Abengoni Read online

  Abengoni

  First Calling

  A Novel By

  Charles R. Saunders

  MVmedia

  Fayetteville, Georgia

  Copyright © 2014

  MVmedia, LLC

  Published 2014

  All Rights Reserved.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Abengoni: First Calling

  First Edition

  Dedicated to: Milton, Vickie, Brandon and Alana Davis—My Sword-and-Soul Family

  PART ONE

  CHAPTER ONE

  1

  2

  3

  CHAPTER TWO

  1

  2

  3

  CHAPTER THREE

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  CHAPTER FOUR

  1

  2

  3

  CHAPTER FIVE

  1

  2

  3

  CHAPTER SIX

  1

  2

  3

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  1

  2

  3

  4

  CHAPTER TEN

  1

  2

  3

  3

  4

  PART TWO | RETRIBUTION TIME

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  1

  2

  3

  4

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  1

  2

  3

  4

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  1

  2

  3

  4

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  1

  2

  3

  4

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  1

  2

  3

  4

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  1

  2

  3

  4

  PART THREE | CITY OF BELIEVERS

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  1

  2

  3

  4

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  1

  2

  4

  4

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  1

  2

  3

  4

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE@

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  1

  2

  3

  4

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  EPILOGUE

  APPENDIX | CHARACTERS

  RACES AND ETHNICITIES

  DEITIES AND OTHER SUPERNATURALS | Ateti, a Jagasti, known to the Matile as the Goddess of lakes and rivers. | Akpema, a Jagasti, known to the Matile as the God of the sun. | Alamak, a Jagasti, known to the Matile as the Goddess of the stars.

  Halasha, a Jagasti, known to the Matile as the God of iron, the blacksmith’s craft, and war. | Legaba, a Jagasti, known to the Matile as the God of the Underworld.

  Nama-kwah, a Jagasti, known to the Matile as the Goddess of the Sea.

  Adwe, a world-spanning serpent that imprisoned the ancient ancestors of the people of Abengoni.

  PLACES | Abengoni, a vast, tropical continent separated from most of the rest of the known world by huge expanses of ocean, including the Sea of Storms. | Matile Mala Empire, in times past, the mightiest polity ever known on Abengoni. Now reduced through war and catastrophe to a remnant clinging to its last stronghold on the shores of the Sea of Storms. | Khambawe, the Jewel City, capital of the Matile Mala Empire.

  Uloa Islands, also called The Shattered Isles, an archipelago located to the northwest of the continent of Abengoni.

  GLOSSARY

  This story is a work of fiction. Any references to real events, persons and locales are intended only to give the fiction a sense of reality and authenticity. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental.

  ISBN Number: 978-0-9960167-0-4

  Cover art by Julie Dillon

  Cover Design by Uraeus

  Layout/Design by Uraeus

  Edited by

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  First Edition

  ANOTHER CALLING

  Generally speaking, there are two major types of fantasy fiction: heroic and epic. Heroic fantasy – also known as “sword and sorcery” – focuses on the exploits of a single, larger-than-life character. The literary archetype for heroic fantasy is Conan the Barbarian, created back in the 1930s by the late Robert E. Howard. Epic – also referred to as “high” (but not on drugs) fantasy – paints on a broader canvas, with numerous characters interacting in multiple storylines. J.R.R. Tolkein’s Lord of the Rings trilogy is the ur-text of modern epic fantasy, and George R.R. Martin’s Game of Thrones saga is its present-day exemplar.

  When I began writing my stories in the early 1970s about Imaro, a black warrior whose adventures take place in an alternate-world Africa I call Nyumbani, I was enthusiastically following in the footsteps of Howard. His fiction captivated me when I was a young man, and I consciously wrote the Imaro tales in the tradition he established. Lord of the Rings was another influence, but it took a while for me to develop a set of storylines that would fit into a broader fictional scope. Indeed, more than 20 years would pass between the creation of the “Howardian” Imaro and the conception of a subsequent, “Tolkeinian” series.

  At that time, another alternate vision of Africa sprang from the depths of my imagination. The name for this new other-Africa was Abengoni. And instead of the travails and triumphs of one central character, as in Imaro, the Abengoni saga would involve a broad spectrum of contact between two cultures – one black, one white. First Calling is the initial volume of that saga.

  It’s not just the content of these two creations that is different, however. Imaro was born not solely from my enjoyment of heroic-fantasy fiction, but also from dissatisfaction. My love of the genre was tempered by discomfort with the racist depictions of black people and Africa that were found far too often in its stories. I wanted to promote positive portrayals of blacks, and present mythic and folkloric visions of Africa that would counter the “jungle stories” stereotypes. I wanted to show that African mythology, cul
ture and history were as valid as the Celtic and other European traditions on which much of modern fantasy is based. To the extent that whites were depicted at all in Imaro’s milieu of Nyumbani, they were foes, not friends.

  For Abengoni, a different creative drumbeat thrummed in my mind. What if there were another Earth in which people from parallel versions of Europe and Africa encountered each other on an equal basis, rather than fictionally reprising the racism and colonialism that have for centuries wracked the so-called “Dark Continent” of the world we know? What if European and African folkloric traditions could be integrated within the context of an epic fantasy saga, rather than remain at racial loggerheads?

  The Abengoni series is my answer to those questions. It was conceived and written in a spirit of amity rather than anger. Yes, the people of different races within the pages of First Calling are aware of their surface differences, such as skin tone and nose width. They are not color-blind. But they do not attach the suite of negative stereotypes to those differences that have led to the bigotry, discrimination, segregation and apartheid that have plagued our world for far too long. The distorting lens of racism does not exist in Abengoni.

  Wow, what a concept ...

  As I mentioned earlier, Howard and Tolkein were my primary literary influences. But there have been non-literary influences in my work that have been just as strong.

  When I was writing Imaro, I often felt as though I were channeling the spirit of Malcolm X – the spirit of rebellion.

  When I was writing Abengoni, I felt as though I were channeling the spirit of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. – the spirit of reconciliation.

  Both spirits are vital components of my creativity today. My spirit of rebellion has been on display in my work for 40 years, in the Imaro stories and the tales of Dossouye, my black Amazon warrior. In First Calling, the time for reconciliation is here.

  —Charles R. Saunders

  Dedicated to: Milton, Vickie, Brandon and Alana Davis—My Sword-and-Soul Family

  PART ONE

  BEYOND THE STORM

  CHAPTER ONE

  The Shadow of a Ship

  1

  Suspended inside a transparent bubble of air beneath the surface of the harbor of Khambawe, Jewel City of what was once the Matile Mala Empire, Tiyana was visible only as a slender silhouette. On this, the day that marked the First Calling ceremony, Tiyana would serve as the Vessel of the Jagasti who was the Sea Goddess: Nama-kwah, the Dancer-on-the-Waves. Although Tiyana was the daughter of Jass Gebrem, the Leba, the One to Whom All Gods Spoke, at First Calling, her lofty lineage held little meaning compared to the distinction of being the one who would absorb Nama-kwah’s essence and, for only the most fleeting of moments, become the Goddess for those who witnessed the rites.

  Even so, however, Tiyana knew she was nothing more than a substitute for the Jagasti she served. Centuries had passed since Nama-kwah herself had last answered First Calling, the ceremony that expressed the Matile people’s gratitude for the long rains that nourished lands parched by a harsh dry season. The rite had become a vestige of a time in the distant past when Nama-kwah and the other Jagasti were strong and the Matile Mala Empire ruled half of the sea-bounded continent of Abengoni, and dominated the remainder.

  In those long-gone days, Nama-kwah had guided fleets of Matile ships across the wide sea-ways of the world to trade with lands far to the north and east, and in return brought goods-laden vessels from those lands to Matile Mala. Now, the harbor held only fishing boats and a small number of war galleys. The latter were maintained to guard against raids by marauders from the Shattered Isles, home of the Uloans, whose feud with the Matile mainland dated back to ancient times and was ultimately responsible for the downfall of both peoples, and for the withdrawal of the Jagasti to their unreachable Realms.

  Strains of music from the docks that abutted the harbor filtered through the water to Tiyana’s ears. Drumming mimicked the rhythmic roll of the sea; fluting echoed the skirl of sea-birds; sweet singing Called to Nama-kwah without any need for words ... the singing reminded Tiyana of the story of how Etiya’s song had called the Jagasti to save the Matiles’ ancestors from the serpent, Adwe.

  As she listened to the water-muffled music, Tiyana breathed slowly and shallowly, to conserve the limited amount of air allotted to her inside the bubble. Like her father, she possessed the power of ashuma, the once-potent sorcery practiced by the Vessels of the Jagasti. Her command of those skills did not match that of the Leba. However, her ashuma was sufficient to conjure the air-bubble and suspend it in the water until the time came for her to perform the final phase of First Calling.

  Apprehensive thoughts crept into Tiyana’s mind as she gripped the Mask of Nama-kwah tightly in her hands. This would be only her third performance of the ritual. Even so, her previous Callings had been flawless.

  Yet this time, something was wrong.

  During her two earlier Callings, she had sensed Nama-kwah’s presence. She had felt the Goddess reaching to her from the beyond farthest depths of the sea, and heard her voice speaking within her mind. And when Tiyana placed the Mask over her head, she had become Nama-kwah, Dancer on the Waves, a transformation that imbued her with unmatched awe and joy for the brief time it lasted.

  But this time she felt ... nothing. She heard ... nothing. And as she gazed through her bubble at the deep water surrounding her, she saw ... nothing.

  At her other Callings, Nama-kwah’s Children – luminous fish of multifarious shapes, sizes and colors that appeared only during the ceremony – had surrounded her; another blessing from the Goddess. On this day, however, the waters were empty. Even the ordinary fish had vanished. It was as though Nama-kwah and her Children had decided to shun the Calling – and the Matile people as well.

  Where are you, High One?

  Tiyana asked that question in her thoughts time and again. But she received no reply from the goddess. And the longer the silence lasted, the more uncertain she became. The uncertainty grew as it fed upon itself.

  So ominous was the portent that Tiyana was tempted to lift her bubble to the surface and beg her father to halt the ceremony. But that thought passed as quickly as it came. On this day, Jass Gebrem was far beyond being her father. He was the Leba, the highest religious authority in the land. Tiyana knew that a mere absence of fish in the water, Nama-kwah’s Children or otherwise, would be far from an adequate reason to ask him to end First Calling. But it would probably be sufficient to end her service as a Vessel.

  Then the music and singing paused – a cue Tiyana quickly heeded, despite her misgivings. She fitted the Mask carefully over her head, then peered through its eye-slits. And, as she had feared, she felt no answering touch from the Goddess, even though Nama-kwah’s face overlaid her own in a perfect fit. She wore the Mask, but she was still only Tiyana, not the Nama-kwah/Tiyana she had been in the earlier Callings.

  Tiyana had practiced ashuma many times without Nama-kwah, but she had never before performed First Calling in the Goddess’s absence. Now she would have to dance alone before the massed populace of the Jewel City, and others who had come from elsewhere to attend the ceremony ... alone before her fellow Amiyas ... alone before her father.

  And she was afraid.

  But she had no choice. If she were not to appear during the pause in the music ... she did not even want to think about the consequences of such a sacrilege.

  Tiyana uncurled her body, stretching the air-bubble to its limit. Slowly, her ashuma lifted her toward the surface. Empty water swirled past her. Fears filled the empty space where the Goddess should have been.

  Where are you? she asked a final time, hoping against hope to hear an answer from Nama-kwah, to feel even a slight hint of her presence.

  Nothing ....

  2

  Above the surface, sunlight glinted faintly through waves of vapor that shifted in discernible patterns, like a tapestry fashioned in the air. As the mist moved, the Degen Jassi, the glittering aristocracy of Ma
tile Mala, gazed at the surface of the harbor from the section of the docks set aside for them. Seated on a gallery of stone benches polished smooth by the backsides of countless generations of ancestors, the lords and ladies of the Degen Jassi watched, and waited for Tiyana to begin her performance.

  Gossamer wisps of mist swirled and eddied around their sandal-shod feet, and they tightened their brightly-striped mantles, or chammas, against a slight chill soon to be banished by the sun. Color combinations signified rank: only the Emperor, Dardar Alemeyu, could wear the royal black and gold. The chammas draped the men’s tunics and trousers of bleached cotton; and the women’s bodies, for chammas were the only garments Matile women wore, leaving one or both shoulders bare. The men decorated their trousers, called senafil, with strips of shells and beads sewn into the fabric.

  The Emperor sat on a stone seat mounted on a dais that lifted him above the rest of the aristocracy. His white beard framed narrow, ascetic features over which dark skin stretched taut and only lightly wrinkled, despite his age. His hooded eyes stared far into the distance, beyond the place where Tiyana would rise from the water. His head tilted at a slight angle, as though the crown of kingship weighed heavily upon him. Yet Alemeyu’s title of Emperor was more symbolic than real; the present borders of Matile Mala encompassed only a fraction of the territory his people once held across the northern half of Abengoni.

  Dardar Alemeyu’s Empress, Issa, sat at his side. Beneath her crown, her hair was beaded with gold and silver, and her royal chamma was striped like a sunset in crimson, gold, and orange. Although the jewelry looped around her neck and arms had been handed down through countless generations of Empresses, each piece looked as though it had been crafted only the day before the ceremony.

  Decades younger than the Emperor, Issa had only recently taken the place of her barren predecessor, whom Alemeyu had set aside after too many childless years. She, too, had yet to produce an heir to carry on a royal line that counted its years of tenure on the throne in the thousands. Issa was not alone in suspecting the fault lay within the Emperor rather than herself. But she wisely kept that belief to herself.

  If Dardar Alemeyu died childless, the throne would pass to his nephew, Jass Eshana, the Dejezmek, or commander of what remained of the Matile armies. Eshana was the son of the Emperor’s sister. Next in the line of succession was ... Gebrem, his first cousin, the son of Alemeyu’s father’s brother, who had been Leba before him.