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Nama-kwah floated in the borderspace between Khambawe’s harbor and the Ocean-beyond-the-ocean, the boundary between the world of Abengoni and the Realms of the Jagasti. Behind her, the Children of Nama-kwah swam in endless swirls that stretched far beyond any horizon that could ever have existed in the demesne of men and women. The luminous, multicolored fish and other sea creatures appeared to be performing a ritualized dance. They swam close to the unseen, yet clearly demarcated, barrier between the Realms of the Goddess and the world of humanity. Then they recoiled, as though in horror, and quickly swam away. And then, as if part of a performance, the Children of Nama-kwah repeated their sequence. It continued over and over, as though the Children had fallen under some spell of compulsion that could never end.
Light from a source that was not the sun glinted subtly from the jewel-like scales that descended from Nana-kwah’s head and covered most of her sinuous body. Her elongated arms and legs moved gently in the water. The goddess did not need such movement to keep her afloat, but she enjoyed the sensation of the water that flowed smoothly over her scaled skin.
Considering what was happening on the other side of the divide, it would have been understandable if even a goddess like Nama-kwah followed her first impulse and swam far away, never to return. Like her Children, however, Nama-kwah could not stay away for very long. Like them, she kept returning, motivated by a morbid fascination with what she saw.
Corpses drifted through the murky water of Khambawe’s harbor like leaves in a windstorm. Many had fallen to the ocean floor, where they lay in scatters and clumps – maimed, wide-eyed witnesses to the appalling carnage that had accompanied the defeat of the Uloans’ invasion. The water was still tinged crimson with the blood that had been spilled copiously in the final slaughter. And the wreckage of dozens of sunken, shattered ships also littered the bottom of the harbor, turning it into a carpet of broken boards and masts.
Matile, Uloan ... the identity of the wrecks and the corpses did not matter to the ocean currents that rocked them, lending a macabre semblance of life to the cadavers and animation to the smashed hulks of the ships. And it also didn’t matter to the sharks and the lesser scavengers that were devouring the dead.
Deep indentations on the sea-bottom delineated the path the Ishimbi statues had taken during their destruction of the Uloan fleet. Even though she was a goddess, Nama-kwah had still been impressed by the sheer scope of the sorcery that had been summoned to cause the gigantic statues to walk into the harbor. She remembered a time when she herself would have helped to provide such power to the Amiyas. But that time was no more, and long gone.
On the other hand, the massive killing had impressed her much less. It had sickened her, but she had remained to witness it just the same, even though she was under no obligation to do so.
She could have stopped it. She and all the other deities the Matile had worshipped and served for so long, and for so little in return – together, they could have stopped the horror. But they had chosen not to do so. And now, as she watched the sea claim the spoils the humans’ slaughter had given it, and her Children swam back and forth in a mindless dance of attraction and repulsion, Nama-kwah reflected on why the Matile had finally been abandoned in their time of need.
Abandoned by all – including herself.
But she had tried not to desert them completely. Yes, she had tried to forestall the tragedy that was to come. And her thoughts returned to the repeated attempts she had made to change the minds of her fellow Jagasti, even as she observed the result of her failure ...