A Fledgling Abiba by Dilman Dila

Author:Dilman Dila [Dila, Dilman]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Guardbridge Books
Published: 2020-03-30T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter 6

By the time she got back to the city, a dash of light gleamed in the east. The streets were awake with early risers, hawkers peddling wares and kamunye touts screaming to lure passengers to their carriages. Kuri pulled the lesu tighter over her, hoping it really gave her the shape of a bird as Woko had said. She hovered for several moments to get her bearing, and then sped home.

Afraid someone would see her, she flew too fast, and shot through the window too fast, and crashed into the wall. Pain flashed as she collapsed on the bed, and a final cloud of fire burst out. She threw off the lesu and lay still for several moments, catching her breath, willing the pain to ebb away, afraid she would have a lump on her forehead for a few days.

Then, she became aware of Mwima at the doorway.

She scrambled to a sitting position, like a thief caught with her hand in the pot, silently cursing herself for leaving the door unlatched, for not cleaning the ash before flying out. Mwima’s eyes were wide open with fear. She had come into the room earlier to ask for help with Kirabo, who was having bad dreams, and had found it empty, the bed turned to ash. Now, she glanced at the window and knew that Kuri had flown in. A thousand questions rang through her mind, and all had to do with ‘fire-boy’.

Kuri was tempted to chant one of the musezi’s spells, to make Mwima forget what she had seen, but it would also enslave her. She closed her eyes to beat off the temptation, and she saw a flash dream of the mist. She opened her eyes quickly, to find Mwima gone from the doorway. She could hear faint feet falls in the courtyard as Mwima ran to the kitchen.

Kuri rubbed her head as the pain flared. She did not want to lose this family. She liked Mwima. She liked Kirabo. She wanted to grow up with them.

She stepped off the bed. Her feet made almost no noise as she walked on the cold floor, to the courtyard where the roar of the waking city was amplified, and then to the kitchen, where she found Mwima staring idly into a pot. It hissed as the water slowly came to a boil, steam wafting from the lid like a lazy ghost. Mwima stiffened, but did not turn around.

Kuri remained at the doorway. “I’m…” she started to apologize. She swallowed hard to avoid choking.

“Should I be scared?” Mwima said, eyes still on the pot, sounding as though she had flu.

Kuri shook her head, though Mwima could not see her.

“No,” she croaked.

Mwima collapsed onto a stool. The water started to boil, the lid danced and rattled. Mwima buried her forehead in her palms. The moment stretched. The pot became furious. Still, Mwima seemed unaware. Kuri walked over and lifted it off the stove. She stood beside it for a few moments, eyeing Mwima, who kept her face hidden.

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