Nomvula’s eyes flick to the tree, squinting at the knot and the familiar features protruding from the bark. “That’s . . . Elkin?”
“I know it’s stupid, a person trapped inside a tree, I just thought there might be something Mr. Tau could do . . .”
Nomvula smiles. “It’s not stupid at all. The world started with the beauty of the six trees that Mr. Tau brought to life. Maybe he can find it in his heart to do so for one more.” And Nomvula begins to tell Muzi a fantastic story, of trees and crabs and dolphins and snakes and women carved of wood. Muzi has a hard time believing in it, even though he’s sitting smack-dab in the middle of it all. But there is one thing that’s true . . . Elkin is a beautiful specimen of a tree, though if Nomvula is right, hopefully he won’t stay that way for long.
Muzi wades out into the river, the salty warm water stinging his skin. He places his hand against the boulder of a man, slivers in the cut rock hinting at arms, legs, the curve of a spine. It doesn’t take much to sympathize. Muzi has lost, too, and he knows that there are no words that can erase the sting of a broken heart.
“I’m sorry,” Muzi quickly mutters. “I’m so sorry.” And then an eternity passes between the silence. “She must have been wonderful.”
The boulder shifts, becoming less rock, more man. Shoulders rise from stone, ribs, a head bowed forward. “She was cautious, calculating, and cold. Didn’t make me love her any less.”
Muzi laughs despite himself. “I know what you mean. Elkin’s too fiery for his own good, never held on to a thought long enough to wonder if it was a good idea. All heart and no filter. Or at least he was.”
“You think that I can free him from that tree, don’t you?”
“Nomvula said—”
“Nomvula is too young to understand.” The boulder sits up, angular cheeks and a prominent nose glistening against cut granite. He stands, stiffly, then slogs through the river toward the shore, toward Elkin. Fingers break away from Mr. Tau’s rock fist, and he gently caresses the bark. “A fine specimen. I can see why you are so enamored.”
“But the six trees!” Muzi says. “You carved them with your own hands, or was it all just a tale?”
“I am an artist, yes. But that was many, many lifetimes ago, when I was young, foolish, and swept away by love. I had no idea of what I was doing. It was the sacrifice of the animals that brought my wives truly to life.”
“Can you at least show us the way home, baba?” Nomvula asks, so much urgency in her voice. “If there’s nothing you can do for Elkin . . .”
“There’s nothing I can do for him,” Mr. Tau says, but the slight inflection in his voice doesn’t escape Muzi’s notice. Nothing I can do for him. Mr. Tau flicks his fingers, and a black emptiness opens in front of him, the world bending out of its way. A doorway of sorts, but more than that.
Muzi feels the draw back to the real world, but his job here is not yet done. He picks up a sharp piece of rock from the ground and stands in front of Elkin. “You go ahead,” he says to Nomvula. “I’ll be right behind you.”
Her cold, brown hand rests on his shoulder. “Saying good-bye is hard. But he’s at peace.”
Muzi raises the rock to the tree’s knot, angling it like a blade. He begins to cut away, soft bark coming off in delicate peels. The last thing anyone would call Muzi is an artist, but there he stands, carving Elkin’s face into the trunk like the crude rendering of a child’s crayon drawing. As he does this, the pressure to return home grows, a real force against his body now, not just a vague homesickness.
“I’m not saying good-bye,” Muzi says calmly, like he doesn’t notice the rift growing larger, distorting more and more of the surrounding forest like one of those abstract art pieces people throw millions of rand at. Like a whirlpool sucking them in. “He’s coming with us.”
“But Mr. Tau said—”
“Forget what Mr. Tau said. Please, just go now, and heal Elkin’s body when you’re on the other side.”
“Promise, you’ll come through,” Nomvula says, wing flaps now futile against the tug. “Promise me no matter what, you’ll be by my side!”
“I promise,” Muzi says. “Partners, one hundred percent.” Not a lie, not at all. But he doesn’t tell her about his sacrifice.
She smiles briefly before letting the nothing swallow her whole.
There isn’t much time left, and Muzi jabs at the tree where he thinks Elkin’s heart would be, just like in the story. He then turns to Mr. Tau, a grimace on his old face as he studies the mutilation that Muzi calls art. “How do I do it?” Muzi asks. “How do I make the sacrifice? My animal spirit for his life.”
“You won’t have the power to fight Sydney,” Mr. Tau warns.
“I don’t need powers if I’ve still got my mind and my body.”
Mr. Tau purses his lips, then nods. “Such is the price for love. Steep, but it is your decision on whether or not it’s worth paying.” Mr. Tau is a whole man now, though patches of rough stone show here and there on his skin. “You’re certain?” Mr. Tau asks.
“More certain than I’ve been about anything my whole entire life.”
“Very well then.”
Lightning arcs through Muzi’s mind. It feels worse than losing his skin—like his very being is unraveling, like barbwire is running through his veins, shredding his heart, scorching his lungs. He collapses to the ground, rocking back and forth on his knees, his breath erupting from his mouth like a plume of volcano ash. Mr. Tau’s hand presses against Muzi’s ear, and at once, the pain all converges on his eardrum, rupturing with a stuttering snare, plunging him into a blinding white silence.
And then it’s over, almost before it began, and in his cupped hands Muzi holds a crab—a scrawny thing with a dull, rustred carapace and claws, and beady eyes that survey its surroundings. Not in the least bit intimidating. Almost cute. There’s no time to waste, though. Muzi forms a fist and pummels it, fighting his way against the pull of the rift and back toward Elkin. He stuffs the crab pulp into the heart well, and stands back as his carving animates, mouth yawning as if from a thousand years’ sleep. Lopsided eyes blink open. Crooked nose. A masterpiece.
“Muzi? What’s going on?” Elkin’s voice creaks like bending wood, surprising them both.
“No time to explain,” Muzi says, tugging an appendage that’s half arm, half branch, then shoving Elkin through the rift. He then turns to Mr. Tau, the only solid thing left in this place. Thank you, he mouths, for the nothing has nearly swallowed Muzi up too, voice and all.
Chapter 50
Clever4–1
Delusional, then. How very human of you, Clever4–1.1 says, then turns back to Muzi’s limp body, sharp blade at the bulge in his throat.
Clever4–1 tries to stand, tries to strike out, but motor control remains elusive, those functions overwritten by Clever4–1.1’s rogue code. But he does catch sight of something.