Muezzinland by Stephen Palmer

Creator. But these new things, they are an abomination from the north, they are not from Amma!"
    The north, Nshalla mused: Muezzinland? "Have you heard of a city called Timbuktu?" she asked.
    "No. I must go now. If the locusts are about, something has disturbed the spirits hereabouts."
    He departed as suddenly as he came, leaving Nshalla to ponder what she had heard. A number of elements had coalesced in her mind to create an unpleasant picture. The locusts were not real, but they could act upon reality, a state of affairs suggesting aether influence. Most likely they were autonomous technological detritus that had migrated from the autumnal West. The lack of people and proliferation of aerials suggested an aether directed towards non-human ends. Could a process of evolution be at work, instigated by the polluted environment, sustained by nuclear energy sources, symbolically organising itself into a mockery of the blasted West? Nshalla quailed. She had been taught that the aether was neutral. This experience, like that of Ouagadougou, suggested otherwise. The world was more complex than she had imagined.
    Nshalla noticed that Msavitar was whispering to the new transputers he had bought in Ouahigouya's markets. He seemed pleased with his acquisitions, studying the maps in particular.
    "Cost a lot, did they?" Nshalla asked.
    "Much haggling," he replied. "Timbuktu is maybe sixteen, seventeen days off. We will make it, I promise on the honour of my esteemed family."
    They continued to ride north, making good progress. That night hyenas with spectral forms upon their backs prowled around the camp, sniffing and whimpering, but they did not attack. Their eyes shone pale.
    They were now in Greater Gavoland, a strip of land extending south and westward from Gao on the River Niger. On the night of the sixth day out of Ouahigouya, Nshalla had a vivid dream concerning her mother. The Empress Mnada, huge, hot and heavy, splashed around in a river, devouring everything that came her way as if she were afflicted by terrible hunger. Msavitar failed to kill her with his javelins. The javelins were devoured. Then Nshalla's childhood nanny failed to kill the Empress with her fanged dogs. The dogs were devoured. In the morning, her sister Mnada went to the river and put a spell upon her mother, paralysing her. Nshalla woke just as the river waters rose bubbling around the Empress' nostrils.
    The discontent engendered by this dream Nshalla used to attack the hapless Msavitar. "We didn't ask you to follow us this far," she said. "We don't need you, and I'm not employing you. No cowries from me. "
    "But you need a man. This land is dangerous."
    "Are you saying I can't look after myself?" Gmoulaye asked, a threatening frown on her face.
    Msavitar hesitated. "Not exactly. But the male of the species has the superior musculature in the chest. That would be useful if we are attacked by lions."
    "Are you joking?" Nshalla retorted. She grasped for the strongest denial she could think of. "We should have left you in Ouahigouya. We're going to Timbuktu and we can manage by ourselves."
    He simply was not to be put off. "Timbuktu is on my maps. I will guide you, as I promised, oh, so many days back in Ashanti."
    Nshalla fumed. "You're not leaving Timbuktu with us."
    He replied smoothly, "So you would like me to accompany you to that city. Well, when I get you there we will discuss what is to happen afterwards."
    Descending into silent fury, Nshalla turned her back on him. She just wanted him gone. His oily manner only made him more insufferable. She felt that what her father had told her made him an appalling criminal, to be got rid of at all costs.
    They rode on. Two days later they entered Islamic Macina, a Fulani country of herders. The people were reticent. Most knew no words of New-Oriental, but those that did offered nothing by way of hospitality. Nshalla received the impression that the Fulani wanted them to leave as soon as possible. Even their dwarf