The Islands of Sand and Steel

Chapter Nineteen: An Alliance of Rebels

Luava marched through the swamp. With every step, her feet sank into the acrid slush and pulled when she picked up her feet. Behind her, her group fared no better. Kilo bent under the weight of the supply baskets, and Angama moaned with effort each time she hauled her short legs out of the slime. Halusha and Klangaua's bickering had a rare vitriolic edge. Charlotte winced at the mud as though it were alive, and even her man, Reeves, looked bothered. Aside from Luava, only Mali carried her head high.

In this wasteland, far from the shore, trees were scarce, and the ground was level. Far ahead, Luava could see a cluster of mud hovels, which were considered proper huts on this island. Gardens huddled in wood-bound plots of clear soil, and vines climbed up frames, decorating the squalid mud dwellings with their flowerless creep.

This was Makawa Kele, the marsh. Here on the remote island of Yawa, where the colonials were represented by only a single shoreline outpost, this settlement was allowed to live untaxed and unwatched. With every step, Luava's conscience gnawed at her. These people were pariahs of native society, and rightly so.

A woman appeared from one of the near huts. A call went up. More heads appeared from the other huts, then a tight formation of seven women gathered by the center of the hut cluster, then marched towards the visitors. Luava was gratified to see that they too had trouble walking in the mud.

Their outfits were native, but tainted with hints of colonial influence. The leader wore a grass skirt and a top that covered most of her body, spectacles marring her eyes. Tiny bandages covered a pair of cuts on her right arm, and delicate white gloves covered her hands. Knee-high combat boots rose from the mud, clashing with her grass skirt. In her hands, the woman held a copy of Society and the Equality of Woman, the ur-text of these peoples' creed.

"Welcome to Makawa Kele," said the woman, in her far-eastern accent. "I am Melissa Manananka. Can I trust that you come in peace?" She offered a hand.

Luava did not take it. "I am Chieftain Luava from the island of Alkamana, and we have waged a campaign of revolution against the colony of New Trackton. There's been a setback, and I..." she closed her eyes and swallowed her pride. "I seek an alliance with you."

Melissa gave a deep, calm smile-- taunting, Luava thought. "I see you've already made peace with two of the whites. Well done. I would be honored to create an alliance. We welcome any help we can find in spreading the word of socialism to the archipelago."

Luava jabbed a deadly finger at Melissa. "Listen to me," she said, "we will not turn away from our culture, our home or our traditions. Your talk of unity and conversion and your... classless society will not infect us."

Melissa looked crestfallen. "I am sorry, and I understand. Tradition is a cocoon not easily broken from. But you must understand too: if you expect us to assist you, you must do something for us as well."

"We will sacrifice our money, our ships and even our lives, but we will never compromise our principles."

Mali brushed Luava's hand for attention. "Don't be reckless," she whispered. "We can't do it alone anymore. If we refuse this, we won't get our submarine."

Luava elbowed her away and faced Melissa. "Your cult will achieve nothing without us to instigate change in the real world. Tell us what you want, and we may accept."

Melissa clasped her hands in front of her. "I request that you add two of my comrades to your team. As long as the hand of socialism is present in your dealings, you will have our support. You will have our money, our supplies and our ship, all with perfect secrecy."