Shaka the Great (70 page)

And he remembers something else. Vaguely. Remembers talking with Mgobozi, remembers the old friend he now misses so much showing him something …

Something important. Something to do with Mnkabayi. But what?

He knows that she is annoyed with him—what more is there to know?

The stench of this medicine fills his head, invades his nostrils, coats his eyes. Gently, delicately, the inyangas indicate that he can lower his right arm, and raise his left …

He obeys with a soft growl.

Unlike his other encounters, the longed-for one with Nandi remains vivid. But not for the reasons he'd like.

He had explained to her how their plans regarding the First Fruits had at last been put into action, and how he missed her.

He had told her how he'd revived that other aspect of the ceremony, the one hitherto overlooked, with generations of chiefs and kings merely going through the motions.

He had tried to explain what he wanted to do, how he was trying to marshal the power of the Imithi Emnyama … and how he was failing.

And then the son's plea: “What am I to do, Mother?”

But she'd stood there and said nothing.

Then he was back in the hut of his seclusion, his tears smearing the Night Muthi. And it was a long while before he called Pampata, and before the maidens guarding the hut could begin their singing.

She was there, then she was gone, before he even had time to scrutinize her face.

Nandi.

This Imithi Emnyama is dangerous stuff. It has a life of its own.

And he is a lion looking for the slightest provocation, a leopard poised to spring, an elephant ready to gore all around him, as those trembling hands continue to apply the Night Muthi.

It's been three days since the boy was murdered and the Induna's men have still been able to find no trace of the sangoma. He must speak to the limping jackal's students again, impress upon them how important it is they find Kholisa. Perhaps one of them knows more than he's letting on.

Hai, perhaps a better plan would be to take them all into custody, so the Induna can tell them exactly why he's looking for their master; let them understand the consequences of lying and ensure that secrecy is maintained, because, involved or not, none will be released until Kholisa is found …

She had said nothing.

He had asked her, begged her to tell him what to do. But she had said nothing.

Then she was gone.

Had she been trying to show him her disapproval?

Hai, but she was never one to resort to silence, when her sharp tongue was so skilled at slicing away a man's pomposity and smugness.

How desperately he needs her counsel, her guidance, even her angry chastisements … But what he longs for most is her comfort: the arms that enfolded him and allowed him to be a little boy again, for a short while.

The inyangas are finished. As ever they have done their job superbly—which is to say he now smells like a cesspit. But he remains seated and, turning away from Nandi's silence—the confusion, the pain, the bleeding in his throat—he directs his thoughts toward Mnkabayi.

Once his mourning had spent itself, she'd come down to him from the great northern war kraal she oversaw, and has been a regular visitor ever since. Occasionally her attempts to take Nandi's place have been too obvious, and have annoyed him, but she had been one of the few to have shown his mother kindness all those years ago. Never mind Nandi's high regard for her or the way in which she helped smooth his path to power, that alone—her kindness to his mother—would have seen her status greatly enhanced once he took the throne.

Now he wonders if he shouldn't let her take Nandi's place … Insofar as anyone can take his beloved mother's place …

But Mgobozi! What had that garrulous old goat told him?

Aiee, these are trying times, he thinks, hiding his wry grin from the trembling inyangas who aren't sure he knows they have finished doctoring him.

And again he's got to ask himself why he has to fear Mnkabayi. His power is her power, and her power has grown immeasurably, thanks to him. He can no longer trust Mbopa—and not because Mbopa will betray him, but because he has betrayed Mbopa. Why not speak to Mnkabayi, for her counsel would be valuable if only because she seems to have spies everywhere. What would she make of this latest killing?

They laugh and they boast, these soldiers of Shaka, but they know nothing of true courage.

Yes, courage … and I spit in your face if you think otherwise.

Because you don't know, can't know, what I have endured.

Can't know what it took to get here.

And, before that, the shame.

The impotent rage!

But even these have been weak muthis, unable to sustain me on my journey.

And then it was up to me.

To endure!

To take another step. And then another.

To endure when I was held back, beaten and punished.

And those few who tried to help him, they were only there to be used, their generosity enabling him to get closer to his destiny. And he spits on them!

His one regret is that he's not certain he'll survive to speak of their weakness.

Cha! He won't have to. Not if he succeeds (and dies). There won't be any need to damn them, for they will cease to be.

When the time comes, he will rise up and make a mockery of all their boasts and conquests.

They will never know how hard it was for him to get here. They will never comprehend the depth of his suffering, the long road he had to travel. He'll make it look so easy. And that will terrify them even more.

I cannot fail.

It's simply a matter of waiting. You'd have thought all their chores would have worn them out, but he himself seems to be the only one on the brink
of sleep. And he drifts off, listening to the others talking about the wonders of the day, and the wonders still to come. And he dreams he is drinking the blood of a calf, with warm, sticky blood covering his chest. And even in his dream—glancing up as he swallows a mouthful of that warm, sticky blood—he recognizes this as a good omen.

The first thing the Induna does is to ensure some order is restored at the campsite. He is glad to have Ndlela with him. Although he outranks the Induna, Ndlela insists the Induna take charge, and he is happy to oversee the removal of Zusi's body. The girl's mother remains inconsolable, while Melekeleli, Dwanile and the other wives tend to her.

Aiee, this clan seems truly cursed!

“He came back,” says Jembuluka, when he finally raises his head. “He came back,” he repeats, wiping away the tears. “Kholisa came back!”

Then, with a hiss, pulling him to his feet, “You spoke about the need for secrecy, Nduna, and no doubt you and your men did your best. But somehow he found out!”

Somehow Kholisa had heard that he'd been seen and identified by Vuyile. Now he wants vengeance.

“Let us help you,” says Jembuluka. All the clan's able-bodied men are willing to track down the sangoma. “He is clearly still here and, with that leg of his, he can't get far. Let us help you, Nduna.”

The Induna shakes his head. Jembuluka and the other men will be better used watching over the clan.

Jembuluka seems to sag. He hadn't thought of that. “Are we still in danger, do you think?” Had Kholisa come looking for Vuyile early this morning, and fallen on Zusi because she was the easier prey? Is he only after Vuyile? Or does he mean to kill all of them?

“It is better that you and the others organize shifts, and guard yourselves,” says the Induna.

Zusi had been returning to the campsite, after collecting firewood early this morning, when she was attacked, and her body was
still warm when it was discovered. Once more footprints litter the area but, moving further afield, Ndlela has found a trail that seems to indicate the passing of a man with a limp.

“It could be him,” he tells the Induna.

The latter nods. It could be. Then again, it could also be that the tracks Ndlela has found have been there since before the body was discovered, and have merely become smudged by the wind. Whatever the case, they soon peter out, with little indication of where the one who's left them was heading.

Kholisa … ?

“Does he really think he's the Lion?” asks the Induna, as they return to the temporary huts where the clan is quartered.

Certainly, in the history of the nation, this First Fruits is likely to be as propitious as Gqokli Hill. And there it had been the Lion's conscience which had forced him to act so hastily, and destroy the Inkatha on the eve of the campaign; here there is a little more planning in evidence.

“I mention this,” says the Induna, “because Kholisa did not strike me as one capable of being so cunning.”

“Yes, you and Mgobozi shamed him in the matter of the Vanishing Man,” says Ndlela.

“And he certainly seemed chastened, when he and I met again.”

“Hai, perhaps that meant he had learned his lesson, but in a way neither you nor Mgobozi could have foreseen.”

“Yes, perhaps we merely taught him to become more cunning.”

And perhaps to seek out accomplices who were as wily as he … ones who could help him imitate the Vanishing Man. Although, unlike that worthy, he has managed to stay
vanished
. Which might possibly be seen as proof of his accomplices' prowess; as is the fact they have managed to smuggle him into KwaBulawayo and keep him hidden. The first part was, perhaps, not so difficult, bearing in mind the recent great influx of people—and the fact that no one realized Kholisa was missing—but it's the second that speaks of skill, and power.

The Induna orders his men to retrace their steps, but the fact that they have still found nothing is ominous. Someone always
sees … think of Vuyile, stumbling on Kholisa's depraved slaughter of the youth. For all his plans and precautions, the sangoma must have been spotted by one who could recognize him. Someone always sees … and speaks! And what would have seemed commonplace to a passer-by might become more meaningful in the light of subsequent events. Especially with the Induna's men on hand, to prod their memory. But, so far, silence!