Crowned (32 page)

“Anyway, the spell got messed up and became unstable. Usually if that happens you stop the ritual, but the Loosening can’t be tampered with until it’s run its course. He can’t control it any more, and it’s building. He’s kept it hidden from ungifted eyes, but doing so has taken most of his power. Now here’s the important thing – if it bursts through the barrier containing it, there’s no telling what kind of damage it will do. This thing was created to strip gifts, but no one knows what it’ll do to ungifted.”

“So how do you stop it?” asks Mandla. “You said it has to run its course.”

“Normally, yes. But I think the Ultima can stop it. She has enough power. The problem is she’s not at her full strength yet.”

Temper nods. “And when she reaches her full strength, the Puppetmaster has plans for you and Rakwena.”

I clear my throat and steal a glance at Rakwena. This is going to sound crazy, but I have to tell them. “He plans to trap her inside my body somehow, and then make me and Rakwena rulers over the gifted world.”

There’s a long silence, and then Elias snorts. Rakwena’s hand freezes in mine.

“I know. It sounds ridiculous, but he believes that it’s not only possible, but necessary. To, um…” I pause, trying to remember his exact words. “To save the gifted from their own complacency.”

Temper and Mandla exchange glances yet again. I can’t say I blame them. Suddenly there’s a loud commotion outside, and everyone turns towards the kitchen. Elias gets up to investigate.

“Probably just Spencer and Reetsang, back from the shops,” says Mandla, but there’s a trace of anxiety in his voice.

My pulse starts to race. Rakwena’s fingers tighten around mine.

“Uh…guys…” Elias is back in seconds, his eyes wide. “We have guests.”

We follow him through the kitchen and across the veranda to where Spencer and Reetsang are standing, eyes wide, mouths gaping. They’re panting – they’ve been running. I follow their gaze, and when I realise what they were running from my body tenses with fear. The yard is quickly filling with people. They pour in through the gate, climb over the fence, land on their feet and keep moving towards us like a swarm of insects. I recognise them, even without the grey eyes. The Puppetmaster’s army.

“I thought you broke his hold over them,” hisses Temper.

“I did!” I don’t understand what’s happening. They’re free, their eyes are clear, so why are they still acting like zombies? “At least, I thought I did.”

A ray of sunlight catches something and glints brightly. I blink and squint at the object. It’s a ring on the index finger of one of the soldiers. My stomach churns. Oops. I see them now; all the soldiers are wearing them, cheap copper things jammed on any finger they’ll fit. Great. I broke the spell, but forgot to make sure the Puppetmaster couldn’t cast another.

“There are about fifty of them!” says Elias.

He’s right – but while he’s concerned about how many they are, I’m more interested in how few. There were more of them in the warehouse. I wonder what happened to the others. They stop a few metres away from us, standing in lines.

I swallow my panic. “What do you want?”

“We’ve come to serve.”

They speak in perfect unison. I reach for their minds and I’m shocked to find that the barrier is gone. All I see is an earnest desire to please. To please
me
.

I clear my throat. “You don’t have to follow his orders any more.”

This time only one of them speaks. “We don’t follow his orders. We follow yours.”

I blink a few times, trying to wrap my head around this revelation. The Puppetmaster must have cast another spell within the mind control – a caveat. His hold over the army could be broken, but instead of setting them free, it would simply switch their allegiance to the one who rescued them. Me.

“This is crazy!” mutters Mandla.

“What does this mean?” demands Temper. “They’re your army now?”

I shake my head. I don’t know what to think. I can’t see a barrier, yet it’s clear that these people are not in their right minds. I stare out at the sea of faces…and suddenly an idea hits me. “Do you know how to find the Loosening?”

The soldier who spoke before shakes his head. Damn.

“Do you know where Duma is being held?”

He pauses for a minute. “The one like them?” He points at the drifters.

“Yes. Have you seen him?”

“Yes.”

I glance at the drifters, and I can tell that we’re all on the same page.

Don’t.
The Ultima’s voice is clear.

I push her aside. I’m fed up with being a pawn. Lebz and Wiki had a point; I need to take action. The Puppetmaster has been in control from the start, but I’m taking charge of the situation now. I’m picking a side.

“You have instructions for us?” the spokesman asks.

I’ll admit it, there’s something gratifying about having a man who looks at least five years older than me treat me like royalty. That must be what the Puppetmaster intended with this little switch. He’s trying to give me a taste of power, trying to tempt me. But I’m not interested in being obeyed. I’m interested in beating my enemy at his own game, and my first move will be to take back his prisoners.

I clear my throat and raise my voice so all the soldiers can hear me. “Find Duma and bring him back here, along with anyone else you find. Do you understand?”

“We understand,” they reply in eerie unison, and begin to move, swarming over the fence. It’s terrifying, and yet strangely exhilarating, too.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” asks Temper.

“It’s a brilliant idea. We’ll have Duma back by the end of the day.”

“Those people are still under the Puppetmaster’s power,” Rakwena points out.

“I’ll set them free as soon as they come back,” I promise. “And this time I’ll make sure I do it properly.”

You should have set them free the moment they came.

Oh, shut up, Ultima. I don’t know why she’s being so righteous – she knows I have no way of getting into the Puppetmaster’s lair. The army does. They can save Duma and the other prisoners, and then they can return to their lives. The Puppetmaster wanted a queen, didn’t he? Well, he’s got one. I’m not playing by anybody else’s rules any more. I’m changing the game.

* * *

The next few hours are tense. I help the guys make supper, and then we sit and wait. And wait. And wait. At some point someone turns on the TV to drown out the painful silence.

“Hey, turn the volume up,” says Rakwena, and Reetsang obliges. “I think they just said something about a crazed mob.”

A small flutter starts in my chest. That sounds like trouble. A moment later, when the anchor has finished going through the headlines, I discover exactly what kind of trouble it is.

She glances down at the papers on her desk before giving us that no-nonsense news face. “Two groups of young men and women were involved in what appeared to be a gang war in the Main Mall in Gaborone this afternoon, leaving a trail of devastation in their wake and causing thousands of pula in damage.”

The shot shifts to the Main Mall, which looks like it’s been hit by stampeding elephants. People are shouting in the background. Stalls have been overturned, merchandise lies broken on the ground and in the distance someone is wailing. Uh-oh.

“The unruly mobs clashed in the mall and then fled when the police were called,” the voice-over continues. “Several bystanders were injured when they tried to intervene. Witnesses claim the youths exhibited extraordinary speed and strength. Some witnesses say the gang members appeared to be in a trance.”

Oh, hell. The Puppetmaster’s army – no,
my
army – has just torn through town on my orders. The news anchor mentioned two groups, and I can only assume the second group was made up of soldiers still loyal to the Puppetmaster. Perhaps they were trying to stop my soldiers from rescuing Duma. I’m too horrified to speak.

“Shit,” murmurs Rakwena, echoing my sentiments exactly.

Reetsang tosses the remote aside. “Thanks a lot, Connie,” he sneers, before marching out of the room. Elias and Spencer follow, throwing disgusted looks my way.

No one else says a word. Temper and Mandla are staring at the screen, their expressions sombre. I can feel Rakwena’s eyes on me but I can’t meet his gaze. I don’t think I can stand to see the disappointment that must be written on his face. Oh, God, I have screwed up in the worst way.

What was I thinking, sending a host of spellbound men and women charging across town? Obviously they would fight to carry out my instructions rather than run and hide like sensible people. Who did I think I was to command an army of people still unable to think for themselves? Oh, that’s right – I thought I was the Definitive Gifted Soul. I didn’t even think of what I was doing to those people, or what they could do to anyone who stood in their way. I thought of nothing but my own clever little plan.

I feel nauseated. I turn away from the TV, unable to look any more. How am I going to explain this? People are hurt, property damaged, and who knows what kind of physical and psychological damage I’ve done to those poor soldiers? I can’t breathe suddenly; I stumble outside on unsteady legs and take huge gulps of air.

I hear them coming long before I see them. I rush to the front of the house just in time to see the first wave pour through the gate. I stifle a gasp. They look terrible. They’re covered in bruises and wounds, and a couple are limping. I wait until they’re all inside. One of them steps forward. There’s a limp figure slung over his shoulder. Duma, unconscious and covered in grime and dust. I glance behind me; the drifters have appeared.

Temper reaches Duma first and takes him from the dazed soldier without a word. He and the other drifters hurry back into the house. I look into the weary eyes of the soldier.

“We brought him,” he tells me proudly. “He is alive. We couldn’t find any others.”

I nod slowly, struggling to keep my voice calm. “Thank you. You did very well. Please take off your ring now.”

He nods and obeys. I reach out to grab him just before he crumples, then lay him gently on the ground.

“All of you, take the rings off and throw them away!”

They obey without hesitation, and the small trinkets go flying all over the yard. Almost as soon as the rings are off the soldiers collapse to the ground, worn out. Now that the magic no longer sustains them, their bodies succumb to the stress of the last few days. A few of them pass out immediately. I wade into the crowd, stepping gingerly between the bodies.

I reach into my pocket, pull out my phone and send a message to Ntatemogolo, then pocket the phone and look at the carnage around me. What have I done?

Stop.
The voice is soft but clear, as always.
You have work to do.

I take a deep breath. She’s right. I have to take care of these people. I kneel down and reach for the minds around me. Beneath the calm of unconsciousness there’s a layer of disquiet. I let my gift move through them, infusing them with calming thoughts.

Rest. You are safe now. You are strong and healthy. When you wake up you will be fine. You will go home, to the place you were before he took you. For now you must sleep deeply and allow your mind and body to recover. Everything is OK. No one is going to hurt you. None of this is your fault.

It takes time to cover the layers of trauma, to gently loosen the ugly threads the Puppetmaster used to control them. I don’t know how long I remain there on my knees, allowing the combination of my gift and the Ultima’s power to undo the damage.

At some point I become aware of soft voices. I stop my work and turn my attention to my physical surroundings, thinking the drifters have come out to see what I’m doing. But it’s not the drifters. It’s Wiki, Lebz and Kelly, down on their knees among the wounded, carefully tending to the injuries with cotton swaps, antiseptic and bandages.

Lebz sees me first. She offers a tentative smile. “Hey, Connie.”

“What are you doing here?” My voice is hoarse and scratchy.

“What does it look like? We saw the news, so we came to help out.”

Wiki raises his head. “We remembered what bad shape Emily and the other girls were in after they were released from the power of the necklaces, and we figured you’d have a tough time taking care of all these people by yourself. Kelly got us some medical supplies through her dad.”

The tears come again. I’m overwhelmed. “You shouldn’t be helping me –
I
did this.”

“Don’t be stupid,” says Lebz firmly.

“But–”

“Stop talking and get back to work,” says another voice. I turn to see Ntatemogolo standing behind me. “We still have a lot to do before these people can return home. We can assign blame later.”

I nod, close my eyes and reach for the minds of the soldiers again. When they wake up they’ll be free. For real, this time.

* * *

It’s a while before I think to call Dad. I’m amazed he hasn’t called the police, let alone me – it’s hours after my curfew. I step into a quiet corner of the yard to make the call. He picks up after a few rings.

“Connie! Is everything OK?”

I hesitate. “It’s been a hectic day.”

“Elijah called to tell me you were all at the drifters’ place – some kind of emergency.”

Bless you, Wiki. “Yep.”

“Does it have anything to do with the so-called gang war in Main Mall?”

Oh, Dad. He’s getting far too perceptive. “Yep.”

He’s quiet for a while. “Is everyone all right?”

“We’re fine. We got Duma back, but he’s not in great shape, and the army… Well, they’re free. That’s the main thing. I’ll probably stay the night – there’s a lot to do.”

“Stay the night? With Rakwena?”

I note the parental panic in his voice. Amazing how he can be worried about me sleeping over with a boy at a time like this. “And the drifters, and my friends, and about fifty people who have no idea how they got here. This isn’t a romantic getaway.”

“Of course not.” He sighs. “I assume your grandfather’s there?”

“Ja.”

“Good.”

I shake my head. “I have to get back; I just wanted to let you know I’m OK.”