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Bagule Fadiki sat on his balcony gazing at the black draped towers of the Sana’s palace. He stroked his bearded chin with jewel encrusted fingers, imagining the turmoil of the royal house at the imminent death of their patriarch. He could have summoned a lesser sonchai and asked for a reading, but that would be intrusive. Bagule could be accused of being many things but uncouth was not one of them. He followed the traditions of the kingdom, poured the proper libations to his ancestors, appeared at the required functions and always had a kind word and a generous gift for those less fortunate. He bore no hate for anyone within the walls of Marai and he did nothing covert in his dealings with others. He was an open book and his intentions were obvious. He expected to be the next Sana of Marai, and his first action once the appointment was secure would be to eradicate the barrier between the city and the world beyond the Veil.
Though Bagule was a man of unveiled motives, his enemies were less forthcoming. He was disappointed when Jele Jakada allowed his daughter to escape into the world; her inevitable selection of him as the new Sana would have hastened his rise to power. The possibility existed that she might select someone else but Bagule was prepared for drastic measures. Rumors reached his ears, whispers of the Jele working his schemes again. His spies watched and listened, bringing him words and objects that when pieced together gave him a full picture of Jakada’s designs. The Jele had been very busy of late, spending most of his time in his chambers, specifically in his spirit room.
Bagule’s thoughts were interrupted by the appearance of Nieleni, his companion. She sauntered to the edge of the balcony wearing a long-layered dress that swished against her ankles, her arms swaying with her hips, her golden bracelets jingling. She grasped the iron railing with her long ring laden fingers, looking in the direction of the palace.
“You obsess,” she said.
“Yes, I do,” Bagule answered. “I have much to do and the Sana takes too long to die.”
Nieleni smiled. She was a beautiful, proper woman born of humble roots, but she had taken to the trappings of nobility quickly.
“I have some information that will please you,” she said
Bagule’s eyebrow rose as turned to gaze at Nieleni.
“Jakada contacted his daughter,” she said. “He has summoned her back to Marai.”
Bagule’s eyes narrowed as he clasped his hands under his chin.
“She could still select you. Her choice is spiritual.”
“Her choice is not certain,” Bagule stated. “The elders are more predictable.”
“Then you must stop her from returning.”
“She lives beyond the Veil. It is forbidden to use nyama outside the city.”
Nieleni smirked. “How do you think Jakada contacted her?”
Bagule nodded. “Tradition has been violated. Are you saying I should displease the ancestors as well?”
“If you wish to be Sana, you have no choice.”
Bagule went inside, his hands clasped behind his back as he contemplated Nielini’s revelation. The only way he could stop Bagule’s daughter from returning would be to violate tradition as well. But would that be so wrong? This was a law created by Jele Jakada, decreed by the Sana and upheld by the elders. If Jakada chose to break the rule, then the restriction should not apply to anyone else. Jakada wished the Veil to stay intact and he was willing to break his own law to do so.
“I agree,” he finally said. “Something must be done. I will be in my chambers. Gather the talismans and send for my acolytes. I need to know exactly what Jakada is up to.”
He walked through his room to the staircase leading to his conjure chambers below his home. He lit the torches, illuminating the altar against the wall opposite the stairs, golden pillars flanking the smooth stone. Piles of gris-gris lined the wall, a spiritual collection of herbs, cloth, bones, and other objects gathered over the years in his quest to influence the elders. Bagule disrobed then stood before the altar in his loincloth, his lean body resembling that of a man much younger than his eight centuries of life. The Veil had that affect, freezing time for everyone under its restriction. He rustled among the gris-gris, selecting the artifacts required for what he was about to do; a ram’s horn, a necklace of red and black beads and a small leather pouch containing the hair balls of a lion. He took the enchanted objects to the altar, placing them in the proper pattern. Nieleni entered as he finished, followed by a dozen acolytes. Each person carried a talisman, a powerful object entrusted to them by Bagule. He felt the power; he needed every ounce of it to perform the spell to discover what Jakada was up to.
He gazed upon his acolytes. “Which of you saw Jakada contact his daughter?”
The acolyte stepped forward, a thin man as tall as Bagule with a gaunt, fearful face. Bagule led him to the altar.
“Kneel,” he commanded. The acolyte obeyed. Bagule pulled back the man’s hood and placed gris-gris on his shoulders. He went to the altar and placed more on the stone. Bagule chanted, waving his hands over the concoction before setting it afire. The others picked up the chant while the fire blazed, consuming the offering and emitting a white smoke that burned the nostrils but heightened the senses. A shape formed within the flames, revealing itself as a kora, a stringed instrument played by jeles as they sang stories and histories. As the fire died Bagule took the kora from the altar then set it aside. He scooped the remaining ashes into a cup holding a milky liquid. He handed the cup to the acolyte.
“Drink.”
The acolyte hesitated, but the stern look from his master made him lift the cup to his lips. He was halfway through the potion when he froze, his eyes staring blankly at the altar. Bagule knelt before him, looking deep into his eyes. In the acolyte’s eyes he saw images of the days past. He watched Jakada slip into his conjure room and remove a leather shroud from a large mirror. The jele chanted as he waved his hand across the mirror and the image of his daughter appeared. Bagule smiled; she was old, too old to have the nyama to select a new Sana. The smile faded quickly as he followed the conversation. There was a granddaughter, a girl of new womanhood whose powers would be at her peak. They planned to bring her into the city.
Bagule stood and the acolyte collapsed. He was of no more use; the spell would leave him blind.
“Take him to his family,” Bagule ordered the other acolytes. “Tell them I will compensate them for his care.”
The acolytes lifted the damaged man and left. Nieleni approached with his robe. Bagule dressed then picked up the kora.
“The young one concerns you.”
He strummed the kora. Small streams of light danced between the strings, the deep tones reverberating with power.
Bagule smiled in approval. “Yes. We must reach her before Jakada does.”
Nieleni’s face showed concern. “Will you hurt her?”
Bagule looked at his consort, strumming the kora again. The walls of his chamber hummed and his smile grew wider.
“I will try to prevent her from coming here in time. If I cannot do so then yes, I will hurt her.