Shaka the Great (21 page)

Can he do this? Yes, he can!

And when the body was found, Kholisa was on the spot to take charge, mutter dark hints, and allow only the two most senior wives—Melekeleli and Dwanile—to view the body. And even they had to keep their distance, for there was clearly evil afoot, and the women had to guard against themselves becoming infected. And also who knew what vengeance this poor man's umkhokha would wreak? Until this matter was resolved, the body had to be buried in a secret location. When the evil that had prompted this affliction had been laid to rest, thereby satisfying the dead man's umkhokha, Ntokozo would receive a proper burial. Until then his body was deemed dangerous, obviously the focus of some malicious sorcerer's ubuthakathi.

That's what Kholisa had told the wives. And in a way it was true.

Can he do this? (Having never done it himself before, never even seen it done.)

Yes, he can!

Although creating an impundulu is an act of evil that most sangomas won't dare contemplate, for fear of losing their powers, there are some deemed strong enough to have the secret passed on to them.

His aunt hadn't been one of those, but she had served in Nobela's entourage for a while and had wanted to unravel this and all the other secrets known to the privileged few, and thus had become a supernaturally alert and skilled eavesdropper. She had fooled even Nobela—the old hag being too obsessed with Shaka to notice the mamba in her own hut—and who knew what else she had overheard, before being sent to look after her nephew (who clearly, too, had the Calling and had already learned the consequences of ignoring it)?

It was her ministrations that first of all ensured Kholisa's wound didn't cripple him entirely, then she had taken him on as a student. This was a fairly common occurrence, as the Calling was passed down through the generations of the same family. The thing was, Kholisa soon realized his aunt didn't really like him all that much. She was only doing her duty in training him, afraid that to do otherwise would anger the ancestors. The truth was, they were too alike: vain, ambitious, ruthless and suspecting everyone they met, even family members, of secretly harboring the same malice.

In the end, though, she had been forced to share this one secret with him. On her deathbed her guard had at last slipped, and she had asked him to cut off her head after she had embarked on the Great Journey. She was at his mercy then, and had to tell him why. If she didn't, he had informed her, her last request would not be carried out. In addition, he would make sure everyone he came into contact with knew that she had been buried in one piece. The assumption being that the news would eventually get back to
someone capable of doing to her corpse whatever she so much wished to avoid through having her head cut off.

For all this, he had been stunned when he finally coaxed and bullied the secret out of her. Everyone had heard of, and feared, the impundulu; but that someone he knew and detested should know how to create one—aiee!

Can he do this?

Time to find out.

From his muthi bag, Kholisa removes the spike he's had made for him by one of the Zulu ironsmiths in Mhlangana's district. Leaning forward slightly, trying not to think, trying to keep his mind averted from the fear of failure, he inserts the spike's point into Ntokozo's left nostril.

Gently but firmly, using the palm of his right hand, he pushes the spike a little way into the nasal cavity. His head now tilted slightly, listening as much as feeling, he removes his palm as soon as the point encounters resistance.

Straightening up, he clenches his fists, splays his fingers, then leans forward again.

Using his thumb this time, allowing the spike to guide him, as his aunt had put it, with the thumb there for gentle pressure, he pushes the point through the fragile resistance of the eggshell-thin ethmoid bone.

Wait for the red snot, his aunt had told him.

And there it comes, oozing out of the left nostril: blood diluted with spinal fluid.

Wait for the red snot, then—his right fist swallows the end of the spike—a short, sharp, stabbing motion. A mere twitch of the fist. Then a circular motion to widen the passage he's opened up.

He removes the spike and places it on Ntokozo's chest, then picks up the reed that served as its sheath. The pot is close enough for him to dip the reed into, merely by leaning to his left. Holding the reed in his left hand, he raises it to his lips—and sucks. As soon
as he feels the warmth reach his little finger, he raises his head and immediately clamps his thumb over the top end of the reed. He doesn't know how or why this should lock liquid inside a hollowed-out reed, but just knows that it does.

Carefully, twisting his wrist around while still keeping his thumb in place, he slips the reed into Ntokozo's right nostril and pushes. Pushes it up as far as he dares, then a little further. Then he raises the reed slightly, removes his thumb, places his lips around the opening—and blows hard.

At the third time Kholisa repeats the process, Ntokozo's legs jerk and stiffen. Taken by surprise, Kholisa almost flings himself off the body. Never done this before, never seen it done …

… and his aunt had pulled his right hand closer, her own hand becoming a talon as it bit each of his fingertips in turn, starting with the little finger and ending at the index finger. It was an indication of how many times he was to repeat this part of the ritual.

Which means he's still got to do it once more.

After hesitating a heartbeat, to see if there's any more movement, Kholisa dips the reed in the pot—then inserts it into Ntokozo's nostril, and blows hard.

His splayed knees pressed against Ntokozo's sides, he's ready for further movement, but the impundulu remains still.

Tossing the reed on to the remains of the fire, Kholisa picks up the spike he placed earlier on Ntokozo's chest. Laying his left hand over Ntokozo's brow, he tilts the Uselwa Man's head so he can get access to the right ear.

This time he uses his thumb and forefinger to guide the metal ever deeper into Ntokozo's skull. As with the nose, he waits until he sees the blood-red liquid, then pushes the spike a little deeper.

Then he straightens up, leaving the spike in place in case he has to push it in a bit further, and waits.

And waits, oblivious to the breeze rustling through the trees, the timeless crash of the waves, the sun beating down on his shoulders and neck.

And waits.

And lets his guard down. He looks up, looks around, suddenly concerned and momentarily distracted by the sense that someone's watching him. Then he's gasping for breath.

The impundulu has its hands around his throat and is trying to throttle him.

Kholisa jerks back in shock … and is free.

He rolls off the impundulu and scuffles backward. He stops only when he sees how the zombie's arms remain raised above its body, and realizes how easy it was to escape its grasp.

It was as if the zombie had simply pressed its hands against his throat, its stiff fingers incapable of holding on or squeezing.

Kholisa rubs his neck. The shock was the worst thing, after being taken unawares like that.

Then, fascinated, the sangoma watches as the creature's torso rises up. He watches as it lowers its arms to steady itself, watches as it presses its right palm on to the coals.

There's a smell of burning flesh, but the impundulu seems unconcerned. Moving its body from side to side, it eventually topples over to the left, then bends its legs and begins the process of standing up.

Kholisa clambers to his feet. He needs to treat that burned hand. These creatures are immune to pain, but that also means it would have left its hand resting there until it was burned off. By tending to the creature's injuries, one can extend its lifespan.

Kholisa casts about for the spear he brought with him. Just as he spots it, the creature takes a step toward him, its arms outstretched.

This shouldn't be happening.

Ignoring the spear, Kholisa backs away, realization dawning on him …

The bitch!

The sangoma shakes his head in disbelief.

The bitch!

The curse ensnares him, and he misjudges the speed at which the zombie moves. Or perhaps, like some men, these creatures merely require time to wake up, whereupon they become stronger and more determined.

Whatever the case, the impundulu is on him before he realizes it. As he turns to avoid the creature, his crippled leg gives way, so it's the zombie's fingers around his throat, gripping him tighter than a python this time, that keep him upright.

Gagging, his eyes wide with fear, Kholisa tries to pull those hands away. His fingers dig into the impundulu's arm and tear off strips of flesh, but its grip only becomes tighter.

Then, black spots swimming before his eyes, his tongue like wet sand clogging his throat, Kholisa notices the metal spike still protruding out of the creature's right ear.

There's no other way …

He slaps his palm against the head of the spike, ramming the point deep into the zombie's brain. Its fingers straighten, releasing Kholisa; and the impundulu falls backward, as stiff as an assegai haft.