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Hulm Stonehand could only bear to gaze at his son a few moments at a time before anger and grief forced him to look away. Those feelings were not, however, shared by the Tokoloshe, who could not bestow enough attention on the infant who personified the future of their people.
The child had been named “Humutungu,” which in the Tokoloshe language meant “hope.” Hulm heard a slight echo of his own name in that of his progeny. But that realization evoked little within him other than sorrow. His grief over the death of Izindikwa, the mother of Humutungu, had not abated. Instead, the sadness had grown stronger and more pervasive with each passing day, until it had become as much a part of him as his flesh and bones.
Thus, he looked away as yet another Tokoloshe woman took a turn at nursing his son. The magic that had failed to enable Tokoloshe women to conceive in the past had, ironically, proved successful enough in filling those women’s breasts with nourishment. For this, Hulm could summon only a vague sense of gratitude.
Of paternal pride, he could summon nothing.
In Hulm’s abdicated place as father, dozens of Tokoloshe were willing to stand. Indeed, all the Tokoloshe males in the Embassy treated Humutungu as though he were their own son.
Now, as always, Humutungu was surrounded by a throng of admiring Tokoloshe, all of whom wanted to see and touch their miracle child. Hulm stood aside, not caring to get closer, but not yet willing to depart.
The woman who nursed Humutungu looked at Hulm, and smiled. Her smile remained even as Hulm shifted his gaze elsewhere.
Among the Tokoloshe, Hulm was regarded with a respect that bordered on reverence. They deferred to him almost as much as they did to their leaders, Rumundulu and Bulamalayo. And they made allowances for his aloofness, for they, too mourned Izindikwa. For them, however, her name would live forever in renown, for she had given birth to the future of the Tokoloshe even as she sacrificed her life.
None of the other Fidi dwarves stood with Hulm. Like the Tokoloshe, they respected his right to grieve in privacy. As well, most of them had established liaisons with Tokoloshe women, hoping to duplicate Hulm’s accomplishment. As yet, none of them had done so. However, optimism remained fervent, among Fidi and Tokoloshe alike.
Hulm’s gaze returned to Humutungu and the woman who was feeding the child. The infant was swaddled in a cloth the color of granite, embroidered with decorations that looked like flecks of mica. From the little he could see of the child’s face, Hulm acknowledged the similarity of Humutungu’s features to his own. But that likeness did not fill him with joy.
Instead, there was only a hollowness inside him. Not even his belief in Almovaar could fill that void. Although the dwarves had fully embraced the Seer Kyroun’s teachings, and had faith in Kyroun’s ability to bring them through the Sea of Storms, Almovaar had receded from their attention during the time they spent among the Tokoloshe. The Dwarven had not adopted the religion of their hosts, which involved the propitiation of gods and spirits that dwelt in the core of the world. But they were no longer so ardent in their devotion to Almovaad doctrine. As well, the Seer paid them scant attention in the midst of his involvement in the concerns of the Matile. For all that, though, they continued to give Kyroun their allegiance.
Once again, Hulm turned away from his child and the Tokoloshe who surrounded him – and saw Rumundulu and Bulamalayo standing in front of him.
“My friend, we must speak together,” Rumundulu said.
The troubled look in the Tokoloshes’ eyes told Hulm that this would not be an ordinary conversation.