Nomvula

25 - A Council of Crones

After her private study and drawing room, the meeting hall was Nomvula's most expensive renovation, however sparse it was. She walked into a large, low-ceiling room with no furniture, no hearth, no rows of benches for delegates. The dozen or so women present were all sitting on the floor, their backs against a south-facing wall made entirely of hardened glass, as was every wall. The floorboards were varnished the warm colour of grain spirits, drinking in the sunlight pouring in from the delegate yard outside, where old village men drank beer idly and occasionally threw a curious glance into the room.

That light brightened the fabrics of all the women's headscarves, lined the polished bellies of their pipes, glinted off the beads sown into their smoking herb pouches. The only thing the light did not touch was the Royal Diviner, who was dressed in black, standing in the middle of the room, her face unreadable beneath clay paint so black it hid even the shape of her lips.

Nomvula stopped halfway between her and the door. "Gifted One, Seer. Be welcome."

The Royal Diviner's face turned towards her. Only the dull whites of her eyes were viable as she turned away again, showing the Queen her back. In greeting, it was a gesture so disrespectful the only other people in the Hundred Hills who could have gotten away with it were the King and his first wife. Nomvula's lips twitched before she realised the issue.

She turned to the closest woman, the youngest of the crones, though she twenty years Nomvula's senior. "Mambovane, may I borrow your blanket?"

The old woman slid a cotton blanket dyed blue off her left shoulder and held it out, her head inclined as custom dictated when obliging a member of the royal house. Nomvula accepted it with a small nod of her own in respect to Mambovane's age and seniority. The blanket was lighter than her own as she folded it over her shoulder. Standing only a few steps from her only rank equal in the Hundred Hills, it was a weight she suddenly missed. Her left ankle felt naked.

"Gifted One, Seer," Nomvula said again. "Be welcome."

This time, when the Royal Diviner turned around to face Nomvula, she spoke, and even the men outside leaned closer. "Where have you been, child?"

Nomvula was holding the blanket hanging off her shoulder, so she didn't have to work too hard at keeping her calm. No first wife loved the second, but the Diviner had held the King's ear since his birth. She had loved none of his three wives, and Nomvula was the only one left to aim her distrust at. Still, this was not a time for making unneeded enemies. Given that the King's other wives and their relatives had all died under contentious circumstances, the Royal Diviner had never ranked too high in the list of people Nomvula trusted.

Nomvula sighed. "I took the Prince and General Dumani on a tour of the Wayfarer."

"And the welcoming ritual?"

"I didn't have time."

"Ah." The Diviner of the Royal House turned to the other women, and only then could Nomvula see the curve of her nose and lips, though her ear and jawline were wrapped in darkness. "So your uppity rivals can observe your lands but not its laws? Your mistake was not calling me to present them to the Keepers."

"They came without warning," Nomvula said flatly. "They arrived in the dead of night, leading a dozen wagons, pissing drunken ultimatums around. And then my day started. Forgive me for overlooking decorum."

"They came without peace." The Diviner's eyes flashed through her shadow mask. "I would have been your warning, your foresight, had you had any. Now you're bending constellations to keep your son alive."

Ma's voice cut between them. "Enough."

If it was peace Dumani wanted, I would not be bending entire chains of stars to keep my son from harm. "Then let us observe the rites when Dumani returns from his private walks."

When the Royal Diviner shook her head, the fine black iron chains in her head scarf tinkled. "Mamkhonto, you are being reckless, and I sense that you hide much. What else has happened?"

The other women were all staring at Nomvula now. Three were from her court, and simply looked on with interest. The other nine lived on Fifth Hill with the Royal Diviner and the rest of Sonele's old court. They looked to her for an answer, and in their minds they already found it wanting.

"I've negotiated peace with Ndlovu."

All the crones sat up straight. The men outside had moved in closer now, their eyes following a conversation they could not hear. Only the Royal Diviner was still, but whatever emotion she kept from her face, it bled through wound in her voice.

"You held talks with Sonele's killer?"

"I did," Nomvula said. "They went well."

She saw the slap coming before the Royal Diviner even made a move. Nomvula stood still and let it hit her. A sharp-knuckled, backhanded strike against the cheek, hard enough to rattle teeth. If she had dodged, she might have spared the Royal Diviner the embarrassment of lashing out; a kinder woman would have dodged and then yelled back to cover the slip of a woman who was supposed to keep the composure and grace allowed only to a speaker for the King's own ancestors. Nomvula straightened her neck and breathed in deeply.

Despite what the Royal Diviner thought, she was not above Sonele, or any of the wives that matter. Not even the King would have escaped punishment for striking a Queen; the elders would have seen to that, and as it was, there were twelve present in this very room.

Nomvula turned to them. The right side of her mouth tasted of hot metal, though she had been careful to put her tongue between tooth and cheek to minimise any chance of a cut. "Old women, I think we should convene later, when the Royal Diviner is of calmer mind."

"No," the oldest woman, Mambhayi, said. The lines in her aged face were deep and long. With great effort, she rose. "This is no time for such heated behaviour."Though Kethiwe owes you a deep apology, she is right. You have kept us in the dark about matters that affect us all."

Nomvula should have nodded or bowed to elder wisdom, or at the very least lashed out herself. But in such times, stillness was an assertion, so she did not move. "Then you will recall my children, Mambhayi, because I left them in charge, and it was not your place to unseat them."

"Asanda may come, but Khaya is still a boy."

"In the absence of his father and his elder brother, he is the man of the Hill," Nomvula said.

"Is he your advisor now?" the Royal Diviner asked.

"Yes, and - Old Ones willing - one day he will be second only to one King Ndoda. When that day comes, you will want him practising the wisdom he learned here."

Mambhayi waved an impatient hand. "He may come, but he may not speak."

"That is fair," Nomvula said.

The Royal Diviner raised her chin, but Nomvula could not read her expression. "It is practical. You are the one with everything to explain."