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Tiyana had only a moment to consider the full measure of the mortification her fall had caused before she became aware that something large was behind her. She turned, and a small cry trapped itself between her lips and the Mask when she saw the huge, dark bulk looming out of the mist and bearing down on her.

Then she dove and kicked frantically out of the way, barely in time to prevent herself from being trapped against its bow. A moment later, the slow-moving ship passed her. Then it collided with the unyielding docks of Khambawe. The shock of the impact stunned her momentarily, and she drifted toward the bottom of the harbor before snapping awake, then swimming upward, her lungs desperate for air.

On the docks, the loud crunch of wood against stone broke the spell of shock that had held the crowd speechless and motionless. At the sight of the strange ship, the musicians and Callers had stood frozen in place, as had Jass Gebrem. And the Degen Jassi and soldiers and the rest of the watchers could only stare wide-eyed and incredulous as the outlines of the intruding seacraft grew clearer in the thinning mist.

Jass Eshana was the first to heed the cry that named the Matiles’ worst enemies. The Dejezmek barked a series of orders to his troops, who swiftly formed a barrier of leather and steel between the dock and the Degen Jassi. He also dispatched a runner through the milling, confused crowd to call for reinforcements. The circumstances had become so unsettled that even the normally imperturbable Tokoloshe had risen from their stools. They stood apart in a tight knot, whispering in their rumbling language through their thick beards.

In the meantime, the Leba made his way to the Emperor, who greeted him with an accusing glare and harsh words.

“What is this?” Dardar Alemeyu demanded. “Where is your ashuma? How could you not have known this was coming?”

Makah was still at Alemeyu’s side. The low rumble continued to issue from the cheetah’s throat, and its tail twitched in a counterpoint to the Emperor’s demands.

Jass Gebrem did not answer immediately. He held the abi in both hands, using it as a focal point for his concentration. He was questing, using arcane senses shaped by years of study and sacrifice, to probe the strange ship. Although he could wield only a fragment of the ashuma his ancestors once commanded, that small amount was sufficient to tell him what he needed to know – and to frighten him, though he refused to show it, especially in front of Alemeyu.

While the Leba worked his arts, Jass Eshana ordered his troops to move forward to repel an anticipated onslaught from the Uloans. But no horde of scarred, shrieking madmen emerged from the huge, stricken ship. Only broken planks caught on the stone edge of the dock prevented the seacraft from sinking.

On closer inspection, it became clear to the soldiers that this was no ship that had ever been made by any Uloans. The islanders’ craft were low and lean, powered by banks of oars as well as sails. This ship was twice the size of the largest Uloan raider the Matile had ever seen, and no oars protruded from its sides. Its sails – at least what was left of them – were also different: canvas rectangles stacked high on tall masts like sheets strung from tree branches. Uloan sails, by contrast, were triangular in shape, like the fins of sharks.

Yet the lines of the intruder were not unfamiliar, even though the last Matile to have seen anything similar to them had long since gone to the grave.

“I asked you a question, Gebrem,” the Emperor said, a dangerous, sword-like sharpness edging into his tone.

He considered his next words carefully, as he always did when he knew his cousin was angry. Alemeyu’s frown cut deeper lines into his face as he waited for Gebrem’s reply.

“A powerful type of ashuma is at work here,” the Leba said at last. “I do not recognize or understand it. But it is not Uloan, as we can plainly see even without the aid of ashuma.”

“Extremely. It ... obscured my senses while I conducted First Calling. Had my own ashuma not been distracted ...”

“Excuses explain nothing,” Dardar Alemeyu snapped. “What is this ship? Who is on it, if it does not belong to the Uloans?”

“I believe it is a ship of the Fidi – the people of the Lands Beyond the Storm,” Jass Gebrem said slowly, ignoring the exclamations of disbelief that arose from the Degen Jassi within earshot. He held up a hand to forestall the skepticism the listeners expressed.

“We have both seen images of ships like this drawn in old books and inscribed in stone, and woven into the tapestries that hang the Palace,” Jass Gebrem reminded the Emperor. “And we have heard the stories told to us over the generations. It is true that there are some differences in this ship from the ones in our books and tapestries. But then one would expect that, considering all the years that have passed since the time of the Storm Wars.”

“If it is from the Fidi, why is it here now?” Dardar Alemeyu demanded. “And how could it have survived the storms?”

Jass Gebrem did not reply immediately, because he could not even begin to understand how any ship could have remained intact amid the vast maelstrom that raged constantly off the northern coast of Abengoni – perpetual storms that were the legacy of ancient animosities, tempests that had long isolated Abengoni from the rest of the world.

The sudden thought of his daughter’s body crushed between ship and stone overrode the Leba’s initial fury at what he had at first thought to be her unforgivable bungling of the Calling. He turned to the Emperor.

“We will learn soon enough who it is that wields the ashuma on the ship, and who it is that sails on it,” he said. “But now, I must see to my daughter.”

Before Dardar Alemeyu could respond to the Leba’s less-than-respectful tone, a stir rustled through the crowd. Gebrem turned and saw Tiyana climbing on to the dock not far from the wrecked ship.

For the briefest of moments, it appeared that Nama-kwah herself had risen from the waters, to walk again among the Matile, the people who were the favored of the Jagasti. Then the moment passed, and it was clear that it was not the goddess, but her Vessel, naked save for the dripping Mask and silver strands of her costume, who approached Jass Gebrem, then knelt contritely before him.

The Leba reached down and gently removed the Mask from Tiyana’s face. Her features bore a remarkable resemblance to those of the Goddess, but on a mortal level rather than the plane of divine flawlessness. And the look of entreaty that infused her dark eyes as she gazed up at her father could be nothing other than totally, vulnerably human.

She knew she was not to blame for the ruined Calling. But she also knew an Amiya could not make excuses. Her father had told her that time and again since she became old enough to understand the words. She bowed her head and awaited his judgment.

Gently, the Leba laid his fingers under Tiyana’s chin and lifted her face until her eyes looked into his.

“You were not the reason the Dance on the Waves was defiled, my daughter,” Jass Gebrem said softly. “It was that.”

He gestured toward the ship that leaned against the dock like a beached leviathan.

Tiyana nodded gratefully. As she rose to her feet, Jass Gebrem turned once again to the Emperor.

“The storm has sent us this ship, Mesfin. Something must now be done. The decision is yours,” he said. “What is your will?”

The Emperor gave the Leba a hard glare, similar to the ones that had often passed between them when they were boys: Alemeyu the elder by a few years, each well aware of what the other’s position would be once they became men. Gebrem had smoothly passed the responsibility back to him. The Leba’s intonation of the word “Mesfin,” which was an honorific meaning “Majesty,” grated on Alemeyu’s nerves; he knew Gebrem considered him an unworthy occupant for the Lion Throne. Gebrem had, however, spoken the truth, even though Alemeyu was loath to acknowledge it. The Emperor had to make a decision, and make it quickly.

Then a voice that sounded like boulders grinding together interrupted Alemeyu’s dark thoughts.

Alemeyu looked down. The speaker was Bulamalayo, the ranking member of the Tokoloshe delegation. At any other time, his request would have been a serious breach of Court protocol: at First Calling, the Tokoloshes’ role was to quietly observe and be impressed by the glorious association between the Matile and the Jagasti, regardless of whether that connection remained intact now.

“Our magic did not detect this strange ship, either,” Bulamalayo said. “But then, we are too close to the sea.”

Gebrem nodded his understanding. All Tokoloshe were born with magic, but its source lay deep within the earth. The farther they strayed from that source, the weaker their sorcery became. And for them, the water of the sea was as inimical as air was to a fish.

“Nonetheless, the ship’s arrival could affect the interests of Tokoloshe as well as the Matile,” the emissary continued. “If you board it, we wish to join you.”

Dardar Alemeyu considered for a moment. Like many Matile, he considered the Tokoloshe a furtive, secretive people, not always to be trusted. Still, their continued alliance with the Matile was vital, given the menaces that beset the former empire from all sides.

“Agreed,” he said to Bulamalayo, who inclined his massive head in acknowledgement.

Turning to Gebrem, Alemeyu said: “Let us see, Leba, what your Calling has summoned.”

Gebrem held his peace. Inside, he seethed. Alemeyu had adroitly passed the responsibility back to him for whatever might occur next.