The Wrath of the Unchained-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.

Dozens, maybe hundreds, shackled in cages or lined up like cattle. Children with bellies bloated from hunger. Women whose eyes stared into nothingness. Old men with broken backs, their skin sun-scorched and scarred.

Naliaka’s breath caught in her throat. Her fists clenched around the inside of her sleeves, fingernails biting into her palms.

A pirate yanked a girl by the hair, maybe twelve, dragging her toward a ship. Her thin arms flailed like reeds in the wind. The soldier laughed, flashing yellow teeth. The girl’s mother screamed, then was struck down with the butt of a musket.

Naliaka turned away, but the scream clung to her ears.

"Hold it together," she whispered through gritted teeth. Her knuckles turned white. "We need this information. We need it. I can’t falter."

She slipped deeper into the crowd, her eyes flitting between guards, officials, merchants. The Ottoman soldiers were everywhere—tall men in red and blue uniforms, turbans wrapped tight, muskets slung casually across their backs. Some stood rigid, barking orders. Others lounged in the shade, chewing khat, spitting, laughing crudely at the passing women.

They killed quickly. Without warning. One merchant argued too loudly over a price and was beaten in front of his stall. No one batted an eye.

Naliaka swallowed her rage like fire. She walked past the soldiers, heart pounding in her ears, letting her hood hide the storm in her eyes.

Ndengu, meanwhile, had shed his outer robe and torn at his clothes until he looked every bit the vagrant. He rolled in the dust outside the city walls, caked his hair and skin with filth, and entered the port with a limp and a rasping cough.

His eyes, however, were sharp.

He shuffled near slave pens, scratching at the dirt. He lingered around taverns where foreign sailors drank and gambled. He offered to clean stalls, begged for scraps, and listened.

The words came slowly. At first, nothing but insults. Then laughter. Then loose tongues.

He heard of the Ottoman general—a man named Qasim the Iron-Hand, who ruled the port with fear. He commanded over two thousand soldiers, each one trained in the art of naval warfare and cruelty. And beneath him, packs of pirates—filthy men with rotting teeth, leather armor stained with salt and blood, breath that reeked of decay and old rum. They fought like mad dogs and smelled worse.

But it wasn’t until the third day that he heard the name he never expected: Nuri.

He froze mid-step, just outside a smoky tavern.

Two Arab merchants were speaking in hurried voices.

"Almeida is gone," one spat. "Overthrown by that lunatic king."

"Lusweti," the other nodded. "They say he’s building his own kingdom. Refuses to sell slaves. Kilwa is no longer ours."

"Foolish. We made so much there."

"Now the dogs call it Nuri. No trade. No bribes. They even killed our men who tried to negotiate. Supposedly they will only trade with fair deals. I can’t wait for the portugese to invade it. Those barbarians will never survive." He laughed, slapping his thigh.

"Maybe we should pay those pirates to go there and take some goods,those savages have no naval force, it will be too easy." Another suggested.

"Do you think General Qasim will allow us?"

"As long as he turns a profit he won’t care." Another scoffed.

Ndengu’s heart slammed in his chest. Nuri has a port.

He turned, eyes wide, and moved through the alleys until he found Naliaka crouched beneath a tattered awning.

"We have to send word," he whispered, almost breathless. "They spoke of King Lusweti. Of Nuri. They’re furious. They’ve lost Kilwa. Nuri must have taken the port city, if that is the case, we might actually have a naval force. They plan to send pirates to attack it."

Naliaka looked up, her face pale with barely contained fury.

"Then there’s hope, we can’t help King Lusweti right now, we have to trust he will win. Let’s do our part." she said.

They met with the Abyssinian soldiers at a quiet clearing beyond the town, where a well-fed pigeon waited in a small wooden cage.

Ndengu wrote fast, fingers shaking, his thoughts a blur: "Nuri recognized. Foreign trade disrupted. Ottoman control absolute in Massawa. Ports brutal. Need backup. Also: Nuri claimed a port city. Nuri has become threat in foreign eyes. Pirates headed to Nuri."

"What should we do in the meantime Ndengu?" The soldier asked.

"What we have been doing, reconnaissance every piece of information could change the tides. Keep your head down and your ear to the ground. Await orders from Shewa."

They tied the message to the bird’s leg and sent it flying.

It disappeared into the sky—the only thing free in Massawa.