PREVIOUSLY
[I remained in silence, processing the data. The logistics were established; the bridge to the rest of the world was built. We were no longer a kingdom confined to a single continent; we were a power beginning to dominate the largest ocean on the planet.
"Zasaba," I said, looking toward my Chancellor. "Prepare the supplies. I want the next fleet to carry seeds, tools, and more artisans. Hawaii shall not be merely a waypoint; it shall be the heart of our network in the Sunset."
The afternoon sun filtered through the windows, illuminating the map of the Pacific which now, at last, ceased to be a void. The Suaza Kingdom had reclaimed its place upon the ocean.]
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One day later.
Year 12 of the SuaChie Calendar, Eighth Month.
Dawn City (Cuba), Federal Region of the Floating Islands (Caribbean).
I found myself in my office at Stone Manor, observing how years of planning finally intertwined with the current state of the Suaza Kingdom, embodied in reports, maps, and records.
Stone Manor, constructed with blocks of limestone and polished granite that defied local architecture, stood as a symbol of the Suaza Kingdom's permanence in these lands. The midday sun bathed my desk, which was covered in maps and trade reports that would have made any European treasurer pale in comparison.
I allowed myself a moment of introspection. If the joint expedition toward the Sunset Ocean proved successful, we would not only open a route to Asia; we would create a commercial axis where the Suaza Kingdom would not be a mere spectator, but the central gear.
We no longer depended solely on the goodwill of the Europeans. The Kingdoms of England, Spain, and Portugal had sold us strategic islands, recognizing—perhaps unwittingly—that our presence was necessary for their own prosperity.
We had held Link City in Cape Verde since Year 10, thanks to Portugal. And recently, Spain had ceded one of the Canary Islands to us, while England had done the same with one of the Scilly Isles. Three trading cities, three beacons of our culture at the gates of Europe, allowing us to manage our relations far more discreetly and directly with each of those realms.
I looked out the window toward the harbor of Dawn City. The spectacle was breathtaking. A constant dance of vessels of all sizes traversed the turquoise waters of the Sea of the Floating Islands. What the documents called the "Kingdom's Commercial Trident" was operating at full capacity.
"Zasaba has done exceptional work here," I murmured to myself.
Dawn City had consolidated itself as the nexus with the Chibcha Federal Region (Central America) and the trade—now tense but persistent—with the Mayans and the Mesoamerican plateau.
To the north, Great River City (New Orleans, US), under the direction of Chesua, son of Chewa, channeled the massive volume of resources from the cultures of the southeast of Northern Quyca (North America). And finally, Tacaino City (Île-à-Vache, Haiti), the capital of the FRFI, served as the lung connecting with Southern Quyca—the demographic and resource heart of our Kingdom. Seeing those ships with mixed sails and reinforced hulls entering and leaving the port was the physical confirmation that we were no longer an isolated realm; we were a living system.
Just as I prepared to shift my focus to review the cultural and sporting plans the ministers had prepared in Central City (Tunja, Colombia) for the coming year, a sharp, rhythmic knock sounded at the door.
"Enter," I said, regaining my composure as a leader.
My assistant entered, bowing deeply.
"Young Chuta, I pray you forgive the interruption. A noble envoy from the Kingdom of England requests an urgent audience with you. Chancellor Zasaba has already received him in the Council House and awaits your presence."
I was surprised. Nobles who came for commercial matters were usually of lower rank and were handled by Zasaba without the need for my intervention. Furthermore, the joint expedition had only been gone for five months; it would be more than half a year before their return.
What could be so important as to make an English noble cross the Sunrise Ocean just to see me?
"I shall go at once," I replied.
I stepped out of the Stone Manor under the radiant Caribbean sun. My retinue of guards and assistants followed at a measured pace. As we walked through the cobblestone streets of Dawn City, I took the time to greet the citizens. Their faces, a blend of all the cultures of the realm, reflected a confidence that was my greatest pride. The people did not see me merely as a king, but as the architect of their well-being.
Upon reaching the Council House—a building with high ceilings and cross-ventilation designed to mitigate the heat—I was guided directly to Zasaba's private chambers. As I entered, the scene froze for an instant.
Beside Zasaba stood a young man who, despite being only eighteen, appeared much older due to the severity of his features and the standard of life led in the great European cities.
Edward de Vere, son of John de Vere, stood immediately, performing a bow laden with the characteristic pomp of the Tudor court. Zasaba, for his part, rose with a more sober greeting, the style I had fostered in our kingdom.
"Honored Edward de Vere," I greeted, taking my seat at the head. "Be welcome to Dawn City. I am surprised to see you here before the joint fleet returns from the Indies."
Edward looked at me with a mixture of respect and contained curiosity. I knew that, to him, I was an anomaly: a twelve-year-old child with the power of a great king.
"Your Majesty," he began, his voice firm, though somewhat weary from the long voyage. "I bring a direct message from my liege, King Henry VII of England. He desires that the bonds we have forged in trade be transformed into something far more solid and permanent."
He paused, glancing sideways at Zasaba before continuing.
"In addition to thanking you for the swift construction of the port in the Scillies, King Henry formally requests that the Suaza Kingdom establish a permanent embassy in the city of London. He, in turn, has appointed me as his ambassador here, should you accept it."
The news hit me like a gust of cold wind. Zasaba and I exchanged a quick look. Through the Shadows, our espionage network, we knew much about the movements of Spain and Portugal, but England had been a quieter, purely commercial partner. An embassy meant full diplomatic recognition, but also an advanced observation post for our Shadows in the heart of the British Isle.
"We gratefully accept this token of trust from King Henry," I replied, keeping my voice calm. "It is a natural step for two kingdoms that look toward the future. We shall appoint our finest men to travel to London as ambassadors with all haste. As a sign of our goodwill for this friendly gesture, I shall grant England the first option to purchase the ships built in the shipyards of the Sunset Ocean (Pacific), and we shall do so at preferential prices."
Edward gave another inclination of his head, visibly satisfied with the success of his first mission. However, I noticed him shifting in his seat. There was something more.
"Your Majesty..." Edward cleared his throat, and for the first time in the meeting, he seemed to hesitate. "King Henry considers that embassies and trade are the foundations of an alliance, but that only blood can build impregnable walls."
A bad premonition settled in my stomach. Zasaba arched an eyebrow, suspecting the same as I.
"To what exactly do you refer, Ambassador?" Zasaba asked, forcing the answer.
"King Henry VII wishes to offer you the hand of his daughter, the Princess Margaret," Edward blurted out. "He believes that a matrimonial union between the House of Tudor and the Suaza ruling line would ensure our nations never turn their backs on one another."
I sat paralyzed. The word "wife" echoed in my mind like an alarm bell.
I was twelve years old. Technically, I already had three betrothed: Umza, Nyia, and Turey. The emotional logistics of managing three talented women with strong personalities was already a challenge that my adult mind in a child's body could barely process.
A fourth? An English princess?
I felt the heat rise to my cheeks. The image of Margaret Tudor, which my historical memories of the future struggled to recall, was that of an English woman of strong character and royal ambition. If I accepted, my private life would become a political and personal battlefield far more complex than any war against the Mexica.
"It is a... generous offer," I managed to say, trying not to let my voice crack. "But as you know, I am still young and must consult these matters with the Council of Elders and my family."
Zasaba shot me a look that blended mockery with deep strategic concern. He knew I could not reject this lightly without insulting Henry VII, but he also knew my diplomatic "harem" was spiraling out of control.
"We understand perfectly," Edward replied, relieved to have unburdened himself. "The King does not expect an immediate response, but he wishes you to know that he considers your lineage equal to any crown in Europe."
When we emerged from the meeting, the air of Dawn City felt heavier than before. I walked toward the pier in silence, watching the sea. We were an oceanic power, we had cities on three continents, and soon we would have a route to Asia. But while I planned the resistance against the Triple Alliance and the mastery of the Sunset, a much more mundane thought tormented me.
"Four wives..." I thought, sighing as the Caribbean wind ruffled my hair. "If I survive the Mexica and the Spaniards, I might just die from the complications of my own court."
I looked toward the horizon of the Sunrise (Atlantic). The future was bright, but it was becoming dangerously crowded.
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POV Third Person.
Simultaneously, on the other side of the Sunrise Ocean (Atlantic).
Imperial Palace of the Songhai Empire, Gao, Guanza Quyca (Africa).
The Sahel sun fell with implacable force upon the adobe walls of Gao, the jewel of the Niger River. Inside the imperial palace, the air was cooler, stirred by large palm fans and the high-ceilinged architecture that Muhammad Ture I had perfected after seizing power.
Seated upon his throne, surrounded by the solemnity of his court, the Askia—as he was now known—observed his ministers with a gaze that combined the devotion of a mystic with the coldness of a general.
It had been barely a year since Muhammad had risen against the dynasty of Sonni Ali. The former king, though a formidable warrior who had expanded the empire to the routes of salt and gold, lacked the religious fervor the times demanded.
Under Sonni's leadership, the Muslim faith was an ornament for the nobility; but for Muhammad, it was the axis upon which the world must turn. With the support of the ulama of Timbuktu, he had swept away the heirs of the old bloodline and established a new order: one of ministries, loyal governors, and, above all, submission to Allah.
The morning reports had been encouraging. The ministries of finance, justice, interior, protocol, agriculture, water, and forests operated with the precision of a well-oiled machine. The empire was stable, there were no revolts, and trade flowed with a freedom Sonni Ali would never have permitted.
However, while the Minister of the Interior spoke of the caravan routes toward the Maghreb, Muhammad's mind drifted toward the future. He desired to perform the Hajj, the pilgrimage to Mecca. He wanted to kneel before the guardians of the holy sites and gain the definitive backing of Islam for his reign in Africa.
His calculations indicated that the necessary logistics—thousands of soldiers, camels laden with gold and provisions—would not be ready until the beginning of the subsequent year (1496 AD || Year 14 of the SuaChie Calendar).
"...and lastly, Majesty," the Minister of the Interior said, breaking the thread of his thoughts. "We must discuss the state of the 'people of the waters' in the west."
Muhammad focused his dark eyes on the minister. "Do you refer to the merchants who settled on the coast four years ago? Those cities that sprouted from the sand as if they were oases of stone."
The minister nodded. "The same. Their presence has become unavoidable in the markets of Timbuktu and Gao."
Muhammad remembered the first time he had heard of them while still a general. The reports described men of copper-colored skin arriving in ships as large as mosques, laden with goods that no one on the Niger had ever seen. Back then, he had proposed aggressive measures to expel the invaders, but Sonni Ali, captivated by the gifts of jewels and mirrors sent by the foreigners, forbade any hostility.
Over time, Muhammad's curiosity had overcome his suspicion. He himself, during his campaign for power, had encountered one of their merchants at an outpost. What had impressed him most was not the gleam of their steel or the fineness of their fabrics, but the fact that the man spoke Arabic, Songhai, and several tribal tongues like Hausa and Mandinka with an unsettling fluency, showing a true intent to understand them.
"I wish to know the opinion of this council," Muhammad declared, scanning the hall. "Are these men a blessing from Allah or a plague we must eradicate?"
The council split instantly into two camps, a dichotomy Muhammad had expected.
The ministers of justice, interior, and protocol were the first to speak. Their faces showed the rigidity of those who view with suspicion any influence that does not come from sacred texts.
"Majesty," the Minister of Justice said. "These sea people refuse to submit to Islam. They practice their own rites and, though they study our scriptures with a respect that almost seems like devotion, they do not bow the knee to the Prophet… Nevertheless, we must admit they respect our laws with a diligence that shames many of our own nobles and subjects. They have never coerced the tribes allied to them, and when some local warriors attacked them by mistake in the north, their response was firm, but not excessive. They seek not blind vengeance, but order."
Muhammad nodded slowly, processing the information. That they studied Islam with curiosity was a point in their favor; knowledge was the gateway to conversion.
Then, the economic bloc took the floor with an enthusiasm difficult to hide. The ministers of finance, agriculture, and forests exchanged knowing glances. The Minister of Finance stepped forward, showing a sheet of paper so white and resilient it seemed made of pressed clouds.
"Majesty, the impact of their trade is incalculable," the treasurer affirmed. "The jewels, precious stones, and metals they bring from their distant lands are the desire of all the nobility. But it is not only luxury. They bring tools of superior casting and a paper that allows our scribes to keep records that will last for centuries."
The Minister of Agriculture added to the account, visibly moved.
"Most valuable, Askia, is what grows in the earth. Their crops of maize, tobacco, and a long-fiber cotton are flooding the markets of the Niger. They are teaching the western tribes irrigation techniques that transform dry land into gardens."
Muhammad frowned momentarily at the thought of the foreigners' religious resistance, but upon hearing of the aid to tribes in need and the stability of their product prices, his expression relaxed. He knew that Islam in Songhai was still a religion of the elites; the common people remained bound to fetishes and animism. If these foreigners were respectful and prosperous, who was he to reject the hand Allah extended to him across the sea?
"Wise counselor," Muhammad said, addressing an elder with a white beard who had remained silent until that moment. "You have dealt with them directly. Who are they truly? Where do they come from?"
The sage, who had served as the diplomatic bridge to the first Suaza coastal city, bowed with respect.
"Majesty, they call themselves the Suaza Kingdom. They come from a place they call the 'Great Quyca,' a world beyond the western sea. They have explained to me that their sovereign, a youth of a wisdom that defies his years, has undertaken voyages seeking the limits of creation. They are not conquerors in the traditional sense; they seek allies, not slaves. However..."
The sage paused deliberately, ensuring he had everyone's attention.
"Make no mistake in confusing their friendship for weakness… Months ago, a tribe of aggressive warriors attacked one of their settlements, believing them to be easy prey. The Suaza repelled them with a brutality that chilled the blood of witnesses. They possess metal tubes that spit fire and thunder—weapons that can strike down a rider before he can even raise his spear."
A murmur of astonishment and fear rippled through the hall. Muhammad clenched his fists.
"Thunder in their hands," he thought. That sounded like technology surpassing even the arquebuses beginning to appear in North Africa, or perhaps they were the very same weapons.
"Are they a danger to the Songhai Empire?" Muhammad asked in a grave voice.
"For the Empire, no," the sage replied with certainty. "As long as we remain commercial allies, they are a unique opportunity... The advanced looms that have begun to appear in Gao and Timbuktu, those that allow a single man to do the work of ten, are of Suaza origin… Their Chancellor has even offered us maize seeds for our most arid zones. They say this grain can grow where others die, and it could end forever the famines that plague our northern provinces."
Muhammad leaned back in his throne, feeling a spark of enthusiasm, he hadn't felt since his campaign days. He trusted the sage implicitly.
He imagined a Songhai Empire where hunger was but a memory, where the wealth of the Suaza Kingdom financed his great pilgrimage to Mecca, and where foreign technology strengthened his armies to carry Islam into the southern jungles.
He would no longer depend solely on the Maghreb merchants, who always sought to limit Songhai's growth to maintain their monopoly. With the Suaza, he had a door open to the infinite.
"Let emissaries be sent to their coastal cities," Muhammad ordered, his voice resonating with new determination. "Tell them that the Askia Muhammad recognizes the Suaza Kingdom as a brother in trade and progress. Let their ships be welcome in our waters and their seeds in our soil. Allah is great, and it seems He has placed a bridge of gold over the ocean for us."
The hall erupted into feverish activity. Ministers began to plan new routes and contracts. Muhammad, however, looked west again, toward the horizon where the Niger seemed to merge with the sky. The world was becoming small, and he was determined that Songhai would be the giant to traverse it from end to end.
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[N/A: CHAPTER COMPLETED
Hello everyone.
I'm so sorry for this pause. I had internet problems, not to mention that one of my teeth got infected from a cavity I didn't even know I had. Ugh, what a terrible pain!
I'm feeling better now, and I hope to post this and another chapter tomorrow as compensation.
Back to the chapter.
First.
I want to clarify that there will be time jumps, mixed with flashbacks and perspectives like Columbus's and the war. Because of this, I wanted to make it clear how the kingdom's internal and external trade works.
Along with the above, it's very likely that the next chapter will include a super mega map, or at least the first part.
On this map, I'll detail everything currently known about the Suaza kingdom, including regional divisions, some frequently mentioned cities, and overseas territories.
Second.
The African part is very important because trade with the Songhai Empire will be significant, not to mention that this will lead to some future conflicts with the Portuguese. Oops, spoiler alert.
By the way, the entire perspective is completely verified: government affairs, the emperor's name, and even his journey to Mecca.
UFD: Askia Muhammad Ture I was one of the few West African leaders to perform the Hajj, or pilgrimage to Mecca. And not only that, on this journey he carried a large amount of gold, which he deposited in Mecca, gave money to local leaders, made various donations to pilgrims, and established settlements for future pilgrims. He carried a large amount of gold on his journey and even incurred a debt of almost 20 percent of the outbound amount.
And as an additional fact, it is believed that he had hundreds of children and dozens of wives.
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Read my other novels.
#The Walking Dead: Vision of the Future (Chapter 91)
#The Walking Dead: Emily's Metamorphosis (Chapter 34) (INTERMITTENT)
#The Walking Dead: Patient 0 - Lyra File (Chapter 14) (INTERMITTENT)
You can find them on my profile.]