Crowned (27 page)

Open your eyes.

My eyes are open; what does she mean? I find my head turning slowly, my gaze focusing on the battle raging in front of me. Through the flashes of blue light and blurry figures, I can tell what’s going on. The drifters are losing. Suddenly I understand how this happened. It wasn’t me being clever enough to figure out where the warehouse is. The Puppetmaster set me up. He knew Rakwena would come to protect me, and his brothers would come to protect him. He knew I would come to the warehouse. He had his army ready, and he knew there was no way I could allow them to defeat us.

Now I understand why the Ultima clouded my thoughts. She didn’t want me coming to the warehouse. She knew this would happen.

I have to protect Rakwena and his brothers. I close my eyes and let the power of the Ultima course through me once again. When I open my eyes the world rushes in, filling my senses. I’m seeing through her eyes now, and it’s too much. Too many colours, too many layers – my brain can’t take it all in.

Focus.

I breathe in, steadying myself. I can see the scene before me, clear and bright as though we were standing outside. And then, superimposed on top of it, I can see the drifters’ gifts and the borrowed gifts of the soldiers. They are perfect spheres of colour lined up before me, pulsing. The drifters’ spheres are larger, bright blue, while the soldiers’ gifts are small grey marbles. I know what to do. It’s so simple, so obvious. I don’t even have to say a word. I rearrange the spheres in my mind, pulling the drifters’ spheres together so they overlap and slip over each other until there’s only one. And then, like pieces on a board, the drifters start to move according to the Ultima’s will.

Duma steps back into the shadows, seeking the soldiers hiding in dark corners. Spencer unleashes his gift, sending ripples across the floor. The soldiers lose their balance and start to fall. Reetsang weaves in and out with his super-speed, knocking down anyone in his path. Elias uses his super-stealth to creep up on the stragglers and knock them out. Rakwena uses his telekinesis to keep them down once they’ve dropped.

“Two near the door,” Duma calls out, and Elias does his thing.

The process continues until the soldiers lie in a heap on the ground, and finally it’s my turn. I sense the Puppetmaster creep into the warehouse, but I can’t afford to divert my attention. The Ultima’s energy latches onto my gift and shoots out towards my target.

The minds of the soldiers are protected by the Puppetmaster’s standard concrete wall, but that poses no challenge any more. I see them all as one towering fortress now, standing high above me. Millions of strings of energy reach out, hitting every part of the fortress at once. The power builds, and builds, and builds, burning a trail from my chest to my head, through my fingers, down to my toes.

My head explodes with green light. Power gushes out of me, fierce and unstoppable. It shifts the air around me, creating a wave that makes the world ripple. It swells and crests over the soldiers, crushing every barrier to dust until all their minds lie open and vulnerable before me. The power retreats, leaving that familiar earthy taste in my mouth.

I sense the Puppetmaster’s energy withdraw and disappear.

“Connie?”

I blink. It takes a moment for my vision to return to normal. Rakwena is peering at me. I’m tired, but unhurt. “Did it work?”

“See for yourself.”

I look towards the middle of the warehouse. It’s empty. “Where did they go?”

“As soon as they came to their senses, they ran,” says Spencer. He lifts his arm and winces.

I stare at him, baffled. I don’t remember seeing that. “When?”

“You were out of it for a few minutes,” Rakwena explains. “It took you a while to respond when I called your name.”

I frown. I didn’t feel like a while. It felt like seconds.

“We should get out of here,” says Reetsang, “before your friend thinks of another way to finish us off.”

We walk out of the warehouse. It takes my eyes a minute to adjust to the sunlight. It’s only then that I see the full extent of the drifters’ injuries. All of them are bleeding in at least one place. Spencer seems to have sprained his arm and hurt his side, Reetsang is limping and Elias is covered in blood down his entire left side, shoulder to knee. Rakwena has a gash on his cheek, a split lip and a bruise near his eye.

“Wait, where’s Duma?” asks Spencer, who is bringing up the rear.

Elias frowns and looks around. “He’s not hurt, is he?”

We run back into the warehouse, but there’s no sign of the youngest drifter. We exit the building again and comb the surrounding area, to no avail. We fall silent, looking around at each other. There is no place Duma could have run to in this dry, yellow bush. There’s only one explanation for his absence.

“He took him,” I murmur.

Elias is right in my face, his lips twisted into a menacing grimace. “Don’t even say it.”

But it has to be said. “I sensed his presence just after I started my attack. I thought he had come to observe, and I was too focused on what I was doing to worry about him. But he must have taken Duma.”

“Duma would have sensed him!” Reetsang protests.

I shake my head. “Not necessarily. The Puppetmaster is good at hiding.”

“
You
sensed him.”

“I have my anklet. It helps me see through illusions. Duma had nothing.”

“She’s right.” Rakwena’s jaw is tense. “He must have snatched him while we were distracted by the fight. Duma’s not a strong fighter – he’d be easy to subdue.”

Spencer shakes his head. “Why would the Puppetmaster want Duma? He’s the weakest one in our cell!”

Rakwena catches my gaze, and I know we’re thinking the same thing. Duma may be the weakest, but he’s also the most valuable. What could be more useful to a sorcerer hunting gifted than a drifter who knows how to find them?

“You were right,” Rakwena whispers. “We shouldn’t have come.”

The drifters huddle together, and I end up walking to the car on my own, a short distance behind them. Their bond has shut me out. They’re broken again, incomplete, and I’m the least of their worries. I’m the least of
my
worries. Duma is lost in one of the Puppetmaster’s illusory places. I can’t reach him, but I can reach his captor.

John. John! Answer me!

He’s not there. He’s not even listening. There’s not a trace of his energy along this wire. I give up for now and climb into the car. We ride home in tortured silence. I send a message to my grandfather, informing him of Duma’s abduction. When Rakwena pulls up outside my house I’m only too glad to escape the tension.

“I’ll call you,” he says, but he barely looks at me.

I nod. I know I shouldn’t take it personally. I reach out to touch his hand. He doesn’t raise it from the steering wheel, but at least he doesn’t push me away.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper. No one replies.

I close the door and turn towards the house. The car is out of sight before I reach the front door.

“Hello, love,” says Dad, emerging from the kitchen. “Did you kids have – hey, what happened?”

“Nothing.” I can hear the threat of tears in my voice. “I had a fight with Rakwena. And no, I don’t want to talk about it.”

I flee to the sanctuary of my room before he can ask any more questions, snatch up my crystal and curl up in bed, my body wrapped around the crystal. I try to reach the Puppetmaster and fail. I try again, and again, until at last I fall asleep with the crystal shining into my chest.

* * *

I wake up on Monday morning feeling battered. My limbs are heavy and uncooperative and my head is ringing with unwelcome flashbacks of yesterday’s events. Duma. I think of his sweet smile and my stomach roils. I should have tried harder to persuade the drifters to stay behind. I should have made Rakwena drive them home immediately.

I turn over onto my back and stare at the ceiling. None of the drifters said a word to me during the ride home; despite my attempt to keep them out of it, I know they hold me responsible. After all, the Puppetmaster is
my
foe.

I pick my phone off the bedside table, but there are no missed calls or messages. I was hoping Rakwena would have called to tell me what happened when they delivered the news to Temper and Mandla. I sit up slowly. Temper’s going to kill me. I helped reunite them with one brother only for them to lose another. And that’s not the worst of it.

Like other gifted, drifter powers are linked to their psychic energy. Their connection is far more essential than ours, though. Without a regular influx of energy their powers wane. If their powers fade completely, drifters die. Their lives are so tightly bound to their gifts that they can’t exist without them. If the Puppetmaster tries to take Duma’s gift, Duma won’t survive.

Ugh, I can’t think about this any more. I climb out of bed, my head pounding, and make my way gingerly to the bathroom. But try as I might, I can think of nothing else.

The Puppetmaster is quiet. I can’t sense him anywhere near. His attention is focused entirely on the Loosening and his new prize. I have to give him credit for killing two birds with one stone. He found the perfect way to test me and simultaneously snatch Duma from right under my nose. Talk about efficient. Now he knows how far my Ultima powers can go, and he has a way to keep the Loosening going indefinitely.

Dad’s in the kitchen when I come in to make breakfast. He’s gulping down his coffee, and I guess he must be late.

“Morning, Dad.”

He puts the cup on the counter. “Morning. Ready to tell me what’s wrong yet?”

I heave a weary sigh. “I told you, Rakwena and I had a fight.”

“Right, you did say that. But I don’t believe you. This has to do with the Puppetmaster, doesn’t it?” He glances at his watch, frowns, then turns back to me, a determined look on his face. “I thought we had graduated to full disclosure.”

I’m tempted to point out that full disclosure was my grandfather’s bright idea, not mine, but Dad doesn’t appear to be in the mood for facetious remarks. Besides, if I don’t tell him he’ll just be in for another shock later. “Something happened yesterday.”

“Guessed as much. Details?”

I sigh. “Duma, one of Rakwena’s brothers, was taken.”

“Taken?” His eyes widen. “You mean kidnapped?”

I nod. “One second he was there, and then…”

“Hell,” he breathes. “No wonder you were so upset.”

“It’s my fault. They had nothing to do with this whole mess.”

Dad comes over and pulls me into a hug. “How can it be your fault? The Puppetmaster took that artist off the street in broad daylight. If he wanted Duma he would have taken him whether you were there or not. He could have taken him from South Africa.”

That’s true. The Puppetmaster didn’t have to lure us into a trap to take Duma – but the trap served another purpose, and I suppose it appealed to his sense of drama to stage the abduction during the fight.

“He’ll come back,” Dad assures me. “Marshall came back. That artist came back.”

The woman from my premonition didn’t though, and neither did the elderly man. The thought hangs in the air between us, but neither of us voices it. I wonder what happened to them. Are they still in the Loosening, or did the Puppetmaster have some other use for them?

I step out of Dad’s embrace. “They’ve only been reunited a few months.”

“I know.” He glances at his watch again. “I’m sorry, love, I have to fly. We’ll talk later, OK?” He waits just long enough for me to nod and then he’s out the door.

It’s another quiet day at the office. The cast and crew are on location and I’m stuck with boring admin work. For once I’m relieved; I don’t think I’d be able to concentrate on set. At least here there’s no one to yell at me if I lapse into thought while printing out release forms or ordering new stock for the costume and make-up department.

As luck would have it, I’m not entirely alone. The secretary’s here, along with the marketing and PR department – otherwise known as Thuli. He barges into the production office as I’m in the middle of sending an email to our equipment supplier.

“We need to talk,” he declares.

“I doubt it.”

“You were with Jafta when he came back, weren’t you?”

Eish
. I forgot all about that little drama, what with the far more disturbing one that unfolded yesterday. I spin round in my swivel chair to face Thuli.

He pulls up a chair without waiting for an invitation. “Most of the papers only said that Jafta was with a group of friends, but the
GC Chronicle
had all your names.”

Double
eish
. I turn back to the computer and look up the online version of the paper. He’s not lying. The article came out a few days ago and is still getting a lot of traffic. I skim it quickly. I’m referred to as “Conyza Bennett, granddaughter of renowned author and expert on traditional beliefs, Lerumo Raditladi”. Damn it. Victoria Miyandazi – the reporter who called for an interview – wrote the article. Looks like she decided she didn’t need my input.

“He called me that night,” says Thuli. “I couldn’t understand a word. He kept saying it wasn’t working any more, and then he asked if mine was still working. I assumed he meant the tattoo.”

My heart starts to race. “
Is
it working?”

“Of course.” His eyes narrow. “I’ve been trying to reach him ever since, but his phone is off. You know what he was trying to tell me. I know you do.”

Poor Jafta. I wish there was something I could do for him, but until I find out more about the Loosening I’m not much good to him. I look into Thuli’s expectant face. “Jafta’s gift is gone.”

Thuli blinks. His lips curl into a tense, incredulous smile, as though his features don’t know how else to express the emotions running through him. “What does that mean?”

“It means his gift is gone, Thuli. He’s not gifted any more.”

“No.” He leans forward, pointing at me like I’m the cause of the problem. “That’s impossible. I’m not stupid. I know about gifts. They can’t just disappear.”

“It didn’t disappear, it was taken.”

I see the realisation in his eyes. “John.” And then panic. It’s so strong I can almost feel it flaring to life in my own chest. “The other people he took – are they all…? He’s going to come for me, isn’t he? He knows what Jafta gave me, and he never wanted me to have it. He’s going to come and take it!”