unknown Territory

Chapter four

The next few days passed in a blur of activity. I woke each morning before the sun, helping Mama Sizakele with breakfast and other household duties. I spent my afternoons with the other women of the household—maids, cooks, and other staff members—learning about their lives and their roles in the house.
Thabo would sometimes join me, answering my many questions and teaching me a bit of the local language, IsiZulu.

Each night, I’d return to my room, exhausted but unable to sleep. The feeling of unease persisted, and I found myself tossing and turning, my mind racing with questions.
Why had mother been so insistent about this arranged marriage? Why did Thabo seem so distant?

One night, unable to sleep, I found myself wandering the halls of the mansion. It was then that I stumbled upon a room that I hadn’t been shown  before.
Curiosity piqued, I reached for the door handle, the brass cool against my palm.
The door swung open with a soft creak, and I stepped inside.

The room was unlike any other in the house. Where the rest of the mansion was decorated in a modern, minimalist style, this room was a jumble of objects and trinkets.
A painting of a wild landscape hung on the wall, juxtaposed with a black-and-white photograph of a stern-looking man in a suit. On a side table, there was a pile of old books, their spines cracked and worn.
I pulled one of the books off the pile, the dust from the cover tickling my nose. The title was in a language I didn’t recognize, but the images inside were mesmerizing: vivid depictions of African animals, landscapes, and people in traditional dress.

As I flipped through the pages, a flash of gold caught my eye. I turned the page, and a photograph fell out, its edges yellowed with age. It was a picture of Thabo, or at least a younger version of him, posing with a group of children in a dusty village.
The sight of the young Thabo brought a smile to my face. The camera had captured a lightness in his eyes, a carefree grin that seemed so different from the serious man I had met just days ago. I wondered what had happened to that boy—what experiences had shaped him into the man he was today.

I tucked the photograph back into the book, replacing it on the table. As I turned to leave the room, I caught sight of another item that hadn’t been there before: a small, carved wooden box. Intrigued, I picked it up.
The box was unlike anything I’d ever seen before. It was carved with intricate designs of animals and swirls, almost as if it had been sculpted out of a single piece of wood. On the front, there was a small latch that seemed to hold the lid shut.

Curious, I flipped the latch and opened the box. Inside, there was a necklace made of colorful beads, each one a different size and shape. At the center of the necklace was a single, large stone that seemed to catch the light in a way that was both familiar and unsettling.

I reached into the box, my fingers brushing against the smooth beads. I lifted the necklace out, letting it drape across my palm. The stone at the center glinted in the dim light, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that it was more than just a simple piece of jewelry.

I clasped the necklace around my neck, the beads settling against my skin. For a moment, I felt as if I were being watched, as if someone were standing behind me. But when I turned to look, there was no one there.
Shaking off the feeling of unease, I removed the necklace and placed it back in the box, latching it shut. I turned to leave the room, but as I did so, I heard a faint whisper from behind me.

“Dana...”

My heart skipped a beat. I whipped around, expecting to see someone standing there, but the room was empty. The only sound was the rush of my own breathing.

“Dana...you must listen to me...”

The voice was a low murmur, almost like a hiss.
I felt a chill run down my spine as the voice continued.

“This house is not what it seems. Thabo is not what he seems. You must be careful. There is danger here.”

I glanced around the room, searching for the source of the voice, but there was no one there.

“What are you talking about? Who are you?” I whispered, my voice trembling.

“I cannot tell you,” the voice replied, its tone mournful. “But know this: the necklace you hold is not a simple ornament.
“It is a talisman,” the voice continued. “An ancient piece of magic that has been passed down through the generations. It can protect you, but only if you use it wisely.”

I lifted the necklace, feeling the weight of the stone in my hand.
“Protect me from what?” I asked, my curiosity outweighing my fear.

“That I cannot say,” the voice replied. “Only that the shadows are gathering. You must be vigilant. Trust your instincts.”

I was about to ask another question when I heard a creak from the hallway. Someone was coming.

I hastily replaced the necklace in the box and shut the latch, then stepped away from the table, trying to look casual. Just as I turned around, Mama Sizakele entered the room, her eyebrows raised in surprise.

“What are you doing in here?” Mama Sizakele demanded, her voice icy.

I swallowed hard, trying to come up with an explanation.
“I was just...um, looking around,” I stammered. “I didn’t know this room was here.”

Mama Sizakele’s eyes narrowed. “This room is not for you,” she said. “You are not part of this family.”

I felt a flash of anger at her words, but I bit my tongue.
As Mama Sizakele turned to leave, I noticed that her gaze lingered on the box for a moment too long. She seemed to be weighing something in her mind, her expression calculating.

“You are a stranger here,” she said finally, her tone hard. “You should remember that.”

She swept out of the room without another word, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

I felt a knot of tension in my stomach, a growing sense that something was amiss. What was in that room? What was Mama Sizakele hiding?

...

The next few days passed uneventfully, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was brewing just below the surface. Every now and then, I’d catch Mama Sizakele watching me, her eyes like daggers.

Then, one evening, as I was helping Thabo in the garden, I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned around to see Mama Sizakele standing there, a blank expression on her face.

“Come with me,” she said, her tone curt. “There is something you need to see.”
I followed Mama Sizakele through the house, down a hallway I'd never been in before. I could feel the weight of her gaze on my back, making the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

Finally, she stopped at a heavy wooden door, her hand resting on the handle. “This is the secret of our family,” she said, her voice barely more than a whisper. “You must promise not to tell anyone what you see.”

I nodded, your heart racing.
Mama Sizakele opened the door, revealing a darkened room. She stepped inside, gesturing for me to follow.

The room was unlike any I’d ever seen before. The walls were covered in strange symbols and intricate carvings, and a large stone altar stood in the center of the room. On the altar was a large, spherical object, pulsing with an eerie green light.

Mama Sizakele turned to face you, her eyes glowing with an unearthly light.
“This is the heart of our power,” she said, her voice strangely serene. “This is the source of our magic.”

She approached the altar, reaching out to touch the pulsing orb. As her hand made contact, the light intensified, bathing the room in a green glow.

“This is why we brought you here,” she said, turning to face me. “We need your help to keep the heart alive.”