Wolf Light

by Yaba Badoe

  Somehow, I make my tongue move: ‘What’s going on, Nana? Are you all right?’

  Nana pulls back a strand of grey that’s wriggled out of its clasp, and holds out her hand. ‘Come here. Give your old grandmother a kiss!’

  I touch her hand and wince. Nana’s not ill as such but terrified by a sense of foreboding that goes beyond my sighting of Old Hester’s ghost. This is worse, much worse.

  I embrace her – not an everyday ‘Hi there, Nana, I’m back from my bike ride,’ kiss, but a heart-felt hug. ‘What is it, Nana?’

  My question is met with that iron curtain of secrecy I know so well.

  ‘I couldn’t help hearing some of your conversation…’ I confess.

  More silence. This time peppered with a rapid exchange of glances between Nana and her guests. If they’ve got a trunk load of secrets and want to hold on to them, there’s no need to make it so obvious. Any one would think, the way they’re behaving, I’ve as much sense as a two-year-old.

  Bracken tries to jump onto my lap. I caress her head and as she nuzzles my palm, my thoughts return to Lance: his frankness, his offer to race me to the tor, our hectic cycle ride there followed by yelps of joy as we hurtled down. Just thinking of his candour makes it hard to hold my frustration in. I can’t go on pretending that everything’s fine, everything’s as it should be, when I know it isn’t. If there’s any chance that I can make things better for Nana, then I must take the trouble to be as honest with her as I am with the lake and those within her. That’s the trouble with truth telling. Once you start, it’s hard to know where to stop.

  ‘Nana, I don’t think I’m frightened of dying,’ I begin. ‘Everything dies in the end. I know that. I just don’t want to live in a world without you in it.’

  Every mouth except for mine opens as their faces crumple.

  Nana blinks away a tear, then glances at her friends. You see what I mean, her eyes seem to be saying. You see what I’m dealing with here?

  ‘Is it true, Nana? Are you going to die soon?’

  I’ve already admitted that I eavesdropped on their conversation. To me, it’s as clear as the daylight outside that I need to know more. I have to. Indeed, I’m minded to invite my sisters. I’m on the verge of doing so, when Nana heaves herself up from her chair.

  ‘No one’s going to die,’ she says. ‘I’m certainly not ready to. Not yet, at any rate. But I do have something important to tell you.’ She slides a finger down the curve of my cheek, cups my chin in her hand and then kisses my forehead: ‘I was about to tell you. But before I start, I intend to get everyone a drink.’

  ‘I’ll do it, Nana.’

  ‘No, I will. I need to stretch my legs.’

  Nana bustles about in her drinks cabinet. ‘What’s your poison?’ she asks the strangers.

  ‘Whatever you’ve got,’ the woman replies, ‘will go down perfectly, Zelda.’

  Nana traipses back and forth from the kitchen. Crushes ice. Pops open a bottle of fizz, then reappears with a tray of four champagne flutes filled with a sparkling pink liquid. Sloe-gin fizz, Nana’s favourite cocktail.

  ‘Would you like to try one today?’ she asks me.

  I nod. She hands me a champagne flute and passes the tray to her guests.

  ‘Linet, I want to introduce you to some old friends of mine. Rosie, this is my granddaughter, Linet Merrimore. She looks after the Linet Lake out yonder. And this is Redwood.’

  I smile at them. We raise our glasses and the three of them say with one voice: ‘Here’s to long life and the old ways. May the earth nourish and bless us each and every one. May the sun smile on our faces and the fair wind that blows behind us carry us safely to our resting place.’

  *

  While they make their toast and take a first sip of their drinks, I call on my sisters to come to hear what I’m about to be told. They surface in shadow, the contours of their limbs and features flickering about me. One moment by my cheek, as Adoma sits beside me, and the next, after I’ve drawn breath, by my feet where Zula settles.

  No one else, it seems, can see them but Nana and me. Or so I think, until Nana’s friend, Rosie, pauses, the champagne flute half-raised to her lips. She blinks and takes a hasty sip of her drink while she gazes at the lights glimmering around me.

  Rosie’s more sensitive than I realised. I look at her wrist. Her arm jangles with wooden bangles but there’s no tattoo that I can see. All the same, she may have a gift for discernment, while Redwood is blind to what’s happening in front of his eyes.

  Aware of what I’m up to, Nana winks at me and gives me her special smile. Then she begins.

  ‘The task we’ve given you and your sisters, Linet, isn’t an easy one. It’s particularly difficult for you here because most of the people around us don’t appreciate the old ways as they once did. Cornwall’s better than some places, I suppose. We’re still close to the land and sea, but just about everywhere else…’ Nana shakes her head and downs some more fizz.

  Nervous, unsure of what to say next, she glances at her friends. They nod, urging her on.

  ‘I appreciate that what I’ve created for us here, a life way out on the moor by the lake, takes some getting used to. If I were to do it all over again, maybe I’d raise you differently. Perhaps I wouldn’t tie you up in knots of secrecy or bind you to silence. But when the people around us no longer believe in the old ways, it’s best to remain silent. That’s what my mother and grandmother taught me, and their mothers before them. What happened to Old Hester all those years ago is part and parcel of who we Merrimores are today, so I’m not sure what else I could have done.’

  Rosie and Redwood agree, then Redwood adds: ‘You did your level best, Zelda. No doubt about it.’

  Nana clears her throat. ‘It’s different for Zula and Adoma,’ she says. ‘They live in places where some folk remember the old ways, and still feel connected. But if you ask your sisters, they’ll tell you that even so, people in their parts of the world are sometimes murdered for what we do, murdered for simply practising our craft.’

  ‘Nana, what are you trying to tell me?’

  She glances again at her friends, a furtive gleam in her eyes. Another slug of fizz slips down her gullet.

  That’s another thing that’s puzzling me. Nana doesn’t usually drink this quickly. I smell trepidation rising from her skin: a smoky, brackish scent like the lake before a thunderstorm. My sisters sense it too.

  ‘What’s going on, Linet?’ Zula hisses.

  ‘I don’t know,’ I reply.

  To which Adoma whispers: ‘At least she’s not talking in proverbs. It’s like picking lice out of rice when Gran-pa unleashes proverbs on me. I never understand what he’s saying.’

  I straighten my shoulders, flip back my hair and concentrate: ‘Go on, Nana…’

  ‘What I’m trying to tell you, is that even though I’ve raised you to think otherwise, we’re not, in fact, alone. There are quite a few of us, not enough of course: men and women, mostly women, followers of the craft. We organise in secret. You and your sisters are part of a larger network. I want you to know that…’

  ‘Nana, look at me.’ She lifts her downcast eyes and turns her head towards mine. When my eyes lock with hers, I say calmly and clearly: ‘Nana, I don’t care about those other people. I want to know what’s going to happen to us: you and me, Zula and her father, Adoma and her gran-pa. Tell me what you’ve seen!’

  She downs the last of her fizz and gets up to replenish her drink as well as those of her friends.

  I smell that scent again of a storm closing in on the lake as dark clouds roll in and hover overhead. I finger my talisman, close my eyes, and clear as a smudge of ink on blotting paper, an image surfaces: Nana in a white cotton robe walking to the lake. My eyes snap open. I shake my head. Did I just see what I thought I saw?

  My breath quickens and Adoma responds: ‘What is it?’

  ‘Did you see something?’ asks Zula.

  I nod, rubbing my eyelids to erase the b
lot. ‘I thought I saw my grandmother… but it can’t be…’

  They take my word for it.

  I watch Nana pottering about in the kitchen. Watch her crush more ice. Pour sloe gin, open another bottle of pop.

  Once she’s sitting down again, she gulps half of her drink before saying: ‘What I’m trying to tell you, is that once a circle is broken, it has ripple effects in other parts of the world. In the same way that what those miners are doing in Ghana and Mongolia will eventually affect us here, now that Zula’s grandma is gone, her death has repercussions on those of us she left behind: Zula’s father, Okomfo Gran-pa and me.’

  ‘Ain’t that the truth,’ Redwood says stroking his chin. ‘Once a link’s broken, the centre cannot hold.’

  Rosie agrees with him and Nana replies: ‘The law of cause and effect.’

  I must look mystified, for my grandmother sighs: ‘What I’m trying to explain to you, Linet dear, is that you’re really not alone. Rosie and Redwood here have agreed to keep an eye on you should anything happen to me. I’m not saying it will, mind you – but if something does occur, you should get in touch with them immediately.’

  I open my mouth, aghast: ‘They’ll make me live with my mother, won’t they? A mother I don’t know, the woman who tried to drown me.’

  More silence. Only this time, after another exchange of glances, there’s a glint of horror in the eyes of her friends while a blush rises on Nana’s face.

  ‘You’ve misunderstood me. If anything happens to me, I’ve asked Rosie and Redwood to be your legal guardians.’

  ‘But I don’t know them either! Surely it can’t be as bad you think. What have you seen, Nana? Tell me the truth.’

  ‘I wish I had the words, but I don’t. I’ve got a feeling that whatever’s coming our way will be here soon. And from what I’ve been able to glean from the Tarot cards, it’s going to knock the stuffing right out of me, and leave us dazed, running around like headless chickens. Forgive me, but that’s all I can say.’

  16

  Adoma

  My friend, it took a while to find a way through the haze sprinkled on us by Nana Merrimore’s words. Just like Gran-pa and his old man proverbs, she had us spinning, not knowing in which direction to turn: north, south, east or west? Or should we dig a hiding place for ourselves deep in the earth instead? Believe me when I tell you that listening to her that day was like trying to see through a dust storm.

  Imagine everything covered in grime inside and out. And beyond, as far as the eye can see, a blur of shapes grainy with sand from the Sahara wind we call the harmattan. When it blows old people and babies cough, some die and just about everyone ends up sneezing, until, half-blind, we rub our eyes to clear them of grit. During the season of inclement wind, there is grit everywhere.

  That’s how we felt that night: blinded and distracted by words underlined by fear that we didn’t fully understand. Our teacher, distressed, was not herself. What’s more, her warnings had an undertow that seemed to drag her from us, while on the shore we tried to call her back.

  Our remedy was to talk. We dissected her words. What did she mean by saying we were not alone? Of course we weren’t alone! I’d never thought so, and neither had Zula.

  It’s not that I could say, hand on heart, that I’d seen wrists with tattoos such as ours, but just because I hadn’t, meant nothing. Maybe one day we would; then we would know, as surely as one hand cannot clap by itself, that there are others like us. We realised, if the three of us were custodians of sacred sites, there must be hallowed places elsewhere, places with caretakers who cherished them and would be as devastated as we had been when our sanctuary in Ashanti was desecrated.

  What surprised us – if what Nana Merrimore said was true – was how organised we were. In fact, one of the first questions we asked ourselves that night was how we could make contact, if we needed to, with others like ourselves?

  ‘Pa will know,’ Zula said. ‘I’ll ask him tomorrow.’

  ‘And I’ll ask Okomfo Gran-pa as well,’ I decided. ‘We need to find out in case anything happens to our teachers. Do you seriously think they’re in danger?’

  ‘Your grandma believed so, Zula. And now so does Nana.’

  ‘I was thinking that myself,’ Zula confessed, before shuddering and shaking her head.

  We were sitting in a circle on Linet’s bed.

  Linet stroked her talisman: ‘Nana’s changing. It’s as if…’ She paused: ‘It’s as if she wants to foist me on those strangers.’

  ‘Didn’t you like them?’ asked Zula.

  ‘They seemed a little…’

  ‘Weird?’ I suggested.

  Linet nodded. ‘And here’s another thing, I’ve never heard anyone call Nana sweetheart before. Do you think…’

  I jumped in: ‘Eh-eh, my sister! I beg you on my knees. Do. Not. Go. There.’

  ‘But we’re there already,’ Zula smiled. ‘Your nana and that long thin man? Eeei!’

  ‘I was only wondering,’ said Linet. ‘You can’t fault me for thinking about Nana’s past when it’s a lot easier than fretting over what she said today.’

  Linet moved to the window seat of her bedroom and looking out at the lake, allowed Bracken to jump on to her lap.

  Little by little, as she gazed on water, I began to realise it was feeding her, like a mother nurturing a baby in the womb. Having revealed her past, the lake, and its drowning pool, seemed to cradle my sister as if preparing to take Nana Merrimore back. I felt the heft of the cord between the lake and Linet, the throb and flow of emotion as from one moment to the next their pulses coiled, circling each other until they started beating in time.

  To see through the haze of Nana Merrimore’s words and grasp their meaning, I listened to Gran-pa’s voice, the voice I carried within me.

  ‘If your instincts are correct, Adoma,’ I heard him say. ‘And your instincts often coincide with mine, then it is my humble opinion that Nana Merrimore is preparing to make a journey to her village, a journey from which no one returns.’ Returning to the village is an old man’s way of talking about death.

  My heart reeled. So Zula’s grandmother had been right. I inhaled deeply, tiptoeing around the fact that a possibility of an ending might also explain Gran-pa’s behaviour recently: cantankerous and reckless, he’d started behaving like a man with nothing to lose.

  Before my imagination could dip a toe in a pool of snapping crocodiles, I recoiled. Having swallowed the thought and sealed my lips, I chose to concentrate on Linet’s grandmother. What had been unnerving was the drumbeat of fear I’d sensed at her core. But as Gran-pa had once said to me: ‘Who knows how each of us will react when danger knocks on our door? Will you smile and let him in, Adoma? Or run and hide? Nobody knows, grandchild. Neither you or I, because the roots of fear run deep and its fruit is poisonous.’

  ‘Okomfo Gran-pa will know how to help,’ I said to Linet. ‘I’ll ask him.’

  ‘I’ll find out what I can from Pa as well,’ Zula added. ‘He’ll have an inkling if Nana’s shell is cracking like a chick about to be born.’

  The hairs on my neck bristled. The cracking of an egg, a chick about to be born, is yet another way of talking about death. Zula and I appreciated this, leeching any hope we still held.

  It was well after dusk by now. The light of a full moon shining on the lake’s surface illuminated the silhouette of oak trees at its edge. Opening the window, Linet pulled back curtains that framed the room. A profusion of moonbeams flooded in as she turned from the lake, its reflection still playing on her face and hands, still humming in her heart.

  ‘I’m not sure of anything anymore,’ she said. ‘I can’t tell if Nana’s lying to protect me, or simply telling the truth. All I know is she’s terrified. Are your teachers scared as well?’

  ‘Not that I’ve noticed,’ said Zula. ‘Pa’s grieving, but that hasn’t stopped him talking to our friends and neighbours. We’ve made a decision to challenge the company prospecting for copper and coal in
the mountains. We don’t want the Sleeping Giant touched. Who but a fool would destroy the source of water that we use for ourselves and our livestock?’

  ‘Then we must be fools,’ I concluded. ‘I’ve heard people saying that poisoning our river with cyanide and mercury will be worth it if they find gold.’ I squeezed my mouth, kissing my lips. ‘Money talks big time everywhere. Okomfo Gran-pa’s the only person I know who isn’t greedy for it. If anything, he’s taking more risks than ever now.’

  ‘How?’ asked Zula.

  ‘He’s as angry as a soldier ant at those galamsey people and yet he blames the chief for what’s happening. When he goes to see him, he threatens to take the whole lot of them to court.’

  Zula nodded: ‘Pa and his friends have sent a delegation to speak to our government. We’re not expecting much, but Pa says the very least we should do is try…’

  ‘We all have to try harder,’ said Linet. ‘Try harder and do things differently…’

  ‘Perhaps we should use more magic,’ I suggested. ‘If Gran-pa hadn’t stopped me, I’d have blasted the chief when I met him. And as for those miners, I’d have flung them in the air.’ I sighed, unable to hide my frustration. ‘Gran-pa says it’s better to take them to court because the law’s on our side.’

  ‘But the law’s slow,’ Zula replied. ‘In any case, Grandma said people high up don’t listen to the likes of us.’

  ‘Poor on earth,’ I sniffed, ‘a loser everywhere!’

  Linet pulled a nightdress over her head and sat on the bed, completing our circle. ‘What I’d like to know is, should we keep doing what our teachers have done, if it’s not working anymore?’

  Her words settled like a stone lobbed into a pond, its ripples scudding out as Zula chucked another in: ‘Perhaps we should be more open about how we protect our shrines.’