Maybe I want to die, his thoughts bite back.
You don’t mean that. You’re still hurting. I wish I could tell you that it gets easier, but it doesn’t.
And what do you know about anything?
Nomvula takes a deep breath and slowly she stops pressing against his thoughts, allowing him access into her mind. Her grief. He doesn’t wade very far, just five or six years into her childhood—five or six years of neglect, days spent wandering the dirt paths between her neighbors’ shacks, wearing nothing but a shit-stained T-shirt, two sizes too large, begging for a few spoonfuls of yesterday’s pap. Then she’d spend her nights curled up next to her nearly lifeless mother, grateful she could give Nomvula warmth if nothing else.
Okay, Muzi says softly. Nomvula feels his muscles untense, and she does the same. We’ll go your way first, but you have to promise we’ll double back and go my way as soon as you’re done.
Promise, Nomvula says. Their lips pull back into a thin smile.
It takes them nearly an hour to learn to walk without stumbling, but they adapt, maneuvering down the hill, keeping their center of gravity low. In the desert valley beyond, Nomvula sees a band of travelers wearing tattered white robes. There’re thousands of them, all with the same steady step, gazes forward. No one speaks a single word. There’s only the ragged sound of their combined march.
Who are they? Muzi asks. Their mouths are nearly their own again, but somehow it’s less awkward to think to each other.
The dead, Nomvula says. She’s not close enough to make out faces, but she feels them. All those people she’d killed in her township.
Your mother could be out there, Muzi says.
A chill runs up Nomvula’s spine, remembering those awful words Ma had called her. She can’t. She’s not ready to face her mother yet. She doesn’t know if she’ll ever be ready. Let’s go find Elkin. That’s what you want, right?
Muzi’s arm comes around to her side for a hug. She flinches and tries to wiggle loose, but he holds her tight. It’s hard, I know. What she did to you was beyond horrible. But if you don’t deal with it now, it’s going to eat you up inside forever. I’ve seen how tragedies can scar people. This doesn’t have to destroy you. Maybe that’s what Mr. Tau wants you to know.
“We can find her,” Nomvula says. “If that’s what I need to do, I’ll do it.” Her voice is wavy in her throat, but that’s the sort of thing she needed to say out loud to make the rest of her believe. And with her words, the bees awaken. The familiar itch breaks out between her shoulder blades, and her wings slice through her back. Muzi startles, then spins around. “Ag, man. This is bladdy sick.” He flaps the wing on his side. Nomvula does the same to hers. His thoughts are further away now, but she still feels his anxiety over the thought of flying. It’d taken them an hour to learn to walk, after all, and that’s something Muzi’s been doing his whole life.
“Follow my lead,” Nomvula says. They get a running start, then she flaps her wing, long, steady strokes. They wobble for a moment, but Muzi matches her after a couple beats. They rise up into the air until the dead are as small as ants. In the distance, Nomvula’s eagle eye sees the dead heading for a cliff that drops off into a mournful sea. Gray waves swell, not waves of water, but of souls crashing against one another, arms and legs and heads cresting and falling. A knot gets stuck in her throat. Nomvula stops flapping, bracing herself against the breeze, and they soar, swooping down as fast as gravity will let them. They buzz over the dead, her eye peeled, looking for that familiar face, and it’s not until they’re nearly to the cliff’s edge that Nomvula finds it.
Mama’s face is ashen, eyes sunken like twin moon craters with a gaze just as distant. She has that same tortured look as the rest of the dead, but it doesn’t bother Nomvula one bit. It’s the look her mother has worn for as long as Nomvula can remember.
The dead plunge over the ledge, dozens at a time. A few of them step into the air, stares focused forward, keeping one foot in front of the other as if they’re walking over a pane of glass. The ledge on the other side awaits them, an oasis of greenery and sweet, red fruit Nomvula can smell from here. On this side, there’s desert . . . cracked dirt and the occasional yucca sprouting stamen as big as a man, or overgrown agave with broad, wide leaves tipped in purple barbs, threatening to cut flesh like a serrated knife.
“Hurry,” Muzi whispers to Nomvula. His thoughts are the same as hers, and they both know that Nomvula’s mother isn’t going to be the air-walking sort.
Nomvula positions herself closer and nearly gags on the sourness of her mother’s breath.
“Mother!” Nomvula calls out. She doesn’t turn, doesn’t even notice that Nomvula said anything at all. Nomvula’s mother gets steadily closer to the cliff’s edge. “Mother, I forgive—” Her voice quavers, not with anger, but with shame. She can’t bring herself to say those words, not in this lifetime, nor the next. Nomvula turns away as her mother is only steps from plunging into the sea, but then she hears a rasping voice above the crunch of footsteps on parched earth.
“I’m sorry,” the voice says.
Muzi and Nomvula spin around, catching a glint in Nomvula’s mother’s sorrowful eyes as one foot steps over the ledge. Nomvula finds herself hoping against hope that she’ll find her footing midair to cross the vast emptiness to safety, but she goes, down, down, down, and plummets toward the sea. Nomvula lurches, and like instinct, Muzi flaps his wing as they swoop over the lip of the cliff, then glide down, pulling their wings in close to their bodies, gaining speed. Below, waves of the dead reach up with soulless eyes and gaping mouths and loose, pale skin draped over skull and bone.
Nomvula reaches for her mother. Their fingertips touch and Muzi maneuvers, angling to wrap his arm around the woman. Then he starts beating his wing, and they slow, but don’t stop. There’s too much weight, both the physical kind and the emotional kind. Nomvula’s so tired of being angry. She’s just so, so tired that she stops flapping altogether, and they begin to somersault down toward the waves.