Unravelled (39 page)

Epilogue

March 12

The house is elegant, styled in muted colours by someone with discerning taste. The walls are decorated with black and white prints and menacing West African masks. The living room is cold; Rakwena zips up his leather jacket and leans forward in his chair.

He’s tense. The others are relaxed and happy, chatting quietly. He envies them their history, their natural affinity for all things drifter. The clan is family to them; to him it’s a sea of unfamiliar faces and incongruous affection, strangers he feels close to without understanding why. Even now he sometimes feels like the odd one out, the prodigal son, the one who doesn’t get the jokes. The agonising pull is gone now that he has joined them, but another ache has taken its place. He misses Rre and Mme Sechaba. He misses Connie.

His stomach twists. He should be with her now, holding her hand, protecting her. He has kept his word to the clan but once he has been inducted he will be free to contact her again. He’s worried. So much was happening when he left.

“Are you ever going to stop fighting it?”

Rakwena’s head jerks to the right. It’s Duma. He’s a good kid and Rakwena is fond of him, but wishes Duma would stop gazing at him with those Bambi eyes. His tension ebbs a little as he looks at Duma, in spite of himself. They’re all good guys, guys Rakwena could easily have been friends with in another lifetime, another universe. One in which they are all human.

He grits his teeth. He has to get over himself. He’s not human, and nothing will change that. This is who he is – a drifter. This is where he belongs. The soothing force of the bond creeps beyond his resistance, and his chest contracts in an attempt to force it out. For the most part he has opened up and let the bond do its work, but there is another part of him, the part that has fought the drifter blood for as long as he can remember, that refuses to let go.

“You have to stop resisting,” Duma tells him softly. “It’s OK. You’re home now. Everyone here has your back.”

“I know.” Rakwena sighs and rubs his forehead. “I can’t help it. It’s still there. That instinct, that anger. Not because of you – you’ve all been great. But my father… I don’t know if I can forget. If we were part of a different clan, maybe, if I never had to see him again. I have this thing inside me that wants me to stop hating him. But I don’t know how to stop hating him!”

Duma smiles sadly. He never takes offence. Sometimes Rakwena wishes Duma would just throw a punch. A good fight would be easier than all this all-for-one business, and anything would be easier than sitting here waiting for Serame. It will be the first time Rakwena meets the matriarch; Temper felt it would be too much for him to meet anyone else before his orientation was over. Temper has impeccable judgement. Rakwena has come to appreciate it.

Three months initially seemed like a lifetime, but now that it’s over, Rakwena isn’t sure he’s ready. As long as he’s not inducted, he can still back out. This is the point of no return.

“Where the hell is she?” Rakwena digs his fists into the sofa’s armrest. “Are we supposed to wait forever?”

The others stop talking and exchange worried glances. They’ve been doing that a lot. Rakwena cringes, hating the fact that he’s the reason for their concern.

“She’s still attending to a clan matter,” says Temper. “She’ll be here.”

“Relax, man,” adds Spencer with a grin. “Serame’s only scary when we’ve done something wrong. Inductions are the best – you’re gonna love it.”

Rakwena is doubtful, but holds his tongue. Deep down a fire is stirring inside him, crackling and burning blue. Panic sets in, sudden and overwhelming. He doesn’t want to meet the clan matriarch. He doesn’t want to be inducted. He wants to drink a barrel of serum and be fully human.

A door opens elsewhere in the house, and everyone sits up straight. Rakwena hears heels clicking purposefully against the tiled floor, and then Serame finally makes her entrance. His jaw drops. Whatever he might have expected, it was definitely not this. She’s beautiful, of course, with warm light brown skin that reminds him painfully of Connie. Long, copper-dyed dreadlocks are wrapped into a bun on top of her head, and her eyes sparkle. She’s tall, with a voluptuous figure wrapped in a red dress with a plunging neckline. She’s all soft curves and gorgeous features, and while a lot of adjectives run through his head, maternal is certainly not one of them.

“Boys,” she coos, her voice like warm honey. “Welcome! You’re all looking so well! Spencer.” She cocks her head to one side and smiles at him. “You had us worried.”

He nods sheepishly. “I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

“No, it won’t.” Her gaze finally turns to Rakwena, and she watches him for a long moment, her lips parted slightly. He can’t quite read her expression. She seems…awestruck. Or maybe he’s being cocky. She takes a seat, crossing her legs at the knee, and leans forward with her hands clasped on her knees. She’s still peering at him, and it’s starting to make him uncomfortable.

He wants to look away, but doesn’t want her to think he’s intimidated. He holds her gaze defiantly.

“I must admit, I never thought they’d bring you back,” she says, her voice almost a whisper. “I thought we had lost you forever. We don’t have many half-drifters, but they all succumb to the bond. You…” She shakes her head as if to dispel the negative thoughts, and beams at him. To his surprise, he sees tears in her eyes. “Welcome home. How do you feel?”

He swallows. What can he say? He feels…confused. Afraid. Resigned. Excited. Guilty. He blinks and tears his gaze from hers. She has no business looking at him with such affection.

“Rakwena,” Temper whispers, “respond!”

“It’s OK.” Serame gets to her feet and comes to kneel on the carpet beside Rakwena.

Instinctively he backs away. “What are you doing?”

“Give me your hands.” Her voice is calm and reassuring.

Rakwena glances at Temper, who nods. He slowly holds out his hands and she takes them. Her hands are warm. As soon as they enfold his he feels better, calmer. He feels loved. Tears prick his eyelids, but there’s no way in hell he’s going to start bawling in front of all these people.

“Don’t be afraid,” she whispers. “It’s not a big ritual with masked dancers, chanting, slaughtering of livestock and calling up the ancestors.”

He smiles, because that’s exactly what he had pictured. “What is it, then?” His voice is a little hoarse.

“Well, the clan has gathered outside in the garden. You and your brothers will walk out and they will present you to the clan. I will recite the oath, and you will repeat it. I will place a hand on your head to officially welcome you, and then we have a big party where everyone has too much cake and wine.” She winks. “Your brothers told me you have read the Drifter Code and are prepared to take your oath to uphold it. Are you?”

He nods. He feels the resistance surge up inside him again, and forces it down. He has to do this. There is no other way to move forward. Serame gets to her feet.

“I’ll go and prepare the guests.” She touches his cheek gently, and this time he doesn’t flinch. “See you in five minutes.”

As soon as she leaves the guys erupt into excited chatter.

“You
are
ready, aren’t you?” asks Mandla, peering at Rakwena with a frown.

Rakwena rolls his eyes. There is such a thing as too much concern. “I’m ready. Stop badgering me!”

“Stop
badgering
him, dude,” Reetsang reiterates in mock annoyance.

“Ja, man, anyone can see he’s ready,” adds Elias. “Look at him, so chilled! Giving off the blue light of serenity.” The twins cackle.

Rakwena throws a glare at them, then glances at his hands. The spark is faint, but he flexes his hands anyway, taking deep breaths.

Temper gives the twins a light shove. “Enough. Come, let’s get into birth order. Reetsang, you’re in front of Elias.”

“Man, it’s fifteen minutes!” wails Elias. “No one even knows he’s the older one.”

They squabble as they make their way through the house, heading towards the back door that leads out to the garden. Duma and Rakwena bring up the rear. Rakwena comes between Mandla and Spencer in birth order, but must emerge last for the ceremony. As they walk, Rakwena catches his first glimpse of the garden. No wonder the entire clan can fit in there – it’s almost the size of a soccer pitch, decorated with pretty lights strung through the trees, and filled with drifters he has never met. His heart thuds against his ribcage and his palms start to sweat. The sparks start to form on his knuckles. If only Connie were here to put him at ease!

Just before they reach the door, Duma leans close to him. “Hey, almost forgot. I have something for you.”

Rakwena looks down to see a small box. He winces, embarrassed, and takes the box. “Man, you shouldn’t have.”

“It’s not a present, fool,” says Elias, with a raucous guffaw. “Just open it already – we’re about to go out.”

Rakwena shoots him another glare, which just makes him laugh again, then opens the box. It’s his crystal, the twin to the one he gave Connie. It’s glowing furiously, fuelled by his agitation and his desire to have Connie at his side. He smiles; if she can see it she must be wondering what on earth is up with him.

“I thought you might need a little extra moral support,” says Duma. “And since she can’t be here in person…”

Rakwena is too moved to speak. He lifts the crystal out of the box, hands the box to Duma and cradles the crystal in both hands. As his energy infuses it the glow brightens, until he’s forced to close his eyes against the blinding light.

He’s about to open his eyes and put the crystal back when he hears it. A voice in his head, distinct and familiar.

You’re going to be fine.

He inhales sharply. Connie! She’s in his head! How…?

Relax, Lizzie.
Her voice is calm, her tone a little teasing.
Deep breaths. You’re not going to make a good impression if you start singeing the furniture. You’re OK. Everyone’s on your side. Just take it easy, enjoy the moment and stay far away from your father!

He feels the build-up of energy flow out, and his pulse stops racing. He grins. Clearly someone has been practising hard. He feels a surge of pride.

“Twenty seconds,” announces Temper, who is standing at the crack in the door, peering out and waiting for the signal.

Duma turns to Rakwena. “Good to go?”

Rakwena opens his eyes, takes a deep breath and hands the crystal back to Duma. He grins at his brothers and nods. “I’m ready.” This time he’s certain.

Glossary