CHAPTER 183: CHAPTER 183 - THE TOLLING BELL

The catacombs of Mbanza breathed damp air around Zara’s team as they prepared for their missions. The flickering torches did little to mask the exhaustion etched deep into their faces. Weeks of hiding, moving, striking in the night, and planning by candlelight had left them hollow-eyed. Korir had already gone to fetch reinforcements; now the burden fell to those who remained. Their task was simple in words, but cruel in execution: set the stage for Lumingu’s downfall.

Faizah, Mwinyi, and Taban slipped out into the night, cloaks drawn close against the chill. The city above was restless. Every corner whispered of danger — shuttered windows, dogs barking at shadows, patrols clattering through the streets. They moved from compound to compound, searching for any sign of Portuguese presence. Each moment of silence stretched taut, every creak of a floorboard made their hearts hammer harder.

By the time the horizon began to blush with the first light of dawn, fatigue weighed heavy on their limbs. Their eyes burned, their nerves frayed. That was when fate struck.

A young maid, barely older than a child, stumbled into their path while carrying a bundle of firewood. Her eyes widened at the sight of cloaked strangers in the wrong courtyard. For one long heartbeat, silence held them all captive. Then her scream ripped through the air.

The alarm spread like wildfire. Soldiers shouted, boots slammed on stone, and a great bronze bell tolled from the compound’s tower — the emergency signal.

"They’ve seen us," Taban hissed, hand tightening on his dagger.

Faizah’s expression hardened, her voice low but resolute. "We can’t afford to be caught. I’ll draw them away. You return to base. Tell Zara what’s happened."

"Faizah—" Mwinyi started, but she was already gone.

Her cloak snapped behind her as she darted into the street, making no attempt to be quiet. She crashed into market stalls, knocked over jars, shouted to draw the soldiers in her wake. The chaos she left was deafening — a deliberate storm.

The pounding of boots echoed through the alleys, growing louder by the second. Faizah knew she had only moments left before they closed in.

Faizah’s breath came sharp as she darted through the narrow street, but the soldiers were relentless. A musket cracked — the shot splintering the wall just above her head. She stumbled, pain shooting up her leg as a cobblestone twisted her ankle. Rough hands closed around her arms, dragging her to the ground. She kicked, snarled, even sank her teeth into a soldier’s wrist, drawing blood, but the sheer weight of bodies overwhelmed her. The bronze bell above continued its hollow toll, echoing across Mbanza like a death knell. A gag was forced between her teeth as iron-bound ropes cut into her wrists. Even as they shoved her to her knees, Faizah spat blood at her captors’ boots and glared upward with burning eyes. She gave them no tears, no pleas — only defiance.

Taban and Mwinyi melted into the skeleton of an abandoned home, pressing against crumbling walls as patrols thundered past. Both men listened to the sound of Faizah’s flight echo into the distance, followed by the inevitable shouts of triumph. She was caught.

Mwinyi cursed under his breath. "She knew this was suicide."

"Not suicide," Taban muttered, eyes still burning from sleeplessness. "Sacrifice."

The silence between them was heavy, broken only by their ragged breathing.

The silence between them was heavy, broken only by their ragged breathing.

Finally, Taban straightened, jaw set like stone. "We have to follow them. They’ll take her to Lumingu — maybe even the puppet master himself. This is our chance."

Mwinyi shook his head, exhaustion plain in his posture. "No. Look at us. We’ve been awake all night. Our reflexes are slow, our eyes dull. In this state, we’re liabilities. If you follow now, you’ll stumble into their hands, and then we’ll lose two instead of one."

Taban’s lips pressed into a hard line. "How long would it take to get a replacement?"

"A few hours," Mwinyi answered.

Taban’s fist clenched. "Precious hours we don’t have. Faizah won’t last long in their hands. Torture, interrogation... she knows too much. We can’t let her face that alone."

"Faizah is a shadow guard, trained by Prince Khisa himself. She saved us and the mission by giving herself up. She will not break easily, if anything she might even help us. We need to trust her." Mwinyi said, his voice steady.

He turned to Mwinyi, his voice quiet but iron. "Go back. Tell Zara everything. Rally whoever is left. I’ll follow them, track where they take her. I swear, I won’t attempt a rescue. My task is only to find the location and return. We need to know where Lumingu’s shadows hide."

Taban’s face was set like stone, but Mwinyi grabbed his arm, voice shaking. "No. You’ll get yourself killed. Do you think you’re sharper than the dozen men who just took her? Look at you, Taban — your eyes are red, your hands tremble. You’re running on fumes." He tightened his grip. "Don’t make her sacrifice worthless by throwing yourself into their jaws."

Taban shook him off, the conflict in his eyes stark. "If we wait for reinforcements, Faizah could already be broken. Do you want to face Zara knowing we left her screaming in the dark?" The words cut deep. Mwinyi’s lips trembled, but he had no retort.

Finally, he sagged against the wall, fists curling helplessly. "Then promise me," he whispered, "promise you won’t try to save her. Just find where they’ve taken her and return. Don’t let them take you too."

With that, they split. Mwinyi melted back toward the catacombs, shoulders heavy with the weight of failure and dread. Taban slipped after the patrols, moving with the silence of a predator.

Ahead, Faizah was dragged by rough hands, wrists bound, her feet stumbling on the stones. Her face was pale but defiant, eyes flashing in the morning light as if daring them to break her.

Taban watched from the shadows, every step he took burning with urgency. He would not intervene — not yet. But he would not lose her, either.

The fate of their mission now hung on a thin thread of shadows, stretched between exhaustion and resolve.