, rather than with possibilities! Argh!” She growled in frustration, startling the Jelani. “Just shampoo my mane, will you?” She reached over to the shelf and took a flask from within the bucket that had been placed there.
He swallowed, then took the flask from her, pouring some of the thick oily and sweet-smelling substance onto one hoof. He placed the flask on the edge of the pool, then slowly moved to her side. He was shaking slightly as he put his hooves to her mane. “Do not be afraid, Jelani, I will not bite.” Her voice was softer, almost playful, after what he feared had been an acrimonious argument, and he found himself relaxing.
Her mane was long, thick and silky, unusually so for an Amu, who tended to have shorter, coarser manes. She was also rather more petite than would be expected for an Amu. “Do you know if you have any Vumba ancestors?”
She turned, giving him a sidelong glance. “Maternal grandmare. She was captured by my grandsire, and succumbed to his charms. Or perhaps it was the other way around. She was a night flyer.” She raised an eyebrow. “How could you tell?”
“No offense, but you have the look.” She frowned, so he hurriedly continued, “That is not bad! I mean, I think you are very pretty! I— mean— uh—” He felt the skin of his face blazing as she narrowed her eyes.
“Just — just wash my mane, please.” Jelani complied, glumly, unable to see Kichani’s face as she turned away from him. In the dim of the bathhouse, he didn’t see her smile.
Nahoda shook her head and frowned at the columns of numbers on the scroll in front of her. “Sorry, Wajanja, there is no way we are going to be able to deliver 500 planks by the next moon. Our axes are worn down to nubs, and replacements have been on backorder for the past three moons. At this rate, we will be making our cutting tools out of obsidian.”
The Fundi chief shrugged. “Well then, there is nothing for it. We will apologize to Mshauri, and tell her that the scaffolding for the Nafasi is just going to have to wait. But I am not going to be the one to tell her.”
Nahoda paled slightly. “Who then?”
“You do it, Nahoda. She will ask me many questions that I do not know the answers to, and I will look foolish. I would just have to ask you for the answers anyway, so let us save time. And who knows, perhaps you two can work something out. She reminds me a bit of you; you two should get along.” Wajanja smiled, sipping from a bag of divai, a sweet wine made from Muscadine grapes that could be grown on the cool, sunny and dry north slope of the mountain.
“How does she remind you of me, Chief?”
“You both ask too many questions. Besides, it is high time you got out of the workshop and took a look at the treeship.It is a sight to see, almost forty yards long, and with those green puffballs at the top, it is nearly as high as it is long. It towers over the House buildings. It is as tall as any of the trees outside of the old forest in the north.” Wajanja offered her the wine bag.
Nahoda didn’t particularly care for the sweetness, but it would be rude to refuse. “Thank you, Chief.” She tipped her head back and took a small swallow, then smiled and nodded before passing the bag back. “Could I delegate this? Naibu could do it.”
“I do not doubt Naibu could do it, but he does not have the same knowledge you have. You would be better. I want you to wrap up whatever you must, and go down to the House before noon.” There was a tinge of annoyance in his voice.
Nahoda noticed it and knew that further protests would be pointless. “Yes, Chief.” She bowed her head in resignation, then turned and went back to her desk and started writing instructions for her subordinates. Wajanja grunted his satisfaction, stood up from the low table, and left the office. Nahoda certainly hates leaving the forest!
Later that day, Nahoda arrived at the House, but before she was close enough to see the building, she saw the green mounding tops of the gigantic kuruka uyoga puffballs straining against the vine nets that held them against the trunk of the body. As she got closer, the House itself rose up against the bizarre backdrop, and she was astonished to see that the looming chimeric plant was nearly two hundred yards behind the hilltop on which the House building had been erected. And it is only a third the size it will become! Shaking her head in wonder, she trotted up the path to the main building. She was surprised that nobody was there to greet her when she arrived at the entranceway. This place is deserted! Where is everyone? She walked around the lower level, where a portico had been built that circumscribed the structure. Then she saw; there was a mass of zebras milling about down at the treeship.
This is going to take forever! Nahoda trotted down the hill, following a path that led to the ship. It continued to grow until it filled her vision. She could not keep her eyes from it. Truly a giant of the forest, like the first zebras must have seen! She was not watching where she was going and ran straight into the well-padded hindquarters of an Amu mare. Being rather full-bodied herself, the impact sent both of them sprawling, and the scroll case that had been slung around her neck went rolling away under the hooves of the crowd. Curse it!
“Ow! Ay, what was that? Who are you?!” The angry cries of felled mare rose above the hubbub of the crowd as Nahoda struggled back to her feet and looked around for the wooden case.
“Sorry! I was not watching my path! Are you alright?” She bent to give the matron a leg to support her up.
The Amu managed to get back on her hooves. “Well, be more careful!”
“Did you happen to see my scroll case? It got away from me.” Nahoda looked around, starting to feel anxious. She prided herself on her organization, and losing track of important documents would be a black mark.
“All I saw was blue sky and zebra bellies. Good luck finding it in this mess.” The mare went back to chatting with her neighbor.
Nahoda bent down, hoping she could see the case through the forest of legs before her, but it was no use. She sighed. I need some help.
“Excuse me!” she spoke, but nobody seemed to notice, the crowd’s attention being directed towards the ship and some goings on in front of it.
“Excuse me, please!” This time, she projected, and her voice cut through the background noise, clear as a bell. Conversation stopped and all eyes in the crowd turned towards her. I hate when this happens.
“Sorry to interrupt, but I dropped a scroll case, and it has rolled underhoof. Could you all please look down and see if it is underhoof?”
Almost as one, all the heads in the crowd dropped, then a voice cried out, “Got it!” from about ten yards away. A Vumba stallion, long and lean, pulled the wooden cylinder up by its cloth carrying strap, then passed it to the zebra next to him, who passed it to her neighbor. After three more passes, the matron she had barreled into got it and passed it to her, smiling. “That is quite a voice you have there, hon.”
“Um, yes. Thank you. Thank you all!” The crowd continued to look at her, almost expectantly. “Uh, please go on with, ah, whatever you were doing.” Her voice started to dwindle. “Before I started barking orders at you. Thanks. Sorry.”
After an awkward few moments of silence, the hubbub started up again, but then was quickly hushed as a path started to part at the front of the crowd. Zebras were backing up into each other to make way for some procession that appeared to be headed straight for Nahoda.
The Amu mare looked back at Nahoda in surprise then turned and backed away, bowing her head as she did, revealing the Prophetess and Mshauri. “Here we are, my dear. What do we see?” The Prophetess smiled benevolently, and Mshuari cocked an eyebrow.
“We see a mature Fundi mare with a scroll case hanging around her neck. We have not seen her before. She appears nervous.” The Eye of the Prophetess started to walk around, studying Nahoda. “She is heavyset, good looking and in good health. And she bears an alama. Adinkrahene.”
“Be not be nervous, my child. What is your name?” The Prophetess closed the distance between them.
She took a deep breath to steady herself. “Nahoda, Prophetess. Forgive me, if I interrupted something important.”
“Nothing planned. Apparently, a rumor started that we were looking for volunteers for the crew, and all these zebras showed up. They are quite in the way, actually. Nafasi Nyingine chooses the crew in its own way, from what we can tell, and the is crowd disrupting construction work on the scaffolding.” She tilted her head. “You seem to have a way with them. Could you thank them for their enthusiasm and ask them to go home?”
Nahoda blushed. “Prophetess, will they not listen to you?”
“Someone has put it in their heads that it would be a test of their faithfulness to stay here until the treeship chooses them. And I am not in charge of anything, I just make suggestions that zebras usually choose to follow. Usually. You are someone who gives commands. Please, as a favor to me.” The Prophetess smiled warmly.
“Well, I usually only give orders to my loggers, Prophetess. I really do not like telling others what to do. But I suppose I could try.” Nahoda swallowed, then took a deep breath. “Friends! The Prophetess thanks you for your faithfulness!” Her voice rolled over the crowd.
All eyes were fixed on her. It was quiet enough to hear the chirping of birds that were nesting in the branches growing out of the upper part of the treepship’s trunk-hull. “There is no truth to the rumor that Nafasi Nyingine is choosing members of the crew now! By staying here, you are preventing important work from being done! The Prophetess asks you to return to your jobs and homes and to contribute to this great project through performing your work as well as you can! Thank you all for showing your support! But please go home!”
Silence hung over the construction site, then the crowd started to break up, zebras closest to the gate of the palisade turning and walking away, entering into conversation with their neighbors as they did so, many shaking their heads about how silly they had been to believe a rumor. The mare she had run into bowed to the Prophetess, then turned and inclined her head to Nahoda before following the others. Within a few minutes, the mob had dispersed, leaving only a few guards and servants, and a dozen workers who started to pick up poles for the scaffolding, putting them in place and tying them together with hemp cords.
Mshuari stared at Nahoda. “That was incredible.”
“Adinkrahene.” The Prophetess reached up with a hoof and traced Nahoda’s features with it. “A powerful alama, the mark of charisma and leadership. You were born to be obeyed, child.”
Nahoda made a sour face. “It does not feel right, zebras doing what I tell them when I speak like that. What if I am wrong about something, Prophetess?”
“That is the risk all leaders take. Now, tell us why you are here, Nahoda.”
“Oh, yes! I am in charge of logging operations and I need to speak to Mshuari about the timber order for next week.”
Mshauri raised her eyebrows. “Prophetess?”
“Yes, please handle it. Why do we not go up to the House and get some refreshments?”
Mshauri went to the Prophetess’ side to guide her and they started up the hill.
“Hey!” Nahoda was standing in the same place, staring at her left rear hoof in shock. Mshauri started to giggle.
“What is it now?” The Prophetess sighed.
Mshauri spoke. “We see a root or tendril has come up through the ground and wrapped itself around Nahoda’s hoof. She is stuck fast.”
The Prophetess laughed as well. “What is happening and why is it so funny?” Nahoda frowned as she pulled, but to no avail.
“It appears that Nafasi Nyingine was looking for a crewmember today, after all!” Mshauri sniggered, trying to stop herself from laughing.
The Prophetess tried to catch her breath. “Just not a volunteer!” The two of them continued to laugh while Nahoda stared at them, open mouthed. “Very well, we will explain up in the House. Mshauri, please go fetch Jelani and Kichaka. She must free our newest crewmember.”
“Who, me?” Nahoda reared, trying to free herself. “I cannot be on the crew! I have responsibilities! I am in charge of all the logging operations, remember? And I am old! Well, oldish.”
The Prophetess walked to the sound of Nahoda’s voice. “Calm down, child. You are not old. I am old. You are just experienced, and that is just the thing this crew needs, an experienced leader.”
“What? The leader? Me? Prophetess, I do not know anything about flying a treeship!”
“Good, nobody else knows anything about flying a treeship either. You all have something in common!” The Prophetess grinned.
“But we cannot even deliver the boards for the scaffolding! I have to come up with something! How will you get the scaffolding built without the lumber you ordered?”
The Prophetess shrugged. “It sounds like something the Commander will have to figure out.”
Nahoda tried to speak, but no sound could come out. She just gaped at the Prophetess in utter astonishment.
Mshauri came running up, with Kichaka close behind. “Jelani was off on a run! Kichaka, could you please free Nahoda?”
The petite Amu mare smiled and covered her mouth with her hoof. “I think I see the root of the problem.”
“Everybody is laughing, but nothing is funny!” Nahoda frowned. “Are you going to cut it off?”
Kichaka gasped. “Cut a root? On my Nafasi? The very idea! I would cut off your hoof first.” Nahoda flinched in alarm, but Kichaka did not pull out her pruning hook as she knelt, instead stroking the root gently. “Now, now, she did not mean it. She does not know. Could you let her go please? She will stay with us.”
“You are talking to a root.”
“Shush.” Kichaka continued to run her hoof along the root. “Just relax, Nafasi.”
Nahoda gasped as the root unwound itself from her ankle, then stepped away as Kichaka cooed sweetly until the root buried itself back in the ground. The pretty alchemist stood up and smiled at Nahoda. “Welcome to the crew. My name is Kichaka.”
“How did you — oh, never mind. I am Nahoda, but I cannot be a member of the crew. I have important responsibilities.”
The Prophetess tsked and cleared her throat. “Yes, you do have important responsibilities. More important than logging operations. You are going to lead an expedition to save all of zebrakind.”
“But Wajanja —“
Mshauri interrupted “ — will be honored beyond words that Nafasi Nyingine chose a Fundi to command the crew.”
“At least you can still speak to your parents!” Kichaka frowned angrily. “I am dead to them now, as is Jelani to his! Nafasi picked you! What are you afraid of? Dying? Failure? If we fail, we are all going to die; is that not right, Prophetess?” Nahoda stared at her, baffled.
“Kichaka my dear, even if you succeed and deliver us to paradise, we are all going to die. It is just a question of how and when.”
Mshauri was growing cross as well. “I would prefer to die of old age, in bed, with a full belly, and that is not going to happen if this expedition fails.”
Nahoda shouted, “Enough!”
The three mares backed off a step and the workers up in the scaffolding stopped what they were doing, turning their heads to pay attention.
“I want this expedition to succeed. I truly do. I will work my tail off to get you the materials you have contracted for. I will pray for your success with every fiber of my being. But I will not climb aboard a tree and fly off the edge of the island! I will not!” She shuddered. “Over the ocean! Those things down there! I — I cannot!” She fell down on her belly, shaking, and pale. “Please!”
The Prophetess knelt in the dust next to Nahoda and took her head in her forelegs, stroking her mane and whispering to her. Mshauri was silent, and looked down at her hooves, shamefaced. Kichaka turned back to the workers who were staring and glared at them. They returned to their labors, quietly, while Nahoda sobbed softly.
Jelani came running up, lathered from his morning exercise. “Hey Kichaka! I heard we have a new crew member! Where —” She punched him in the shoulder with a hoof, then put it to her lips, shushing his protests.
The Prophetess stood, reaching her hoof to raise Nahoda up. “You must be strong, my daughter. It will be many moons before the ship will fly. You will learn to master your fears.” They walked along slowly, the others following. Nahoda’s eyes were red from crying and she was sniffling. “There is no shame in fearing the edge. One zebra in four has this fear. It is likely that you will not be the only crew member who cannot bear to look over the edge of the island.”
“Why me though? Why did the tree wrap a root around me?” Nahoda wasn’t whining; she sounded more bewildered than anything. “And why does that mean I, of all zebras, should be the Commander?”
The Prophetess shrugged as she trudged up the hill. “It appears the treeship is picking favorites, and all three favorites chosen so far have been vipawa, yourself included. I do not think that coincidental. And as to why you have been chosen to be the Commander, let us just say that the spirits spoke to me.”
The reached the portico that surrounded the building. “Do they truly speak to you?” Nahoda sounded skeptical.
The ancient blind mare smiled broadly at some private joke. “That is a question I have often asked myself, but who is to say? It is what I think would be wise, and I do have a reputation for wisdom.” She patted the alama on her flank. “Perhaps that wisdom comes from the spirits.”
Nahoda nodded. “Ntontan. Better not get too close, Prophetess, or the ship will snare you as well.” Maoni the Prophetess stopped, her mouth hanging open. Nahoda felt her heart in her throat; she had gone too far. “I am so sorry, Proph—”
“Ha ha ha! Yes! Indeed!” Maoni laughed, her cheeks bright as cherries. “Imagine me trying to get up the side of a treeship on a vine! Ha!” She reached out and thumped Nahoda on the back. “You are right! I will keep my distance!”
Nahoda exhaled in relief. “But you know, Prophetess, it may be a good idea for us to ask for the tribes to send their vipawa, walk them by Nafasi and see if the ship picks any of them as well.”
Now it was Mshauri’s turn to stop and gape at her. “That is brilliant! Why did I not think of that?” Her hoof shot to her forehead. “We can have a ceremony of some kind, call it a— a—”
“A kuchagua; a choosing.” Maoni nodded. “Yes, yes. No doubt, many hundreds who do not bear an alama would also like to take part, given the crowd that showed up based on just a rumor. And who knows? Maybe Nafasi would choose from them as well, though it has shown no interest in any of the other guards or workers.”
“She, Prophetess.” All faces turned toward Kichaka as they entered the great hall. “Nafasi is a she, remember?”
Jelani looked skeptical. “How do you know this? Did you peek under her leaves?”
All the zebras chuckled as Kichaka swatted the stallion good naturedly. “No, silly. But she is patient, quiet, and discerning. What else could she be but a female? If Nafasi was impulsive, loud, and foolish, I would have a different opinion.” The chuckles turned into belly laughs. Jelani attempted to frown, but in the end, could not stifle his own laughter, and joined in.
“Please, let us sit, have refreshments, and make introductions.” Prophetess Maoni sat upon the largest pile of cushions of those around the table in the middle of the hall, and motioned for Nahoda to sit at her right hand. Kiburudisho, one of the servants, popped his head in from the kitchen, having heard voices, and Mshauri gestured with her hoof. He nodded and in a few minutes came out with a platter balanced on his back, upon which sat fruit drinks in wooden mugs, and several bowls of nuts and dried fruit.
Mshauri took the platter and thanked him, then set about distributing the food and drink while the others took turns greeting Nahoda as they were introduced by the Prophetess.
“Kichaka was the first one selected. She was from the Amu tribe, and trained to be an alchemist. Kichaka has been tending Nafasi since she was little more than a shrub!” The alchemist smiled and nodded.
Nahoda leaned forward, interested. “Why would the treeship need to be tended by an alchemist?”
“Nafasi is a chimera, an agglomerate of tree, vine, perennial and fungus, and her nutritional requirements have to be carefully balanced. Too much acidity would harm the puffballs, too much nitrogen would burn the vines, and too much potash would stunt overall growth. But she would look really pretty with all the clematis in bloom.” Kichaka grinned as everyone chuckled.
Nahoda pursed her lips. “Can you not treat each element of the treeship with separate fertilizers?”
The little Amu shook her head, her braid whipping about. “Nope, all the plants appear to branch off the main trunk. They share a common root system. They did all come from the same seed, after all.”
The older mare shook her head in astonishment. “How is this possible? A thousand year old seed sprouting? It is like something out of a breezy tale.”
The prophetess shrugged. “Who knows? Perhaps you will find actual breezies on your journey.” The others laughed in response. “Believe me, nobody was more skeptical than me at first, but now I would not be surprised if we woke up tomorrow to find Nafasi’s branches festooned with breezies, all playing their little bags of pipes.”
Jelani stared at her, dumbfounded. The rest of the table was silent.
“Alright, I would be surprised.” Prophetess Maoni shrugged and smiled. “But you must admit, we live in an age of wonders.”
“Very well, Prophetess, I accept that.” Nahoda pursed her lips. “And this, of course, is Jelani. Who would not know the champion of the Amu?”
Jelani bowed his head, sadly. “No more. Now I am just Jelani.”
Kichaka gave him a small smile. “There is nothing wrong with that,” she said quietly.
His cheeks colored slightly and he looked down. “You see, Nahoda, we have to leave our tribe to serve on the crew.”
Nahoda looked confused, then Kichaka spoke up. “It is my fault. I overreacted to something and as a result, I was cast out. My parents had to bury me.”
“It was not your fault.” Jelani’s tone was insistent. “You only stopped that fool Tamaa from damaging Nafasi. He could even have killed her in his ignorance and arrogance.” He glowered in the direction of the ship.
“What do you mean, your parents had to bury you?” Nahoda was taken aback.
Mshauri chimed in, “It is the Amu custom. If an Amu were to leave the tribe for any reason, almost always to marry outside the tribe, they are considered dead. They receive funeral rites and no Amu will speak to or recognize them again.” She frowned. “It seems to me a cruel custom.”
“All customs serve a purpose, my child, though it may be that this one’s purpose is past its time.” Prophetess Maoni rubbed at her neck in irritation. “I am truly sorry that this happened to you. And perhaps I should not have suggested that all crew members to join House of Punda, but it seemed the only way to protect Kichaka at the time.”
Nahoda looked thoughtful. “It was wise, Prophetess, if harder on the Amu. If I am to lead this expedition, I do not want there to be any old tribal rivalries brought along. It will be hard enough dealing with personal relationships that might lead to difficulties among the crew.” She looked meaningfully and Kichaka and Jeleani. The mare blushed, but the stallion just looked confused. Mshauri hid a grin behind her hoof.
After they finished eating, Nahoda stood. “Prophetess, shall I return to Wajanja and inform him of the situation?”
“No, Nahoda, I think you should stay here. We will send a messenger to your chief, and ask for your belongings to be sent. You only have one job from now on: you are the Commander. In fact, I think you should send the messenger yourself. Kick things off on the right hoof.”
“What are you saying, Prophetess?” Nahoda looked at her in confusion.
“What I am saying, Commander, is that you are in charge.” Maoni pursed her lips thoughtfully. “You are the leader now. We will help you, and advise you, and until Nafasi launches on her expedition, all the resources of the House of Punda are at your disposal. It is your responsibility to see to it that the ship is ready, the crew is trained, and that the voyage is successful. We have no more important duty than to support you.” She paused, and it was silent around the table. “It is your responsibility to save us, Commander Nahoda. Every zebra alive, and those not yet born.”
The older, slightly pudgy mare with ink stains on her hooves shrank back into the cushions, pale, as she began to truly appreciate the enormity of the power and necessity of the task that had been thrust upon her.
Maoni stood, and the others at the table joined her, looking alarmed and confused, but none more so than Nahoda. “Mshauri, will you summon the House and have them assemble in the courtyard at sunset? Commander, I think it may be good for you to address the House as a body, as you will be leading our coordinated efforts for some time. But if you prefer, I could speak.”
Nahoda looked around at the others. Jelani nodded seriously, Kichaka smiled cautiously, and Mshauri just looked wide eyed and frightened. “Mshauri. It will be alright. I understand why the Prophetess wants this, or at least I think I do. Will the others of the House be as worried as you? Because they cannot possibly be as worried as me right now.” She forced herself to smile. “But it will all work out. It has to. Is that not right, Prophetess?”
“Yes, Commander. It has to. The alternative is unthinkable.” She turned to smile reassuringly at Mshauri. “You shall always be my Eye, but you shall also be the Commander’s eyes, and ears. Keep her informed of what is going on in the House and elsewhere. Everything she needs to know.” “Everything?” Mshauri managed to look even more uncomfortable. “Yes, Prophetess.”
The Prophetess turned her attention back to Nahoda. “So, would you prefer to address the House, or would you rather I do it?”
“Prophetess, I think it is best if we both did. Introduce me, and I will speak. Though I am not sure quite what I will say.”
Maoni chuckled. “We shall work that out together. I may have some suggestions. And if I may, I also suggest sending Kichaka and Jelani to deliver the news to the Fundi. Their words will carry more impact than another messenger might, and they will be back in time for the announcement.”
It was nearly sundown, and torches were burning around the courtyard. Nearly a hundred zebras stood on the packed earth, shadows flickering across their striped faces and bodies as they whispered to one another. In front of them was the dias from which the Prophetess made formal addresses. Upon it stood Maoni, Mshura beside her, and off to the side were Nahoda, Kichaka, and Jelani.
The sound of hooves were heard from the north, and all eyes turned to the track that ran past the House central building. A dozen zebras came trotting into the square; Chief Wajanja, his wife Mti Wakijani, and his advisors. The muttering in the crowd increased when the Prophetess, after consulting with her Eye, motioned for the chief and his wife to join them on the dias.
Wjanja nodded and helped his wife climb the steps while his advisors joined the crowd. He spoke briefly with Nahoda, then Mti Wakinani have her a hug and a kiss on the cheek. The Prophetess was guided to the front of the platform, and the crowd fell silent.
“My friends, I have been your Prophetess from before most of you have been born. And I still am, I am not here to announce a blind foundling has come to take my place, but I do have a very important announcement. Nafasi has chosen a Commander for her crew.” At this the hubbub rose again, but was hushed by a look from Mshura.
“I have communed with the spirits,” the ancient continued, “and have determined that all of the House of Punda shall be at the disposal of Commander Nahoda. We have put all of our resources into the treeship for months now, but the time has come for me to step away from the project and let Nafasi choose she and her crew grow together.”
The Prophetess motioned, and Nahoda walked to the front to stand next to her, the black collar of the House on her neck and a black headdress of short feathers gracing her head and neck. Maoni kissed her on her cheek, then turned to address the crowd again. “I have always made suggestions, and been gratified that you have chosen to follow them. But now I make a very strong recommendation. Until such time as the treeship is launched, I believe it would be best if you all obeyed Commander Nahoda as though she were your chief.” Exclamations of surprise and protest could be heard above the muttering. “Nafasi’s growth and the training of her crew are now the reason for the existence of the House. And as far as the spirits have revealed to me, they always have been. This is the most important event since the First Flight, and we must confront it together. Listen to the Commander, I beg of you!” With that, she backed up and Nahoda stepped forward.
The Fundi mare cleared her throat nervously. There were a lot of zebras out there, but not as many as had been in the crowd at the treeship. “House of Punda!” Her clear voice silenced all the muttering. “I am Nahoda, formerly of the Fundi, but now Commander of the Treeship Nafasi Nyingine.” She paused and took a breath. “I am humbled by the faith that the Prophetess has shown in me! I did not ask for this honor, or this responsibility, but I have been chosen, and I will serve as best I can!”
The crowd was silent, not so much as the whisking of a tail at a fly to disturb it. “I only hope that I prove worthy, though I am certain that with your support, your dedication, and your maximum effort,” she emphasized those last words, “we will be able to launch Nafasi safely. And I believe that her crew will be able to guide her to our new home, where we, and our foals, and their foal’s foals for a hundred generations, will be able to live in peace, and in plenty!”
The crowd was quiet for one heart-stopping instant, then a collective cheer rang out as the zebras drew hope and inspiration from the charismatic vipawa, the cadence of her speaking, her word choice, tone of voice, body position, facial expression, everything conspired to set hearts to racing and hooves to clapping and stomping.
Mshauri watched, amazed, as Nahoda was transformed from a slightly overweight, nervous, middle-aged logging manager, into a tower of strength and confidence. The Commander waited until the cheering had just started to die down before she continued. “I see in your faces a new hope for the future! A dream of a better tomorrow! A proud race of zebras, ready to seek their place in the world for the next thousand years!” Zebras reared and whinnied with approval and excitement. Even Wajanja’s advisers reacted with unbridled enthusiasm. “And I promise you this! Nafasi will find our new home!” She waited until the roar died down to continue. “We will find our new home, or we will die in the attempt! This I vow!”
She has them in the frog of her hoof! Mshauri realized her mouth was hanging open as a hush fell over the crowd at that solemn pronouncement. “But our crew is not yet complete. We need volunteers. Over the next month we will be holding a kuchagua. Any who choose to, may approach during the choosing, and if you are accepted by Nafasi, you will become a member of the crew. And subject to my orders. Spread the word throughout the island that beginning from the next moon, every day at noon, for three hours, any who wish may approach.”
She turned to Wajanja who was looking at her like she was a potentially dangerous, but fascinating animal, rather than someone who had worked for him for years. “Chief, it is important that all vipawa from all the tribes attend the choosing. Would you and the other chiefs agree to send all those with alama to Nafasi?”
He looked at his wife, who nudged him gently. “Um, well. Yes, as far as the Fundi go, I will ensure all vipawa come to the ship in the next moon. I cannot speak for the others, of course. But I will ask them, if that would help.”
Nahoda bowed her head. “Thank you for your aid, Chief. And thank you for being my friend all the time I have known you.” At that, Wajanja brightened and smiled.
She turned back to the crowd. “Tomorrow will be very busy, as will every day until launch! But tonight, be at ease, eat, drink, laugh, and talk. If any wish to approach me with any ideas they have about the voyage or the preparations for it, I will always listen. But tomorrow. For tonight, please, just wish us all well and allow us to enjoy one another’s company. Thank you!”
The crowd applauded and cheered as she backed up and hugged the Prophetess, then she walked down with Mshauri and the crew into the crowd as the younger members of the House brought out plates of food and drinks that had been prepared.
Wajanja leaned over to the Prophetess, and whispered, “What have you done?”
“Me?” The Prophetess smiled. “I noticed potential, and I applied the right pressure to it.”
“When will the ship be ready to launch?” He smiled nervously.
“I know not. Six moons? A year?”
“The sooner the better. I will bend all efforts to ensuring a successful and speedy launch. And I will encourage the other chiefs to do the same.”
The Prophetess looked puzzled. “Well, thank you, but why the hurry all of a sudden?”
He grunted. “We need her off the island before she is named mkuu mkuu.”
The Prophetess laughed. “She would be an excellent Great Chief, would she not?”
“Yes, obviously, but I am not sure that is a good thing, to be quite honest.”
“Think of it, the honor of a Fundi being the first mkuu mkuu in a thousand years!”
“And when they return and carry us to our new home? What if we are not alone there?”
The chief was quiet and thoughtful. “Well then, perhaps we would need a mkuu mkuu after all.”
Maoni nodded and put her hoof to his shoulder. “She is not ambitious. You have nothing to fear. Leading is in her nature, but she never usurped your authority, did she?”
“There are good reasons that she was in charge of logging operations, but I never heard her give a speech before.”
“Is she a good zebra?” the Prophetess asked mildly.
“She is intelligent, direct, efficient, and very hard working, but she is also kind and forgiving. So I would say yes, very much so.”
“Then what is there to fear, chief?”
“Nothing, not really. But I know her. The others do not, and that could make for trouble.”
Now it was Maoni’s turn to be quiet and thoughtful. “Perhaps I will suggest that she limit her public speaking until the ship is close to launch.”
“Perhaps that is a good suggestion.”
“I have another suggestion, chief.”
“Yes Prophetess?”
“Let us stop scheming and go get something to eat.”
He laughed. “Now that is a suggestion I will follow gladly, oh wise one!”
Mshauri shook her head at the throng from her vantage point on the raised platform. Even though only three hundred or so zebras could be presented to Nafasi on any given day, twice that number typically milled about, watching, cheering, booing and betting. Two weeks they’ve been coming, and no choosings. I wonder if this is—
A whoop from the crowd interrupted her thoughts, and Mshauri immediately ran to the front of the platform. A young, gangly Fundi stallion was staring in shock as tendrils wrapped around his forelegs. The mare beside him was jumping up and down in excitement. “Mwoga! You have been chosen!”
Mwoga shook his head in disbelief. “Why!? I can’t do anything! I am just a woodworker, and to be honest, not a very good one. Why would Nafasi choose me?”
Mshauri walked down from the platform, and after having Kichaka sent for, went to greet the newest crewmember. He was hugging his filly friend, giving Mshauri a clear view of his blank flank. Interesting!
She greeted him, reassured him that it wasn’t some kind of mistake, explained to the couple that while he would be very busy with training, they could still see each other during his free time, and made arrangements for collecting his belongings. Kichaka showed up to whisper to the vines, and by the time he was free, Nahoda had arrived and walked him back up to the House hall. Mshauri returned to her seat on the platform, and listened as the bettors grumbled and cursed, except for a few who were jubilant, and purses containing the small colored stones, pesa, used as currency, were exchanged.
Several hours passed uneventfully, and Mshauri was nodding off, when another roar erupted from the crowd. She came to full wakefulness to see an Amu stallion, a rather rough, shabby looking specimen, also without an alama. There was a single tendril wrapped around his hoof. An Amu? While there had been several Amu vipawa who approached the ship to present themselves, reluctantly, and there were certainly many Amu in the gawking crowd, very few had taken the risk of volunteering for what was, after all, death in the eyes of their family.
The mummerings of the crowd were somewhat darker as well. Several of the Amu apparently knew this zebra, and did not like him. She walked down to greet him, and noticed that the look on his face was one of relief rather than bewilderment or resignation.
“Welcome to the crew! I am Mshauri, who are you?”
He bowed his head diffidently. “Kudanganya, miss Mshauri.” Up close, she could see that his coat was marked with the scars of many nips and kicks, and one of his ears was notched, twice. A criminal?
“So, Kudanganya, what do you do?”
“Oh, I’m a brewer, miss.” He smiled, showing several chipped teeth.
“And a bit of a brawler?” She raised an eyebrow at his crude use of a contraction.
“Well miss, I ain’t one to run away from no fight.” He shook his hoof to where the vine was wrapped. “Maybe the ship here feels it needs a brawler.”
“Maybe,” she conceded. “The fact that you are going to be considered dead does not bother you?”
He shrugged. “Ain’t been much of a life up until now.”
Kichaka came trotting up, smiling. “Another one? Wait, is that Kudanganya?”
“Hello, Miss Kichaka! I heard you nearly gutted that arse Tamaa!” A gapped-toothed grin split his face.
“Well, ah, it would not have come to that.”
“Shame. There’s some folk who could use a guttin’ and he’s a one.”
Mshauri and Kichaka shared a look and a small smile. The Eye of the Prophetess cleared her throat. “Perhaps, but in the House, we prefer non-fatal sorts of dispute resolution to disembowelment.”
“That one don’t, miss. He’s a cold-hearted bastard through and through. He never forgets an insult. I’d be careful, were I you, Miss Kichaka. Dead or not.”
With that, an Amu warrior pushed his way out of the crowd. He ignored Kichaka and scowled at Mshauri. “Eye, this brewer is wanted for theft! He was seen taking a sack of reagents from the guild stores! I insist that you give him up to us.”
“What is your name?” Out of the corner of her eye, Mshauri noticed that Kichaka was staring at Kudanganya’s hoof in puzzlement.
“Askari, oh Eye.” The warrior eyed Kudanganya with righteous indignation. “We tracked him here from the brewery where we found the chemicals. He must have come here to lose us in the crowd. Doubtless one of his associates informed him that we were coming.”
“I just took back what was mine!” The brewer’s face twisted with anger. “The guild has been shorting all the brewers on purchases of calcium and mannitol, but there’s no point in complaining about it, is there?!”
“Then tell that to the judge!” retorted Askari.
“Tamaa’s brother, Fisadi?” Kundanganya roller his eyes. “I might as well throw myself off the edge.” He waggled his double notched ear at the soldier.
Kichaka spoke up. “Besides, Nafasi is not letting him go.” If Askari heard, he have no indication. “Perhaps she knows what kind of justice you have in store for him.” The trooper did not react to her.
Mshauri’s face darkened. “Did you not hear the alchemist speak?”
“Oh Eye, the Amu do not listen to the whisperings of the dead. Give me Kundanganya now, or there will be trouble.” A ghost of a smile flitted across Askari’s face.
Jelani came trotting up the lane. “A new crewmember?” He stopped when he saw Askari and Mshuri glowering at each other. “Is everything alright?”
“Yes, Jelani.” Now, a wicked grin creased Mshuri’s face. “Begone, Askari, lest I summon a ghost to knock you on your arrogant flank!”
Askari’s eyes widened, and he couldn’t help but glance at the looming, grinning Jelani, who walked to stand next to Mshauri. “Oh please, please make trouble, Askari. I have not given anyone a truly sound thrashing since I died!”
The Amu warrior backed up. “This is not over!” Then he turned and pushed his way back through the crowd, and once through it, broke into a canter down the path to the gate of the palisade.
Mshauri smiled at Jelani. “That was fun! But we shall have to be more careful from now on. We must speak with Nahoda about increasing security. Kichaka, what is taking so long?”
She shrugged. “It appears that I shall have to fetch some solvent. Our newest crewmember appears to have trod in some rather sticky sap and Nafasi’s vine is stuck fast to it. Quite a coincidence that she grasped him exactly at that spot.”
Jelani chuckled while Kundanganya became fascinated with a peculiar cloud formation.
Another week passed, during which three more zebras were chosen. A Vumba vipawa, an expert miner named Wamemaliza, kept cracking jokes the entire time. A Fundi healer named Mbaya, who had no alama, didn’t laugh at a single one. It seems her medical studies had included an excision of her sense of humor. And Mwathirika was a vetern warrior of the Vumba who seemed rather confused by everything. He had no alama, and was one of the fastest runners anyone had ever seen.
It was the last week of the choosing, and another Amu without an alama stepped forward for selection. Nafasi caressed the middle-aged mare with vines and she grinned from ear to ear.
Mshauri didn’t see any guards in hot pursuit. “Welcome to the crew. What is your name?”
“I am Msaliti, and I am a cook.” The cheerful Amu chuckled good naturedly.
“Do you mind if I ask why you volunteered?” Mshauri was genuinely curious. “It’s going to be wonderful to have a proper cook aboard, but what about your family?”
“I never married, and my parents are gone now. And now I’ll get to be the first cook in the new land, with new ingredients. I could discover a whole new zebra cuisine!”
Mshauri was taken aback. “I never thought about that! Well, thank you for volunteering, and we’ll get you processed into the crew as soon as Kichaka gets here to disentangle you.”
As soon as she was released, she asked to return to her home to collect her pots and pans, spices, and recipe scrolls. “I’ll be back tonight.”
She wasn’t back until the next morning, with her cart full of cooking supplies. She seemed far less enthusiastic.
“What happened? Yesterday you were so excited!” Mshauri was perplexed by this change in attitude.
“Oh, well, I guess I really had not considered everything I would be leaving behind.” There was deep sadness in her words.
“But you said you didn’t have any family!”
Msaliti was quiet for a moment, looking pensively at the ground, then quietly said, “I still have friends. Now Msaliti is dead to them.” She looked up, shame and guilt written on her face. “I did not realize how they would mourn, and now I feel very selfish.”
Mshauri comforted the cook, and she wept quietly into her shoulder.
It was the last day of the choosing, and the crew was at ten. Nahoda suggested the entire crew should attend the final day, and the crowd was the largest it had ever been, almost a thousand zebras.
“Now, before we start the final day of presentations, I would just like to thank everyone who volunteered for service. We will still need help with provisioning, and with training, and we will be asking for your assistance in the future.” Nahoda’s measured, clear tones held the attention of the audience as she paused.
She cleared her throat and was about to continue when a cry of “Cheat!” rang out from the crowd. A scuffle broke out in the middle of the mass of zebras as chaos ensued. A cloud of dust roiled up, and out of it rolled a long limbed, good looking young Fundi, being throttled by a thick-limbed Amu warrior.
“You cannot roll,” shouted the Amu, punching, “five sixes, three times in a row!” The Amu reared back and shouted, “Cheat!” then bucked the hapless Fundi in the chest, rolling him backwards towards the treeship. In between him and the ship stood a petite, lovely Vumba, who must have been a nightflyer.
As good as her reflexes were, she simply could not dodge the somersaulting Fundi, who became entangled with her, carrying him with her to the mass of vines.
The vines immediately reacted to cushion their fall, wrapping the two of them up together tightly, and lifting them away from the rampaging Amu, who cursed the young Fundi. “Damn you, Jumaane, you will not get away this easily!”
The crowd started laughing and cheering, chanting “Chosen! Chosen!” as had become the custom.
The Vumba beauty came to her senses and looked up, face to face with the dashing Jumaane. “Oh no! Oh no no no no!”
“Nuru! My love! We meet again!” An enthusiastic grin split his face in two. “I knew it was our destiny!”
“Not this idiot!” Nuru turned her head towards Nahoda. “If he flies with us, we are all going to die from his stupidity!”
“Oh please Nuru, nobody has died from my stupidity yet.” He crossed his eyes, looking at the rest of the crew, causing a chorus of giggles at the absurdity of the scene.
“Ah, I take it you two know each other?” Nahoda was controlling her laughter, but could not help but grin at the pair. “It appears that Nafasi wants you to get to know each other better.” At that, the crew and the crowd broke out in open laughter, Jumaane nodded enthusiastically, and Nuru turned beet red with outrage.
“Unite me from this buffoon!” she screamed, “or I will bite him!”
“I will turn my head, and you can start with my ear if you like.” Jumaane winked saucily, turning his head as their audience, crew included, whistled and whooped.
She craned her neck to speak quietly into his ear. “I hate you.” Her tone was cold and serious.
Jumaane’s face fell, and he took on an ashen cast. “Nuru, you said that like you mean it.”
“I do mean it. You are undisciplined, foolish, lazy, weak-willed, and careless. You have the Grootslang’s own luck, so you will be fine. You will probably find a hidden cave filled with ancient treasures on the island, but you will get the rest of us killed with your idiocy. Do us all a favor, and do not accept the choosing.” Her voice was icy, and Jumaane found he could not look at her. A tear formed in the corner of his eye.
The crowd had gone dead silent. Nobody else had heard what was said, but they could tell from the faces that the fun was over.
Nahoda looked at Kichaka with some apprehension. “Would you have Nafasi release them?”
Kichaka cooed sweetly to the tree, and the vines carried the pair to the platform to deposit them before the Commander. It unwound from them, but lingered, touching both of them. The blooms on the clematis vines seemed to droop, and a few petals fluttered to the boards. Is Nafasi… sad? Nahoda assumed a stern expression. “Welcome to the crew. I don’t know what sort of history you two have, but whatever it is, you are going to have to work together.”
Nuru’s eyes narrowed. “I am a professional, Commander Nahoda.”
Jumaane looked utterly heartbroken, and it was all Nahoda could do not to hug him. They are both so young!
The Fundi warrior looked down and scraped his hoof on the platform, and his voice was very small. “I must decline this honor. Nuru is right. I am reckless. I would endanger the ship and the crew.” He turned to look at Nuru with deep sorrow, then turned to head down the platform.
“You don’t have that option.” Jumaane stopped and turned, shocked, as Nuru bristled defiantly.
“You don’t know him like I do, Commander. It is for the best.”
Nahoda rounded angrily on Nuru. “I do not believe I asked you for your opinion!” She projected as she spoke, and the effect was not lost on the tiny Vumba. Her eyes widened and she found herself standing rigidly, her mouth shut.
“And you!” Nahoda continued in her command voice, addressing Jumaane. “You are going to have to learn some discipline! And you will, I promise you, if it kills both of us. Understand?”
Jumaane glanced over at Nuru. “Yes, Commander!”
“You are both my responsibility now, along with the rest of the crew, the tree ship, the mission, and, might I add, the future of all zebrakind! So I have neither the time, nor the patience to deal with your teenage drama! You will sort things out, and your personal problems will not affect the efficient functioning of this crew! Do you both understand?”
“Yes Commander!” shouted both Nuru and Jumaane in unison.
“Good! Now go join the rest of the crew and we will talk later.” She frowned fiercely, then turned away to take her seat on the platform. Nuru and Jumaaane glanced at each other, shamefaced, and slunk across the platform to the rest of the crew, who were standing silently.
It was very quiet. The crowd had gone silent as well. Nahoda looked up in annoyance. “The show is over! Go back to betting or playing dice or whatever it is you were doing!”
Nahoda didn’t notice the crew looking at her with awe, which they all did, except for Jelani. Jelani was only looking at Nuru. She glanced up as she walked past him, and something that might have been shame crossed her face. His face was like stone, but nobody else saw.
The Fundi woodworker stepped out from the group. “Hello! I am Mwoga, and I have no idea what I am doing here.” He went up to Jumaane and bumped into his shoulder, smiling.
The crestfallen young stallion managed a weak grin. “In case you didn’t hear, I am Jumaane. Nice to meet you.”
As Mwoga turned to greet Nuru, Wamemaliza cheerfully stepped in between them. “Hi Nuru! I am Wamemaliza, but everyone calls me Liz!” Nuru responded with nod. “I am a miner! Maybe you can teach me to fly, because you never know when a miner might find herself in mid-air!”
Nuru pursed her lips thoughtfully. “I think it would be difficult to work in the mines with kuruka uyoga strapped to your waist.”
“I was kidding. Hey, why can’t anyone see a nightbird?” Before Nuru could respond, Liz grinned, pointed her hoof upward and said, “Because they’re always in de skies!” Then she looked around as a half dozen zebras groaned.
“Was that a joke?” Nuru lowered one eyebrow dangerously.
“Of course it was! Could you not hear the groaning?” Liz smiled brightly.
“Never do that again.” Nuru turned to walk away, but Liz interposed herself again. She was also small, being a Vumba, but more muscular and taller than the diminutive Nuru.
“Even though you are not a lot of fun, I will do you a favor. I will give that Jumaane something to think about other than you. He is cute!” She peeked over Nuru’s shoulder and waved at the you warrior, who smiled faintly and waved back. “That alright with you?”
Nuru rolled her eyes. “He is all yours,” then walked to stand next to a dour looking Fundi mare who glared at both Jumaane and Liz.
“You are right about that Jumaane. He is the single most useless stallion to ever curse Punda with his presence.” She turned her stony gaze to Nuru. “My name is Mbaya, and I am the healer. I’ll probably be splinting broken bones within a week because of that foal.”
Nuru smiled. “Finally, a sensible zebra! Well met. How do you know Jumaane? Did you date him?”
“Oh, stars, no! The chief’s son?” Chief’s son? “He is far too high and mighty for the likes of me. He even refused his betrothal to Uzuri, and her family owns the pulp mill, and she is, of course, a great beauty. Poor filly, she was heartbroken ever since he came back from the False War and broke it off with her.”
“Wait, just a second.” Nuru spluttered. “The son of Wajanja broke off his engagement to a rich, beautiful Fundi because of his infatuation with a Vumba he only knows because they met in battle?”
“So you are the homewrecker?” Mbaya leveled a hairy eyeball at her.
“Not by choice! I cannot stand his arrogant stupidity! I assure you, I did all I could to put him off. I even knocked him unconscious,” Nuru snarled back.
Mbaya nodded and shrugged. “Not your fault, but given what I have been told, that would only have encouraged him.”
They both looked at him and at the same time said, “What an idiot!” But on Nuru’s face, there was the faintest hint of a flush, and perhaps the outline of a smile.
The crew continued to get to know one another as the day wore on. Jumaane, Mwoga and Liz formed a trio that set about the task of reviving the young stallion’s flagging spirits with jests and boasts. Nuru, Mbaya and Mwathirika formed a counter-troika, the veteran Vumba warrior telling them stories of battles past that Nuru found at least palatable, if not fascinating, while the medico kept a disapproving eye out for anyone having fun.
Kichaka and Jelani stood next to where Nahoda was sitting, making small talk, while Msaliti and Kudanganya more or less kept to themselves. The brewer had an air of amusement about him, but the cook, in contrast, appeared miserable.
Kichka noticed Jelani glancing at Nuru, and felt her cheeks heat. “She is very pretty, that night flyer, is she not?”
The huge warrior grunted. “I had not noticed.”
The alchemist snorted derisively. “So you cannot help but look at her, because she is so strange looking, like some fascinatingly deformed manioc root?”
“No. I cannot help but look at her because—” He stopped in mid-sentence. “No, it is dishonorable, how I feel now. I would shame myself if I gave voice to it.”
“Jeje?” Kichaka was confused, and concerned. “What is it? What has upset you so? I will not tell anyone.”
At that he smiled. “Jeje? What am I, a pet? Shall I call you Kiki?”
Her smiled sparkled in the setting sun. “Yes. Jeje and Kiki, and we will be so cute that everyone will vomit.”
He grinned and chuckled, then a shadow passed in front of his face and he stopped. He took one foreleg, placed it on her neck and hugged her to him, gently. “Later, when we are alone, I will explain. But I fear I may become emotional.”
Her nostrils flared slightly as she looked into his eyes. “You can become emotional with me, Jelani.”
“They are not good emotions.” The Amu frowned darkly, glancing once more at Nuru.
“You stop looking at her, or I will show you some emotions like you never saw.”
Jelani turned back to her and smiled. “That could be interesting. It really has been a while since I have been in a good fight.” She bunched up her mouth and kicked him in the shin, causing him to hop, laughing. “Alright, I surrender!”
Nahoda cleared her throat and spoke quietly from where she was sitting. “If you two could avoid mating on the review platform, I would truly appreciate it.” They both blushed and mumbled apologies.
The Commander smiled, covering it with her hoof. I like these two; they are truly a delightful couple. But I will have to give them a talking to; this is a mission of exploration, and Nafasi is a tree ship, not a nursery. And there is no House in the sky in which to leave one’s little mistakes.
She sighed then, thinking of when she was young and in love, and the shame and deception that followed. Who is it? A mare, almost twenty by now. She took after Siri, so she would be tall, long-boned. The thought of her lost lumberjack darkened her thoughts. They call trees like those widowmakers, but we never even got a chance to get married.
The sun was near the edge, and the shadows were long. The number of volunteers presenting themselves to the tree did not diminish, however. “The ceremony could be extended this final night could it not, Mshauri?”
Mshauri nodded. “Certainly, Commander. But I do think in the past week, we have seen quite a few volunteers who passed through a second, and even a third time. And I believe we have presented all the vipawa on the island.”
“Well then, perhaps I should wrap—”
There was a disturbance in the crowd. Someone was pushing through it, shouting.
“Out of my way, make room for me! Or else a curse I will lay on thee!”
Zebras recoiled and fell back, revealing a white pony with red eyes, stalking arrogantly towards Nafasi. Nahoda stood and stared. Not a pony; an albino! He was thin and light boned, almost sickly looking, and he glared at the zebras who scrambled from his path, as they made signs against the evil eye.
The creature stopped, and turned his baleful gaze on the platform, addressing Nahoda.
“Nahoda, I come, for I had a vision, to find Nafasi, and join your mission!”
“Why are you rhyming?” Nahoda looked at the albino in confusion. “And vision does not really rhyme with mission, does it?”
The visionary was taken aback, seeming to need a moment to compose his thoughts. “A shaman, am I! And to rhyme, I, um, try.” He finished this line weakly, then glared at Nahoda.
Nuru came running over. “Commander, that is a Vumba named Kamili. He is no shaman! His mother raised him in a cave because of his coloration. He is nothing but a fraud who makes his way in life selling fake cures and threatening curses!”
Nahoda nodded. “Thank you, Nuru. Kamili!” she called out. “Get in line with the rest and wait your turn!”
“My vision was clear, and it should be heeded! To fly your treeship, a pilot is needed. At sunset a shaman to you shall come; when last light fades, the choosing is done!”
“I am planning on extending it to midnight. Get in line. There will be time for you, but those zebras have been waiting for hours.”
Kamili snorted in frustration, lowered his head and charged at the line. “Block my path, and face the spirit’s wrath!”
The superstitious in the line made way for him and he broke through while Nahoda called for the guards to stop him. Heedless, he plunged towards Nafasi, two House guards angrily following him.
He was caught up by vines that entwined around his limbs and lifted him up away from his pursuers. The crowd gasped as Nuru groaned, “Oh no! Not him too!”
“It worked? It worked!” Kamili was astonished as the vines lifted him higher and higher. “See? Do all of you see?! Um, I mean, Kamili a shaman was meant to be, and a shaman is nothing without his tree! Ha ha ha ha! Urk!”
The vines turned and dangled him upside down, holding him by one rear leg, about ten yards in the air.
“Ahhh! Help! Ahhh! I don’t want to die!!” The vines started to shake him. “No!!! Argh! Let me go! No!!! Wait!!! Don’t let me go! Put me down!”
The vine stopped shaking him, and two tendrils snaked towards his sides. They started tickling him. “What are you— oh no! No, I am ticklish! Stop! Ha ha ha! Oh, stop it, stop it! Ha ha ha ha!”
The crowd below roared with laughter, as did the crew, except for Mbaya.
“Nafasi! Please! Ha ha ha! Please stop! Please!!”
The tendrils stopped their ministrations, and withdrew. A hush fell over the crowd.
Kichaka stood gape-mouthed, and slightly offended.
The albino tried to crane his neck to see right-side up. “Nafasi, please put me down, carefully.”
The vine lowered him and placed him gently on the platform in front of Nahoda.
“Nafasi, thank you.” Kamili was covered with sweat and shaking as the vine withdrew. He tried and failed to get his legs under him.
Mbaya ran to him and checked his limbs. “No dislocations, no breaks, but you will be disoriented for a while after that. Do you need to vomit?”
“No,” weakly responded Kamili. “I haven’t eaten today, thankfully.” He looked up at Nahoda. “I knew I was a real shaman. I just knew it! Look closely, and you can see my markings in the setting sun.” Then he passed out, lying on the platform, emaciated and exhausted.
Nahoda looked closely, and indeed, in the red light of the setting sun, one could see his stripes, a very faint, pale gray against the white of his coat. And on his flank was emblazoned the entwined limbs of Nyame Dua. “The Tree of Life,” whispered Mshauri in astonishment.
Mbaya knelt next to her patient. “He needs a week of bed rest, fluids, and food. We will start with vegetable broth and work up to solid foods.” She brushed at a leaf that was stuck in his mane, but it resisted her efforts, so she gave up. It didn’t matter. “I will stay with him tonight in case there is a crisis. Commander, can we get him on a stretcher?”
Nahoda nodded, thankful that the physicker had taken charge. “I need two bearers with a stretcher please, Mshauri. Also, I think this does end the kuchagua. Would you be good enough fetch your kora and play some memory songs for the crowd until they break up? I need to see the Prophetess about our shaman.” She turned her attention back to the physician. “What do you need, Mbaya?”
“Fresh linens, a pot of fresh vegetable broth, clean water, and depending on how it goes tonight, chamomile, elder flower, willow bark, and possibly poppy and valerian.” She didn’t turn away from Kamili, watching the rise and fall of his chest. You can count the ribs, thought Nahoda.
“Kichaka, could you go to the herbarium and collect that? And Msaliti, get a broth going in the kitchen right away. Put him in my hut; I won’t be sleeping much tonight anyway, and there is a change of bedclothes in the chest at the bottom of the bed..” The two trotted off to perform their tasks, and Nahoda continued, “Is that everything?”
“Everything for now. If I need you, where will you be, Commander?”
“With the Prophetess. We have not had a shaman among us for hundreds of years. We shall have much to discuss.”
“Too bad he is such a mshindwi.” Mbaya frowned at the supine figure.
“It seems as though he has had a hard life. Perhaps we should not judge him too harshly.” Nahoda turned to see two House servants trotting up with a stretcher between them, attached to straps that were belted around the girth of their barrels, so the cloth and pole frame would be stable. “Jelani, would you?”
The huge warrior picked up the shaman as though he were a small child and placed him gently on the stretcher.
“Thank you. Please go with them to help move him when you get to my hut.” Jelani nodded and went with Mbaya and the stretcher bearers. Nahoda looked and saw Mshauri returning, with her kora, a long double-bridged lute, strapped to her back. The Commander turned, went to the front of the platform, and addressed the crowd. “Thank you all for coming! The kuchagua is finished! Tonight, we have seen wonders that you will tell your grandfoals about, and you will tell them in the new land!”
A cheer went up from the crowd, mixed with murmurs of disappointment from those who had not yet had a chance to present themselves.
“Be not downhearted, good volunteers! You may still come to present yourselves, but only during visiting hours, when the crew is not training and Nafasi is not being tended. And in any case, we will all ride the treeship some day!” The crowd applauded and cheered again.
“Now, please listen and be entertained as Mshauri sings us a memory song for tonight. She is very talented, and if you work hard, you can all learn the song together!” The assembly was starting to break up, with several hundred zebras turning to return home in the dusk before it got fully dark, but there were still over three hundred who stayed to listen to the music.
The Eye tuned her instrument adroitly, and strummed as the crowd fell silent. Her clear, bright voice sang a lilting melody.
A choosing for Nafasi’s crew. A ship to soar to lands anew.
The first she chose, Kichaka bold, offended those who power hold.
Jelani then next spoken for, a champion and warrior!
Nahoda wished she could listen to the whole song, but she did need to see the Prophetess about this shaman business. I knew we were supposed to need a shaman, but I did not realize we would actually get one! How does one manage a shaman, and a morally challenged one at that?
She was interrupted in her thoughts by a roar from the remaining crowd. “Chosen! Chosen!”
She whirled and nearly galloped back up the platform, running to the front to look where someone from the crowd must have made one last, desperate attempt at presentation, and been accepted. But it was clear in front of the ship.
She turned and saw Mshauri, holding her kora. Picks were on her hoof cuff, and wrapped around it, Nahoda saw the green tendrils of Nafasi gently winding, as though encouraging her to play. Her face was a mask of shock and horror.
