Xiomara glanced over her shoulder at those in her care, while the water folded itself at her command like a length of ribbon, the charged electrons shrinking the distance between hell and freedom. She lost sight of everyone and everything, as they were pressed, compacted, and spun amongst the vibrating fields of particles. Into the liquid void she prayed. Not that she believed anyone was out there who’d care. They were alone––she, perhaps, even more than those she carried through the sea. She was determined not to lose a single life, as she accomplished the time before, and the time before that, and all the times before then. But this was the first time she’d agreed to take a bebé. May the diving reflex not be a myth.
An infant cry was her reply.
Before Xiomara could think, la magia was radiating outwards, a giant force akin to static electricity, bending the water, giving them room to breathe. But her reaction to save her youngest passenger had altered their destination to a place unknown.
#
“We’ve had two breaches of our drone security in two consecutive months,” said Vukile Xaba, Chief of the Amanzi Guards. “For up to an hour, we have a complete blackout, from both in the air and the water.” He paused, giving everyone called into the meeting time to absorb the announcement. “The most likely scenario is drug runners, probably releasing hostile drones to cause a blackout as they bring stock on shore.”
Heads around the table nodded in agreement. The African Union’s crack down had all but stopped drug runs on land. Yet, somehow, their numbers were now climbing in the southern regions.
But it was Nobutho, the Chief’s daughter, who dared to reply. “How can we know if your theory is right if the equipment can’t record?”
Her father grinned, a shark spotting its prey. “Thank you for volunteering for the stake out, Private Nobutho Xaba.”
After the meeting she was issued a wetsuit and diving gear.
“What about hiding on the beach or a boat?” she’d countered.
Her father had shaken his head. “They’ll see it.”
“And backup?”
He gave her a pointed look. “You’re fully capable of performing the reconnaissance alone.”
That look, he used it when referring to her umlingo, her extra sense that picked up the presence of other life nearby. A phenomenon that was cropping up amongst her generation. Many, like her parents, had dealt with it in the same manner as the African Union did: silence. But what was unspoken could still be useful if allowed to thrive.
Three weeks into the operation, Nobutho was finding her umlingo useless. There was too much interference from the anti-electromagnetic shark repellent tech in her wetsuit, which she wasn’t willing to give up. Frustrating, although the disruption was a pleasant break, akin to white noise, creating a unique peace.
Not that she felt at peace when swimming towards Isiqithi Ukrebe. The water always felt colder near the seal’s beloved island. Which wasn’t logical, Nobutho knew, nonetheless, every time she approached it, a chill would slip into her bones.
This operation is a waste of time.
Her scalp itched from the hood. She’d love to rip it off, scratch between her tight rows of braids. The water wasn’t cold enough to warrant it. But her father believed it decreased her visibility.
Like anyone is going to see me on a moonless ––
A shark ghosting to her left leapt into the air, plunging back with a seal clutched in its mighty jaws. The rippling effect sent Nobutho hurdling towards shore. As she attempted to orientate herself, her umlingo picked up a vibration strong enough to penetrate her suit’s electromagnetic field.
She turned towards the force, blinking behind her diver’s mask that was set to night vision.
Nothing.
Even the sharks were gone.
But the soft spot at her temporal lobe was pressing into her skull, screaming otherwise. She blinked again.
Emptiness.
Yet.
A few meters away the water was rolling…bending…swirling…a liquid tunnel, beautiful, terrifying––like an astrophysics documentary on wormholes.
Except this thing wasn’t sucking anything in. The swirling tunnel was expanding, shoving, pushing water away. Her suit hummed and crackled, like the air before a thunderstorm.
Her mask blinked out.
She inhaled sharply.
The air tank seized.
Training took over. Turning towards what she thought was shore, she shed equipment while swimming, fast and strong. A moment’s relief when her knees hit the sand, but her umlingo howled. Struggling to her feet, she ran, as fast as her waterlogged legs would allow, as her umlingo acted as eyes in the dark.
#
There was somebody waiting for them.
Impossible, Xiomara thought. But her body was certain, springing onto the beach as her passengers scattered. The people spread out, darting this way and that. We are the prey, she had told them. And the hunted who run in a straight line are the first to die.
A woman stumbled, struggling with the burden in her arms. The bebé, the third infant Xiomara had transported to this new drop spot, cried out. With the deadly grace of a jaguar, the shadowy figure veered, bearing down on the pair.
A hunter…
The fleeing refugee darted back towards the water and Xiomara. The racing shadow followed, coming within her range, and Xiomara sprang, her body flattening the shadow. Her right arm snaked around the hunter, as her left came to meet her right wrist, creating a lock.
Before she thought it through, she was dragging the flailing hunter into the sea. She loosened the chokehold a tad, as la magia flared, like static electricity. “Contenga la respiración,” she ordered.
The hunter did not respond. Xiomara grasped for the few isiXhosa words she’d learned in the past three months. “Hayi! Emoyeni!”
It was clumsily imprecise, but enough. The hunter took a deep breath before the charged electrons wrapped the water around them, folding like ribbon.
#
The water delivered them into a dim cave where a small fire was dying. Nobutho’s captor released her, climbed out of the pool, looking relaxed, unconcerned.
Nobutho gazed about. There was no apparent exit. Yet her curiosity was greater than her fear. A fear her umlingo was not contributing to, oddly satisfied in the company of her captor’s hum.
Nobutho got out, making her way to the fire, where her captor unzipped their wetsuit, revealing a pair of round, full breasts.
“¡Secar!” A thread bare towel smacked Nobutho in the chest.
“What?”
“O enfermar, tu elección.”
Nobutho blinked. She wasn’t an imbecile, fluent in four languages: isiXhosa, the language of her region; isiZulu, the language of her sister-region; Shona, the official language of the Government of the Southern States; and, Swahili, the language of the African Union’s parliament. She was also competent in German, the language of the Europa Empire; Russian, the language of the USSR; and French, the language of the ruling class in Les Amériques. But she had only the most rudimentary knowledge of Spanish, the language of Les Amériques’ enslaved.
Gain control of this situation.
Straightening up, she asked, “Parlez-vous Francias?”
Her captor snorted, causing her breasts to sway. “Of course,” she said switching, to French, “this is your preference. Outsiders always learn the language of the masters rather than the oppressed.”
Nobutho sucked her teeth. “Spanish is the language of your original oppressor.”
Her captor gave a slight incline of her head. “Touché. Although there is a certain poetry that the descendants of the Conquistadors are now forced to speak German.” She grabbed her long, wet locks and wrung them out. “If not for the enslaved, Spanish would be as dead as the language of my ancestors. Amusing, no?”
Nobutho shrugged.
The woman pulled out two tatty t-shirts from a plastic tub, tossing one Nobutho’s way. Cotton! An antique, as nobody had produced it since the Great Change, which disrupted rainfall patterns and created an upturn in pests. It felt wrong to wear something of such value, but with nothing else on offer, Nobutho reluctantly pulled it over her head, supressing a sigh at its softness.
Untangling her braids from the shirt’s collar, Nobutho asked, “Who are you? Where are we?”
“I’m nobody,” she bowed, “but you may call me Xiomara and this is my home. And you, my Hunter, what shall I call you?”
“And I am also nobody, but you may call me Nobutho. Tell me, how far are we from the beach?”
Xiomara tilted her head. “Over ten-thousand kilometres, unless you are counting as the crow flies.”
“Pardon?”
“I couldn’t let you catch them.”
“So you’ve taken me to…?”
“Hell.”
Nobutho frowned. “That can’t be its name.”
“Better than having no name at all.”
#
“Food,” Xiomara announced.
Nobutho returned from her exploration of the cave walls, taking a seat on the mat by the fire. Xiomara admired the woman’s cheekbones as she served a mug of fresh water with a bowl of rice and beans.
“Merci.”
Xiomara nodded, before returning to the pot, using the spatula as a spoon to eat.
Nobutho paused, giving Xiomara a long look, before glancing back at the mat, bowl and mug.
Xiomara brushed aside the pitying gaze. “Do you have family that will worry?”
“Évidemment.”
Xiomara, herself, knew few who could answer “Obviously,” to such a question. “I will be able to return you to the beach in twelve hours.”
Nobutho nodded. “How did you disable my equipment?”
“That is la magia. When the water bends, the charged particles create a great disturbance to the energy around them, including electronics. But they rarely break.”
“If I hadn’t been floating so close to the surface, I could have died.”
“Unfortunate, I agree,” Xiomara said. “But who goes diving on a night with no moon?”
“But––”
“I tried to find a peaceful way to sort out our differences. If you had caught the mother and baby, would you have been so generous?”
“They would have been taken into custody.”
“And, what then?”
Nobutho’s face smoothed, sharpening her elegant cheekbones. “I don’t know. Our northern states typically deal with illegals.”
“Then forgive me for not being willing to risk leaving you on the beach.”
“I would have treated them with dignity!”
Xiomara nodded. “As I’ve treated you, and I will continue to do until I have you home.”
Nobutho’s eyes narrowed. “How do you know I’ll be content to wait?”
Xiomara laughed, the cynical mirth echoing off the stone walls. “And what would you do next, my Hunter? Even if you survived the lacuna and reached land, who would help? This is not the North, where your country’s weight might be enough to save you. Down here in the Southern Hemisphere,” she snorted, “your value would only be in your flesh, and you are even darker than me.”
#
“What do you mean they just walked out of the water?” Nobutho’s father said thirteen hours later, when she was back on African soil. “Where did they go?”
“I’m sorry, Tata, but after being in the water all night, my legs were jelly. I could not catch them. I tried to track them, all signs had disappeared.” Her eyebrow lifted. “A pity.”
Her father’s eyes narrowed. “And you got no other sense,” he waved his hands like ghosts, “because there were two blackouts while you were gone.”
She shook her head, ignoring the guilt pooling in her belly.
The African Union had sound reasons for their immigration policies. The global leader was not filled with people dining from golden cutlery and diamond encrusted plates, as the woman implied in the cave. They had people with problems, like anywhere else. Nor was the Union heartless; they had ports of entry and procedures for people seeking amnesty or asylum. However, with Les Amériques so far away, few of the enslaved Spanish could reach these ports.
But sympathy for the refugees wasn’t the only reason she kept her tongue. Her captor’s umlingo was powerful. If she can do that with water, what could I accomplish with my umlingo?
A dangerous thought. The wealth and security of the Union was not enough to stop the superstitious fear over the phenomena. Even the names given to it–– uchawi, umlingo, la magiem, la magia–– fed the sweeping paranoia. Witchcraft, whispered many in the Amanzi Guards. It did not matter that scientific explanations were being offered for why some of the younger generation had an increased sensitivity to life’s vibrations – some could even manipulate the body’s natural electricity. Even the Europa Empire, which prided itself on being founded on logic, experienced a high increase of people vanishing for reasons of “national security”.
But what if there is more to me?
For the first time in over a decade, she attempted to focus on her umlingo, to explore beyond what came easily. But her mind immediately wandered: If my father ever caught me doing this, he’d put me on stress-leave.
With a deep breath, she tried again, concentrating on balancing her breathing, while opening herself up to her umlingo. It replied by drawing her in – deeper, wider – until it was her entirety. It felt perfect, as if a missing piece of herself was clicking into place.
The world hummed with the chorus of vibrations from all living beings, causing gooseflesh to erupt across her skin. Only one living soul, however, made her umlingo sing in reply. Nobutho’s consciousness abandoned her body to follow the tune of the pirate. It felt so natural, there was no time to be frightened as the vibration grew louder. Deeper she went, following the unique music, until with a spark, she was in the cave, watching her captor.
Maybe this is only a dream…
Her umlingo sparked in rebuke.
But if I’m actually here, and she doesn’t know this, then what I am doing is wrong, not consensual––
Because she was captivated, watching Xiomara undress, her long silky hair brushing the top of her breasts. The sight moved Nobutho, but even so, the guilt of her actions pushed her to withdraw. But her inexperience at this new found talent made her clumsy, unable to stir her physical form. Squeezing her virtual eyes shut, she tried to the right thing, and respect the woman’s privacy.
The sounds from the cave stilled, until only the lapping of the pool could be heard. Cautiously, Nobutho opened her eyes, right into the gaze of her former captor.
“I see you, my Hunter,” Xiomara said.
#
The water opened under the darkness of a new moon, twenty kilometres east of Xiomara’s previous drop. Relief spread across Xiomara’s chest as it became clear there was no one lurking, allowing her latest passengers to scatter into this new world in peace. They had no papers and could not speak the local languages, but the adults were all healthy, able to work and provide for their children. They would do fine here. In that, Xiomara was certain. Perhaps never live a life of great wealth, but they would no longer live in fear of their family being split and sold, while whatever they earned would be their own.
Xiomara grabbed a handful of damp sand. The moisture in the grains hummed between her fingers, waiting for her command. It would be so easy to stay here, have a life beyond the cave, raise her face to the sunshine whenever she pleased. She could track down Nobutho, whose watchful eyes were even wider than her own. Ask her why, with all her talents, she was wasting time prowling through the water at night, looking for desperate people who only wished to be free.
Which was why Xiomara could not remain. Yes, it was frustrating that the Camino de la Libertad would only allow her one drop during the new moon. Nor did she have any idea who to appeal to, despite being a part of the organisation. No single section knew all the secrets that the network contained.
Seven lives saved, every twenty-eight days. It sounded insignificant.
“You are the only one who has never lost a life,” her contacts say. “Boats sink, carrier crafts are raided, people suffocate in compartments––we need more like you.”
There were probably more, Xiomara thought grimly, culled by the slave owners the moment there were signs.
The African Union, however, appeared to allow their people with la magia to flourish. Take Nobutho, her Hunter, who’d taken to appearing in her cave once a day like a dreamwalker. Xiomara enjoyed the company, even when they argued.
“You can’t just bring people to my country,” Nobutho had said the other night.
“Why not?” she’d replied as she bathed. “You have wealth and resources to spare.”
“It isn’t what you think.” Nobutho had grabbed the ends of her braids. “Take a look at my hair, plastic beads, not even silver or bronze.”
“Do you understand the value of freedom?”
“If you value it, why return to Les Amériques?”
“Is that what you would do if you were me?” she’d asked. “Abandon your people for your own selfish gain?”
Nobutho had stayed so quiet that Xiomara gave up on her Hunter and finished her ablutions. It wasn’t until she was drying herself, attending to the flesh between her legs, that Nobutho replied. “Next time, go twenty kilometres east from where you dropped me. Operations are spreading west.”
Now, with her precious cargo safely delivered, Xiomara couldn’t decide what surprised her more: that she had followed Nobutho’s warning, or that it hadn’t been a trap.
#
Nobutho secured her mask, with its tracker, to a drifting buoy, under the perplexed gaze of a curious seal.
“Go back to Isiqithi Ukrebe before you become dinner,” she told it.
The seal refused, following her as she swam towards the beach. A drone passed overhead. Nobutho held her breath, keeping her body still and under the water. The seal leapt into the air, nearly brushing the hovering machine, before returning to the sea. The drone moved on, and Nobutho slowly exhaled.
Once on land, she quickly located the bag she’d tucked under an old piling that age had tilted. Snatching it up, she made her way along the beach, heading east, careful to keep her feet on the glossy sand so the sea could lick away her footprints.
The water opened exactly where she anticipated. Seven people scattered onto the beach, while one remained at the water’s edge, hardly visible in the starlight. Nobutho halted, not daring to move until the last of the seven had vanished into the depths of night.
“I see you, my Hunter,” the figure said.
“I see you, Pirate Xiomara,” Nobutho replied.
Xiomara snorted. “Pirates take. I deliver.”
Nobutho approach. “Depends on the perspective. Les Amériques have inquired as to why Spanish-speaking people are appearing in our southern regions.”
“Your Union’s reply?”
“They delicately suggested that Les Amériques should investigate piracy on their own shores.”
Xiomara said nothing until Nobutho’s toes brushed her feet. “What do you want, my Hunter?”
Nobutho handed over the waterproof bag, “I’ve brought you dinner and supplies.”
Xiomara slid the bag over her head without glancing into the contents. “I suppose you are hungry as well.”
“It has been a long night of seals and sharks.”
“Sharks sound dangerous. Perhaps it would be safer to eat at my cave.”
“You make a good suggestion.”
Xiomara took her hand, leading them into the sea.
#
Nobutho paced the cave like a caged jaguar as Xiomara unpacked the bag. There was a great deal of food, as well as a bottle of wine and two glasses nestled amongst clothing. She flicked a chewed nail against a glass rim. It sang. “Good gifts,” Xiomara said. “I accept, enkosi.”
Nobutho nodded, coming over to sit. “How much isiXhosa do you know?”
Xiomara poured the wine. “Maybe a hundred words. But I’ve switched my attention to Swahili.”
Nobutho accepted the offered glass, murmuring “Gracias,” which Xiomara acknowledged with a small smile.
“Swahili would be more practical,” Nobutho said, “if you’re considering changing drop locations.”
Xiomara eyed her guest over the lip of the crystal glass. “I believe things would be easier for you, yes, if I altered my course.”
Nobutho took a sip of the wine. Very little touched her lips, but she took her time, before lowering the glass long and slow.
Xiomara plucked up a knife, running it down a mango’s leathery hide. “I put you in a difficult position. I understand.” Using the point of the blade, she stabbed a golden slice, raising it to Nobutho’s mouth.
Nobutho held her gaze as she parted her lips.
Xiomara laid the fruit gently on the awaiting tongue.
As Nobutho chewed, Xiomara fed herself a luscious piece. It was as if she were eating sunshine.
Nobutho swallowed. “Do not stray any further north of the equator, and avoid the far east of the continent. The Amanzi Guards are the more relaxed of those that patrol the African coastline.”
Xiomara fed Nobutho another slice, this time, following it with a kiss.
#
There was a boat waiting by the buoy. Nobutho’s father was on it, lit up by the deck lights, with her mask dangling from his fingertips.
Stupid! Of course the drones on this beach remained online.
She didn’t fight the armed Amanzi Guards who roughly hauled her from the sea’s grip. They kept their hold on deck, while her father approached. The hard look in his eyes told her she was facing her Chief, not the one who called her daughter.
“Private Nobutho Xaba, you’ve been accused of assisting the pirates plaguing Les Amériques coastline. How do you plead?”
“Innocent, sir.”
He raised her mask higher. “And how do you explain the loss of your diving mask, Private Xaba?”
Nobutho met his unrelenting gaze. “As I’ve reported numerous times, the masks are useless on this mission. Worse, as they impede, because when they are disabled by electrical interference, they leave the wearer blind, with no night vision.”
“Do you believe me to be a fool, Private Xaba?”
“No, sir.”
“Do you believe I would not have made a full patrol before bringing these accusations to you?”
“No, sir.”
He grabbed her face, squeezing her cheeks between his thumb and first two fingers. “I believe you have more to say.”
She lifted her chin higher. “With all due respect, sir, if you have conducted a patrol as thoroughly as you claim, then you, yourself, would have caught the pirates.”
“Insolence,” he spat, releasing her face.
She was returned to land. Within hours, she was informed that she had been put on unpaid leave. All of her electronics were confiscated.
“I am sad for you,” Xiomara told her later.
“Don’t be. They can prove nothing.”
“I find,” Xiomara said, “for many, proof is but a minor detail in their flexible notions of justice.”
#
Xiomara watched as Nobutho’s image faded. Licking her lips, she tasted the memories of their kisses, where they exchanged water from each other’s land. The molecules charged, seeking like for like.
Every being has a unique hum.
“Don’t worry, my Hunter,” Xiomara whispered, “I’ll find you once you reach the sea.”
#
It was the Chief of the Amanzi Guards, not Nobutho’s father, who stepped into her modest apartment without knocking. The man looked her up and down before saying, “Are you not going to offer me hospitality?”
“Would you like something to drink, sir?”
“Yes, Private Nobutho Xaba, a cup of coffee, black, no sugar.”
She returned with his drink to find him occupying her best chair. The only remaining seat in the cramped room was beanbag, whose stuffing had compacted after years of use. It left her at eye level with his knees, which were set far apart, in a deceptively casual manner. But she was no fool. In this position, he could take her out with one kick. He wouldn’t even need to rise to his feet.
He took a long, slow, drag of his coffee, smacking his lips as he lowered the mug. “Private Xaba, I have received information that you talk in your sleep.”
Pressure built at the base of her spine at the notion of being spied on as she dreamed. But she kept her features impassive. “I cannot confirm or deny this, sir. As you say, I’m asleep.”
Her father reached into the inside pocket of his uniform, bringing out his Tamko, which—unlike her recently confiscated model—was the latest on the market. He tapped the screen, and there was Nobutho, meditating, while French dripped from her lips.
She supressed a shiver, as he tapped the screen and returned the Tamko to his pocket.
“Anything further you’d like to add, Private Xaba?”
His voice was light, as if he could hardly care less as to her answer. But she’d watched him interrogate far too many people under investigation to be fooled. She blinked at him, guileless. “I was not aware I was being monitored in my own home.”
“It was a courtesy. The only other option was to place you in confinement.
Tell me, have you long dreamed in French?”
“As stated before, sir, I was not aware I was speaking in my sleep. I can, however, confirm that I’ve been brushing up on my French. It is no secret that my career aspirations have always gone beyond the Amanzi Guard.”
He inclined his head in acknowledgement. “I, too, believed you were bound for greater things. Yet I’d always thought they would be for the good of the African Union.”
“Am I being accused of something, sir?”
He gave her a sad smile that was anything but friendly. “I would like to believe no child of mine would be capable of turning her back on her homeland. But I cannot deny that it is most curious that my most reliable private, with a hundred percent success rate, has failed her current mission.”
“Failure happens to the best of us. I can only apologise and vow to try harder.”
“See that you do.”
He rose to his feet, and she did the same.
“Report tomorrow night,” he said. “It’s a new moon, which our pirates can’t seem to resist.”
#
Xiomara was sorting through the latest collection of wetsuits when she felt eyes upon her. She glanced around until she located the woman’s face. “I see you, Nobutho.”
The woman opened her mouth, then shut it.
Xiomara frowned, as Nobutho repeated the action two more times, without a sound leaving her lips. “Click three times if you are being watched.”
Nobutho clicked, clicked, clicked.
“I hear you. Do not worry, I will not bring anyone to your beaches tomorrow night.”
Fear flashed across her Hunter’s eyes, and Xiomara’s bones grew cold. But it was too late to say more, for Nobutho was fading away.
#
Nobutho shivered as she sank below the ocean’s crust. A shark darted away, repelled by her suit, though it circled back, as if curious.
“Private Nobutho Xaba, report,” said the voice in her ear.
She glanced over to her father who floated beside her. “Nothing, sir.”
Her reached up and pressed the side of his hood. She watched his lips move, clearly speaking to someone else.
Her umlingo flared in warning, but she remained still, as he grabbed her. She kept quiet, waiting, as the shark made another pass.
“There’s been a drop,” he said, “two-hundred kilometres up the west coast. Do you know anything about this?”
She kept her eyes on the shark, who had abruptly darted to the left. “With all due respect, sir, how? I’ve had no communications outside your observations.”
“Are you suggesting it is a convenient coincidence?”
The shark was leaving, with other sea life following its wake. “I am suggesting, sir, that perhaps my intel was correct. That the drops occur on the new moon and my presence in these waters has been noted and the pirates are making logical adjustments.”
“What the––”
The grip on her arm loosened as the water bent and swirled. She twisted away, headed towards the yawing swirl.
“Nobutho!”
She felt a yank on her right fin. She kicked with her left, connecting with her father’s mask.
The water expanded, bloomed, as a squeal cut through her ears.
Silence.
She tossed off her now useless mask and shrugged out of her oxygen tank, while reaching, always reaching, towards the swirl.
An arm snaked around her neck. Nobutho began to thrash. The arm held firm, as a hand patted her head.
The water briefly parted, and Nobutho gasped, her burning lungs greedily sucking in air.
“Shhhh, my Hunter, I’ve got you,” a familiar voice said. “One more big breath.”
Nobutho obliged, and as her lips pressed back together, the water curled around them, folding like a ribbon, as the charged particles hummed.
#
Xiomara released Nobutho once they reached the pool of the cave. She hoisted herself out, then offered her hand. Her Hunter hesitated before grabbing hold. Once on her feet, Nobutho looked bewildered, cold.
“I’ll make us something warm to drink,” Xiomara said.
“I can never go back.” The words were flat. Numb.
Xiomara kept her eyes on her task, poking at the fire, while she scanned for tea leaves. “You can tell him I kidnapped you against your will.”
“I kicked my father in his face.”
Xiomara shrugged. “An honest mistake in the chaos. They, too, were there, and what did they do? Not a thing.”
“No.”
Xiomara glanced up to see Nobutho peeling her wetsuit off, draping it carefully over a rock, before wrapping herself in a towel.
“No, he is suspicious. My umlingo, it is not something we ever spoke about. But he’s noticed how my ability has grown and…”
“Perhaps in time he’ll calm. You can visit him through your dream-walking until it is safe to return.”
Nobutho sank beside her with a sigh. “And until then, what? I’ll be nothing but a burden to you.”
“Nonsense. The world is vast, the water wide.”
Nobutho nodded slowly. “You hardly leave your cave.”
“That is changing. My organisation has finally granted me permission to travel for non-work matters.” She smiled, “Perhaps you’ll consider joining our cause.”
“Hmmm, perhaps.” Nobutho reached out, tracing her rescuer’s lips. “I finally looked up the meaning of your name.”
Xiomara’s smile grew wider, “So you know?”
Now Nobutho grinned. “That our names both mean Warrior?”
“I think this makes us a perfect match,” Xiomara said.
Nobutho replied with a kiss.
End
