by Gill Lewis
Rat trotted to keep up. “You have to give your baby up tomorrow,” he sniped. “Kitwana goes tomorrow. You won’t have him anymore. What will happen to your powers then?”
Imara walked ahead of Rat and smiled. She wouldn’t let the White Lioness take Kitwana. She felt as if she had more power than she had ever had before. She felt it surge, like a warming ray of sunshine, from her chest, down her arms and through her fingers, spinning a shield around Kitwana, keeping him safe. She would never let anyone hurt him. Bobo would take him and give Kitwana his freedom.
She turned and faced Rat, looking him right in the eyes. “Do not test my power,” she said softly. “Not even I know what it can do.”
* * *
The Black Mamba was lying on his bed with a blanket wrapped around him. His forehead shone with sweat and he clutched his snake-bone amulet in his hand. Bundi had left a concoction of pills on the table, but the Black Mamba had not taken any.
“Imara,” he grunted. “I am dying. I can’t trust anyone anymore. Help me. You must make me strong.”
Imara sat down beside him. He had the sickness that swept through the mine, but he didn’t look like he was dying.
He is not very sick, Imara, but let him think it is so. Show that you alone can save him.
“I will make you special tea,” said Imara, placing a hand on his forehead. “You must drink plenty and you must rest.” She made up the medicine from the powder into a large glass of water and held it to his lips to sip. “You will be strong again,” she whispered. “I call on the spirits to protect you.”
The Black Mamba lay back on his pillow. “You are good to me, Imara. But there are also bad spirits around here. Keep them away from me. Don’t let them near me while I sleep.”
He still needs you, whispered the demon. If you tell him of Bobo’s plans to escape he will reward you. You will be his Spirit Child forever. You will have all the power.
Imara watched Kitwana playing with an empty beer bottle trying to stick his tongue inside and taste the sweet liquid.
“I can’t,” she whispered to the demon. “I do this for Kitwana, not for you.”
Imara watched the Black Mamba drift into fevered sleep, then lifted Kitwana in one arm and left to make his bottle of milk. The day was hot and muggy, pressing in. Imara wiped her face with a cloth and slapped at the insects that buzzed and tried to settle on her skin. She poured boiled water into the milk powder and shook the bottle. Kitwana climbed into her lap, reaching up to take the bottle in his hands. He put it to his lips, and Imara smiled as she watched him guzzle the milk, his nose twitching as he drank.
Rat sat in the shadows watching her. “Your baby is even uglier than you,” he sneered.
“Haven’t you got work to do?” said Imara, without looking at Rat. “The Black Mamba said anyone sitting around would be sent down to the mines.”
“He asked me to keep a watch on you.”
“The Black Mamba trusts me,” she said.
“For now,” said Rat. “But I will find a way to test your loyalty.”
Imara ignored Rat and put the empty bottle into a pan of water boiling over the fire, the way Bobo had shown her to clean it. She stared into the water. It seemed impossible to think that tomorrow Kitwana would be free. Bobo, Saka, and Frog would be free, too. She thought of them running into the forest, and wished that she could join them. Frog had said she could live with his family. Maybe she could. Maybe? Saka was not Frog’s kin and yet his family had taken him in. Hope swelled up inside her. Tomorrow, she decided, she would escape with them. She would hold on to Kitwana and run with Bobo, Saka, and Frog. She’d run with them, far away from here, deep into the forest. Tomorrow she and Kitwana would be free.
She watched a bubble forming at the bottom of the pan. It was small at first, a tiny bead of vapor crushed by the weight of water, but it pushed outward getting bigger and bigger, rising up and up until it burst through the surface, escaping into the air.
“IMARA!”
Imara looked up. Saka stood in front of her, wide-eyed. He was puffing and panting, trying to catch his breath.
Rat was on his feet. “What is it?”
“There’s been a landslip at the mine,” Saka gasped, clutching his sides. “Two men are buried.” He turned to Imara. “Frog is buried too. The walls collapsed on him.”
“Take me there,” she said. She glanced at Kitwana playing happily with the logs and hoped he’d stay until she returned.
She and Rat ran, following Saka toward the mine. They scrambled and slithered into the gulley where Frog and the other men had been working. Imara couldn’t see any sign of the other two men, but Frog was trapped, clamped beneath the landslide. Only his head and shoulders and one arm were free above the mud. Bobo was working with other miners to dig Frog out, but as fast as they cleared the soil, more slid down from the steep bank.
Frog was gasping for breath, rasping air deep into his lungs.
Rat jumped down beside him and pushed Frog’s chin up with his foot. “Pah! He is dead already.” He turned to Imara. “Let him see your face so he may die more quickly.”
Imara knelt down beside Frog.
Saka crouched down next to her and held on to Frog’s free hand. “Don’t leave me,” he whispered. “We are going home, remember? You and me. We’re going home.”
Frog was struggling to breathe. Spittle frothed in the corner of his mouth.
“Stay with me,” pleaded Saka. He gripped Frog’s hand tighter. “We’re going home. We’ll walk the cattle to the river again. We’ll cool our feet in the water like we used to do. We’re going home.”
Imara tried to clear the soil that trickled down across Frog’s face. His lips had turned smoke gray.
“Imara, do something,” whispered Saka.
Imara looked at the weight of mud that held Frog trapped. Half the hillside had slipped down upon him.
Rat kicked a pile of earth. “Frog will die,” he said, walking away.
Imara leaned forward. “Frog,” she whispered, “can you hear me?”
“Emmanuel,” said Saka to Imara, his voice shaking. He said the name more clearly. “His name is Emmanuel.”
Imara bent down to Frog, her face inches from his. “Emmanuel?”
Frog looked up at her with wild, scared eyes. “Mama?”
Imara looked into his, but he was staring beyond her to somewhere she couldn’t see.
“Mama?” he said again.
Imara put her palm against his face and spoke so quietly, that only Saka and Emmanuel could hear.
“Emmanuel,” she whispered, “your mama is coming for you.” She stroked his forehead. “Do you see her, Emmanuel?”
Emmanuel nodded, and managed a smile through his rasping breaths.
“See, she is waiting for you,” said Imara. “Now go. Go home to her. Run into her open arms.”
Imara and Saka held Emmanuel as his last breath left his body.
Imara briefly touched Saka’s hand, then walked away, while Rat stood back to let her pass, a smile on his lips. “You care for them.” He laughed.
Imara ignored him.
“I have found your weakness, Spirit Child,” he called out. “I have found your weakness. You have no protection now.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
imara
Imara sat in her hut and fed Kitwana a bottle of milk. She tried to block out thoughts of Emmanuel, but she kept seeing him in her hut, offering her the small white flower. He had offered her his friendship. He had offered her a home.
Emmanuel is dead, the demon reminded her.
Imara closed her eyes and tried to force out the memory. Only yesterday she had dreamed of leaving the Mambas to live with Emmanuel and his family, but now those hopes had died with him.
Kitwana was fidgety, and kept pushing the bottle away. Imara knew he sensed her restlessness. He was desperate to get into the forest and play and forage for food. But this morning was different. This morning the White Lioness was coming
to camp. Kitwana clambered about the hut pulling the blanket from Imara’s sleeping mat and screaming indignantly when she tried to grab it back. He tore at the strips of wood on the door.
Imara opened the door and let Kitwana outside. It had rained steadily all night and the sky looked thick with clouds. Maybe the White Lioness wouldn’t come today. She’d heard Bundi say the helicopter pilots avoided flying through the storms.
The camp was busy. Rat was ordering men around, piling up the full sacks of coltan ready for the helicopter. Water ran and dripped from the trees and carved out new gullies in the scoured valley, sending thick brown water churning downstream. Imara looked around for Saka. He had disappeared into the forest soon after Emmanuel’s body had been buried and no one had seen him since. Maybe he had already escaped, now that he no longer had his friend to look after.
Bobo was pacing circles near the sacks of coltan. He seemed preoccupied, stopping and then moving position. Imara cast her eyes around the camp. Bundi was inspecting the coltan, weighing the sacks and making notes on his clipboard. The steady tink tink tink of tools and the scraping of the earth of miners at work rose up from the mines. Imara watched Bobo. He paced another circle and glanced up into the branches of the nearest trees. She followed his gaze. High in the canopy layer, she saw Saka stretched out across a branch. For one moment she had seen his leg swinging, but now it was still and Saka was almost invisible again, almost part of the tree. He was holding the camera in his hands, pointing it in line with Bobo. So this was where Bobo had planned to set up the photo of the police chief and the Black Mamba. Imara looked back at the camp. She didn’t want to give Saka’s position away.
She wondered how she would get Kitwana to the meeting point. She had to get him away from here. If Kitwana left with the White Lioness, Imara would never find him again. Maybe Imara could leave now, walk through the forests in search of food and be ready and waiting to meet Bobo and Saka.
Imara pulled on her cape and took Kitwana’s hand, letting him lead her toward the forest path.
“Imara!”
Imara turned. The Black Mamba was calling her, looking recovered from his bout of sickness.
“You look better,” said Imara.
The Black Mamba nodded. “See, the spirits have protected me. I am well again.”
Imara turned to follow Kitwana into the forest.
“You must stay here,” called the Black Mamba. “The White Lioness is on her way. She will want her gorilla baby soon.”
“I am only taking him for a last feed,” said Imara.
The Black Mamba shook his head. “There is no time. Come with me,” he ordered, “and be here to welcome her.”
Imara lifted Kitwana in her arms and stared longingly into the trees. She’d missed her chance. If she’d left moments earlier, she’d be away in the forest by now. She followed the Black Mamba to Bundi and the piles of coltan at the trading shack next to the flattened ground where the helicopter would land. She walked past Bobo, as if he wasn’t there. Bobo ignored her too, but she could feel his tension and she felt bound to him and Saka; three points of a triangle, connected by their thoughts. Rat slunk into the middle of the triangle, looking between Imara and Bobo, but neither would give him the satisfaction that they acknowledged each other. Kitwana tried to reach out for Bobo, but Imara pulled him away and walked on.
The radio in the Black Mamba’s hand crackled to life, and Imara could hear the pilot’s voice telling him they would soon arrive.
Imara felt Kitwana’s grip tighten. He had sensed the helicopter before her. The clouds above pulsated with sound and then the helicopter emerged from the whiteness, in a roar and whirl of rotor blades. For a moment it swung wildly in a strong gust of wind, before the pilot brought it down to rest.
The White Lioness climbed down from the helicopter and picked her way across the mud, careful to keep her pale khaki trousers clean. She waited for Clarkson to join her and hold an umbrella for her to walk beneath.
Imara felt sick as she watched the Mambas unload a large, sturdy crate with ventilation holes cut into the sides. So this was Kitwana’s cage. This was how Kitwana would leave the forest. The Mambas carried it up to the trading shack and placed it next to the coltan waiting to be stacked.
The White Lioness walked straight to Imara, her arms outstretched for Kitwana. “Let me hold him.” She smiled.
Imara gripped her hand tightly around Kitwana.
The White Lioness pulled something from her pocket. “Let’s see if he wants to try a toffee.”
Kitwana took the toffee from her and poked his tongue out, tasting the sweetness. Then he put it in his mouth and rolled it around inside, poking his finger in his mouth, trying to dislodge it from his teeth.
“Come,” said the White Lioness, “let me have him.”
Imara reluctantly let the White Lioness take Kitwana from her and feed him another toffee. It became a game to Kitwana and he pushed his fingers in her pockets to look for more.
The White Lioness flicked back her hair. “I knew I’d win him over in the end. He is just like all men.” She laughed. “You have to find out what they want first.”
The demon inside Imara twisted and turned.
“And you,” the White Lioness said to Imara, “have you made your mind up? Are you coming with me?”
Rat was standing next to them, listening.
“If the Black Mamba is willing, I will,” said Imara.
The White Lioness smiled. “Black Mamba,” she called, without taking her eyes from Imara. “How much for your Spirit Child? I want to take her, too.”
The Black Mamba walked a circle around Imara. “What do you want with her?”
“She is interesting.” The White Lioness raised an eyebrow. “I like interesting things. Besides, I need her to look after the gorilla.”
“She is our Spirit Child. She protects the men.”
A smile curled at the corners of the White Lioness’s mouth. “I would have thought a man like you would be strong enough to protect your own men.”
The Black Mamba said nothing, but Imara could see a small blood vessel pulsing on the side of his forehead.
“I’m sure you will find another Spirit Child,” said the White Lioness. “I can make it worth your while.”
The Black Mamba glanced at Imara and rolled the snake-bone amulet beneath his finger. “No,” he said. “She is not for sale.”
The White Lioness shrugged her shoulders. “Well, maybe I will be able to persuade you before I leave.” She looked around the camp. “Where is the police chief? Where are the papers he promised me? I need documentation to take the gorilla with me.”
The Black Mamba scanned the forest edge. “He should be here soon.”
The White Lioness tutted. She looked up at the sky and held her hand out to feel the rain falling as a misted drizzle. “I don’t like to be kept waiting. The pilot says the weather is closing in and we must leave before the afternoon.”
The Black Mamba nodded. “Come,” he said. “Come and keep dry until he arrives.”
Imara followed the White Lioness, Rat, and the Black Mamba along the path to the Black Mamba’s hut. She was aware of Bobo walking close behind her. He shoved her, elbowing her out of the way, and as he passed he bent his head and whispered hastily, “I need them all out in the open when the police chief gets here. Try to get them all out by the gorilla cage so Saka can take the photo.”
Rat whipped around. He narrowed his eyes at Bobo and Imara, but Bobo ignored him, walking straight ahead.
Imara made coffee and brought it to the Black Mamba’s hut. She watched the White Lioness playing hide-and-seek with the toffees. Kitwana was too wrapped up in the game to notice Imara. Somehow she had to get him away before the White Lioness loaded him up in the crate.
The rain drummed harder and harder on the hut roof and water found its way through tiny holes. The steady drip, drip, drip of water on the floor marked the passing of time. The White Lioness glanced at her watch
. “Clarkson,” she said. “Make sure the coltan is loaded and check with the pilot when we must leave.”
Clarkson pulled his hood up and stepped out into the rain. The White Lioness tutted. “I will have to go soon whether your police chief is here or not.”
Rat appeared at the door. “The police chief is arriving.”
“Good,” snapped the White Lioness, standing up. Imara tried to reach for Kitwana, but he had already climbed into the White Lioness’s arms looking for more toffee.
“I can carry him,” said Imara. She tried to lift Kitwana from the White Lioness, but Kitwana shrieked at her. He wasn’t going to let Imara take him away from his hoard of toffees.
The White Lioness smiled, looking at Kitwana. “It’s all right. I’ll hold him.” She stroked his cheek. “See? He knows I’m his mama now.”
Imara trotted close behind the White Lioness, with the demon screaming in her ear all the way. The last few sacks of coltan were being loaded up. The crate for Kitwana was open and ready for him. Imara glanced at Bobo. She knew he needed a photo of the police chief and the Black Mamba out here, so she stepped in front of the White Lioness. “Come,” she said. “Let me help you put him in the crate.”
Clarkson walked over from the helicopter. “The pilot says we must leave. There are electrical storms forecast. We must get out now.”
“Wait, I need the forms for the gorilla,” said the White Lioness.
The police chief staggered up the hill toward them, his feet slipping and sliding in the mud. Imara could see that he tried to maintain some dignity by wiping his face, but he only smeared more mud across it.
The Black Mamba and Bundi joined them. The Black Mamba and the police chief were in position. Imara wondered if Saka had a clear view. For a moment, the rain eased and wide puddles shone in a shaft of sunlight. Yet the clouds were swollen with more rain, and thunder rumbled across the mountain.
“You are late again,” the White Lioness said to the police chief.
“It was the rain. The roads were bad—”
The White Lioness cut across him. “I am not interested in excuses. I want the forms.”