Muezzinland by Stephen Palmer

a static-box, which he used to attack you in Ashanti. It was the failure of that attack that made your mother sack him. Released from service, he had little option but to ingratiate himself with you, hoping for reward, hoping perhaps to slit your throat at some time suited to him."
    "But the enemy on the riverboat."
    Ruari's ghostly head nodded. "That was a second agent of your mother's. His task was to eliminate Msavitar and collect you, then return you to Accra."
    "So mother wants me back?"
    "Of course she wants you at the palace, almost as much as she wants this Mnada daughter."
    Nshalla sighed. "I shouldn't have used my bank. She'll trace me."
    "She traced you to Daboya in Burkina Sude, but there the trail will go cold, unless she hears of the riverboat battle. I think you are for the moment out of her clutches, although there is one agent still unaccounted for."
    "A third agent?"
    "Yes," said Ruari. "I can find no trace of him. He will be the cleverest, the slyest, the most devious of them all."
    "More devious than Msavitar?"
    "Be careful."
    This was pertinent advice. Nshalla wondered for a moment if Gmoulaye was her enemy, but then she pushed the silly thought from her mind. A third man after her…
    Then Ruari said, "As for Muezzinland, I can find no trace of it. But that in itself is evidence. It must be a land that appeared during the fragmentation, since its existence seems to have been sustained, and passed on, by oral means alone. So it can be only a few decades old. You must ask after such a country, a young country, yet fabled."
    Nshalla thanked him, then stood silent for some minutes. "Will I ever see you again?"
    "I can only exist in this form around Ouagadougou. No metaframe has the freedom of the global web. So for now, we must part. But of course you can return to Ouagadougou."
    There were hot tears in Nshalla's eyes as she said, "Goodbye, then. And thank you. I'll come back when I can."
    "Darling Nshalla, you are my true daughter, my only daughter. Goodbye."
    Nshalla turned and ran away. Neither Gmoulaye nor Msavitar asked what she had been doing, though both noticed her tears and, Nshalla presumed, drew their own conclusions. In silence they walked through the forest, until, some time later, it began to thin, allowing the sun to shine through and warm their skin.

Chapter 6
    The roads failed almost as soon as they left the forest. They were now crossing trackless Sahel savanna, tinder dry, in places black where fires had raged, elsewhere shimmering with heat haze. Msavitar's vague memory was now entirely useless, and he confessed that he was in unknown territory. They had to rely on his and Gmoulaye's land skills in combination with the compass on Nshalla's belt transputer. Particularly galling was their lack of resources. Gmoulaye shared her weapons with Nshalla. They had enough water for six days, but any delays would cost them dear, and food would have to be obtained from the land.
    Nshalla entertained mixed feelings about Msavitar. Knowing now that he was a liar and a traitor, she despised him, yet she did not regret saving his life, and she could not forget that he had saved them from the second agent, and from the harsh land to the south. Yet still he was obsequious, glancing at her like a desert fox, and when on occasion she had reason to be rude to him she enjoyed it.
    As a company they were not much to speak of. Gmoulaye was short with Nshalla, Nshalla was short with Msavitar, and Msavitar sulked.
    The burning days passed by. Gmoulaye dug roots from the earth, gathered wild rice and ears of the cereals dani and gansi. From bees she stole honey. Twice they came across the remains of villages, their fields long since trampled by elephants, and here some beans, sweet potatoes and earthpeas grew wild. They were also able to retrieve cashew nuts from high branches.
    They did not allow Msavitar a watch. Nshalla and Gmoulaye took it in turns, and the fatigue this produced next day did not help their