icodemus observes with indigo blue eyes as his acolytes move from one fighting stance to another.
The young ones are bound in similar black robes and leather wraps as Nicodemus. Their eyes tell a different tale than his. Their glow is but a glint in comparison to their teacher.
“Again,” he commands.
Sundiata comes up alongside Nicodemus and places a hand on his shoulder.
You felt it as well? he asks the Fifth Conscience of The Great Divide, whose young forehead is normally smooth, but now creased with concern.
Yes. Sundiata pauses for a single heartbeat. Godongwana is dead.
Nicodemus looks at Sundiata. What of Nileen?
I have felt nothing; she could not have escaped The Great Divide without my sensing it.
Sundiata turns away and looks upon the acolytes who continue to practice their motions.
There is something else, Sundiata explains, The death of Godongwana will bring war on two fronts.
Walking towards the acolytes, Nicodemus gestures and they correct their stances accordingly, then kneel before him, placing one knee and the opposite fist to the ground.
Aloud he says, “The Savage Negro.”