Haile Unlikele, God-Emperor

[slobberinbear]

Prologue

Listen to me now, my sons and daughters and all of my nephews and great-grandchildren, as I lay on my deathbed. I know you think me senile and frail from my age and many ailments. Still, with my remaining time in Creation -- with my very last breaths, if need be -- I will tell you the true story of how things of this world came to pass, and my small part in them.

It is a story of love, of betrayal, of vengeance, and of redemption. Of war and armies and great monoliths of stone and steel. It is a story of deception and bravery, too. But above all, it is the story of our nation and its leader, the God-Emperor himself, my friend, the man who would be called ...

When the world was young, our people were in bondage. We were slaves to colonial powers from faraway lands, people of Babylon with minds of power and domination. While they lived like kings, our men worked in the fields and mines while our women cared for the masters' homes and families. They tried to break our bodies with the whip; they tried to break our spirit with their cruelty. They even tried to change our names from those given to us by our ancestors. Life was suffering and toil. As the years passed in bondage, our captivity became a way of life for many. Such is the resilience of our people that we adapted; though they would never have admitted it, in truth our Masters were weaker than us, for our captivity was the cause of their malaise and corruption.

One day, a ship arrived with a load of new slaves from the Homeland. All were scrubbed with soap and rough cloth, given new clothes, new mates, and new names. But one straggler remained on the boat. "Go get him," the slave master said to me. "Tell him if he comes now he'll only get five lashes!"

The ship stank of human filth and brine, for I too had become accustomed to the Masters' ways and thought myself civilized. Searching the lowest deck, amongst the bilge, was a thin man with long, matted hair. He smelled of the ship and and vomit and the sweet smoky odor of a fragrant herb. The man, no more than thirty years of age, wore a lazy smile and appeared unconcerned about his state of affairs.

"Get up, you fool," I said in our tribal tongue. "The Masters will have you beaten for your insolence."

"The Masters are of Babylon and have not smoked the sacred herb," he replied.

"Babylon? We are in the New World!" I said, irritated.

"Yes and no. Our bodies are here, but our hearts are in Zion, friend."

"We will both be lashed if we do not leave now! Come!"

And with that, I drug the God-Emperor from that nasty vessel and into the tropical sunlight of the Masters' dock. The newcomer got five lashes and I one for my delay. He winced at the pain but did not cry out.

"I will lead these people in a great Exodus," he said calmly to the slave-master. "Stand aside and grant Jah people freedom."

He was brutally caned and kept under lock and key for two months. We thought him dead, though the Masters worked us harder than ever before, to sweat the thoughts of escape out of us.

"But how did you escape, Grandfather? With no weapons, no ships, nothing?"

"That is a tale in itself, when I am in a different mood perhaps. It is not a tale for young ears, either. For now, I will only say that in time we did escape in our masters' own boats, and land on the beach not a mile from here. And so our journey as a nation of free people began.

Spoiler :

 

[slobberinbear]

Chapter 1: A New Land

"Why did you land here in Jamaica, Grandfather? Why did you not return to Africa?"

"We were not sailors, child. We were slaves, trained for manual labor and menial tasks for the Masters. Indeed, many of our tribal ways and knowledge had been stamped out of us, so dependent were we upon the Masters. Which is why the new slaves were, in some ways, better ready for this journey than the rest of us. In any event, none of us could properly pilot a sailing ship, and we ran aground after a fierce storm. Just on the other side of that hill, in fact."

Some of the men wanted to fight the Masters, but the thin newcomer persuaded them to use their might to guard the old and the weak during the Exodus. One woman, still carrying her tribal name of Zekela, came to lead this band of fighting men.

"Zekela the Lioness? The legendary general?" my son looked at me, mouth agape.

"Do not interrupt your father," his sister scolded, smiling.

"Will you search this island, Zekela? The people are tired and must rest here at this safe haven."

"And who are you, newcomer, to give orders? A new Master?" the warrior woman scoffed.

"I am no one's Master. You are you; I am I. All men and women deserve equal and just rights," he reasoned, smoking a small spliff. "As for the name I was given at birth, it is Unlikele. And I could use some more herb, if you find some."

Zekela laughed. "Very well. We will search this place."

"There is no 'we,' my friend. There is only I and I. The inner person within each of us, holy to Jah."

I gathered a few of the others and together we unloaded the damaged ship. In a few short weeks, our ragged beach had become our new home. Fresh water was abundant, as was food; you had only to pick it off the tree. Plantains, oranges, wild game, even the whales, all were there for the people. All that remained was for us to learn the ways of the land, to harvest Jah's bounty, and to protect ourselves from the Masters. For we ever looked to the sea, fearful of the tall ships that carried our oppressors.

A few of us gathered up some fruit and fish and other supplies for the scouting warrior band and met them a few miles north of Haven. Already they had adapted somewhat to our new jungle island home, stripping away unnecessary clothing and using salvaged farm implements as machetes to cut away foliage. But their humanity remained, of course, and they greeted us with wide smiles, eager to hear of their friends and families as we awaited word of their travels.

"It is good to see a friendly face, Jacob. To the east of Haven is the end of this island. Lots of fish, bananas, and citrus fruits. We also met a small tribe of natives," Zekela said through bites of dried fish.

"What are they like?"

"Primitive, like the tribes of the Homeland, but different. They are short and barrel-chested, and were hostile. I was glad we were separated by the ocean channel, or there would have been bloodshed. They kept pointing to us and shouting 'Ja-may-ka.' Do you know what that means?"

"I have no idea. Perhaps there are others less hostile here that can translate," I offered. The Masters spoke occasionally of the savage native races of the New World, fierce cannibalistic warriors worshipping strange gods.

On a whim I decided to throw in with Zekela's warriors and continued with them on their journeys to the western part of the island. It was a long journey that I have never forgetten, for many reasons. But the men took me in despite my "civilized" ways and I was grateful for both their friendship and their courage.

"You traveled with Zekela," my nephew said in disbelief.

"From my lips to Jah's ears, yes."

"Were you with her when she ..." he started.

"Enough! I will tell the tale in the manner of my choosing or not at all! For it is my tale, and the tale of the God-Emperor, too. Now fetch me some water, boy, and hold your tongue."

We scouted the northern coastline of our island home. As I could write, I started keeping a journal using a ledger that I had stolen from my Master's wife during the Exodus. Zekela often looked at it over my shoulder, uncomprehending but reminding me of things we had seen, but would draw notable sights in the book next to my small, careful script. She used my pencil and drew in coal as well, using a flowing hand. Though she thought it nothing, she had the gift of capturing the essence of her subject easily.

Of particular note were two abandoned hilltop settlements, ruins of some long-forgotten tribe.

We spent a week at each location, recovering gold coins, trade goods, and even some items of primitive jewelry. Some cave-drawings showed men working with animals, herding and breeding them. The details were striking and all of us realized that this knowledge should be shared with the people. I made as many notes as I could, filling in the gaps with guesswork in conversations with those of the warriors that had worked with the Masters' domesticated animals. Zekala's drawings of the pictographs were studied for decades in Haven, and many would make the journey to the ruins to see the ancient artwork for themselves.

All items found were packed for the journey back to Haven, though the men insisted that Zekela wear a striking necklace of animal teeth I had found in the ruins. Amused, she relented and wore it.

The northern shore of the island also held mineral deposits -- precious metals, particularly silver, as well as workable marble on a small island off the coast. But among the most important finds of our journey to the western part of the island was of course our discovery of the people of Marrakech, our neighbors.

Our reception was cordial, all things considered. The King's sensechal greeted us at the outskirts of Moroccan lands. He spoke in the tongue of the Masters.

"You are escaped slaves, yes?"

"Yes," Zekela replied. "We greet you in peace and will leave your lands to you."

"Then take this gift," he said, handing her a bag of coins. "For our town of traders is comprised both of merchants and former slaves as well. If you have need of materials and wish to trade, your emissaries are welcome."

"Have you news of the world?" I interjected.

The robed seneschal regarded me with a surprised look. "Your dialect is almost without accent. Are you a man of letters?"

"I ... was. Yes."

"To answer your question ... no. We have occasional contact with the Homeland, but we know little of islands about. Our merchants seek trading partners here in the New World. Word of such opporunities would be rewarded."

"We met a band of natives on a small island northeast of here. They kept yelling 'Ja-may-kah.' Do you know what that means?"

He smiled. "That is the local name of this island, the place of many springs. We call it this too: Jamaica. And now it is your home as well."

"We leave you in peace then," Zekela said. The next morning and we departed for Haven, our island home Jamaica now fully explored.

The Haven we returned to was not the same place Zekela had left. The newcomer, Unlikele, had assumed a casual leadership role and directed the construction of food storage buildings and loosely organized the people into gathering bands to harvest the bounty of the world. Technologies had been learned and methods applied, and the people were as fertile as the land. Families swelled and people ventured farther and farther from Haven proper.

"What is this?" I asked of Unlikele, standing before a giant monolith of wood and stone.

"It is our sacred stele, a symbol of Zion that uplifts our spirits to Jah."

"Is that the ship's beam I see there?"

"It is, Jacob. Jah gives I and I that which we need. Do you not see? The people are now one with the land. Jah has shown us the sacred path to Zion in our hearts, here in the jungle."

"You do not seek to return to the Homeland now?"

"It is the work of I and I to remain here, in Haven, to uplift the people in Liberty. To work together, collectively, all citizens of this republic of free men and women. To settle this land of Jamaica and to let no one fear the Master ever agin."

 

[Bandersnatching]

So, two stories at once? This one is interesting as well; I like the concept and I will continue to read as you update it. Good luck!

 

[dot80]

I really like your diagrams. Its odd to see what our eyes and mind do all the time without really having to think about it.

 

[slobberinbear]

Thank you. I am trying to convey game information visually and restrict all verbiage to the story. It's an immersion thing.

I will be posting the next chapter soon.