Chapter Six

I look at Sir Ayize. "Er...I was just--"
"Ya like this beauty, uh." It isn't a question. "Let's see if it's yers."
Why is he going on about the sword? Can't he see the stranger?
I spin to look where the stranger was last standing, but he has gone.
"What the hell?" I try to stop myself from talking, but I can't help it. "Gabada is here," I look over my shoulder, but no one is there.
Sir Ayize shivers, and colour flashes across Kaseke’s eyes, although his expression doesn't change. "D'ziko. I heard he's the only person who doesn't need to first connect with his sword in order for magic to activate in his body."
"And rumour has it, the essence thief is scared of him,” Sir Ayize continues. “Do ya think he was here to kill...ya? Or perhaps to protect you from the essence thief? Could the Bakantwa Sword really be yers?"
Sir Ayize's wild eyes shift restlessly between my brother and me, and the spot the cloaked man was in, his wings quivering. He stands ramrod straight.
The whole room is buzzing with electricity now. The hairs on my nape stand on edge.
"Do ya guys feel that?" I ask.
"The breeze?" Sir Ayize asks. He shivers. "Ja, I'm freezing."
"No. The current." I close my eyes and rub the back of my neck with one hand. “It’s like there's electric wires all over this place. I'm roasting.”
For a moment the three of them stare at me. As I watch them, Madam Thembi suddenly glares at me. I feel an immediate, intense need to get out of here.
"It began with Electricity," she says to herself. A long exhale. "As all magic does."
"What did he say?" Kaseke asks, ignoring Thembi. He seems genuinely curious, so, he didn't see D'ziko coming? That must mean something.
My forehead creases. I can't imagine anything about me that could be in any way interesting for D'ziko... unless he is here because of the forgery.
And why didn't he properly introduce himself? Why'd he hide his identity to me. He's sort of a legend here. The most famous person in Noddon but nobody actually knows what he looks likes. Not before today. He always hides behind a mask. Why did he show me his face? Why me?
"Nothing. He said nothing."
Sir Ayize gives me a patronizing look. His voice hardens. "Let's get ya a sword so you can leave my shop."
"Ya think he was here for her?" Madam Thembi asks.
"No one but her saw him." Sir Ayize says, looking furiously at me as though I planned this. I'm not sure if he thinks I’m pretending? If he doubts that D'ziko was actually here?
I head straight for the fake Bakantwa sword. A clump of teens hover outside the windows now, people elbowing each other trying to get a better view. Word gets out fast on these parts, thanks in part to enhanced hearing. The only common gift.
Every one of them have tried using the Bakantwa Sword. All have failed to control it.
I wave the sword once and as I built it to, its lights switch off.
Gasps and hums echo throughout the streets. Someone shouts that the Bakantwa has found a owner. There's choas everywhere.
Ayize falls to his knees and soon the crowds outside bow down to me.
It's disturbing to finally live yer dream but feel cold inside. Like something's missing. Like someone's dead.
The real Bakantwa sword under my steels vibrates and, I feel a sharp stab in my side burning my skin. The potion is wearing off.
I cry out, gasping. I claw at the unseen flames.
"Imani!" Kaseke cries out.
I need to get rid of the real Bakantwa Sword.
I bolt.
When I pass the house of our neighbour, he greets me. Carzo's standing in the middle of the road. He's sipping green tea and people watching. He doesn't hold down a job like most grown ups do because he prefers to do this all day, everyday.
I quickly hide my hand behind my back. The wound is glowing gold, like I'm burning. I can feel the sword burn through my steels. I bite my lip to stop myself from crying out in pain.
He's wearing tight orange yoga pants and a ripped t-shirt. He's dyed his hair red with green tips from the last time I saw him. He's a tomato. Which is what made him a poor excuse for a teacher. Maybe that's why he left. Or maybe it's because he's gay. Most gay people hide, like my brother, Commodore.
"Imani, ya brownie! How was yer time at Sword Universe? Heard ya done bagged yerself the Bakantwa. Hail." He bows. “Rumour also has it ya bolted, screaming for yer mama, isn't?”
Oh Leza!
I need to get out of here.
Carzo is the kind of person that knows everything about everyone. He can't keep a secret nor does he appreciate people who keep secrets from him. He must've milked the details about my blazed getaway from my old best friend, Sindiswa, his much younger sister.
"Good evening to ya too, Carzo. I'll swing by later but it was great. The rumours are slightly untrue."
I speak through clenched teeth. He looks at me and shakes his head. One eyebrow is raised and I just know he's trying to piece my obvious discomfort, my blazed gateway, my contorted face into a gossip worthy situation.
I waltzle down the road.
"Wait, wait," he says, flagging his hands rapidly. "Now there's only one thing left to say."
I stop, doubtful, impatient.
"Congratulations."
I nod, then race past my house and into the forrest.
The woods are deserted. Noddon is even more beautiful at night. The ferns swing in the summer breeze. They're dunked in a foggy fairytale glow.
I stop under the tree of life and stripe to my underwear. A shape of the bakantwa sword is engraved and glowing where it touched my skin.
There's a history lesson engraved on the tree. The words seem to have been curved out with a magical knife as they've never disappeared over the years. They're written in black witchery letters. And before the merryz can help you, you need to recite the words. I begin:
"Leza gave up her life inorder for all things Noddon to survive. We should worship her. And avenge her death, the masked man killed her."
Some strongly believe D'ziko is the masked man.
I quickly pick a few merryz and squeeze their juice into my wounds. The pain is maddening. It's like I've been burnt by a steam from boiling water.
I bite into my arm to stop myself from screaming as the merryz works it's magic. Leza forbid someone sees me like this, they'd know why my skin is glowing. They'd know I'm a fraud.
When the pain subsides, I collapse under the tree and watch the dark sky.
Suddenly the hairs on my nape stand. The pace of my heart speeds.
I'm not alone. Not anymore.
There's an aura more powerful than anything I usually encounter. His is oval-shaped, multi-colored band of light and vibration. I can't see who it is as the aura completely surrounds him. It is black which pertains to controlling and transferring magic essence and has shades of brown which indicate insecurity and patches of red that suggests anger, unforgiving and danger.
It makes the animal life run.
"Hello?" I call out, my grip finds the hilt of my sword. The fake Bakantwa. "D'ziko. It's ya, isn't it?"
But I know it isn't. His aura is powerful, dark but not evil.
This is the essence thief.
I can't stop myself from making panicked, whimpering sounds.
Yes, I wanted to unearth the essence thief but I didn't think he'd find me so soon.
I find my steels and quickly put them back on.
Cautiously I proceed forward, my eyes scanning the forest for the essence thief, and as I look at the tree of life, the brown trunk turns gold and it's green leaves turn blue.
But how is this possible?
The tree only changes if and when the rightful owner has touched the sword recently and then walks within a ten meter radius of it. I was going to avoid walking this route for as long as possible to keep the ruse going. But now... now strange things are happening. Things I have no control over.
I can no longer feel the thief. What the hell is going on?
Investigating seems like a great idea but the sword is vibrating under my steels. It's magic can't be contained. If I don't lock it away soon, the merryz will wear off and I'll die.
I run home.
"Mama...?" I say, the second I enter the house.
"In the kitchen," she says. Her voice is filled with emotion. I'm sure she's heard about the sword.
She takes me in her arms the second I enter. I close my eyes and will the moment to last for eternity. I don't remember the last time she held me. I don't remember the last time she told me she was proud of me. And I darn certainly don't remember the last time her fingers combed through my hair as they do now. I would steal the Bakatwa Sword everyday, every hour, every second if it meant I'd receive such warm hugs. My mother's hug says what I haven't heard in ten years; she loves me too.