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The Uloan armada stretched across the horizon as it sailed into the misty strait that separated the islands from the mainland. No farewell ceremonies marked its departure; Jass Imbiah had told the huangi there was neither time nor ashuma available for such rites. All the ashuma she and the huangi could muster would be needed for Retribution Time. The task of controlling the jhumbis would, by itself, consume more ashuma than the islanders had ever produced. And that task was only one of many they still faced.
On the island’s crimson beaches, the women, children and elders watched as the many contingents of ships set sail to the place at which all the island’s fleets would converge before heading for the mainland. There was no cheering or other show of celebration among the crowds gathered on the beaches. The Uloans’ jubilation would be deferred until the future, when the ships would return in triumph.
No one doubted the inevitability of victory. The prophecy, spoken by a dying Vessel of Legaba in the grim days that followed the final devastation of the Storm Wars, had said that during Retribution Time, the dead would walk alongside the living on streets cobbled with the skull-domes of the Mainlanders. The clay-covered inhabitants of the cities of the dead would arise only once, and that one time would be the signal of doom for the Mainland. The only uncertainty was when that time would come. Now, after many years of hope and despair, the uncertainty was over, as was the waiting.
If the people on the beaches feared for the lives of their husbands, sons, and brothers, they did not acknowledge such misgivings. Some – perhaps many – would die as Retribution Time unfolded. Yet the final victory over the blankskins would be worth the price in lives, however high it might be.
Awiwi stood with the others on the beach of Jayaya. She watched the ships recede over the horizon, soon to be swallowed by the mist. Earlier, she had seen Bujiji march onto one of those ships, in company with scores of other warriors from her island. He had not attempted to catch a final glimpse of her. And if he had seen her, he would not have acknowledged her farewell wave. Like those of the other warriors, his eyes were focused straight ahead, in the direction of the mainland. It was as though the fighters’ eyes could already see Khambawe through the curtain of mist that hung between the islands and the Mainland.
When the ships finally passed from sight, the crowds on the beach of Jayaya, and the other islands, dispersed; heading back to their homes and avoiding the ubia-vines and other hazards as they went. Now another, shorter time of waiting would begin.
Awiwi placed her hand on her belly. It was too soon to feel any movement from the new life that was growing inside her. But she knew it was there. The mambi – the medicine-woman who, among other things, helped to bring the life-spirits of children into the world – had told her it was so.
“Bujiji, him will return,” Awiwi said to her child. “You will greet he when the ships come back from battle. And them soon come.”
To reassure herself as well as her child, she repeated her words.
“Them soon come.”