Читать книгу The Bird of Heaven - Peter Dunseith - Страница 12

Sidumo hated Mandla with a blind, jealous fury. He sensed the change in the boy and couldn’t bear the idea that he was no longer the leading male apprentice at the training school. He complained to all the other apprentices that Grandmother was favouring her own grandson, that she should treat all the apprentices equally. If Mandla was sent on an errand, he wanted to know why he had not been sent. Yet when he was sent on an errand, he griped and complained, asking why he had been sent instead of Mandla. Although he wouldn’t admit it to himself he saw that Mandla had a talent for magic which he could never hope to match, and like a hyena whose rival has grown bigger and stronger he constantly needed to challenge Mandla, to try and belittle him.

Mandla tried to ignore Sidumo’s growing hostility. He continued to treat him with the respect he had always given him as a senior apprentice, but Sidumo was never satisfied.

Then Mandla found a scorpion in his blanket, and Sidumo sniggered that it was lucky he was such a great sorcerer, that he had divined the hidden danger before it had stung him. On another day, Mandla spied Sidumo through the window of the cooking hut, sprinkling some kind of powder into his dish of food. Mandla kept quiet, then crept into the hut after Sidumo had left and switched plates with Sidumo.

When Jabu called the apprentices to supper Sidumo ate his food with a smirk on his face, his eyes returning again and again to Mandla’s plate, a sly smile playing on his lips. It was during one of these glances that Mandla saw Sidumo’s smile freeze on his face and gradually change to a grimace of pain. Within minutes Sidumo was clutching at his belly and rolling on the ground in a ball of agony.

The stomach cramps and purging continued the whole night. The apprentices were kind to Sidumo, taking it in turns to help him to the pit latrine and suggesting different remedies to relieve the pains. Logwaja wondered aloud whether Sidumo couldn’t have accidentally swallowed some of the powder from the bulb of the tumbleweed which she had been grinding that very day, but Sidumo just scowled and maintained an irritable silence.

Shortly after this incident Grandmother told Mandla that it was time for him to travel to the bushveld to find his muti bag. “I have made enquiries,” said Grandmother. “The Indumba you seek is near Lunwabu’s family homestead near Bulandzeni, far up the Komati River valley. You will travel there with Sidumo. He has offered to accompany you on this sacred quest, to help you find your inheritance.”

Sidumo was standing impassively beside Grandmother, his arms folded across his chest, and Mandla immediately felt a twinge of misgiving. Did Sidumo really want to help him fetch his muti bag or did he have some other reason for coming on this journey? Yet he had no choice. He had to obey Grandmother.

***

On the chosen day, Grandmother walked with Mandla and Sidumo to the top of the hill. The two young men wore java-print loincloths and monkeyskin aprons, but their feet were bare. They carried small skin bags containing food slung across their bare backs and Mandla had a gourd of sour porridge in a pouch tied to his belt.

The sky was dark, but the pink shimmer of dawn outlined the eastern horizon. Grandmother held Mandla by the shoulders and spoke softly so that Sidumo could not hear. “It is a great thing for a sangoma to claim his muti bag, especially when it is given him by a noble sorcerer like Lunwabu,” she began. “The Ancestors know of this event, and while the good spirits rejoice that the powers and virtue of Lunwabu shall return to protect the Nation, there are dark spirits who wish Lunwabu’s magic to be destroyed forever. These evil ones have their servants amongst the wizards of this land.” Grandmother paused to draw breath. “Take care, Mandla,” she continued. “If you lead that wizard of yours to the muti bag, and he carries it away, great harm will come to the Nation and Lunwabu will be trapped forever in the shadowlands of the Ancient Ones.’’

Grandmother turned to Sidumo, who was leaning on his knobstick looking bored, and handed him a folded piece of paper. “I have made marks on this paper to show you how to get to Lunwabu’s homestead. Keep it safe so that you don’t lose your way.” She pointed towards the path leading over the crest of the hill. “Follow the travellers’ path until you reach the crossing place at the Komati River. My directions will show you where to go from there. I will look for your return by the evening of the third day. Remember, Sidumo, this is the boy’s quest. You are his companion, not his leader.” She paused to allow what she had said to sink in. “You know the law,” she continued, “do not tell anyone the reason for your journey, do not permit anyone else to go with you, and do not sleep in any homestead along the way. Go … and bring my grandson safely home.”

Sidumo took the paper from Grandmother without looking at it and pushed it into the small muti bag he wore tied around his neck. Then he turned abruptly and set off along the path without a word to Mandla or Grandmother. He quickly settled into an easy loping walk and Mandla had to stretch his pace to keep up, the thick porridge in the pouch at his belt sloshing gently against his thigh as he walked.

The path crossed over the brow of the hill and descended into the valley. As the red arc of the sun began to appear above the distant mountains, Mandla looked back to where he had bade farewell to Grandmother. For a brief moment he saw her framed in the sunlight as it struck the hilltop. Mandla grinned and waved, then he turned back to the path and hurried to catch up with Sidumo.