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Awiwi’s resistance had almost ceased. Sea-water swirled above her waist. Her body, and that of her child, was covered with ubias. The mouths of the vines burrowed into her skin. Rows of teeth pierced her flesh. Her blood began to flow into the ubias’ tubular bodies, which expanded as they gorged greedily on her life-fluid.
Neither Awiwi nor anyone else on the beach cared any longer about the ships that had appeared on the horizon. Who the intruders were; whether they meant help or harm; none of that mattered because it was impossible for them to reach the Uloans in time to make any difference for good or ill.
Then the Almovaads’ magic struck.
Awiwi staggered and fell into the water. So did the others around her. Choking and spitting salt water from their mouths, the Uloans struggled desperately to regain their footing before the tide had a chance to sweep them away. And their eyes widened in shock when they saw what was now happening to the ubias that still clung to their bodies.
Lines of blue, crackling fire enmeshed the vines. The humans felt only a slight tingling from the force-lines. But the energy’s effect on the ubias was immediate and dramatic. The vines writhed as though they were on fire. Like a grotesque rain, they dropped from the Uloans’ bodies and fell into the sea, where they continued to twitch and convulse until they finally subsided and floated motionless. Incoming waves washed them onto the beach, where they lay like limp strands of seaweed.
On the red sands, the mwiti-roots that had sprouted from the ground were also caught in the force that swept the island. They remained frozen in place like a forest of ribs. From the tentacular roots, the lines of force expanded, enmeshing the entire island in a netting of brilliant blue light. The outcome of the Almovaads’ sorcery on the mwiti was immediate.
The grasses stopped waving, their life force suddenly snatched away. Fruits that pulsed like multicolored hearts either ceased their motion entirely, or exploded in bursts of pulp. Flowers that had clenched like hands fell apart in showers of petals that lay in heaps around their stems.
Vines that had engulfed entire towns shriveled and dropped away from walls and doors under the relentless assault of the Almovaads’ sorcery. The branches and roots of great trees ended their growth and movement, and stood still again. Even in the villages of the dead, the desecrating plant-life was cleansed by the blue webwork, leaving the empty funeral-houses uncovered and undisturbed.
In the depths of the Jayaya forest, the lone papaya tree struggled stubbornly against its fate. Its trunk, branches, and leaves were ensnared in a lattice of glowing blue lines. The gigantic mwiti trees that surrounded the papaya had all fallen motionless. For all their size and grandeur, they had proven easy prey for the magic of the Almovaads. The Kipalende part of their consciousness had subsided in the shock of the surprise attack.
But the Kipalende spirit that had found shelter in the humble papaya was more resilient than the others. Even as its companions passively surrendered their recent gifts of sentience and movement, the papaya continued is resistance. Its limbs whipped as though it were in the midst of a typhoon. Its leaves scattered; its fruits plummeted to the ground.
Yet for all the cruel damage it was undergoing, the spirit in the papaya refused to submit to the force that was destroying its host. The Kipalende’s vision of vengeance was too pervasive to be extinguished. Even as chips of its bark were torn from its trunk, the papaya continued its attempt to rally ubias and other mwiti that no longer responded to its calls.
Finally, the papaya’s trunk split as though it had been struck by lightning. Its two halves teetered, then crashed to the ground. It lay in a tomb of its own leaves and branches. The Kipalende spirit was the last part of it to die.
On the rest of the Uloan islands, the undoing of the mwiti rampage continued as the Almovaads’ strands of sorcery extended themselves far beyond Jayaya. By the time the assault was done, the animate plant life of the islands had either perished, or been transformed into ordinary vegetation. And the spirits of the Kipalende finally vanished from the islands: their dream of vengeance ended, their reason for continuing to exist defunct.
Eventually, the lines of blue fire that encircled the islands dimmed, then vanished, their work completed.
And on the beach of Jayaya, the surviving Uloans stared first at the reefs of dead ubia-vines that blanketed the sand, and the lifeless roots that jutted skyward like monuments to a fallen monarch. The Uloans’ own dead lay there as well. Only a pitiful few survived.
Then the islanders turned to face the blue-robed newcomers who were now levitating toward them, their feet lightly skimming the waves.