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The acolyte collapsed to the floor convulsing, blood streaming from his nose, ears and eyes. The others tried to calm him, pressing cool wet cloths to his head and chanting spells to ease his spirit. Their efforts were in vain. The man rose as if attempting to stand then collapsed again. He was dead.
“Take him away,” Bagule ordered with the flip of his hand. The acolytes removed their brother, cutting fearful glances at their master. They were there to serve him, but lately serving the whims of the mage had costs some of them their lives.
Bagule sensed the uneasiness of his servants but he could not bend to sympathy. It was essential he knew everything occurring in Jakada’s tower and the only way to do so was to use spies. The jele took much care protecting his motives from magical eyes, so Bagule resorted to more conventional means. He saw through the eyes of others. The information was worth the price.
He strolled to his lounging chair, picking up his kora on the way. The girl unnerved him. She was a more of a threat than Alake ever was or ever would be. She read two people with no training and she wasn’t even aware of it.
He strummed a simple tune as Nieleni entered the conjure chambers. She halted at the door and waited. Bagule sat down the instrument then nodded for her to approach.
“Were you able to acquire her services?” he asked.
“Yes, but she was very expensive.”
Bagule waved his hand. “Gold is of no consequence. Where is she?”
“She is waiting in your study.”
Bagule rushed from the chambers, climbing the steps to his study with long strides as Nieleni ran to keep pace. They entered his study and the woman stood. She was nearly as tall as Bagule with the dark brown skin common to her people. Her eyes radiated with the color of gold. She wore a vibrant dress of red, yellow and blue, her necklaces crowding around her long regal neck. Bracelets pushed against her wrists and a broad beaded belt holding a curved dagger gripped her slender waist. She smiled and nodded as Bagule entered the room, the most acknowledgement of his station she would give. In her land she was an equal to the conjurer.
“Aisha, I’m glad you agreed to help me.”
“I’m surprised you accepted my price,” Aisha replied, her voice child-like.
“Desperate times require desperate measures. I assume you are aware of my dilemma?”
“Yes, I am,” she replied. “When do you wish me to leave?”
“As soon as possible.” Bagule congratulated himself for thinking of this plan. He would be able to thwart Jakada without violating the rules established hundreds of years ago. The law clearly stated no Maraibu could leave the city, but Aisha was not Maraibu. She was like nothing anyone had ever seen.
“Deposit my payment with my banker,” she said, handing him a folded piece of parchment. “Don’t try to rob me. I can be vengeful.”
“Everyone in Marai knows me as an honest man,’ Bagule replied. “Your money is safe.”
“Then I am off to Paris!” The woman sat on the floor. She closed her eyes and began to transform before Bagule’s eyes. He had seen her perform many times and still the transformation fascinated him. Most left the theaters trying to decipher the elaborate trickery, but Bagule knew it was real. Aisha was a shape shifter, a person possessing the nyama to be anything at any time. Even calling her a woman was a stretch, because a true shaper shifter like Aisha could change gender as well. When she was done a jackal stood before him, a dark brown canine with golden eyes wearing a golden necklace. It barked and ran by him to the tower steps, heading for the gates of the city. Bagule watched her run through the night streets, reaching the wall ramparts in moments then leaping towards the Veil. For a moment he thought it would stop her but she passed through without effort. As she landed on the sand she transformed again, growing to the shape of a camel, the only constant her glowing golden eyes. He returned to his study then played his kora. Soon we will all be able to do just as you, he thought. Soon we will all be free.