Everfair by Nisi Shawl

tree.
    â€œThese are named the Blessed of the King,” the old man began. “Newly his subjects, the Blessed of the King were on their way to him. Newly his subjects, the Blessed of the King were coming. To fulfill their lives, the Blessed were approaching. Fleeing murder, searching for their lives’ fulfillment in the presence of their king. Fleeing murder, frightened for their lives’ fulfillment, the Blessed of the King sought righteousness and peace.
    â€œAnd now they have found it.”
    A good story Old Kanna was making, forging meaning out of this stupid destruction. Mwenda gazed at each dead face, committing it carefully to his memory. White stars had drifted over the sightless eyes and stuck to the unsightly wounds.
    Someone was running toward him—quick breaths and shouted interruptions. A sentry knelt down in front of him and panted out: “King, King, we have discovered one alive, a man! Alive!”
    â€œA white? A black traitor?”
    â€œNeither! He says he was working for them and ran—and ran away—”
    Screams of wordless horror. Mwenda stood and waved aside those whose job it was to protect him. Taking advantage of this traveling court’s informality, he strode past the sentry to where a stranger had collapsed on the hard, burnt earth, wailing, groaning, rolling himself into a tight ball. A hand of additional sentries surrounded the unfortunate, and one of these held his nearest shoulder, looking foolish, unable to do more.
    â€œLet him go.”
    The sentry edged away.
    Gradually, the man’s grief appeared to subside a little. “Get up,” Mwenda told him, in the language of the people of the Kasai. “Get up and greet your king, Mwenda, and tell to me your troubles.”
    He was Loyiki. He knew the names and lives of all the dead. He believed his actions had killed them.
    Loyiki had been taken away with many others of Ilebo’s strong young men, those roughly the same age as Mwenda. They were supposed to harvest the tears of the vines-who-weep, of course, like all the rest of those whom the whites claimed to rule. Scared by threats of harm to the women, children, and old ones left behind in their village, Loyiki and his fellows had toiled painfully to satisfy the whites’ demands, which only increased when met. Finally, hearing of a refuge in the east, at the base of the Virunga Mountains, Loyiki had escaped. After much hardship he had found his refuge and been welcomed into it: a land called Everfair, of which Mwenda had heard in great detail since his “surrender.” Yet he remained curious about it and let Loyiki tell him further, listening attentively to his accounts of a hospital, farms, and foundries.
    After a time Loyiki had journeyed home again, intending to persuade his family to join him in Everfair. And now he had learned that this would never happen.
    The sky stayed light, though in the forest around Ilebo’s edges the shadows grew. Mwenda assigned Old Kanna to finish up the burial services with Loyiki’s help and withdrew to a less conspicuous spot for the night. No fire, but he didn’t need to consult the shine of his blade for his next move in this game of sanza his enemies were unaware they played. He knew what to do next and how, which weapon to deploy, and who would fetch to him that weapon: Josina.

 
    Bolombo River, Everfair, August 1896
    Rather than rush, then wait, Queen Josina planned to take her sweet time upon the king’s mission. Whether those she had been sent after were to be regarded as weapons or as allies, the queen didn’t like rising early to find them. She had better things to do than stay in a boat all day.
    The river flowed against them, slowing them. Though her paddlers made steady progress toward the refugee-welcoming settlement at Mbuji-Mayi, she expected Loyiki to catch up easily.
    As usual, she was right. On the fourth day of their journey a pair of small,