Chapter 78 - Port of Chains
Three teams left Shewa in the gray hush before dawn, when the sky was a deep blue bruise and the world was still asleep. The air was crisp, the silence sacred. Even the birds had yet to sing.
Naliaka, Ndengu, and two Abyssinian soldiers headed northward to Massawa. Akumu, Tiriki, and two more soldiers took the western route to Zeila. Zuberi, Simba, Biruk, Wasike, and three Abyssinian fighters rode southeast toward Assab.
Each team traveled under the guise of merchants, their wagons weighed down with cloth, spices, trinkets, and tools—all carefully selected to support their ruse. The true cargo, however, was far more valuable: sharp eyes, sharper minds, and the silent fire of vengeance.
The journey took days. They passed sleepy villages, winding rivers, and lonely hills under a burning sun. Every mile took them closer to danger.
Massawa Port
Naliaka and Ndengu split from the Abyssinian soldiers the moment the port town came into view. Their cloaks were long and dusty, hoods pulled low, bodies hunched like weather-beaten travelers. They slipped into the crowd without a sound.
Massawa was a symphony of chaos.
The scent of salt and fish clung to the air. Spices burned in the marketplace, thick and pungent. Shouting traders haggled in Somali, Arabic, and broken Amharic. Ships groaned in the harbor—sleek Ottoman warships painted in deep greens and reds, towering over the older wooden merchant vessels from across the Red Sea. Banners fluttered. Chains rattled.
And then there were the people.