PROLOGUE
They say that on the day he was to become a man, he cried and wet himself in fear as soon as the uroko bull charged out of its cage in a blur of fury. They say he fled out of the dusty enclosure while his brave peers stayed to take down the bovine monstrosity with nothing but their bare fists.
Their faces were daubed with white earth, their knuckles wrapped in reedfiber. They wore nothing but loincloths as red as the moon and hide skins hanging over their rears. They were there for glory and for manhood.
And what could be more glorious to a Yerezi man than proving himself worthy of a place among the Ajaha rangers, the truest warriors of his people, whose bones are blessed with the power of their clan mystics? What could be more valorous than prevailing over the dreaded uroko, whose hooves could crush skulls, whose muscles ripple like currents in an oily black river, whose horns glint like sabers in the light of the setting suns? What could be worthier than facing this most perilous test of manhood before an audience of four thousand battle-tested Ajaha, whose rowdy cheers make the air itself tremble with fear?
Surely nothing on earth, but Musalodi ran that day. He ran and never looked back, and they called him a coward, and he believed them.
PART 1
MUSALODI
ILAPARA
THE MAIDSERVANT
Mirror craft—magic of light
Transfiguring the moon’s essence into luminous interference patterns to conjure illusions. Used by illusionists to enchant lamps for illumination.
—excerpt from Kelafelo’s notes
“Aago, are we not part of the Redlands?”
“Of course we are.”
“But we’re not like the other tribes, are we? We shut ourselves in, and we don’t talk to anyone else.”
“There are hyenas out there, my child. When you see hyenas prowling outside your gates, you shut them out so they don’t come in and eat your children.”
1: Musalodi
Khaya-Siningwe—Yerezi Plains
“Maybe we should head back.”
Near a gushing brook in the central lowvelds of the Yerezi Plains, Salo keeps picking his way through a curtain of tall grasses. The binary suns are high points of light in a clear midmorning sky. Two New Year’s Comets have blazed across the heavens since the incident with the uroko bull.
“Did you hear me, Bra Salo?” Monti says as he straggles a few paces behind. “I’m tired, and my aba says there are hyenas this far south of the kraal. What if they find us?”
A rebuke briefly stirs Salo’s tongue, but he suppresses it, reminding himself that Monti is still just a child. Exceedingly wise for his age and annoyingly curious at times, but still a child. His fear is understandable. “That’s why I brought my bow,” Salo says, “and lucky for you, I know how to use it.”
The brook comes into view as they emerge from the grasses. Salo leaps across to the other side and keeps going without waiting to see if Monti follows.
“What if it’s a tronic hyena?” Monti says behind him. “What would you do then?”
“I’m a fast runner.”
“But what about me? I can’t run as fast as you.”
“You brought your bow, too, didn’t you? So you can defend yourself.”
“But what if it’s a whole pack of them?” Monti says. “Or worse, what if a redhawk comes down and sees us?”
Salo keeps walking, his footfalls silent beneath his worn leather sandals. “Then you should have thought of that before you followed me here.”
He left the kraal alone, or so he thought, and by the time he noticed he’d grown a tail in the form of a precocious nine-year-old boy, he’d already gone too far to turn back.
“Please, Bra Salo,” Monti whines. “I want to go home.”
Salo keeps walking.
“Pleeease?”
Salo sighs deeply and finally stops, pushing his copper-rimmed spectacles farther up his nose. He turns around, intending to scold the boy, but the instant he sees his face, a laugh barrels out of his chest.
Monti’s sunset eyes, normally aglow with mischief, blink up at him with betrayal. “What’s so funny?”
“The look on your face,” Salo says. “Next time, don’t follow people around unless you can keep up.”
Monti pouts and looks away. “I thought you’d be hunting for mind stones.”
“Well, not quite,” Salo says. “And you’d have known that had you bothered to ask.”
“You came back with a mind stone last time you went out,” Monti says with a scowl.
“A happy coincidence. I almost literally stumbled across it.”
Deciding he has tormented the boy enough, Salo crouches to bring himself level with Monti’s small frame and places a gentle hand around his nape. “Cheer up, little man. I have a secret I’m about to let you in on, but you have to promise not to tell anyone. Can you do that for me?”
“A secret?” Monti says, his eyes widening a little. “What is it?”
“First you promise; then I’ll show you.”
Monti licks his lips, seeming to weigh his desire to go back home against the prospect of finding out a new secret. Predictably, his curiosity wins out. “I promise.”
Salo gives him a gap-toothed grin and rises back up. “Follow me, then. It’s just over that hill.”
They continue walking south until they crest the hill, then venture into the sun-streaked grove of musuku trees growing on the southward slopes.
They hear it before they see it: first a muffled rustle in the trees, then a high-pitched squeal and a flash of color as the creature pokes its head out of a clump of branches directly ahead. Its reptilian eyes watch them skeptically as they approach, paying special attention to the newcomer, but it must decide he’s harmless, because it eventually slinks down the tree in a sinuous motion, clinging to the bark with its clawed, stocky legs.
Upon seeing it, Monti stops and lets out a gasp of surprise. “Imbulu! Bra Salo, it’s attacking us!”
“No, she’s not,” Salo says. “She’s just coming to greet us.”
The imbulu—a tronic monitor lizard—is as long as a grown man is tall. Its curved little horns shimmer like pure silver; its metallic scales change color depending on the angle of view. As it slowly pads forward, it tastes the air with a forked tongue, swinging its thick tail from side to side.
Monti begins to back away even as it approaches. “I don’t know about this.”
“Relax,” Salo tells him. “She’s friendly.” He moves forward to meet the creature, going down on one knee so he can scratch the ruffled skin beneath its jaw. The imbulu responds by lifting its head to give him better access, which makes him smile. He looks back at Monti over his shoulder. “See? What did I tell you?”
Monti keeps eyeing the lizard suspiciously. “So this is your secret? Is it your pet now?”
“Ha! Can you imagine? A pet imbulu.” Salo shakes his head. “No, I’m just helping her. She was badly injured when I found her, and the mind stone inside her head had been corrupted. I’ve tried to repair it, though. She seems better now. She’s actually quite young, if you’ll believe it—almost a baby, even.”