Crowned (15 page)

It appears I need to remind you of the terms of our agreement,
he says slowly.
I
arranged these meetings. I decide the agenda. I’ve indulged you too much, I think – but no more. Time is running out.

There it is again – that sense of urgency. Why is time running out? I don’t think he’s about to keel over and die, as convenient as that would be, so what’s the hurry? Somehow I think it has something to do with the energy surge.

I’m fond of you, but I will not tolerate this sort of behaviour. I need you to be patient and listen. Can you do that?

I resent being treated like a disobedient child, but arguing won’t get me anywhere. I feel the prick of fear again as I look at him. Sometimes, during these almost ordinary conversations, I forget how dangerous he is. I nod. I feel the resistance fade, and the channel is open again. I don’t use it, though. I’m too upset to speak to him. I turn towards his precious photographs.

The last time we were here, I told you about the friends I made,
he begins.
I wanted to become as powerful as possible, and I was willing to do whatever it took.

In spite of myself I get sucked in, drawn by the faces in his memories. All those gifted are long dead. I wonder what they’d think of their friend if they could see him now. I wonder whether they were afraid of him then. Maybe they were far more powerful. Maybe he fooled them all with his warm, friendly mask.

I travelled across the world learning all I could about our kind. I heard many stories. They were ancient, and gifted had tried and failed to prove them more than stories. But things were different now. Gifted had more power. We had communities. If there was ever an opportune moment to find proof of an old legend, it was then. I started to investigate, and bit by bit the pieces came together. There was a force more powerful than anything the world had seen for many years. A force that could combine all gifts, focus them, guide them towards a singular purpose. A force of balance.

I’m aware of a frantic thudding noise, like someone banging against a heavy door. It takes me a moment to realise it’s my heart. His words remind me of Wiki’s stories, and once again I feel the urge to run.

The stories were esoteric and had been passed on for so long that many of the modern storytellers, who had begun to commit the words to paper, barely knew what they meant. But I knew they were not just tales.

I keep my eyes on the photographs of places, documents, people he spoke to during his search. I try to focus on the details, the faces, the landscapes, so I don’t have to think about that strange feeling clawing at my chest, demanding my attention.

Can you imagine seeking something you barely understand? You have no way of knowing where you will find it, what form it will take, or when it will appear. Some said it was in the ancient past, some in the future. For centuries it was believed that the force existed in a specific place, buried in a mountain or beneath the sea. But that made no sense. If the force was contained in a vessel, it would have to be a vessel that would allow it to grow, a vessel with powerful energy of its own.

A person.
I clap my hand over my mouth even though the words didn’t pass my lips. The thought is
hers
. Connie Who Knows is telling me things again.

The Puppetmaster smiles.
Not just any person – a gifted who could wield the power of the force. That’s when I realised there was a difference between the Ultima and the Definitive, a difference no one else had noticed. The Ultima was the force, and the Definitive was the means by which that force would come into the world.

I don’t want to hear any more. I want to put my hands over my ears like a kid and start singing at the top of my voice to drown out his thoughts, but I’m already on the train and I can’t get off. I know where we’re going. I lick my suddenly dry lips and steel myself. I can’t let my fear get in the way now. I have to see this through. I have to know what he wants, and why I’m here.

I realised my true purpose was to find the Definitive and restore the balance of power in the world. After searching for a while I realised it wasn’t going to happen in my lifetime. It was then that I took steps to extend my life. I removed the factors that could kill me and learned to protect myself. I travelled all over the world following the trail. At some point it went cold. It was decades before I picked it up again. When I resumed my search there were several possible candidates, but one seemed more promising than the others.

I freeze in front of the next photograph. Even though he’s much younger, clean-shaven, with short hair, I know right away who the man in the photo is.

Your grandfather was already brilliant when I met him. Usually a sorcerer has one skill that outshines the rest, but he identified his weak points, worked to bring them up to par with the rest, and never repeated a mistake. He was confident and unapologetic about his interest in the supernatural. Instead of coming across as a superstitious fool, he presented himself as an intelligent young man with a deep love for his culture. He was the perfect blend of modern and traditional.

I can believe that. Ntatemogolo has always been a master of the balancing act that sends so many of us toppling to the floor in a tangle.

I was almost sure he was the one,
the Puppetmaster continues. A wistful note has crept into his voice.
But I needed contact to be certain, so I approached and shook his hand. The moment I touched him I knew I was wrong. He was extraordinary, but not what I was looking for. I waited. He had sons, but neither of them was gifted. Much later he had a daughter.
She was incredibly empathetic – it’s rare to find that in an ungifted. But she disappointed me in the end.

I shoot him a disgusted glance out of the corner of my eye.
Poor you.

Don’t be flippant,
he snaps, and I flinch.
I continued my search while keeping an eye on your family. I discovered a clan of inkolosi in South Africa.

They’re called drifters.

I first heard them referred to as inkolosi, and it’s the name I’ve used since. However, I can adapt. These
drifters
included one particularly interesting character. Senzo Langa, the father of your paramour.

Paramour? Well, he’s almost two centuries old; I’ll give the man a break.
What was so interesting about Senzo?

His gift, first of all. Telekinesis is rare among his kind. He also had far more psychic energy than the others. I arranged a meeting.

Let me guess,
I cut in.
At a party.

No. I needed a blood sample and I knew he wouldn’t provide it willingly. I separated him from his cell one evening, caught him off guard and knocked him unconscious. I took the blood, along with his wallet. He dismissed it as an ordinary mugging.

I feel strangely disappointed. A few minutes ago I told the Puppetmaster I didn’t know what to expect from him, but that wasn’t true. I expect him to be sneaky but suave, evil, yet elegant. I don’t expect him to resort to tacky street gang antics. This is bad. Why should I feel as though he’s let me down by being a well-rounded scumbag?

I drop my gaze. My barrier is up and I can’t feel his presence beyond the outer layer of my consciousness, but that’s no guarantee that my soul isn’t lying bare before him. I wish I knew exactly how much he could see.

He smiles, but doesn’t deign to speak.

I wrap my arms around myself, feeling suddenly chilly.
So what did you find in the blood? Fairy dust?

Not quite. Senzo has a mutation.

I wasn’t expecting that. I passed Bio, but only just, and I did a stellar job of forgetting everything as soon as I left Syringa.
What kind of mutation?

He lifts his shoulders in a slight shrug.
I’d never seen anything like it before, but there was no doubt it was the reason for his excess energy.

Ah. Things are starting to get a little clearer.
Rakwena has it, too, doesn’t he?

He nods. Of course. Rakwena isn’t different because of the serum, after all. He was different from birth.

When Rakwena was born his father was away. His mother, terrified by his constant high temperature, had doctors run every imaginable test. Fortunately I intervened and changed the results. As far as the doctors could see, he was normal. If he had remained with his father things might have been different, but his mother intended to raise him as an ordinary child. It was an impossible fantasy.

So you “intervened” again.

Yes. Using his genetic information, I created the serum and waited for the right stage to reveal it. When he came into his powers at age nine, his mother sought help. By then it was clear that the only person who could help her was on the other side of the world, and I had to find him first. I went to Peru and planted the serum in a village close to where your grandfather was living.

I swallow hard, a host of emotions tearing through me. He doesn’t see anything wrong with what he’s done. He’s not sorry. He’s not proud, either – it’s all matter-of-fact for him, as though he did the only thing that could be done.

You played God with Rakwena’s life. You monitored his father, stole his blood, altered Rakwena’s medical records, created a serum that would supress his drifter urges, and went to Peru to make sure my grandfather would be the one to give Rakwena the “miracle cure”.

Yes.

Why?

Why do you think? I couldn’t give him the serum myself – he’d never trust me. Your grandfather had an excellent reputation, and I knew he would look after Rakwena.

But why Rakwena? What did his mutation mean to you?

He gives me a puzzled look, as though struggling to understand which part of his convoluted thought process is tripping me up.
Isn’t it obvious? He had an abundance of psychic energy. I found a way to increase it, and increase his threshold, without damaging him.
Imagine the things I could do with someone like him!
He sighs, an old man thinking of what could have been.
But then I realised Rakwena wasn’t meant to serve my ambitions. His purpose is far more important, and far more altruistic.

Altruistic? I’m surprised that word is even in his vocabulary.
What changed your mind?

He smiles.
You.

Don’t tell me you decided to fight for young love rather than global domination.

He sighs again. The photographs disappear.
I’m afraid the answer to that question will have to wait. You must leave.

I just got here!

I’m sorry, Princess. I have a lot to do and –

You’re running out of time, I know. Whose clock are you working on? Is someone else involved in all this?

The Puppetmaster shakes his head at me.
You ask a lot of questions.

Speaking of which, you’re supposed to give me three questions.
I stand my ground, arms folded over my chest.

Only if you make them brief. And don’t bother repeating the ones you’ve just asked.

Fine.
I hesitate.
Do you believe I’m the Definitive? Is that why I’m here?

He blinks silently.

I grit my teeth, but I’m also relieved. I don’t think I’m ready to hear the answer to that question. I think I know…but I like having room for doubt. I push it aside for now and focus on the other issues at hand.
What is causing the energy surge? You’re performing some kind of ritual, aren’t you? Something big.

Blink. Blink. Blink.

Damn it. I attempt to see past his barrier, but it’s like trying to look through a mountain. He’s done what he always does – told me a lot without actually giving anything away. I know what he’s after, sort of, but I still don’t know what he’s doing or how, and I’m no closer to finding the missing gifted. I can feel it now; time is running out.

Why do you need me to improve my gift?

His eyes widen.
I don’t need it, Conyza. You do. A change is coming whether you like it or not, and if you’re not strong enough the consequences will be catastrophic.

My heart jumps.
What does that mean?

You’ve asked three questions. You have to go now.
The walls are starting to flicker – his attention is already turning away from this illusion.

“That’s not fair – you only answered one!” I exclaim in exasperation.

Sorry, my dear. We will speak soon. Please, leave quickly. Moving through a fading illusion can be unpleasant.

Damn, damn, damn! The floor is starting to buckle and it won’t be long before my confused senses respond accordingly and send me falling to the ground floor. I turn and run, leaping down the swaying stairs. I almost lose my balance twice, knocking into the railing. Illusion or not, it hurts.

I’m reminded of the last meeting, when Emily ran up the stairs and disappeared into the Puppetmaster’s other world. I already knew he wasn’t physically present, and now I’m starting to think Emily wasn’t, either. They were both projections, like the house. Physically they were somewhere else. The memory strikes me hard as my feet hit the floor. He told her to meet him at “the warehouse”.