4

Neither the Ashaki nor the Muvuli would ever be able to find Kalisha ... not as long as she remained in the darkness of the Underground, an extensive labyrinth of tunnels and sewers of ancient vintage that lay beneath the streets of Khambawe. Kalisha was safe in the Underground. But she was also alone.

She sat still as a stone, the wet surface of a tunnel wall clinging to her back. At first, she had loathed the sensation of dampness constantly seeping into her skin. Now, she welcomed it, because it reminded her that she was still alive; that the gloom that surrounded her was not the endless dark of death.

Her fingers trailed idly across the Mask of Nama-kwah. By now, she knew every contour of the effigy by touch alone. Its shape was as familiar as that of her own face and body, emaciated though she had become during the long time she had spent in hiding.  She sustained herself on fungal matter she foraged from the walls and whatever scuttling creatures she could capture on the ground. Water was plentiful, if not particularly palatable.

Her fingers paused at the dent in the Mask, the single blemish caused when Mofo had hurled it against a wall. Kalisha had smoothed it as much as possible, but despite her efforts, the imperfection remained. She hated Mofo for the way he had defaced her prize when he discarded it – and her. Her ambition to be his consort one day was now as dead as the tsotsis’ rule of the streets. 

And the Mask had saved her life.

Kalisha remembered the night a Muvuli had come for her. She had seen other tsotsis attacked, yet she had, child-like, refused to believe the same thing could ever happen to her – until it did.

Fear had clutched at her heart when she saw a second shadow materialize behind her. It had pulled a dagger from the silhouetted simulacrum of cloth at its waist, even as Kalisha’s own weapon – and her natural shadow’s – remained in its hiding place.  She had stood frozen in fear as the Muvuli’s blade rose, then began to fall ....

Then the light of the Blue Robes’ night-sun glinted from the silver surface of the Mask. And a luminous shaft of illumination pointed the way to an open sewer – the way to the Underground.

Kalisha had not hesitated. She dove toward the opening even as the second Muvuli’s dagger barely missed her own shadow’s back. The dark mouth of the sewer swallowed her whole, and the Blue Robes’ shadow could not pursue her into it. She was safe.

At first, she had loathed the noisome stench of the Underground. And she missed the sun’s light and warmth. And she longed for the sound of other people’s voices, and the sight and touch of them. Eventually, however, those yearnings passed. She came to realize that the Muvuli would never find her as long as she remained below. And neither could other tsotsis bent on stealing the Mask from her.

Before going into the Underground, Kalisha had not failed to notice the covetous glances some of the surviving tsotsis of the Maim had cast at the bundle that was always clutched in her arms. It had to contain something of value ... something worth stealing. Small as Kalisha was, however, there was a glint in her eyes that warned would-be thieves to beware. It was like looking into the eyes of a cobra.

Kalisha was not alone in the Underground. The Mask served as both her companion and her friend. The only time she spoke aloud was when she spoke to the Mask.

She remembered how Tiyana had donned the Mask during ceremonies at the Beit Amiya. She had seen Tiyana become one with the goddess. In her fronting persona, she had been all but invisible to Tiyana and the others she served, so they seldom, if ever, shooed her away. She had watched and listened; observing much, but understanding little.

More than once, Kalisha had wondered what it would be like to place the Mask’s face over hers. How snugly would it fit her? Would she, too, become one with Nama-kwah, as Tiyana had? 

Now, the Mask was hers. She could put it on any time she wanted, and her curiosity would be satisfied. And, on several occasions, she had begun to do so. But each time, something stopped her hands before they could place the Mask over her head. It was as though another, unseen hand placed itself gently, but firmly, over hers, exerting just enough pressure to restrain her without hurting her.

Eventually, Kalisha realized that the Mask would let her know when it wanted her to put it on. Until that time came, she would remain Underground, out of the reach of tsotsis and Muvuli alike. She would remain in the darkness as long as she had to. The Mask would tell her when she should put it on, and leave the Underground, and see the sun and the Moon Stars again.

She ran her fingers across the face of Nama-kwah.  And she sang a wordless song in a voice corroded from lack of use.