A Distant Magic (22 page)

Nikai halted, shocked by the scene. "What are they doing?"

Sefu paused and turned back to answer. "They are slavers. They'll
take young, healthy captives to the coast to be sold and shipped to distant
lands. Come now, while they are busy!"

"If we fought together, we could drive them away." Some traders were fighting back, but they were too few to make a difference. Nikai started forward with his spear.

"These merchants are not The People! Their fate is nothing to us." Sefu grabbed his arm.
"Come!"

For an instant, Nikai accepted his friend's words. What did it matter if foreigners were enslaved if all of The People were safe?

The instant passed, and he shattered into rage and memory. He was Nikolai Gregorio, sworn to fight slavery everywhere. He had been sent to this world to learn fire, and thought it meant only the burning flames. But fire was also passion. Outrage. A demand for justice. The fire in his soul had come near to flickering out, until today.

He had a sudden, vivid memory of a small redheaded female with blazing eyes. She had told him that if he was in danger of losing his way home, remember what he most truly was. The essence of Nikolai Gregorio was the fire of justice.
"They are all my brothers," he said grimly. "Flee if you will. I fight."

He ran forward into the square and raised his hands to summon fire from the skies. A great ball of flames materialized, and he hurled it at the raiders. Their flowing cloaks ignited, and the attackers began screaming and wrenching off their garments. Horses threw their riders and bolted while the armed traders began cutting down those raiders who didn't run away.

In the shambles of the market, he saw the horseman who had taken the drum sellers' child. He was cornered against a building, looking for a way out, still clutching his prisoner. Grimly Nikolai stalked toward him. When he was several yards away, he hurled a spear of fire.

While the raider screamed and covered his eyes, Nikolai swept the little girl from the horse. She was crying but unhurt. As soon as he set her down, she ran for her parents. Her mother caught the child up in the safety of her arms while the father used a broken post from his stall to stab up at the man who had tried to steal his daughter. The jagged end plunged deep into the raider's belly.

The rider folded over in his saddle, blood splashing his pale robe. But before he died, he had enough strength left to raise his sword and drive it into Nikolai's chest, damning with guttural fury the man who had ruined this raid.

Recognizing imminent death, Nikolai pulled his energy inward and tried to dodge, but the sword slashed into his chest, crushing bone and slicing flesh. As strength fled and he collapsed, he was mildly surprised to realize there was no pain.

He didn't fall to the ground, but
through
the ground, into dark chaos. He was trying to puzzle out what was happening when he slammed into a hard surface on his back. Blinking, he looked up—and found that he was in the cave on Diabolo and the four priests who had sent him to that distant land were watching him.

He had survived the first test.

Chapter
TWENTY-FOUR

N
ikolai blinked up at the priests.
"You're still here?"

"We had to hold the gateway open so you could return," Omar
explained. "
If
you returned."

The priests certainly were a pessimistic lot. Nikolai sat up and noted that he was wearing the same shirt and breeches and boots as when he'd entered the cave.
"I was gone for many weeks. Months. You've waited here the whole time?"

"The time might have been months in that other world, but here it has been only hours." Adia offered him a hand up.

He lurched when he rose, disoriented. "What happened to me—was it
real?"

"As real as this cave and this island. Look at the color of your skin." He did as she said, and saw that he had tanned many shades darker from the fierce savanna sun.
"Everything that happened there is now part of your spirit."

"I think I died there," he said slowly. "I had just been stabbed
in the chest when I was brought back. Did my death bring me home?"

Omar's brow furrowed. "Perhaps, if your death was caused by
what you learned on your journey."

"It was." He had discovered the fire inside, the passion that had faded when be became too comfortable. That fire was essential to his mission.

But he had discovered a missing African piece of himself among the Dahana. He thought of the peace and joy he had known running with his fellows, and of his discovery of dance and music. He had been one of The People—and he felt a piercing sadness because that life was closed to him. Once more he was in a place he didn't fully belong.

"Drink." The other priestess, Nayo, gave him a cup of hot, sweet tea. He swallowed thirstily. He would miss the Dahana, but at least he had tea again.

Simpler tests followed, taking him to places where he'd lived such as Malta, Algiers, his ships, Santola. In each place, he drifted ghostlike through familiar scenes, becoming more complete as he saw himself with the detachment brought by distance.

He lost track of time, but after some days, Adia decided that his soul was whole enough and informed him that the next test would be of a different nature. She led the group to the top of Diabolo's highest hill, where the younger priest, a former galley slave called Enam, performed a ritual as the sun rose. At the end, Enam sketched a circle in the air the size of a man.
"Enter now and learn the spirits of air."

Nikolai stepped through, and found himself falling endlessly through dark space.

If the first test of his initiation was a dangerously appealing heaven, this one was hell. The fall itself was terrifying. Even worse was the noise: a mind-numbing scream of fear and intimidation that was high and low at the same time and which pounded his very marrow. He tried to block his ears with his hands, but the cacophony was in his head, impossible to escape. He panicked, desperate to escape, but the hideous noise was getting worse, worse. He hadn't realized that sound could produce such pain.

He was on the point of madness before he realized that the greater his fear, the more painful the sound. The only way to survive was to overcome his fear.

What did he fear most? Not death—that would almost be a relief. As he recognized that, the hideous noise diminished a little.

What else did he fear?

Failure.
He had a responsibility to his men, to those he'd rescued and to the sanctuary he had created on this island. If he failed his people, he feared he would take them with him into hell.

But that wouldn't happen, he recognized. Santola had many strong, capable men and women. If he died, the community would survive. His fear was ungrounded.

Once more, the painful noise diminished, and he was no longer falling so fast.

Loss.
As a boy, he'd lost everyone he'd ever loved. He thought he'd dealt with that fear by refusing to care, but somewhere deep inside, the fear lingered on—as did the desire to care and be cared for. Recognizing that fear diminished the hammering noise so that his body no longer vibrated with it.

Betrayal.
As a boy, he'd given his trust too freely, and the pain of betrayal had nearly cut his heart out. Fear and loss had created a consuming fury that had turned him to bitter revenge. That vengeful rage had made him more than a little mad.

Injustice.
He'd kidnapped Jean, would have cheerfully killed her brother, and that would have been a great injustice. He lived for justice, yet in his fear and anger, he had very nearly become what he hated most.

The noise was now bearable, and he was no longer falling. He hung suspended in the air, floating like a soap bubble. Each fear had been a lost piece of his soul, he realized. As the fears were vanquished, his soul became stronger.

The punishing noise faded to nothing. As he hung in the void, he wondered if it was possible to fly here. He'd had dreams where he swooped through the sky, arms and legs extended while he concentrated fiercely on staying aloft. He tried that now, and found to his delight that he could indeed fly once he relinquished the fear of colliding with the earth or a mountain.

The experience of flight was magical. He laughed aloud as he swooped through darkness, improvising loops and dives like a playful seabird. He decided to see how high he could fly. Using all his will, he soared up and up and up—and burst through the portal that led back to Diabolo.

He fell clumsily to the ground and rolled, his skin abrading on the rough stones. His priestly mentors stood around him. This time, Enam helped him up.

"That was…interesting." Nikolai glanced at the sky to judge the position of the sun.
"How long was I gone? A day?"

"Only a few minutes." A wicked glint showed in Omar's eyes.
"There is time enough to do another test today."

Nikolai concealed his groan. Initiation was difficult in ever-changing new ways—but the sooner he was done, the better.

"Jean, are you here?" Adia's voice called from the entrance to Jean's room.

"On the terrace!" Jean leaped to her feet, her heart in her throat as she greeted her visitor.
"Has...has something happened to Nikolai?"

"Much has happened, and more will come, but he is doing well so far," Adia said quickly.
"I'm sorry if my appearance alarmed you. I wasn't needed on Diabolo for the
afternoon, so I decided to come to the village for supplies. I also thought it
was time to see how you were doing with the abolitionist notes. Is there
anything that is unclear?"

Relieved beyond measure that her captain was doing well, Jean gestured to the piled notes on the table where she worked. When her eyes tired, it was a pleasure to gaze out at the caldera. At Diabolo.
"I'm about halfway through my copying. There are several places where I don't fully understand your notes. Also, I've been working to create a timeline of abolition-related events. Could you look at it to see if I'm correct?" She handed over the paper where she had drawn a long line with different events flagged on different years.

"This is very fine as far as it goes," Adia said after she studied the diagram.
"But there is more." She sat down and recounted several important incidents. "I
did not experience these things myself, but the elders spoke of them."

"This is wonderful!" Jean scribbled notes hastily. "One can say so
much more in words than in writing."

"We had time only to record what was most important. I did much of
the writing since not all the elders have the skill. Now, let us go over your
questions."

Jean relaxed as she opened the notes to her first question. Surely Adia would not be taking time to work with her on this unless there was a very good chance that they would be going forward in time. And that meant that Nikolai would survive.

The days merged into a blur of tests, some frightening, others merely strange. Learning earth was terrifying because Nikolai thought he had been buried alive and would suffocate. When he didn't die, he gradually realized that he was a budding seed, learning earth in the most literal of ways. All was texture, weight, temperature, and slow time as he mindlessly struggled up toward the sunshine.

Being touched by a passing earthworm was strange indeed. After an eternity of fighting his way toward the sun, he emerged into a world of wonders and new dangers. He stretched his leaves—and found himself curled into a ball in the cave on Diabolo.

He visited places that were as familiar as his own hands, and worlds so strange he didn't have words to describe them. Sometimes he knew fear, other times excitement, occasionally boredom. He never found another place where he fit as he had with The People. Bleakly he accepted that it was not his path in life to feel that he belonged completely to a group.

The experiences left him feeling spiritually battered, but also more aware of the world around him. Would that be enough for him to become fully initiated? He spent little time worrying about that, because he was indeed learning to think less.

He lost himself so thoroughly in changing experiences that it was a surprise when Adia said one morning,
"Come. It is time for your final test."

He swallowed the last of his tea, then followed her as she set out briskly on a goat path that angled back and forth as it ascended the steep hill. The other priests did not accompany them.

They reached the summit, then headed down. The sun was well above the horizon by the time they had descended to a rocky edge several feet above the crashing waves. The waves were larger here than inside the caldera, and the wind harsher. Adia stopped at the water's edge and gave him a pouch that contained a water bottle and half a loaf of bread.
"Sit here and watch the sea."

"What shall I look for?"

"I cannot say. But cultivate patience, Captain. Wisdom does not come quickly." She smiled.
"You are better suited to this now than when you first came to Diabolo."

"How will I know when I have learned this particular wisdom?"

"You will know." She turned away and began climbing again.

He found himself gazing after her because she was human in an inhuman landscape, so he forced himself to turn back to the sea. He had tried meditating before starting his initiation, and been a flat failure.

Today, meditation seemed a little more possible. All day he sat as still as he could manage, watching the waves splash in and the light change on the rocks. The sun was hot and the rock under his backside was damned uncomfortable, but he did his best to clear his mind.

Seagulls glided over with haunting cries, occasionally diving into the sea for fish. A lizard came from the rocks and passed so closely that Nikolai could have caught it. Three goats wandered by, cropping at the scattered greenery. But of wisdom, he found none. Though the challenges he had experienced had slowed his thinking some, his mind was still a jumble of thoughts and questions and digressions.

As the sun set, he realized that Adia would not return for him today. That was why she'd left bread and water. He ate and drank a little, not sure how long his supplies must last. When it became too dark to watch the waves, he found a protected niche among the rocks. The goats ignored dried grasses, so he collected as many as he could find to make a thin pallet. He settled for the night, thinking he'd never spent a more boring day in his life. Maybe accepting boredom was the lesson he must learn?

As he fell to sleep, the stars sang to him.

By the next morning, hunger, cold, and lack of stimulation were beginning to weigh heavily on him. Reminding himself that he'd survived much worse, he finished the bread and took a swallow of water, then returned to doggedly watching the sea. In midmorning, he saw a far-distant sail. It was the high point of his day.

By late afternoon, he was light-headed. He drank the last of the water, thinking that if he was unable to see anything by the morning, he'd have to hike back to the camp. He wasn't sure which was worse—the hunger and thirst, or the overpowering desire to do something,
anything.
Even solitary confinement in a prison cell would be better than this—he knew because he'd experienced imprisonment.

Dusk was falling when he saw a waterspout in the distance. He thought it must be the result of some distant storm. Then another spout formed, and another and another until the horizon was full of whirling towers of energy. All had their own nature. Some were dark and frightening, causing his mind to flinch away. Others were distant, seemingly not of this earth. A few were warm and beckoning.

With a shock, he realized that they were spirits. African religion included spirits of nature, some good, others evil in human terms. What they all shared was great and dangerous power. Where the ancestors were intimately connected to mankind, these spirits were mighty entities that could do great damage without having anything humans recognized as conscious awareness.

It was another shock to realize that his mission would involve such great, inhuman powers. The knowledge was terrifying.

As he stared at the spirit beings, they began to whirl together until they had combined into a single vortex of energy that towered to the heavens and beyond. It glided across the sea toward him in eerie silence. Within that twisting form were flashes of dark and light, colors with no names, the essence of creation and destruction.

He began to shiver in the cool wind from the sea. As it came close, the spirit formed into a shape that was almost human, but indistinct so that he couldn't tell if it was male or female or—something else.

Yet he didn't feel fear. Whatever the entity was, he felt no malice. Rather, there was a sense of cool, clear wisdom and benevolence.

The spirit paused before him and began to shimmer through many shapes. He saw his mother, his grandmother, a dark Malti man who was surely his grandfather, a fair northerner who might have been his father. The images extended back in space, a line of ancestors that branched from Africa, Europe, and Asia.

The spirit reached the shore and cupped great hands around Nikolai's trembling body. As warmth flooded through him, he heard in his mind
"Be still and know that I am God."
The words blazed into the dark core of his being, which had never known stillness.