by Jane Godman
I felt for the little dagger inside my pocket. A brief pang of memory—of Nicca winding my plaited hair around his hand and the comical look of surprise on his face as I sliced swiftly through the thick braid—tugged insistently at my heartstrings. I brushed it away, concentrating on this moment. I would get only one chance. Uther leaned over me and I withdrew the blade, striking out at the base of his throat. With lightning reflexes, he ducked his head and the knife glanced past his neck, slicing across his left cheek. The dagger clattered across the room and blood welled beneath the hand he pressed to his face. Realisation dawned on us at the same time. I had just scarred him in exactly the same way that the first Uther Jago had been branded. His transformation was complete.
He slumped into a sitting position next to me, and we sat together as we had that first night in the ballroom at Tenebris. There was no champagne and no giggling this time. No burning sexual attraction or breathless anticipation of his touch. Had I felt any inkling then of what the future was to hold for us? How strange that at Tenebris our focus had always been on the past. The future had been a distant echo.
“Uther, this darkness that has invaded us has made us into people even we cannot like.” I spoke through lips that were swollen and sore. “What will we become if, in so short a time, this is what it has made us?”
He held a folded handkerchief to his face, and I could see the fear in his eyes. Perhaps for the first time, I was looking into this Uther Jago’s eyes. “But how can we break free of it, Annie? I love you. I am in heaven every time I touch you and in hell every time I think of losing you.”
“It isn’t love, Uther. We don’t even know each other. It has chosen us because we are Jagos and it wants to control us.”
His laughter rose on a wild note of terror. “You make it sound like demonic possession.”
I didn’t answer.
“Christ, Annie, now you are really scaring me!” He dashed a shaky hand over his eyes. “He speaks to me. In here.” He tapped a finger to his temple. “Makes me promises. Do you hear him, too?”
“No, I don’t hear a voice. With me it’s more a feeling, something deep inside me. I would call it a premonition or foreboding. Do you know whose voice you hear?”
“I could hazard a guess.”
It was as if neither of us wanted to say the name aloud. As if somehow acknowledging it would make it true.
“Arwen Jago.” The dark shape of my nightmare shifted slightly in my mind, took on a human form, laughed at my belief that I could possibly win this fight.
At the sound of that name, Uther pressed his fists to his temples, his face contorting in pain. “You have to go,” he said through clenched teeth. “I can’t hold him off for long. I’m not as strong as you.”
Getting to my feet, I turned back to him, wanting to say something more. Regrets and goodbyes crowded onto my tongue.
“I mean it, Annie! Go. Now. Run.…”
As my feet disregarded the pain in my shoulder and carried me swiftly down the trail into the Sonskyn Valley, my conversation with Finty on board the Arundel Castle played repeatedly through my mind. She had asked why a person who felt an evil spirit inside them could not take control of their own body. At the time, I had taken her words to be a rallying cry for myself and had done my best ever since to fight the Jago darkness I felt inside me. Now, my life, and that of those I loved, depended on someone else. On Uther’s ability to fight Arwen Jago. The thought terrified me.
At last, the farmhouse came into view and my heart leapt with relief as Rudi hurried toward me. “Annie! Thank God. When you didn’t come back for lunch, we started looking for you. Your horses came back without you an hour ago.…” His gaze took in my swollen lip and torn, bloodied blouse. “What happened?”
I ignored his question, clutching at his arm with desperate fingers. “Where is Nicca?”
He slid an arm around my waist, holding me upright against him. As he led me to the house, he spoke the words I dreaded. “I thought he was with you?”
“Uther shot him. Then he shot me. He told me Nicca is dead, but I’m not sure he was telling the truth. We have to find him, Rudi. Even if he is alive, he is injured…” I broke off because he wasn’t looking at me. His eyes were fixed on a point beyond my shoulder. When I turned my head, Uther was standing at the edge of Ouma’s precious patch of lawn.
I gazed at him. He raised his right hand in salute. I raised my left, and across the yards that separated us, I could feel his palm warm on mine. Briefly, I saw again the man he had once been. He wasn’t strong, but he wasn’t evil. Even when he drew the pistol from his pocket, I knew he would not harm us.
“I do love you, Annie.” Uther’s voice spoke sadly in my mind. “I won’t let him win.”
He raised the gun to his own temple, but before he could fire it, a shot rang out from the stoep and he toppled face-forward into the red earth.
“Darling Cad taught me to shoot,” Finty said rather shakily as she descended the steps. “He said you never know when it will be useful. I thought at the time he meant I might marry a man who enjoyed hunting. I wonder now if he knew I would one day have to do something like this.”
She dropped the rifle and buried her face against Rudi’s shoulder. Over the top of her head, Rudi stared at Uther’s body lying on the harsh, thin earth. I couldn’t interpret the expression that flitted across his face. I wanted to believe it was relief, but it was also tinged with something else. Prior to that moment I had not believed that the title and Tenebris meant a great deal to him. But, for an instant, his sensitive features were overlaid with something altogether harder and colder. There was no mistaking the emotion that lightened the hazel of his eyes and made them blaze with brighter gold. It was triumph.
Ouma’s old friend Police Commissioner Potgieter arrived from Pietermaritzberg. He drank hot, sweet tea and ate the sticky cakes known as koeksusters while listening to our carefully worded story of a hunting trip gone horribly wrong.
“Ja,” he said, shaking his head. “We are seeing this sort of thing more and more these days. The world is shrinking. Rich Europeans like your fancy relatives come to Africa thinking they can shoot some big game just because they’ve killed a few rabbits and maybe a deer in England. They have no idea what to do when they are faced with real animals. You wouldn’t believe it, but this is not the first story I’ve heard of two grown men stalking the lions through the grass and managing to shoot each other in the process.” He turned to Ouma. “You’ll arrange the burial?”
“Ja,” she confirmed. “And we can go ahead right away? There’ll be no need for an enquiry?”
“No, it’s a straightforward accident. I’ll file my report when I get back to town. What about the other one? The one still missing?” He consulted his notes. “Nicca Jago? You have your men out searching for him still?” He scanned the sky. “I don’t like his chances anyway, but once the daylight goes…” I raised a hand to my mouth, but Rudi gripped it and held it firmly. The commissioner tipped his hat to us. “Eina, it’s a bad business, all right. I’ve never seen you so pale, Annie van der Merwe. I hope your visit to England hasn’t drained your spirits?”
When he had gone, I went to Nicca’s room. Even though the bed had been made, I imagined I could see the indentation of his head on the pillow, and I lay down, pressing my face into it. I started to make wild promises in my mind. If he were alive, he would never again feel the sharp edge of my tongue. If he would just come back to me, I would turn into that paragon he had pictured himself marrying. But my mind stubbornly returned to one thought. Nicca—my Nicca—was in all likelihood dead. Now I would have a lifetime to regret not recognising real love when I felt it.
Restlessly, I jumped up and went to the wardrobe where, in military fashion, his clothing was neatly organised. I ran my hand along the hangers, and the warm scent of his cologne drifted out to comfort me. Lifting the sleeve of one of his jackets, I held it to my cheek and stood like that for a long time. The tears stayed in my h
eart and refused to spill over. When, at last, I moved away, the jacket slid from its hanger onto the closet floor. I stooped to pick it up and noticed that there was a bulge in the inside pocket. A little guiltily, I slid my hand inside. Withdrawing the folded white handkerchief, I spread it open to reveal its contents. Carefully coiled inside was a glossy black length of plaited hair.
“Call it a keepsake, meneer,” I muttered, my voice husky with emotion. “Don’t you dare be dead.”
The sky was almost dark when the first group of servants returned, shaking their heads sadly. I stood on the stoep watching the last rays fade and take my hopes with them. Rudi came and stood with me and I rested my head on his shoulder.
“I love him,” I said simply.
“I know. He knows it, too. You were the only person who couldn’t see it.”
A shout rent the dusk and Kami, the stable boy we had rescued from Piet Smit, ran into the kraal, gesturing frantically behind him. Headlights pierced holes in the darkness, and Rudi and I dashed down the steps. There, in the back of the truck, was Nicca’s bloodied, limp form. It took four of the servants to carry him to his room, where Ouma set about cleaning him up so that she could assess his wounds. To my eternal shame, it was Finty who took on the role of her assistant because, once I realised that he was still breathing, the tears came at last. I was too busy sobbing hysterically with relief to be any use to anyone.
Chapter Fourteen
“Finty, what are you doing?” I asked, watching her with a combination of amusement and annoyance.
She paused, brushing her hair back from her face and leaving a streak of red dust across her cheek. “Trying to catch a chicken so that I can make Nicca some soup.”
Her efforts had resulted in the entire coop running around and squawking wildly. Finty herself was dirty and sweaty and out of breath.
“How long have you been chasing them?” I asked.
“About half an hour.” She hung her head in embarrassment.
“Finty,” I said, and she looked up as I reached for a long-handled net, similar to the ones used by anglers, “what do you think this is for?”
“Oh!” She bit her lip and watched as I deftly flipped the net over one of the chickens. With a skill born of years of practice, I lifted the indignant creature out of its trap and handed it over to Finty. “Hold it like this, over its wings so that it can’t flap.”
“Thank you,” she murmured, taking it from me. “Oh, no, Annie!”
She held her hands out, palms facing upward to show me the lifeless body of the chicken lying across them.
“Tell me again how steel-broekies Annie here cried like a baby when I was carried in,” Nicca said. Although his voice was strained, he managed a smug smirk in my direction.
“Ja, you have never seen weeping like it. Ouma was so ashamed she threatened to disown her,” my brother said.
“Out.” I pointed to the door, and with an unrepentant grin, Rudi left.
Nicca was pale, but he insisted on being propped up against his pillows. The first bullet, the one that had flung him from his horse, had gone right through the considerable muscle of the upper part of his left arm. The second, the same one that hit me in the shoulder, had caught him in the neck. Miraculously, it had missed any major blood vessels and his spinal column. Uther must have believed, when he dragged my unconscious body off Nicca, that he had, as he boasted, hit his brother in the head. Our mingled blood had coated his face, giving that impression. And Uther had been in such a hurry to get me away before I regained consciousness—or before any wild animals, attracted by the smell, came along—that he had not stayed to analyse the situation. Nicca had come round in brief spells and, using the sun as his guide, staggered in the direction of Sonskyn. His only thought, he explained, had been to find me. Luckily, one of the search parties had discovered him before darkness fell completely. His neck was swollen and bruised and the doctor who had come from Ladysmith to remove the bullet told him he would have trouble eating, talking and breathing for a few weeks. But he should make a full recovery. I had never heard sweeter words.
A new feeling assailed me once we were alone together, and I paused to examine it. If I didn’t know better, I’d think it must be shyness. I couldn’t know for sure because I’d never experienced such a thing until now. But how could I be feeling shy around Nicca? I thought of all the searing, intimate moments we’d shared and almost laughed aloud. I knew he was watching me, and I kept my head bent.
“Ek het n groot lief ver jou, Annie,” Nicca said, and his ponderous accent made my lips quiver on a smile. “Have I said that right? I have a great big love for you?”
“I know you do,” I said, shyness retreating. I gave him a sideways glance from under my lashes. “I’ve seen it.”
“Will you be serious, woman?” he growled, grabbing me around the waist and pulling me down onto the bed beside him. “I’m trying to ask you to marry me!”
“Oh!” I lay full-length next to him, pressing my cheek against his chest. “Yes, I would like to marry you, Nicca.” I stayed like that for a long time, enjoying the comforting warmth of his body. “And I’m sorry it took me so long to say ‘I love you’ back. I realise now that I always knew it, I just didn’t recognise it because the thing I thought was love, the thing I felt for Uther, was something else.”
“Annie?” Nicca’s voice was full of concern. “Are you feeling quite well? If I didn’t know you better, I might swear I just heard you say the word sorry.”
“Enjoy it while it lasts, meneer,” I said. “You are not likely to hear it from me very often.” I subsided back against him. “Nicca, what are we going to do about Uther?”
“We are going to bury him. He’s dead, Annie. He can’t hurt us now.”
I rested my chin on his chest so that I could look up at him. I told him about the chicken. “I believed that the other things died when I had thoughts of the Jago legacy, but it wasn’t in my mind today. That means it is here still, Nicca, even though Uther is gone. From what Tristan said, this darkness lives on beyond the grave. What if it can harm our children, or Rudi’s children? Or our grandchildren? It frightens me to think it hasn’t died with Uther.”
He smoothed my hair back from my brow. “Don’t you think that Uther dying here, thousands of miles from the tainted earth of Tenebris, might have finally broken the legacy?”
I shook my head. “‘Might have’ isn’t good enough for me. I need to be sure.” I said. I thought of our child. I wanted to tell him in different circumstances, ones in which we could rejoice. Finally, I spoke the awful words aloud. “It wanted us both. It was never about Uther alone. It may never have been about him at all. He is gone, but what if this Jago legacy is still inside me, Nicca?”
“You mean we are going to consult a witch doctor?” Nicca asked. He still looked pale, his voice was husky and his arm was in a sling, but otherwise he seemed restored to health. His tone was neutral when he asked the question, but I could see the doubt in his eyes.
“The Zulu religion is based on the almighty creator god, Unkulunkulu, and the worship of the ancestors,” I explained. “The spirit world is always present, always beside us. When someone dies, his spirit watches over the rest of us. Evil and misfortune are caused by ancestors who have been offended or those who cannot rest. The sangoma is a healer empowered by the ancestral spirits to ensure there is harmony between this world and the spirit world.”
Cowhide drums boomed like gunfire as nubile, half-naked women and handsome warriors danced around a central fire. The beehive-shaped huts were set in a ring, and the largest of these belonged to the sangoma. In the late evening heat, we crowded into the grass and mud interior. At the last minute, Rudi had begged off from accompanying us. He had been pale and out of sorts all day, and blamed it on a headache. I wondered if the poison Uther had fed him had left a lingering trace, but he dismissed the idea impatiently. Finty, torn between concern for his welfare and curiosity, had eventually decided to accompany us.
“You have brought me something belonging to this man?”
Nicca handed Uther’s pocket watch over, and the sangoma held it in her hand. She closed her eyes and said softly, “Makhosi, seni fikile.”
Jabu whispered, “She thanks the ancestors for their presence.”
She began to speak in a singsong monotone, and Jabu explained her words. “There was a man. Many centuries ago. She says he had the appearance of a good man. For a time, he even wore the robes of a man of God.”
“Arwen Jago,” I murmured.
“But this man could not hide his true self forever. All that was bad about human nature became concentrated in him. He was a murderer who made a pact with the devil himself. When he died, his spirit could not rest. Instead it remained a ghostly presence in a place of darkness. It had work to do. It waited for another body in which to continue its task. After two hundred years, it found such a man. A man so consumed with hatred and jealousy for his own brother that he killed him and tried to kill his son. This man exulted in the knowledge that Arwen had chosen his body in which to return.”
