Voices shot up in exuberant bliss, lifting so high not even the skies could reach it.
"Mami Mamba, eh! Eh, ah, eh, ah, ehh, ahh! Mami Mamba, eh! Eh, ah, eh, ah, ehh, ahh! Dala way sah Khī, ah, ehhh, li di dah, tehh, li di dah!"
The voices dropped into a deep timbre.
"I care for freedom, yes."
In just a breath, the voices sprang back up into their sprightly chant.
"Mami Mamba, eh! Eh, ah, eh, ah, ehh, ahh! Mami Mamba, eh! Eh, ah, eh, ah, ehh, ahh!"
Everyone poured into each other with the warmth of their energy, breathing life into each click that popped behind the upper teeth, was sucked out at the sides, and was drawn out by their tongues against the roofs of their mouths.
There were shakers and drums and other instruments gliding through, but it was the unified voices that exulted it all. The humming of a deep, orotund voice boomed through, and the other voices bowed to it.
"Amandla!" she sang.
"Awethu!" they replied.
And it went on and on, until the woman raised the song into a sonorous story. Claps and stomping rippled through, and the chanters replied to each word she called out.
Salīa's eyes flickered open, her body tender but her spirit eased by their harmonies.
Sun filtered through curtains woven of reeds and blacktree, drawn back with tassels of shimmering beads made of earth-fruit husks.
The air was laced with various aromas.
Pungent and peppery were the scents of stripped wild ginger and other roots. Wafting over was the warm wood smell of rooibos entwined with the airy sweetness of lavender.
The latter being in a fragrance Salīa always traced to her mother. And while that was comforting, something faint but bitter and damp had her pinching her nose.
Fortunately, that was overpowered as someone crushed some things into a mortar and pestle beside her.
The first scent was the strong, soothing water mint, blended with a hint of mildly spicy wild dagga. But it was the wafting of something like sweet berries, pine, and earth that she knew best. That was hoodjah.
Salīa peered over, groaning as she turned.
"Camille," a child called out. "She's awake!"
Camille? It can't be…that Camille. Can it?
She moved to get up.
"Wait, wait, wait. Tsk."
A sudden soft slap to her arm woke Salīa right up. Peering up to her with twinkling eyes was a little girl, giving her a disparaging scowl.
The girl shoved a gourd to her, one with a blend of all scents, and stared expectantly. Salīa couldn't help but want to throw up at its overwhelming aroma and murky appearance.
"Tsk!" the child shook her head, took the gourd back, poured in a chunk of nectar, stirred it up, and pushed it back into Salīa's hands. "Drink."
Salīa felt no malice from the girl, besides her irritability, but after what she saw with Mkango that night, she couldn't help but be wary.
The girl rolled her eyes, pulled the gourd, took a sip, swallowed, showed her empty mouth, and passed it back.
"Ungrateful child," she muttered, fidgeting with a gleaming chain on her neck.
Did this child just call me a child?
A woman entered the hut. Instantly, the girl's eyes softened, and she made obeisance.
"Auntie Camille, I think she's got marula seeds in her head."
"Child," Camille said softly, but firmly. "That's not the way to talk to our Queen or our Protector."
The girl clicked her tongue and cussed in her own language, but nodded and moved over. Camille sat down, and that's when Salīa saw.
Curly, pecan brown hair, warm honey-brown skin, dark, amber eyes, cheeks high from laughing plenty, and a slender but grand frame. This was that Camille.
"Camille," Salīa cried out happily and hugged her despite the pain.
"My child," Camille hugged her back and stroked her hair. "Now, now, drink your medicine."
Salīa instantly obeyed, enduring each sip, all while staring.
Camille was someone Queen Saoa always said was Salīa's mother from another time. That was because Camille was a bit of a legend in Salazā.
No one knows just where she came from or how old she was, but they all knew of her.
She was called 'Hermit Seamstress' because she seemed bizarre to many and always kept to herself, weaving clothes on a homemade spinner she called her wheel of fortune.
Since her clothes have attracted everyone from stylish commoners to the most indulgent of royals, it was only fitting that others saw her as one of great wealth, even though she appeared to live humbly.
This also gave her the name, 'Golden Dressmaker.'
There were also strange yet still unfounded rumors about this beauty being widowed a few times over in mysterious ways. And for that, her most notorious name was 'Black Widow.'
But to Salīa, she's Camille.
A pleasantly odd and gentle, but mighty soul with a sweet tooth, who preferred to be home alone but always enjoyed company with the ones she loves and will easily talk abundantly like a happy child.
Although she'd never say it, you should never come empty-handed, as she will welcome you more cheerfully if arriving with treats and something to entertain her.
As it so happened, she found most people to be quite the nuisance, so she usually surrounded herself with spirited children and all sorts of cats, dogs, and birds.
"You left Salazā so long ago, and without a trace, I thought I'd never see you again."
Salīa wiped a tear.
Camille also smelled of lavender and was a great friend to her mother, so she couldn't help but recall moments from her childhood. Yet all the bitterness of those memories suddenly sweetened, feeling like knots being kneaded out of one's back.
"You didn't?" Camille peered at Hawking, who perched up on her shoulder, nuzzling her. She kissed him on the forehead and said, "I'm surprised he didn't tell you where to find me."
"He?"
Camille smiled and gestured to Hawking.
"Didn't he tell you?"
"Tell me? You mean deliver a letter you wrote?"
"Now, why would I bother to do that?" Camille wavered a hand. "When he's perfectly capable of telling you himself."
"Telling me?"
Salīa scratched the back of her head, laughing nervously.
I forgot she can be a little bizarre.
"Ah, well, he's not really the talkative type."
Camille harrumphed.
"That's a bunch of elephant dung. He talks my ear off all the time. Never stops. Dusk 'til dawn, he's always going on about something. You should teach him some manners."
Salīa pushed a smile forth, nodding awkwardly.
"Of course, I'll do that."
"But at least you always bring me a pouch of sweets when you visit, don't you?" she cooed.
Salīa almost expected to hear her bird saying something, but Hawking only bobbed his head.
"Wait. Does he come to visit you often?"
"Oh, yes. All the time. How rude of him to never mention it. But I guess you just wanted me to yourself, didn't you?" Camille gently rubbed his feathers to Hawking's delight. "But it was him calling out that night that helped us find you."
Her face suddenly went solemn, and she reached for Salīa's hand.
"I'm glad you're safe."
Just then, all the moments of that night stitched themselves together, kicking the pulse of her heart up.
"Bazil," she said, breathing uneasily. "Is he…"
"The child is fine," the girl said blandly, opening her palm of sunflowers to Hawking. "A lot more grateful than you. But he needed a lot of medicine, so he'll be sleeping much longer."
"I need to see him."
The girl instantly said, "No, you don't," and shook her head dismissively. As Salīa protested, she was again cut off with the girl's "Tsk!"
"I'm seeing him." She stood.
"Do you want him to die?"
"What did you say?!" Salīa snarled.
This had the girl's eyes widening as she hid her face behind Camille.
"Sit," Camille insisted, her eyes darkening at Salīa until she did. "She's just saying that it was hard to pry him off you in that delirious state.
He kept forcing transcendence, with spiritual magic, all while fighting when so heavily wounded. It's a miracle we could stop him from going berserk."
It had already been a lot to take in, but Salīa was adaptable, quickly aligning mythical legends and historical records that first seemed to be children's tales as something that was very much true and existing.
Even though she didn't know much, she innately recognized Bazil's maddening state as the steps into going berserk if not stopped.
"Then why can't I see him?"
The girl craned her head, pouting, and said, "Because you make him berserk."
Salīa felt a web of ache strike through her chest. Some part of those words resonated so deeply that all they could do was sink into her head. Camille glanced at the girl scornfully. She sighed.
"He just cares about you," the girl said sweetly. "And if you care about him, let him rest some more. Don't worry about the rest. He'll find you."
Camille patted the girl on the head approvingly and crooned, "Ah, little bush baby."
"I'm not little," she sulked.
"Nagapie's right," Camille nodded. "I've known both Bazilani and you long enough to know that the best thing you can do for him is get into good spirits. And he'll follow. But enough of that, you should get up. We've got things to do."
"We do?"
Camille, Nagapie, and Hawking nodded.
"You've been asleep for a few days, so you might not know. But today's a special day."
Special day?
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