Zilia

Chapter 7: Shadows Unveiled

It had been weeks since Xiluva, the enigmatic stranger, had regained consciousness and found refuge in the hut of Nomatilwe and Zilia. As the days unfolded, the intricate dance of life continued.

Nomatilwe, after some effort, discovered that Xiluva's language was not entirely foreign - a different dialect, perhaps, but one they could comprehend for the most part. In the shadowy corners of their shared conversations, a bond formed between the two women.

Xiluva, with a voice that resonated like a lively river, became a storyteller of epic tales. Her account of surviving a crocodile attack carried an air of grandeur, captivating the villagers with each embellished detail. She thrived in the company of others, a vibrant presence that seemed to fill every corner of Mbuzini.

"I came a long way," Xiluva would start her tale. "I embarked on a journey that would forever etch its mark upon my soul. A journey, not of choice, but a journey that would take me away from all that I knew and loved, and into the depths of uncertainty. I found myself standing at the edge of a river, prepared to cross the treacherous waters."

Xiluva always captured the audience with her unique accent. The room would go quiet whenever she started.

"My heart trembled with a mixture of anticipation and fear as I watched the mighty river flow with a power that could swallow me whole. But circumstances had left me with no choice - I had to cross. The safety of my husband, myself, depended upon it. And so, with sweaty palms and a resolute spirit, I stepped into the tumultuous waters, my heart beating like a war drum." She paused for anticipation, and continued as soon as she was satisfied with the attention she was getting.

"As I forged my way through the murky currents, my thoughts danced between the unbearable pain of leaving my loved ones behind and the uncertainty of what lay ahead. The relentless heat of the sun bore down upon me, the sweltering air seemingly pulling me down, slowing my progress. But I pushed forward, pushing past my exhaustion and the voice of doubt whispering in my ear."

Xiluva softened her voice before raising it again. "Suddenly, amidst the deafening silence of the river's flow, a sound pierced through the air, echoing with bone-chilling ferocity. The earth seemed to tremble beneath my feet as I turned to see the source of this ominous sound. There, emerging from the haunting mist, was the ancient guardian of these waters-a crocodile, whose sheer size sent shivers crawling up my spine. With stealth and purpose, it lunged towards me, jaws open wide like the gates. Time stood still as my survival instincts kicked in, a primal scream of fear escaping my trembling lips. In that moment, I was stripped bare of all pretenses, all illusions of control. I was at the mercy of fate, yet my spirit refused to succumb to the terror that threatened to consume me. Adrenaline coursed through my veins, heightening my senses and sharpening my instincts. I mustered all the strength left within me and propelled myself forward, evading the snapping jaws of the crocodile by a hair's breadth. But its persistence proved relentless, and with each fevered lunge, its monstrous form grew closer, its cold eyes gleaming with a malevolent hunger. Desperation filled my every fiber as survival became the sole purpose of my being. With every ounce of energy I possessed, I summoned the strength to ward off this voracious predator. Amidst the struggle, I could feel the water's touch, both gentle and suffocating, as it threatened to claim me as its own. It was in that moment, that my husband came to my rescue. And fight he did. I swam for my life. I looked back and my husband was fighting the crocodile. I finally reached the other side, collapsing onto the riverbank, my body trembling with the weight of what I had just endured. Tears mingled with the river's flow as I looked back, trying to find my husband. He was gone. As I continued my journey, I was in emotional and physical pain. The scars, both visible and hidden, would serve as a reminder of my husband's sacrifice. My husband knew the way, so without him I was lost."

Weeks, then months, slipped by, and Xiluva unexpectedly settled into life in Mbuzini. She became a resident of Nomatilwe's household, the shared walls witnessing the ebb and flow of their daily routines. Xiluva's brewing skills, particularly in crafting ale and beer, turned Nomatilwe's yard into a bustling social hub. Villagers gathered, reveling in the libations that flowed freely.

In the midst of these gatherings, Xiluva encountered Gwaba, the carpenter, a regular patron with a penchant for strong beer. A connection blossomed, leading Xiluva to move in with Gwaba. However, the ties she had forged with Nomatilwe and Zilia persisted. She continued to visit their home, where the air hummed with laughter and the intoxicating aroma of freshly brewed beer.

Yet, behind the veneer of camaraderie, secrets wove a delicate web. Xiluva's clandestine affairs with other men unfolded in the shadows, shrouded in secrecy. Unbeknownst to Zilia, her life became entangled in the intricate strings Xiluva wove, attempting to orchestrate connections with wealthy men. But Zilia, still a young soul, resisted these orchestrated meetings, avoiding the complex world of adult entanglements.

One fateful day, as the sun baked the Zululand skies, Xiluva returned to Nomatilwe's home. However, the usual warmth and laughter were replaced by an unsettling silence. In the dimly lit interior, Xiluva discovered Nomatilwe collapsed on the floor, a victim of a stroke.

The air grew heavy with urgency as the village was thrust into a crisis. Xiluva, once a mysterious presence weaving tales of survival, now faced a reality that transcended her tales - the frailty of life and the shadows that lurked within.

Xiluva's heart sank as she knelt beside Nomatilwe, her trembling hands reaching out to cradle her friend's face. Zilia, pale with fear, stood frozen in the doorway, the weight of the situation sinking in. The villagers began to gather, their curious eyes widening with concern as they witnessed the unexpected turn of events.

"Can somebody fetch the medicine woman?" Xiluva's voice wavered, filled with desperation as she scanned the crowd for someone to take charge. Thulani, stepped forward, nodding at her request before running off.

Time ticked away with agonizing slowness as Xiluva and Zilia attempted to comfort Nomatilwe, their gentle words barely audible over the heavy silence. In the dark corners of the room, shadows danced, mirroring the turmoil that engulfed their hearts.

Minutes turned into hours, and finally, the medicine woman arrived, carrying an air of ancient wisdom that seemed to permeate her every step. Her hands, calloused from years of healing, moved with grace and purpose as she examined Nomatilwe, her eyes narrowing in concentration. She took out a small beg and threw her bones on the floor, and started bone reading.

"The ancestors have grown restless," the medicine woman spoke softly, her voice carrying a weight that demanded attention. "Nomatilwe has forsaken the ancestors. Now they are sending a message that demands our utmost care and vigilance. If she doesn't get better, prepare a goat and come get me."

Xiluva and Zilia nodded, their eyes never leaving the form of their fallen grandmother. The medicine woman's words resonated within them, stirring a newfound determination to aid Nomatilwe in her fight against the ancestral spirits that threatened to consume her.

Days turned into weeks, and Xiluva, now living under the same roof as Nomatilwe once more, took on the role of caretaker. She tirelessly tended to her friend's needs, never faltering in the face of exhaustion. Zilia, embracing her newfound responsibilities as well, would sit beside Nomatilwe, reading stories and singing songs in an attempt to bring light into the darkness that enveloped her.

During these long nights, Xiluva and Zilia found solace in each other's company. The once vibrant gatherings in Nomatilwe's yard had quieted, replaced by an air of somber reflection. The echoes of laughter and the clinking of mugs were replaced by the soft strains of lullabies and whispered conversations.

As the days rolled on, Nomatilwe's condition began to worsen. Xiluva suggested that they prepare the sacrificial goat and send for the medicine woman again. Zilia's heart ached with conflicting emotions as she processed Xiluva's suggestion. Her grandmother's condition wasn't good, but the thought of sacrificing Mtwala the goat, sounded better.

"I will go look for Mtwala, and prepare him for the medicine woman." Zilia's usually soft voice held an edge of urgency.