Crowned (41 page)

I grin. Rakwena clearly has a secret desire to be a TV psychotherapist. I can already picture his hit show –
Digging Deep with Dr Langa
– where guests will rest on a levitating couch.

“Are you smirking?”

“Me? Smirk? Never! I’m absorbing your profound wisdom, O Great Lizard.”

“Shut up.” He flicks icing at me. “Hey, do you remember that thing you said to me at Kgale Siding?”

I smile into the mixing bowl. “What thing?”

He sidles over to me. “It involved the L-word.”

I pretend to think. “Lost? Lego?” I snap my fingers. “Laundry!”

“Very funny.”

“Funny doesn’t start with an L.”

He shakes his head. “You saved the world and you’re still the biggest coward in it.”

I giggle, because he’s wrong. I’m not afraid of knowing things any more. I’m not afraid of my gift, or egomaniacal villains, or freak hunters. I’m certainly not afraid of my own feelings, deep and overwhelming as they may be.

“You think I’m scared to say I love you?” I turn to face him. “I love you. Beat that.”

He flashes that cocky grin I used to hate and now love more than anything. “I love
you
, telepath.”

“Pretty sure I love you more, drifter.”

“Doubtful.”

“OK. You win.”

He laughs. “So…you love me.”

“Hard to believe, I know.” I scoop the batter into the baking tray, leaving little drops all over the counter. If Auntie Lydia were here she’d have a fit, but she’s still home with her brand new baby girl.

“What kind of love are we talking about?” Rakwena leans over the counter, eyeing the mixing bowl with longing. “Just for this year? Five years? For ever?”

Whoa. I stop what I’m doing and look at him. I’d like to say for ever. It would be romantic to make that kind of declaration, but I’m only eighteen. I have a whole world ahead of me and no clue what it’ll bring. To promise eternal love at this point would just be stupid. I’m a lot of things, but not stupid. Forget romantic; I’m going to be honest.

“I don’t know.” I wrinkle my nose. “For ever’s kind of a long time. I might get sick of you, or someone hotter might come along.”

He nods thoughtfully. “Fair enough.
I
might get sick of
you
. But it would be nice to have some commitment.”

“I’d say I’m reasonably committed.”

“That’s good to know…because I’m moving back here.”

The mixing spoon clatters to the counter. “What?”

He grins. “Well, there are two drifter cells in Botswana. It takes three to start a clan, and since Maria’s cell will soon be fully formed, the drifters here can start their own clan. They’ll need help adjusting, so the council decided that two cells from our clan should move here to help them – one adult, one youth. Guess which youth cell was picked?”

I can’t believe it, but I squeal. One of those ridiculous girly squeals that Lebz is famous for, the type that make me roll my eyes and wince.

“Are you joking? How did you convince them? I thought they’d never want you near me. I thought dating was taboo!”

“I didn’t convince them, Temper did.”

My eyes widen. “Temper? When?”

He shakes his head as though he can hardly believe it himself. “After Duma got back, the cell had a meeting without me. Duma was kind of the instigator of the whole thing – you know he’s always been on your side. Well, he got the others to see that I’m at my best when I have you as well as my cell. A happy drifter makes a happy cell, right? So Temper petitioned the council for an exception for the sake of the cell. After everything you’ve done for the world of the gifted, it would have been unthinkable for them to refuse.” His features settle into a puzzled frown. “It wasn’t as difficult as he expected. The council put up a fight, but apparently Serame likes you.”

Aha! I knew it. But there’s still one more obstacle. “What about your mother? Don’t you want to be close to her?”

“Technically Gaborone is closer to her than Joburg,” he says with a laugh. “I realised that after having to drive out to Serenity House a few times. I’ll still see her as often as I can. In fact I’m going to see her tomorrow, when you’re in D’Kar.” His expression darkens. “Senzo went to see her last week. He says she’s better, but I have to see for myself. Anyway, everyone knows now that he’s the one who messed up the Loosening. Unfortunately he can’t be punished, since he was a kid and it was an accident.”

He looks so disappointed that I can’t help laughing. “I think deep down he feels bad about the way he treated your mother, and you.”

“I doubt it. But I don’t want to think about him. I need to think about what I’m going to do here. It’s too late to get into UB this year, but I’m thinking of doing a distance learning course.”

I nod my approval. “I need you to keep that brain sharp so you can help me study. There’s a lot of maths in psychology, for some strange reason.”

He waits for me to put the tray in the oven, then pulls me close. “I think you’ll be fine. You’re a telepathic genius, remember?”

There is only one appropriate response to this. I kiss him, Fiercely, as though my life depended on it, as though I’ll never kiss him again. But of course I will. Countless times, as often as I want. And every single time his energy will sink beneath my skin, the way it’s doing now, making my blood sing.

Dad clears his throat from the doorway. “When you kids are done, I’d like to use the counter.”

Ahem. We spring apart like teenagers caught kissing by a parent. Oh, wait…

* * *

When I climb into bed I’m almost too excited to sleep. Rakwena’s staying! And we’re together, and the council loves me, and the world is safe, and Emily’s home. Sigh!

You’ve done well.

I freeze. I haven’t heard that voice that sounds like mine but isn’t in a while.
I thought you were gone.

I’m going,
the Ultima assures me.
Severing the bond between us is a gradual process, but we have reached the end.

Oh.
I turn onto my side. I barely noticed the change, probably because her powers have waned substantially since the Loosening.
Well, for future reference, you should ask permission before borrowing people’s bodies.

That’s not how it works.

How does it work? How do you choose a vessel?

I don’t. When I am needed the suitable person beckons, and I come.

I didn’t beckon.

Your gift did. When I woke your gift was the first thing I felt. That’s how I’ve always located my vessels.

I didn’t know my gift could do that. There were a lot of things I didn’t know before this experience, and I’m sure I still have a lot to learn. There are so many questions I’ve wanted to ask her. I thought I’d never get the chance, but now they all come rushing to the surface of my thoughts, eager to be voiced before she leaves.

What are you?

That’s a difficult question to answer. When I’m active I’m a vast amount of energy, greater than you can imagine. Otherwise I’m dormant until I’m needed.

But who controls you?

I don’t know. I suppose I’m controlled by whatever controls everything else. I don’t need to know such things to perform my function.

Geez. Talk about non-answers!

You like answers.

I frown. What an odd thing to say.
Everyone likes answers; they’re useful.

They stifle imagination. They make people think in straight lines.

I swallow. I feel a funny churning in my stomach.
John said that once. That people like to think in straight lines.

John was right about some things.

There will always be people like him, won’t there? There’s probably some crackpot preparing to fill his shoes right now.

Probably. But John was a singular gifted. It’s a pity. The world could have used his talent.

I bite my lip, a little sad that John is gone, and then I feel guilty for being sad.
I won’t be able to do all those things any more, will I? Increasing gifts tenfold, and so on.

No. You won’t need to.

I’ll miss that sense of certainty, though. It was nice being sure about things.

You can still be sure.

How? You’re Connie Who Knows, and you’re leaving.

You’re
Connie Who Knows. I’m just the means by which you found her.

A warm feeling spreads through my chest as her words sink in. I can do without great and terrible power, but I’m glad I’m not losing that primal intuition.

Sometimes you miss John, don’t you?

My heart flutters painfully. Nothing gets past her. I hesitate before replying.
Not him, exactly. The connection we shared. I liked having another telepath in my life, someone who understood what it was like, who challenged me. Is that wrong?

It’s natural. But there will be other telepaths.

Really?

For the first time I sense warmth in her that could be interpreted as a smile, and I wonder whether there’s a personality in there somewhere, hiding in the folds of green energy.
You are very young, Conyza.

My head goes quiet. I send my gift down into the place where I first found her, but she’s not hiding. She’s gone. I open my eyes. The world is dark and peaceful. The Ultima has left me, and I’m Connie again. I smile. Connie Who Knows and – hopefully – will never forget.

I’m not a princess. I’m not the Definitive Gifted Soul. I’m a girl with a gift, the courage (sometimes) to use it, and the wisdom (sometimes) to know when to put it aside. I’m not that different from other girls. Tomorrow I might have to be a heroine. I might have to save a life, solve a mystery, or do any of the countless extraordinary things ungifted people do every day. But for now I’m a regular girl with crazy hair, skinny legs, a great group of friends, and a boyfriend who rocks my world. I’m Conyza Bennett, telepath, medium, pig-headed, somewhat scruffy teenager, on the brink of adulthood. And for the first time in my life, I can’t think of anyone I’d rather be.

Epilogue

June, D’Kar, Central Botswana

Maria’s tall for thirteen, and graceful. Her braids fall to her backside; it takes me a minute to realise it’s her natural hair. Her skin is a warm chocolate brown, marred by scars from one too many encounters with prejudiced people. Her eyes are an intense blue, the colour of a clear midday sky, and completely at odds with her skin tone.

She has an air about her. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but she’s like something that was human and then got bored and evolved. Human 2.0. It’s not her features, pleasing as they are. It’s not even her chilling eyes. It’s something in her bearing. She seems trapped, even out here, as if the aura she gives off is stifled under this ordinary cloudless sky, as if she should be spinning in space with the stars. Then again, she’s no ordinary drifter.

She was named by her grandmother. The elderly woman sits inside the house, praying her rosary, while my grandfather and I sit outside with Maria. It’s hot, the earth beneath our feet sandy and dry. For a while we just watch her. She speaks alternately in Setswana, Afrikaans and English. Her Setswana is not very good, far worse than mine, but I could listen to those halting words for ever.

She fidgets constantly, touching her hair, her face, the edges of her chair. Her bare feet tap against the legs of the chair. Her eyes flit from one direction to the other.

“How far back do you remember?” asks Ntatemogolo in English.

“Very far,” she replies in Setswana. “Or not that far. Far enough.”

Ntatemogolo looks at me. She has answered all our questions in this roundabout way. She’s not being difficult on purpose; Maria has been without her cell sisters all her life. In other drifters that sense of loss manifests as aggression or rebellion. In her it’s expressed as disorientation and distraction.

“Do you remember your mother?” asks Ntatemogolo.

Maria hesitates. Her mother died shortly after she was born, from labour complications. Drifters’ brains develop far faster than ours, and they tend to remember things from early infancy. The last time my grandfather was here, he learned that Maria might remember all the way to her birth.

She nods, but her expression is apologetic. “Not much. Just her voice.”

Just
her voice? I shake my head – this kid has no idea how incredible she is. Before Ntatemogolo has a chance to respond, a tussle erupts among a group of Basarwa children playing nearby. They come running, relaying their dispute in a sequence of clicking syllables and wailing sobs. Maria takes their hands one by one and speaks softly in their tongue. I lean closer, my gaze locked on the small hands in her grip. My gift weaves among the children, sensing the heightened emotions in them ebb and flow into Maria’s fingers. There’s only the faintest glimpse of blue light on her hands. They scamper off, calm and quiet. She gives me a sidelong glance.

“The grown-ups don’t like me to touch them, but they don’t mind if I help the children.” Below the surface, despite her natural barrier, I sense well-worn pain.

Ntatemogolo pulls his chair closer to hers and peers into her face. “You are a first-generation drifter,” he explains carefully. “Do you remember what that means?”

She turns to watch the children. “It means my parents were not like me. I’m the beginning of something…different.”

“Exactly,” says Ntatemogolo. “Remember what I told you last time? I am trying to find out where people like you came from. Why you are different. If the others meet you, they might be able to understand.”

She falls silent. My grandfather looks at me. I lean forward. My turn. I knock on her barrier and she whirls around to face me, her eyes wide. I’m preparing to force my way in, but I don’t have to. Her eyes narrow – she’s curious. She lowers the barrier, eager to see what I plan to do. She’s a brave one.