Muezzinland (14 page)

"I'm a princess," Nshalla replied haughtily. "I'll come and go as I please."

She departed the tent.

Araouane was dark, but not too dark for a cursory look about the place. As the hours passed and midnight approached she wandered the interior lanes, hunting for clues to the worship of Sajara but finding nothing. Men drinking citrus liquors and pre-cooled saki ogled her, but she was not approached, although many youths threw verbal insults at her. But this was after all the time for moslem men to enjoy their own company.

Moodily she returned to the tent, untied Gmoulaye, then rolled herself into a blanket and slept.

Next morning the second Hira attacked.

This time it was an elephant of vast size, ten metres at the shoulder, not shadowy like the first, but leathery and fat and loud, the thunk of its feet making the ground shake, the glare of its scimitar tusks blinding Nshalla. She tried to remind herself that this was, in effect, an illusion, albeit controlled by some local entity. But such thoughts were difficult to believe when choking dust filled the air and the screams of horrified locals echoed up and down sandy lanes. Suddenly a gunshot rang out. Nshalla quailed to see the mouth of the elephant turn up in a hideously human grin.

Again Gmoulaye stood at her side. "It is the tale of the Hira re-enacted," she said. "Somebody in Araouane is dreaming all this, forcing us to take on the mantle of Musa Jinni and his woman friend."

"The tale," gasped Nshalla. "Yes, of course. Your totem is the elephant—you must become one to steal four hairs from the Hira's tail. Quickly!"

Gmoulaye ran to the nearest building and lay down, while Nshalla returned her attention to the Hira. It towered over her now, its trunk thrashing from side to side, its black eyes shining, and there seemed an indefinable quality of triumph in its pose, as if it had some fabulous trick to play that would bring ruin to its enemies.

"Begone!" Nshalla shouted.

"Never," came the metallic reply. "I am the Hira. I am here to kill."

The Hira's voice was a poor illusion compared to its appearance, something generated by cheap voice software, and Nshalla was momentarily afforded a glimpse of a restricted entity powering this tale, perhaps one with a weak spot. She stood her ground. At least it was talking.

"I am the hero Musa Jinni," she declared. "You cannot overcome me."

"Oh, but I can."

Nshalla glanced aside to see a female elephant lying not far away, by a pool. The Hira too had seen it. With a jaunty air it lumbered over to take a drink, then investigate the female interest. As it did so, Nshalla saw the trunk of the new elephant creep to the Hira's tail and pluck out four hairs.

Immediately she ran across. It was over; relief flooded though her. The tale had been followed to the letter, and now the Hira would be under their control.

She took the four hairs from the trunk, and as she did so Gmoulaye was at her side, the female elephant gone.

"Hira," she said, "by possessing these four hairs I acquire power over you. Lie down and prepare to die. You'll never threaten Araouane again."

"Will I not?" said a new voice, not quite the Hira, not quite so metallic.

Nshalla hesitated. Something in that voice…

The body of the Hira disconnected in a slow-motion explosion, trunk and foot and ear sent to the electromagnetic ocean, revealing a tall man amid a cloud of blue smoke, that slowly dispersed to reveal—

"I-C-U Tompieme!" Nshalla cried.

"The very same."

For a full minute the two opposed one another, I-C-U Tompieme silent, mastering and yet also bathing in the sense of triumph that suffused the air, Nshalla too shocked to move, too stunned even to think. This was the least expected outcome.

At last I-C-U Tompieme spoke. "You have failed, Princess Nshalla. By careful manipulation of the aether I have brought you to a position in which you have no possibility of escape. The tale has been followed through, but, as you will recall, I am a hairless being. The hairs your servant took were illusory within the context of the tale, allowing me now to create my own ending consonant with local culture. You have no power over me—quite the reverse, in fact."

"But you… Here…"

"Never mind that," said I-C-U Tompieme. "The critical issue is the Princess Mnada. I want her. Now."

Nshalla felt her throat constrict when she heard her sister's name. So transparent a plan. Of course they would do everything in their power to return Mnada to the Accra palace; and she had fallen for the trick.

Desperation forced her to think. She was a fighter. Her sister must not be captured. In a thin, high voice she said, "I don't know where she is."

"That is no problem. I will simply use you as a beacon."

"A beacon?"

I-C-U Tompieme reached out and pain made Nshalla squeeze her eyes shut and grit her teeth. "Yes, a beacon. You and your sister were close, after the fashion of human beings. The pain you broadcast will attract Princess Mnada since she will recognise its metaphysical source. Soon, she will come here. All I have to do is wait."

Nshalla tried to turn to Gmoulaye, who stood like a cornered animal a few metres away. "Help me," she managed to whisper. "Help me…"

But the pain seemed to drown her. It was like the chaotic, nauseous, temple-clasping pain that had afflicted her during the static-box attack, pain that stopped all movement, rational thought, or hope of rational thought. Nshalla wallowed in her misery. At times, she forgot who her tormentor was, but at other times she smelled the alkaloid chemicals he sweated, and cursed him.

Then it stopped.

She fell backwards, landing awkwardly on her bottom and jarring her spine. It was as if a giant hand had let her go. Her stomach heaved, there was bile in her throat, and then nothing. She opened her eyes. Her vision cleared.

Gmoulaye stood nearby, a crude raffia doll in her bloodstained hand. I-C-U Tompieme stood staring at it, his black eyes bulging. Gmoulaye crouched low, as if preparing for the worst.

Mnada stood just metres away, her red hair wild and filthy, tears in her eyes, a real woman with no aetherial counterpart.

I-C-U Tompieme glanced at Mnada, back at the raffia doll, then looked up as if to search the sky. With a wail his form dematerialised, extending as if it was being sucked into the doll. But at the last moment it avoided this fate and disappeared into Gmoulaye's clothes. Suddenly the air was clear of tension and fear.

Mnada ran off.

"Mnada!" Nshalla called out. But she was too weak to follow.

Gmoulaye also sat upon the ground, breathing hard.

"What happened?" Nshalla asked.

"I made a fetish. It was the only thing I could think of. Luckily I was beneath his notice. He ignored me to concentrate on you."

Sobbing, Nshalla hugged Gmoulaye. "You saved me. You saved us both."

Gmoulaye said nothing.

When they had recovered, Gmoulaye continued, "I realised that if I-C-U Tompieme could make his own ending to the tale, so could anybody else. So I rushed away to make a fetish in which to capture his image. There was nothing handy except raffia, so I bound it roughly into his shape, then sacrificed my own blood so that it could draw in his aetherial essence." Gmoulaye exhibited her hand, which she had cut with a knife. Blood oozed out.

Nshalla nodded. "His upper level programs will think they're trapped. But it won't last for ever."

"No."

Nshalla paused, recalling what she had witnessed. "Actually," she said, "his image didn't go into the fetish. It seemed to miss and go into your gandurah."

"Did it?" Gmoulaye rummaged through her indigo robe, noticing as she did that Ashiakle's canoe had fallen out of her pocket. It lay on the floor in a bed of fine sand. The sand around seemed darker, as if scorched.

She reached out to pick it up.

"Don't," Nshalla said.

"What?"

"Don't touch it," insisted Nshalla. "I'm certain I-C-U Tompieme's image missed the fetish completely. Ashiakle's canoe was in your pocket."

"So?"

"What if the canoe is the source of all this? When I was attacked at Sidi Maktar, what devices were nearby?"

Gmoulaye considered this, then replied, "No, Ashiakle's canoe is a well known symbol of good. It was probably the canoe that helped me avoid the attention of the android." She stooped to pick it up.

"Are you sure?"

"It is only neoprene and metal—"

"On the outside," Nshalla pointed out.

Gmoulaye shook her head. "It is a force for good. It could not be an external soul, nor even a simple fetish."

Nshalla was unconvinced. "Are you certain?"

Gmoulaye did not seem sure, but then she nodded and said, "It feels good. It is good. I will continue to keep it."

Nshalla shrugged.

After an hour spent recuperating in Budur's tent they planned the rest of their day. Secret operations were now becoming difficult, since Nshalla had acquired quite a reputation; talk of the two women's deeds was all over Araouane. By late afternoon they found that they could not walk around the settlement without a train of twenty small boys and sundry youths. Frustration made them tetchy.

This was not helped when, at evening prayers when Araouane became quiet for a while, Assane appeared.

"You have both done marvellously well," he said. Nshalla sneered; his sincerity had the consistency of palm oil. Noticing her face, he paused, then added, "To kill such an aetherial creature is no small feat. But we must ask where the source hardware is."

He looked at them both, clearly awaiting an answer.

Nshalla replied, "We don't know, Assane. Perhaps you know more than you let on."

"What do you mean?"

Nshalla marvelled that an entity of software and electromagnetic ripples could appear so human. "I think you're hiding something about what's happening around here. Our transputers are clean. We met you near Sidi Maktar, and that's where the attacks started."

He defended himself by attacking. "You know the android behind the Hira and the earlier, gender attack. It is a creature of your past, so do not place the suspicion upon me."

"But who knows how it got to be with us?" countered Nshalla.

"And who knows where it is now?" Gmoulaye added.

Blandly, Assane replied, "I cannot answer these questions. I only know its physical component is in the vicinity. Support for the virus ecology necessary to create the Hira requires this. Naturally, the suspicion falls upon you both."

Nshalla felt trapped. She dared not admit that she knew I-C-U Tompieme was around since that would both make her appear untrustworthy and give Assane more information than she wanted him to possess. Could Assane be working with the transputer-shaman? It seemed unlikely. So what was the truth?

Suddenly her frustration made her lash out. "Leave us alone. I'm tired of playing word games with you, Assane Atangana, very tired indeed. Just go away."

"And Mnada?"

"I'll find her."

"And your progress through the desert?"

Nshalla began to walk away. "We'll find human guides," she said.