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Rumundulu struggled to conceal his shock at the words he had just heard. The words had been spoken by Mungulutu or, more precisely, Mungulutu’s simulacrum, contained in his sphere of pale phosphorescence suspended high above the floor of the Tokoloshe Embassy. Light from Mungulutu’s orb bathed Rumundulu’s broad, dark face in an ashen glow, turning his features into a stark, expressionless mask.
He was alone in the innermost cranny of the Embassy: a cavern hewn deep in the bedrock below the surface of the ground. Only the foremost of the Tokoloshe who were delegated to dwell among humans were permitted to enter the chamber, which had been shaped by magical means into the form of an inverted bowl. Its walls were smooth; its floor as flat as any street in Khambawe. The chamber had neither furnishings nor decorations, nor anything else that would indicate it had ever been intended for habitation.
For several moments now, Rumundulu had remained silent in an attempt to comprehend the consequences of what Mungulutu had just told him. He concluded that his wisdom was too limited to encompass the enormity of Mungulutu’s message; its significance loomed larger than anything he or any other Tokoloshe had ever encountered or contemplated. It was as though some huge hand had suddenly swept hundreds of years of history and custom aside, and left in its place only a yawning, incomprehensible chasm.
Rumundulu could only shake his massive head in disbelief as he pondered the unthinkable. He had been in a conference with Bulamalayo, his figurehead among the humans, when he felt the insistent, pulling sensation that told him he was being summoned by Mungulutu. Bulamalayo had immediately understood what was happening, and simply nodded as Rumundulu walked away with a rigid gait, as though invisible strings controlled his limbs.
Gaze fixed on a horizon visible only to himself, Rumundulu had not returned any of the many greetings his fellow Tokoloshe and the Fidi dwarves had given him. The Tokoloshe had seen such a detached gaze in his eyes before. Well did they know the reason it was there, and they were quick to step aside and allow him room to pass. However, some of the newcomers perceived Rumundulu’s behavior as brusque until the Tokoloshe took them aside and explained the nature of the summoning their leader obeyed. The dwarves understood then, although their eyes continued to follow his passage.
Level by level, Rumundulu had navigated a dank, twisting trail of stone that burrowed through the depths beneath the Embassy. When he reached the bowl-shaped chamber, Mungulutu’s simulacrum had awaited him like a single Moon-Star shining in the darkness.
Respectfully, Rumundulu had waited. Then Mungulutu spoke. And Rumundulu could only stare in stunned silence after the Stone King finished. Now, Mungulutu was waiting for Rumundulu to respond.
Rumundulu could have asked how Mungulutu and the other Lords of Belowground had reached their drastic and momentous decision. He could have asked what they expected to accomplish with their directive. He could have asked what the future was now expected to bring to their kind.
Instead, he could only utter a single word: a question he knew all the others would ask when he told them what they must do.
“Why?”
“We see shadows,” Mungulutu replied.