Shaka the Great (82 page)

It is done now.

Ndlela had thought an impundulu was responsible for the killings. For a start, there was the loose skin Vuyile had mentioned, which was to be expected since such creatures do not eat. They subsist on a form of paste fed them by their master. And if Vuyile had said he had seen Kholisa that night, then the impundulu had to have been the sangoma. And Ndlela had followed Kholisa this morning, thinking he would be led to whoever had turned the limping sangoma into an impundulu. But then the limping sangoma had stopped limping.

“Did you and he … ?”

“Speak?” Ndlela nods. “A little.”

The Induna had seen that for himself; had seen how, when the limping man had got far enough away from Bulawayo to feel safe, he'd stopped limping. And where was Jembuluka? His sister had told Njikiza the Skin Man had gone off after the killer, yet nowhere along the way, from there to here, had the Induna spotted his footprints. He had to have been the killer. How he came to be mistaken for Kholisa, the Induna didn't know at the time (perhaps the two had been working together; or Vuyile and Jembuluka were accomplices, the former helping to cast suspicion on the sangoma.)

“Did he say why?”

“He spoke of a mountain, of being a mountain. He spoke of becoming a king. With the guile and cunning of a sangoma, with the strength of youth, with new followers hungry for his sweetness, also with the wisdom of age …”

“Wisdom? He would have killed again?”

“Yes, an elder this time. And, with these qualities, he believed he would be invincible. But I do not understand why he killed … who was it?”

“Gudlo.”

“Yes, I do not understand why he killed him last night.”

The Induna says he thinks he knows why—and also why the boy's body wasn't mutilated. Jembuluka was killing to protect himself. Briefly, he reminds Ndlela how he became involved with this clan in the first place, and how it was Gudlo who had found the murder weapon among Vala's possessions.

“I do not think he and Jembuluka were working together,” says the Induna.

“No,” agrees Ndlela. “This monster was his own master.”

But Jembuluka himself had told the Induna that Gudlo had found the iwisa on the second or third occasion he had searched the tiny, ramshackle storage hut where Vala was made to stay. Like the Skin Man, the Induna had seen it as a sign of the youngster's laziness: Gudlo shirking his duties even in a time of emergency. And he had
been right, of course. But now it's clear that Jembuluka also knew the iwisa was there—

“Because he himself had placed it there,” interrupts Ndlela.

“Yes,” says the Induna. “He therefore knew that Gudlo was lying every time he claimed to have searched Vala's hut.” But, finally, Gudlo had done what he was supposed to do, and he had found the incriminating iwisa. Events then assumed a momentum of their own, and he had other things to occupy his mind. But with these other murders, the way they seemed connected to the clan, he began thinking back to how it was he had come to find the weapon.

“And the one who had literally pushed him in that direction,” adds the Induna.

“Then there was the fact that our Father hadn't punished Vala. And if the King—and you—didn't believe Vala had killed Ntokozo, then maybe he hadn't,” says Ndlela.

But Gudlo had to be totally certain, hence his uncharacteristic concern for Vuyile. “Doubtless he tried to question him whenever he visited,” says the Induna.

Even if he had been able to get something out of Vuyile, given the latter's state of mind at the time, and was assured that his brother really had seen Kholisa, that would merely have led him to assume that the sangoma was working together with Jembuluka.

“And that might have been so at first, when Ntokozo was murdered,” adds the Induna as an aside. “The two of them together … yes, I can see how that would have made killing Ntokozo a little easier.”

Ndlela nods. He agrees, although not for quite the same reasons as the Induna.

And assuming he knew who was behind the killings, Gudlo had remained quiet. For here was something he could use against Jembuluka. But with the death of Zusi one of his own secrets was made known, and he had been forced to throw a sly hint in the warrior's direction.

“And Jembuluka was there to overhear and to do some thinking of his own,” says the Induna. Unfortunately, he still hasn't had the chance to question Vala …

“Hai! What more could he tell you? I think those words were aimed at this one,” says Ndlela, indicating Jembuluka's body.

Let the Skin Man know he knew and perhaps Jembuluka might have been able to see him installed as head of the clan.

“Only …” Ndlela shrugs.

“He didn't know everything.”

“But he knew just enough to be silenced.”

“And Kholisa?”

“This one here was mad. Perhaps the sangoma thought he could control him.”

“What did he do with whatever else was left of the sangoma? Did he tell you?”

“He threw him into a ravine, after he had removed whatever he needed.”

Ndlela's iklwa blade comes up to point at a leather pouch hanging from one of the branches. The Induna will find what remains of Kholisa's heart, liver and kidneys in there.

“Morsels to nibble on,” says Ndlela.

“He brought them all the way here?”

“To sustain him until he could get started on the rest of … well, whatever he called this insane scheme of his.”

Noting the
Ah yes!
expression on the younger man's face, he prompts: “Nduna?”

And the Induna tells him how Zusi's friend Thaki had referred to the dead man as “Smelly Jembu” and how, although the two families traveled together, they rarely saw Jembuluka.

“That's understandable, given his burden,” says Ndlela.

“Did he say anything else?”

“I didn't give him a chance,” says Ndlela, straightening. “Let us get away from this stench,” he adds.

Back on the path, they move several paces from the opening in the bushes. The udibi still hasn't returned with Njikiza and the Fasimbas the Induna has asked for by name. Over in the direction of KwaBulawayo, the smoke from cooking fires rises into the cloudless sky. People are at last beginning to rouse themselves.

“Do not let my rank prevent you from expressing your anger and frustration, Nduna. He needed to be questioned, although I'm not sure what else he would have had to share, except his madness.”

Talk of a mountain, of becoming a mountain. Talk of gathering together the vitality of youth, the ability to bind his followers to him as surely as those who suckle a mother's teat—and don't forget also the cunning of a sangoma. Possibly he believed he had even imbibed Kholisa's knowledge, and the special powers bestowed upon those of the Calling.

“A madness as overpowering as the stench that surrounded him. But, yes, I know how skilled you are, so you might have got something more out of him. However …” Ndlela is still clutching the bloodied iklwa in his right hand. Now he raises his left hand, its fingers splayed so that the Induna can see the tremor in it.

“I did not know how far behind you were, or if you had even found the body and a spoor you could still read. And I had followed him a long way, for someone of my years …”

The Induna lays his hand over Ndlela's, gently forcing him to fold his trembling fingers into the safety of his own palm. Squeezes his fist. “I am not angry, Master,” he whispers, “for I know you were acting in self-defense. I know your humility forbids you to admit that, if it was wisdom he was after next, he would have had to look far and wide to find one wiser than you.”

Ndlela chuckles. “Let us just say, as horrified as I was, it didn't take me long to realize that I had, to all intents and purposes, brought him his next victim.”

It is done.

But what will he tell them?

Mbopa, he knows, will be satisfied with a rehash of the tale he has told the Induna.

Mnkabayi will be the difficult one, though. She will know there are aspects he has left out, and will assume they are meant for her ears alone.

But even if he wasn't so tired, so drained, and feeling every one of his years, he's not sure he's ready for the confrontation that meeting will lead to.

Even if I was wrong, I'm still right.

Clearly, they had intended to turn Ntokozo into an impundulu—and how Kholisa (of all people) had acquired the knowledge to do such a thing, he'll never know. Then again, Kholisa was clearly not as knowledgeable as he let on. Or something else went wrong … and they failed.

He had thought the impundulu was Kholisa—and in hindsight that doesn't make much sense, does it? It meant using another sangoma. And he knows even someone like Nobela would have balked at that idea, when alive. In fact, he suspects her animosity to Shaka would have been set aside while she dealt with those who had dared to ask such a thing. Even knowing they sought to overthrow Shaka would not have stayed her hand.

Because she knew … as does Ndlela.

He may have been wrong about the impundulu's identity, but there had been one, and he is right about this: once the ritual reaches a certain point, there is no stopping or controlling the madness unleashed.

See how Jembuluka had been infected!

And he doesn't want to know that Mnkabayi was behind this.

And he doesn't know how he can make her see it isn't over.

Aiee, and if she
is
behind this, she will see that as a good thing.
All is not lost
, she'd say.
There is cause for hope!

But she'd be wrong, and he doubts she'll believe him when he tells her she was to be Jembuluka's next victim. She'll say that's merely his love for her speaking, and he doesn't know if he can bring himself to tell her how Jembuluka had confirmed his suspicion. By laughing, as Ndlela raised his spear, and saying: “You have no need to fear me, old man, although you will soon be lying on the ground, twitching like a lizard's tail. No, it's your mistress I'm after.” Her sister might have died, but Mnkabayi was still one of a pair of twins, which made her brain very appealing indeed.

She'd be wrong, therefore, and he doesn't know how he can tell her, or how he can explain it. Explain how whoever set this thing in motion will see it ripple and reverberate—so that the way things are will never be the way they should have been, and that which is still to come will never be what it could have been.

“The Zulu harvest festival ends with a truly strange series of events,” writes Fynn in his journal. “The morning after the feasting and the drinking, trenches are dug and the warriors are made to regurgitate in these hollows. I believe they are fed a purgative of some kind. Thereafter, looking somewhat the worse for wear, they are summoned to the King's presence once more.

“Here, while Shaka and the Zulu royal family watch, the king's chamberlain promulgates new laws—which, apparently, one can count upon to be disseminated throughout the kingdom within a very short space of time. He also issues final instructions to the men and women who have been given permission to enter marriage.

“There then follows a ceremony that's even more remarkable in the light of the casual executions we have witnessed at Shaka's ‘Great Place.' Representatives from all the king's regiments come forward to sit in a semicircle before him. They then proceed to harangue him, often quite volubly. I am told this is their opportunity to speak freely, without any fear of retribution. They question the king's decisions in some matters and demand to know why he has or hasn't done this or that.

“As noted, things get quite heated. If I may be allowed some conjecture, here, I would say the king is able to keep his anger in check by knowing it is not the answers he gives that matter, but his demeanor throughout the interrogation. Should he retain his equanimity, he shall emerge the victor of these strange jousts, no matter how serious the allegations made against him.