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In the Beit Amiya, Tiyana knelt before the altar of Nama-kwah. The Mask of the goddess covered her face and an aquamarine chamma hung loosely around her. Her body was bent in an arc, muscles rigid as she invoked the ashuma of the deity she had served all her life.
An ancient statue that depicted Nama-kwah as a woman wearing a chamma made of fish scales loomed above her. The face of the idol duplicated the one on the silver mask. Its stone arms were spread wide, as though the goddess were embracing the sea, and the Matile people as a whole. In the past, that caress was as tangible as that of a lover.
Now ...
Mouthing incantations that were many centuries old, Tiyana entreated Nama-kwah to roil the waters of Khambawe’s harbor; to raise foaming waves large enough to sink the Uloans’ ships and break them into kindling; to spin whirlpools that would drag the invaders into the goddess’s deep Realm; to send sharks and other sea-predators to savage the survivors.
In the distant past, when Tiyana’s ancestors among the Amiyas had knelt in the same spot and spoken the same words to the stone effigy, Nama-kwah would have acted, and her ashuma would have infused Tiyana, and it would have given her the power to do more than merely dance on the waves. But now the Goddess was silent, just as she had been during First Calling, when the Fidi ship had arrived in the midst of her dance on the waves.
Then Tiyana remembered that Nama-kwah actually had spoken to her then, whispering a single word: Danger. At the time, she thought the goddess was warning her about the Fidi. Now, she realized that Nama-kwah had foretold the massive attack by the Uloans.
Nama-kwah’s silence had returned in the Matile’s time of need. Tiyana didn’t feel even a tingle of ashuma. The Goddess had abandoned her idol; it was no more responsive than any ordinary piece of carved stone. And she had abandoned her Vessel as well. Yet Tiyana continued to speak the ancient words. She could think of nothing else to do.
Similar scenes occurred at other altars as other masked Amiyas entreated the Jagasti to whom they had been pledged as children.
The Amiya of Ufashwe, God of the wind, asked for a tempest to overwhelm the Uloan ships. The Amiya of Sama-wai, Goddess of illness and decay, called for a plague to strike the Uloans down. The Amiya of Chaile, God of fortune good and ill, prayed for the Uloans’ swords to break and their shields to turn brittle. The Amiya of Alamak, Goddess of the Stars, called for fiery stones to fall from the sky onto the heads of the invaders.
Like Tiyana’s, the prayers to those and all the other Jagasti went unheeded. All except one – that of Keshu, Amiya of Halasha, God of iron and war. Keshu asked only that the soldiers of Matile fight courageously. That prayer was the only one that was answered, though not by Halasha.
Jass Gebrem stood apart from the others. Abi in hand, he attempted to consolidate whatever ashuma the Amiyas could gather; to coalesce it into a single surge of force that would destroy the Uloans. He was performing the incantation exactly as his forefathers had, centuries ago. But he might as well have been attempting to pour water from an empty jar. Nothing was happening. It was as though the Jagasti no longer existed.
The only ashuma Gebrem and the others could wield was whatever they could find within themselves. And he knew that would not be sufficient to defeat the Uloans ... not when their attack was so massive and overwhelming.
Earlier, for a single, awful moment, Gebrem felt the presence of his Uloan counterpart, Jass Imbiah, in his consciousness. Jass Imbiah was laughing at his attempts to resist her power ... and that derision in that laughter had pushed him to the brink of madness.
Even as he tried to gather his and the Amiyas’ meager ashuma, the Leba fought off a wave of despair.
What can I do? he asked himself yet again. What can I do?
A sound near the entrance to the Beit Amiya broke Gebrem’s concentration. He looked toward the source of the sound – and his eyes widened in surprise.
Kyroun stood in the doorway. Behind him were the Almovaad Adepts, most of whom he had come to know. All were dressed in robes of deep indigo, the color of a dark sky. As the Amiyas became aware of the presence of the Believers, the sound of their chants and incantations died down.
Anger rose in Gebrem. The Beit Amiya was forbidden to all, save the Vessels and their shamashas. He knew Kyroun and the Almovaads could not have been aware of the breach of sanctity they had just committed at the worst possible time. Now, they would learn.
But Kyroun spoke before Gebrem could begin his rebuke. And what he said quelled the Matile’s outrage.
“Please allow us to help you.”
Gebrem stared at him.
“You have nothing to lose,” the Seer said. “And there is no price to pay for our assistance.”
Gebrem kept staring.