75

He forces my sword into my hand and I scream. I feel the magic ripping out of me. It's like a surreal dizziness, as though I'm floating in the ceiling, looking down at myself. At Sithole. I see pure and extreme lights, they're everywhere, as I enter an unearthly realm. Rori?
Sithole manoeuvres himself over me as my back presses harder against the floor but I don't feel his weight. I'm light and free and floating. I'm a cloud.
With his bare foot, he kicks his sword away from him and quickly picks up my sword— he's going to kill me with my own sword. He stabs my thigh. My stomach. My chest. Each stabs is accompanied by a dark villainous laugh.
The light starts fading, transferring from all around me to him. With each lost beam, my body sinks lower, being dragged back to my withering body on the floor.
"Ya're quite a treat aren't ya, Imani?" He chuckles.
I close my eyes and in a futile, desperate attempt to keep the magic in my body, place a weak hand over his chest and push. Suddenly I stop flying, the weight on top of me doubles, I realise he is making sounds — not the groans of pleasure I am expecting — but gagging sounds that causes my face to soak in his blood.
He struggles to his feet, stumbling as he goes. His mind is filled with confusion. His eyes search the room desperately, his hand on his gaping open throat.
Before his mind can register what is happening, Mama is on top of him, holding a sword securely in her hands and she stabs him, again and again, and again.
She doesn't stop even as the life threatens to slip from his eyes, she doesn't stop even when her hand slips down the sharp blade and cuts her palm. She is in a trance.
I stare wide eyed, still paralysed. My body is in immense agony now.
"Mama!" I squeak, my voice no louder than a whisper. "Don't stop, kill him. It's the only way to get back the magic."
There is no answer.
“Mama!" My voice is weak, I am losing too much blood. But also gaining some mobility back. The line between death and life must be thin for Sithole.
Still no answer.
I slither across the room to my mother, screaming through the protesting pain, I pull Mama by the elbow and the sword drops. I pick it up and stand over, the same way he was standing over me. Then I close my eyes and bring it down against the middle of his forehead. Now Sithole lies still, his body in an array of colours. People's magic leaving his body, returning to their rightful hosts.
I collapse in exhaustion and pain.
"Call for help." If I wasn't so weak I'd be in hysterics.
A crow arrives immediately. Always ready. Mama sends a message immediately.
"Noddon emergency services," the dispatcher says. It is a male wendigo. "What's yer emergency?"
"There's a man lying next to me and I think he's dead," she says, I realize her voice is shaking. I watch my mother as she tries to explain that Sithole had been about to...
"A deputy is on the way, ma'am," I catch the dispatcher's soothing voice, as if women killing men in cold blood is an everyday normal routine. But for him, it probably is.
"Hurry," she says, her voice cold.
"Mama, do ya realize what we've just done?"
"Killed a man."
"No," I meant to shriek but my voice is too weak. "ya saved my life. Plus Commodore's. He's alive. Alive. Where to begin to look? Help me up. We have to find him."
Mama blinks, astonished. "My first job as a mother is to protect ya. Lie still let me heal ya first."
"But Mama, it could be too late!"
"Baby, ya're hurt. Don't stress yerself. We'll find yer brother. Promise. It'll be fine, okay?"
"But Mama—" I begin, still weak. Mama silences me with an icy look.
And then she is hysterically sending messages to the crow. I blink, fighting against the cloud of unconsciousness that threatens to pull me under.
"W—Who are ya calling?"
"I'm going to need my sword so I can heal ya," she tells me. “Ya broke several bones and it's going to hurt, someone has got to be there for ya."
"D—D'ziko can't see me like this. He'll—"
Mama interrupts me by answering the message of the crow. "Hello?"
"Imani?" D'ziko sighs in relief. "I think I now know where the shadows live, sweetheart."
"It's Rowena” She gives him the minor details. "Get here fast, Imani's hurt. Bring my sword."
My eyes close, I am beginning to drift. I want to hold on a little longer, to wait for D'ziko, to see him once but the dark fog calls me, gripping me.
Am I dead?
Yes. Because there is no way I can't feel the pain I'd felt seconds before.
There are voices coming from everywhere, I am moving through the dark fog, carried by an invisible force. Are these angels? Am I going to be one? Assigned to watch over D'ziko? I hope so.
And then I hear it. The voice. As panicked as it is livid... It is still beautiful. It calls my name. It is the voice I'd walk through hell for, cross the ocean for — if I knew how to swim — but I'd drawn trying.
"Oh, Imani, what did he do to ya?" D'ziko demands.
I'm right here. I want to say but my voice doesn't make it past my lips.
And I know then I am dead. For the dead can't communicate with the living.
"Just keep breathing, Imani," he says. "Don't ya dare give up."
Breathing? Does that mean I am still alive? Does that mean I can see D'ziko again? This is motivation enough.
I fight against the fog.
"Her pulse is faint." His voice is livid, frantic. "Is someone ever going help her? — fuck this!"
I open my eyes and see him. My typical D'ziko. Angry. Irritated. When things don't go his way.
"Calm down sir, the paramedics have just arrived and are doing everything to keep her conscious while Madam Rowena summons the magic back to her sword" a new voice says.
"D'ziko," I say, my voice slow, quiet.
"Oh Imani, thank Gods." His voice is relieved. "ya'll be fine."
"Don't worry. I don't feel pain."
His brows furrow deeper. I can see it behind his mask.
He moves his hand and looks at me expectantly. When I stare back at him in confusion, he screams rage.
It breaks my heart. Pierces me with a sharp dagger.
"D'ziko?"
Tears are beginning to pool in his eyes. "Oh no, Imani. I'm so sorry."
I squeeze his hand, unable to speak.
He merely shakes his head, another wave of tears pooling in his eyes. "Oh I...Imani." His voice creaks.
Before I can ask him what is happening, paramedics are upon me, hands touching everywhere.
"Give her a shot for the pain," one bellows. I am too busy watching the horror on D'ziko's face to pay the wendigos above me attention. "We are going to try to move her, oh Leza, looks like she broke her leg too."
"Don't bother." D'ziko's voice is cold. "She doesn't feel anything."
"Oh no. Swati? We have a situation. Hurry!" the same voice from before calls. Panicked.
I frown. Am I missing something?
"Goddess?" A wendigo in navy clothing lowers himself in front of my face. "I'm going to touch yer leg, pull on it a bit, tell me if ya feel anything."
I nod and a sharp pain goes through my head. I wince.
"Oh ya feel it," he sighs in relief. Almost rejoicing.
I frown. Of course I did. "My head is throbbing."
"yer head... but... I... yer... oh no," he is frantic again. "ya feel it now?"
I frown, again. Puzzled.
“Swati?" he bellows to the female wendigo who is doing something to my head.
"I'm doing my best here, Phila. She's bleeding out fast," she says, just as frantic. "I'm a little bit surprised she regained conscious at all."
Phila looks away from the woman just above my head and meets my questioning gaze.
"Let's try again, goddess, okay?"
“J...ja," I slur, getting weaker still.
His words finally register. I am hurt. I am suppose to feel pain. I am suppose to feel my waist, my legs. I am numb from my mid back down.
"And?" the wendigo probes.
Has he touched me already?
By the horrified look on his face. Yes. Yes he has.
My heart stops.
"D'ziko?" I ask, searching his face.
But D'ziko is deliberately facing away from me, making no attempt to hide his panic, or his tears as he sits kneeling, face looking upwards, hands bound together.
If it wasn't for the string of profanities, I'd think he is praying.
And then he does glance at me, expression saddened, pained, hopeless. I wish he hadn't.
He holds my cheek. It is the only place I guessed is free of visible wounds.
"ya'll be fine," he promises, his voice broken.
"ya can't know that. I won't walk again," I tell him. "I lost feeling on my legs. D'ziko, I can't move my legs. I won't be fine. I can't move them... I... can't... move..." It would be better if my voice wasn't so low that D'ziko has to lean into my ear to catch my words.
"Rowena," the paramedic calls again and gives Mama a meaningful look.
“Okay, okay. Ten more seconds.”
Suddenly I feel a prickle in my arm — a surprise I still have feeling here — and then my eyes lose focus and I drift. D'ziko is the last thing I see.

It is an hour after Sithole’s death and Mama’s been watching me like a hawk. She’s fixed me up nicely. I’m sure if I wasn’t so dark skinned, there’d be red markings on my skin. I'm lying on the bed(which is not necessary). Mothers. When I remind my mother this, she waves her hand dismissively. Mama and D'ziko both agree I have to stay in bed. Kaseke and I both wonder why.
I'm in an unfamiliar room at the palace. The television is on a cartoon channel and Kaseke and D'ziko are drinking coffee and laughing themselves silly. My heart warms at my two boys. Mama is sitting at the edge of the bed, hands trembling on her lap. The boys don't seem to notice this.
“Why didn't ya tell us?” I ask Mama during a commercial break.
She’s been on edge the whole night. She cringes, I’m sure she was dreading this conversation.
Kaseke and D'ziko are still staring at the television screen, but they now sit with pole straight backs. Mama and I have an audience. Let the show begin.
She’s silent and stiff. I mimic her. I won’t let this madness go on much longer.
“Imani, now is not a good time.” Dread has crept into her voice.
Kaseke gives up on pretending he’s not listening. He comes to stand over us. “Good time for what?” he asks.