Crowned (19 page)

“So it’s nonsense?” I ask hopefully.

He looks at me. “If the Puppetmaster honestly believes it, he must have a reason. Perhaps it isn’t so far-fetched to think you are a conduit through which he can reach the Ultima – not the mythical figure, of course, but what she represents. Remember, you are a medium as well as a telepath.”

“But there are better mediums, better telepaths!”

“You are both. You are also exceptionally talented. With the way your gift is growing…” He sighs again. “I am concerned, Connie. I examined you the night you fell ill. Your body was filled with energy, the way Rakwena’s body responds when he is angry. Your father and I should have been able to determine the cause, but we couldn’t. I thought it might be a complex spell, something the Puppetmaster did, but there was no signature. What was happening to you was not the result of gifts. Physically the effects were primarily neurological – affecting your nerves. It seems impossible, but…”

His words send chills up my back. “But what?”

He looks into my eyes. “Your body is changing. On the inside. I am not a doctor – I can’t tell you the specifics – but I sensed something…different.” He pauses and shakes his head. “I wish I could say more, but I can’t explain what I don’t understand.”

“You don’t have to explain.” My fear has blossomed, pounding in my chest and my head. “I know what you’re talking about. There’s a voice I’ve been hearing. Something inside me, something…old. Like instinct, but…not. She talks to me…” I stop, taking in my grandfather’s worried expression.

“What has he done to you?” he whispers.

I hesitate before replying. “I don’t think it’s the Puppetmaster.”

“Who else? If he believes you will lead him to the Ultima, he might have tampered with your gift in order to achieve his goal.”

I shake my head. “It doesn’t feel like him.” It feels like something beyond sorcery, but I can’t say that out loud. It sounds crazy enough in my head.

“Connie, think carefully. When you were with him did you sense anything strange? Feel anything? Did anything happen to you?”

“Nothing unusual. I’m sure I would have felt it if he planted something. What about the energy surge and the spiral shape on the map, and what happened to Jafta and Marshall? Do you have any thoughts on that?”

Ntatemogolo is quiet for a long time. “I learned a few things while I was gone. It seems the energy surge is strongest here in Botswana. I also realised that the spots on the map formed a spiral. That was when I knew it had to be a spell, and not just any spell. I was reluctant to say anything until I had more information, but it seems I have to accept the possibility… If my suspicions are correct, the Puppetmaster’s plan is far worse than we imagined.” He takes a deep breath. “There is an ancient ritual that requires the use of markers set in nine locations, forming a spiral pattern.”

“But there are ten–”

He holds up his index finger to silence me. “Nine markers that connect at a vortex. Ten locations in total. I doubt many modern gifted have heard of it. It is extremely complicated and can take months or even years to execute, depending on its range.”

“What’s the purpose of the ritual?”

He’s wearing an expression I’ve never seen on his face before, and it takes me a minute to decipher it. It’s discomfort, as though the words he’s about to utter are not appropriate for the innocent ears of a child. It’s absurd, because my ears have been around the block and my grandfather has never been one to play the “you’ll understand when you’re older” card, not when it comes to the supernatural. Deep inside me Connie Who Knows has gone quiet, as though holding her breath.

“Ntatemogolo? What is it?”

“It is called the Loosening.”

My stomach clenches at the word. It sounds…wrong. Evil. My tongue feels heavy and thick, a wad of cotton wool soaked in disinfectant. I swallow and swallow, but the bad taste won’t go away.

“In ancient times it was believed that gifted could continue to use their powers after death,” he goes on. “The only way to stop a gifted who misused his gift was to strip him of it completely. No one knows where the ritual came from, or who designed it. It takes years to master. All rituals are tricky, but most can be adapted. The Loosening cannot. It is old magic from a time before ethics, before order. Its rules are strict and must be followed precisely, or the people involved may be destroyed.”

I gulp. “You mean they could die?”

He doesn’t look at me. “No. It is not like dying. It is more like disappearing from the fabric of existence.”

Fear claws at the inside of my chest. I take slow breaths and reach up to rub the space between my ribs, but it makes no difference. “That’s not possible.”

“No, not in the world we know. But the Loosening is from the world before this one, and many things were possible then.”

I don’t know what that means, but I understand. How? How can I understand what makes no sense? I feel as though my brain is trying to turn itself inside out.

“I am not sure of the details of the ritual, but it separates a gifted from his gift and is irreversible. This must be what the Puppetmaster is doing. How he learned it I don’t know, but it is the only way to strip a gift from its bearer. The Loosening is time-sensitive – when one phase is complete, the next must begin. You can’t stop and start. That would explain why the kidnappings have been so random. The Puppetmaster had to take the victims at the right times, whether it was convenient or not.”

I nod slowly. “After stripping the gifts, where do they go?”

“There is supposed to be a vessel to contain them.”

A vessel. The Puppetmaster’s idea of the perfect vessel is a human being. But who? Not Emily. Maybe the Puppetmaster is his own vessel – but no, that seems unlikely. The Loosening can’t stop and start; he wouldn’t be able to leave and come back. There’s someone else, then, someone he’s using to store all the gifts he’s stealing.

“The Puppetmaster cannot possibly use all these gifts,” says Ntatemogolo. “His own power is enormous.”

“Maybe his motives are altruistic,” I whisper.

Ntatemogolo stares at me. “Have you forgotten what he has done?”

“No, of course not. I mean maybe he
thinks
his motives are altruistic. Maybe he thinks it’s better to take gifts from those who don’t want them and give them to those who do.”

“Like Emily?” Ntatemogolo grunts. “You can’t make someone gifted. Every power you give him will only be on loan.”

I stare down at my feet. “I don’t think he’s doing it for himself.”

“Connie, what are you saying?”

I lick my lips, uncertain I should continue, but it’s too late to take the words back. “I think he believes he’s saving the world. He believes he’s putting his desires aside for the greater good. Everything he’s done – it makes no sense if all he wanted was to be the world’s greatest sorcerer. He’s already there. He doesn’t need me, or Rakwena, or anyone else, not if his goal is to be on top of the supernatural ladder. But if his goal is something bigger, something that affects all gifted, then maybe it does make sense.”

Ntatemogolo’s reply is yet another long silence.

“If he believes in the Ultima, maybe there’s something…maybe the Loosening…”

What am I doing? Am I trying to justify the Puppetmaster’s actions? I glance down at the anklet. Has he found a way to bewitch me despite the anklet’s power? Or am I just getting seduced, the way Emily did?

My grandfather gives me a long, searching look. “Is there something you want to tell me, my girl?”

No. Absolutely not.

“Are you all right?”

No. I feel like another me has woken up from a long, deep sleep, and I’m fighting to keep her subdued. “I’m fine. I’m just trying to make sense of all this. If only I could find him!”

Ntatemogolo sighs. “I know it is frustrating that he has the upper hand. It seems unfair that he can reach you whether you are willing or not, but he has spent over a century sharpening his gift. You cannot beat him at his own game. You shouldn’t even try.”

“Then what am I supposed to do? How am I supposed to fight him? My gift is the only weapon I have.”

“That is not true. You have your character. Your desire to do the right thing. It might sound insignificant, but integrity is important. The Puppetmaster has none.”

I lower my gaze and roll my eyes at the floor, so he doesn’t see. Well, that’s just great. In that final moment, when I’m in the Puppetmaster’s grip and the world lies vulnerable before him, my honour will melt his heart. He’ll repent of his wicked ways and devote his life to rescuing stray puppies. I’m up against a two-hundred-year-old master manipulator who is hell-bent on making me his pawn, and I’m supposed to rely on
integrity
?

“Connie.”

I heave a sigh and raise my head. “Yes, Ntatemogolo?”

“Come here.”

I get up and drop to my knees on the carpet in front of him. He leans forward. I’m expecting a sombre lecture but instead he takes my head in both hands, holding it so his thumbs press against my temples. He closes his eyes, searching my mind for signs of trouble. He used to do this a lot when we first met. It’s strange to think that it was only a few years ago that he moved back to Botswana after travelling the world. Sometimes it feels as though he’s been in my life for ever.

Ntatemogolo is at a level where he doesn’t need to make physical contact to be able to pick up supernatural cues from people, but it does help make things clearer. He opens his eyes and releases me with a sigh.

“What did you find?”

“Nothing. Every time you and the Puppetmaster communicate telepathically you leave a trail in each other’s minds. I am not a telepath – I can only venture so far – but I know something is not right. Did you take off the anklet?”

“It never leaves my leg.”

“Perhaps it was an unwise gift. I thought it would protect you the way it should have protected the girl for whom it was made, but perhaps her spirit has tainted it.”

I frown. That must be the most superstitious sentence I’ve heard him speak. “What are you talking about?”

“The original owner of the anklet. My great-aunt.” He rubs his eyes and leans back in the armchair. “A brave, headstrong telepath like you. For all her strength she was incredibly naive, and her father had the anklet made to protect her from the tricks of gifted with bad intentions. But she never wore it. She would leave it at home or forget it somewhere and only remember days later. In the end her negligence cost her.

“She ran away with a devious healer. He abused her. She fought back, eventually killing him, but he was from an important family and his death could not go unpunished. She was drowned. The healer’s people claim to this day that she fell into the river, but my family has never believed them. She was only seventeen.”

I’m moved by the tale, and despite the fact that this is the first I’ve heard of this ancestor I feel a strong connection to her. I also understand why he told me this story now. “The anklet works, Ntatemogolo. It didn’t protect her because she didn’t wear it. I made that mistake before, but I’ll never make it again. I’m not going to follow in her footsteps.”

“That is my hope,” he says softly. “But I am an old man, and there are many things I can’t control.” He touches my cheek. “It’s late. I must go.”

He says goodbye to Dad and I walk him out. At the gate he turns back to me, and I can tell he wants to say something. I stand there, holding my breath, but in the end all he says is, “Be careful, my girl.”

I nod and lock the gate behind him.

“Everything OK?” Dad looks up from the computer. “That conversation sounded rather intense.”

“It’s all good.” I flash him a smile and head to my room before he can dig any deeper.

I close the door and lie on my bed, facing the ceiling. On the surface I feel confused and uneasy, but underneath all that there is a solid nugget of certainty turning over and over, flashing clear light through the net of fear thrown over it.

The Puppetmaster said something is coming and I need to be ready. Everyone thinks I’m falling into his trap. My friends think I’m too friendly with him, Ntatemogolo thinks he’s planted something in my head. I’m not afraid of John Kubega. I’m afraid of Connie Who Knows, but more than that I’m afraid of that mysterious imminent something that’s hurtling towards us. The funny thing is that I sense that Connie Who Knows is afraid, too. I’m afraid because I don’t know what’s coming. She’s afraid because she does.

* * *

The next day there is another disappearance, an elderly man. The woman from my premonition doesn’t return. For a week the world is quiet, but I get the feeling it’s just holding its breath, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Ntatemogolo and I continue our training, switching from reading objects to trying to extend my barrier. Tasks that used to take me several minutes now take seconds. No one I’ve asked has heard of a warehouse in Gabs North or Block 8. Ntatemogolo doesn’t think it’s an actual warehouse at all. He thinks it’s some kind of code, but I’m not so sure.

Ntatemogolo has lots of news for me. He has spoken to other supernatural experts and while some are reluctant to accept that someone could perform a global Loosening, most of them are as concerned as my grandfather. He has also visited the association of traditional healers and
sangomas.
Only one of them had heard of a Loosening. In any case, none of them want to go anywhere near it.

“They are afraid,” Ntatemogolo tells me after our session.

“We’re all afraid, but it’s their job to investigate!”

“No, it is not. Their job is to serve their clients. They are not interested in stirring the pot. All the experts I have spoken to feel the same way – the signs are all there. Something bad is coming. People don’t want to fight. They want to hide. They want to keep themselves safe.”

I sigh. It’s up to us again, the way it was when the Puppetmaster was controlling Emily and her friends. That was nothing compared to this, though. It’s times like this I wish the gifted world had its own administration, people we could run to with problems. The fate of the world is being threatened and we can’t tell the government, the UN or any of the shadowy organisations that like to blow things up.