Evanescent (37 page)

“Are we demonic?” I felt my blood leave my body, suddenly cold and then hot as my thoughts turned to a liquid confession.

Her hand touched my upper arm and I wished I could feel it, or feel something at the gesture.

“I understand her.” My throat wanted to contract, take it back, I didn’t want to understand my prime. I didn’t want to understand any of it. I didn’t want to feel that everything was my fault. It was not my decision that ruined our lives.

“You are not her.”

“So I keep reminding myself,” I groaned.

I turned, suddenly concerned. I held on to the pendant, the glossy surface comforting. As long as I had it, I was capable of feeling a few things. I used these newfound emotions as my guide. Having some kind of demonic disease running through one’s blood, logic was not our own. It was like a virus, once released, it affected your mind, ate it up until only the virus itself remained. I was designed like my prime, and in essence I was a mind-shifter, powers of the White Devine, which meant that soon the scales would either tip in its favor, or I would find out that I had no soul. How long can something live without a soul? Is that why I had trouble with the Shadow? I was tired of studying patterns around me, to make sense of the world I was born into. I considered every single being I’ve come into contact with. Heck, sometimes I manipulate them, just to see deeper into the soul’s behavior. My existence was measured in hours, but I had learned that the fickleness of human emotions affected us, as well as how it could be used in my favor. I just had to learn how to not let it rule me. It was hard, and as a copy of a prime who was solely reliant on emotions, it was almost impossible.

“Do I have a soul?” I asked her bluntly.

“I can see you do.”

I released some pressure, my head falling back in relief.

“Whose soul it is, is what we need to find out,” Anaya said, solemnly.

I left my head hanging back, eyes pinned to the high, thatched roof. Not the words I wanted to hear. She bent over to a pile of luxurious materials, which hung over the back of a wide-backed, wooden chair right next to the cove created for the grooming area. I had to get used to primping myself without a mirror, or monitor. A mirror was a rare and special entity on our planet, and monitors were a tool.

“Green, or yellow?” She held the shimmering material stretched out over each arm. “We have to dress up for our…”

“Our last supper,” I added quickly, trying to lift the gloom from the room. Being in the Zulu kingdom is difficult, especially if it is where the Shadowing disease had first clawed its way into my – our minds.

She laughed.

“What’s so funny?” I poked my toothbrush at her.

“There is an Earth legend about
The Last Supper
.”

I rolled my eyes. “Look, as nice as this all is, as nice as you are trying to be to me, you can’t okay, it’s just going to complicate things for everyone.”

“Yellow it is,” she said, ignoring me completely and holding the fabric for me to take from her extended arm.

I tugged on the thick, yellow material, I hated dresses. It clung tightly to the tops of my thighs, squeezed the crap out of my ribs, and made breathing nearly impossible. The material was not held up by pins or even zips, it all relied on the folds and twists of the material to form a solid wrap-around. At times, I was scared that the dress would unravel with my movement, so I probably walked like a freaking idiot. The dining room was far, so I relaxed knowing the Zulu queens had ways of wiggling, even a stick figure like me, into the mounds of material. But being short was a problem for the bounds of material, and I had to carry the skirt-part-thing for five minutes down long corridors – sinful to ruin such beautiful material. Urgh! I hated not being able to move, to breathe. One last time, I tugged consciously at the front of the dress crisscrossing over my small bust a little too loosely.

“Stop fidgeting. We are here,” Anaya said.

I knew everyone was going to be staring at us the moment we walked in, how could they not? The girls looked amazing. Maya wore a turquoise dress, Anaya the emerald-green one. The dresses hugged their curves perfectly, matching and illuminating their golden skin. They were striking against the dark brunettes, with hair perfectly cascading in waves down their backs. We continued down the passageway with me wiggling, and staring past paintings of Zulu tribes from Earth. I admired how the village looked almost a replica of Africa. Portraits made from all kinds of natural resources, and clays watered down into paint. Leaves and twigs, grasses and sand, were used as textures. It all felt so surreal as we walked down the stark-white, stone corridor and stopped to bow at the huge Zulu guards standing outside the main dining area. For a second I felt… nice. I stood behind the girls, staring at the ivory and gold handles as the guards reached for them. The huge, round, wooden doors swung open. It was only when the brunettes flanked to the sides of the huge, wooden table that my heart jumped and my stomach plummeted as Troy’s face lit up. Too soon he turned away, making a show of ignoring me. I wanted to sit next to Anaya who had taken her place next to Dave, but someone took my shoulders and shoved me into the chair next to him. We all bowed as Thandiwe raised a round, zebra-patterned bowl, her face dotted with perspiration, her complexion almost gray against jet-black hair falling over her face in spirals. She had not worn her traditional headwear as her body was too sensitive, her skin raw and red from where she had scratched herself. I’d read the journals, especially the part where the incubated women go mad during the massive change of pregnancy, the change that drove them insane, split their souls from their bodies and minds. I swallowed, knowing somewhat how it felt to lose control over one’s self. But, Thandiwe was fighting with all she had, she would not give in the way I had before. Staring at the people around the table, Ava’s friends, I felt a twinge, a bite in my chest for what I had done, how I had lied to everyone. And as I held on to the pendant, I hoped that I could fight it long enough to be freed from the disease. All my hope was now hanging with Legentium.

“Let us be thankful for what we have this day.” She nodded, holding the ivory cup to the huge, candled chandelier hanging above our heads, casting light shadows on the walls. Kronan helped Thandiwe to her seat. We bowed in thanks, and started taking our seats. Troy didn’t once glance over at me. As I pulled my chair closer to the table, the hem of the dress got caught under one of the legs. I tugged on the dress, tried to shove the chair back, but I had wedged the thick, sunny material between the foot of the heavy, wooden chair and the black carpet so perfectly, I couldn’t even stand to free it without tearing the material. I blew out an unsteady breath. Troy turned, taking his napkin from the table, not giving me a second thought. The table made a screeching sound as I pushed it back. David and Robert grabbed for the cups and plates at the sudden movement. I looked down, feeling very embarrassed.
Way to go genius, great way to show them you are not a freak
. Tatos grabbed the chair and freed me from my torture as the uncomfortable silence mounted. I pulled the material free, then moved closer to the table as someone slipped the chair in behind me. Now I was trapped again, between the table and my chair, and suspicious, glaring eyes staring right at me. Troy grabbed the cutlery, placing it neatly beside his plate in an effort to not make such a big deal of my presence. If it were up to him, they would have kept me in a hole somewhere.

“Thank you,” I said to Tatos, and whoever else had jumped up to help me. I suddenly felt nervous around everyone, shaky even.

“You’re making a racket. I’d like to eat in peace, please,” Tatos mocked, not unkindly.

I caught the glances shared between him and Anaya. Was he being nice to me for her benefit as Truth Seeker?

First, there was silence, a thick, uncomfortable, palpable silence. A white cloth folded in the shape of a teepee fell from my plate as I settled in. Beside me, Maya giggled, grabbed the cloth and put it on my lap.

Kronan cleared his throat. “The women look incredible,” he said, simultaneously smiling and rubbing the back of his neck. He tugged on the sleeve of his black shirt, slowly adjusting to his old clothes from his time back on Earth.

“Cheers to that!” Dave lifted a wooden beaker covered in white and blue beads, his eyes shyly touching Anaya’s.

“I wish Sam was here,” Robert said, and just like that the silence flooded back.

“Let us begin,” said Thandiwe. “I am glad to share this meal with you all.” She looked to Bongi sitting on the opposite side of the long table. He nodded, and started to pass food around.

The food was unlike any I had seen, or tasted. I ate the white maze mounted on my plate first; thick and fluffy, drenched in something that looked like spinach, but tasted more like some kind of deliciously infused leafy herb mixed with all kinds of vegetables and a rich gravy. Then I tucked into the golden, honeyed corn. I tried to slow down, to savor each bite but it was too late, the hunger took over like never before and I tore into the corn, then the stew; my moans of ecstasy filled the room.

“I hope when I die and go to this fantasy place called Heaven, there will be a replica of this meal for all eternity.”

Kronan and Maya burst into laughter.

“I second that,” Robert cheered with mouth full of food.

“Here, here!” Dave chimed in.

And then, Troy shoved his chair back and threw the cloth thing over his untouched food.

“What’s wrong with all of you!” he shouted, and took off.

I looked down at the sauce staining my fingers, twisted them in the cloth resting on my lap to clean them. Portions of unchewed food caught in my throat as I tried to swallow.

“He’s taking this hard.” Kronan tried to lift the tautness brimming the dining room. I stared up at the blank maroon walls, free of weapons, animal furs and masks, and wondered if those things also reminded Thandiwe of her evil husband.

“This journey is hard on everyone,” Anaya began.

“A moment’s silence for our loved ones lost, please.” Kronan bowed his head.

Then Maya cleared her throat. “She’s not dead.”

Rion took her hand from her lap.

“Please don’t,” she said. “I am speaking only the truth, ask her, ask Anaya.” She shot Anaya a hard, solid stare, challenging her to reveal the truth.

“Fine,” Anaya conceded, sipping from the mead in the cup.

“But not now, we need to respect the queen’s hospitality. Let us enjoy this dinner first, and I will tell you everything you need to know.” She started on her food with a slight glance in our direction.

“What are you talking about,” I whispered to her, as everyone got lost in the remainder of the rewarding meal.

“Nothing. Ava was right. This prophecy has made liars of us all.”

Troy
, didn’t come back to dinner. Once all the plates had been cleared, the queen was taken back to her chambers by the remaining queens. As she was led out by two of the queens, Umondi and Nesa, the middle Zulu queen’s caramel eyes caught mine. This was followed by Thandiwe’s gaze, which also brushed over mine before she looked down. Could it be that they were sisters? Nesa and Thandiwe looked very similar, from the ebony tone of their skin to the sweet, oval shape of their faces, delicate, gorgeous features and bone structure. I recognized the loneliness in their eyes, though. Her change due to the pregnancy was making her mentally ill; the solitude is the hell written about in those journals. The queens held Thandiwe under each arm, helping her to the door, their red headdresses perfectly wrapped around their heads. White, beaded earrings swinging as much as their colorful skirts when they moved down the hall, guards with spears flanking all three. I had not seen Nomsa since my unexplainable disappearance, or my call by Enoch. It was sad that out of the eight queens, only three remained from the royal family. Perhaps that was why they needed the unborn child so much, to carry the royal bloodline. But at what cost? What if the unborn boy or girl carried the crazy gene like its father? Would they kill it? And if so, when? Will they use the child’s gifts, call upon the dark, ancient Zulu craft to cleanse its soul? I had yet to see the craft have a good effect on anyone. The dark craft belonged where it had started – in the grave.