A little gallery of the process from initial sketches to finished. And yes… at some point I get super engrossed in the drawing and totally forget to take progress shots. >_< 😛
Rose quartz and Daffodils, candles and self,
under the moonlight I gather my spell.
A bond once filled with emotional health
has been reduced to a torturous hell.
I hug myself. From my heart I thaw frost
(and cradle the broken pieces with care)
Rewrite history to salvage the lost
and capture my love in a well laid snare.
Oh Goddess I lay bare my intentions,
I assure you they are nothing but pure
I’d appreciate your interventions,
To help me stop feeling so insecure.
Undo the heartache, painful and tragic,
Renew self-love with this act of magic.
It certainly has been a while since I last made a post. I had many good intentions, but was very swiftly overwhelmed with everything I wanted to do and it inevitably led me to a downward spiral in which almost nothing got done.
But life is a series of falling down and getting back up again and here I am, getting back up.
And to begin, here is a small update of what I have been working on.
Most of last year was dedicated to Sculpture. Primarily, I was making bonsai pots out of concrete, some more artistically leaning than others. I set up an Etsy shop and even sold a few, but it was a venture that came with a few problems that I’ve found hard to reconcile. Concrete is heavy. It’s also pretty fragile. The weight makes for really high shipping fees and when you have a product that needs to ship all the way from Australia, well, it gets expensive.
I did also experience breakages on items that I thought were really well wrapped. I seriously underestimated the amount of cushioning my delicate, chunky, babies would need. Luckily, those were sent to my parents and I didn’t have any unfortunate customer care situations to manage. It did however show me how easily I could end up with an unfortunate mishap.
I do love sculpture and I thoroughly enjoy mixing it up with bonsai and other plants, but after giving it a year, I think its safe to say that it’s an activity best left as a hobby for now.
So where does that leave me and my Fine Arts degree? Spiralling in self doubt and existential dread. I did a lot of that. It seriously messed with my productivity. It took a stern pep talk from myself, and a really long time, to pull myself out of that mess and come up with a plan. A project. Something.
Enter my saviour: Alice in Wonderland.
I decided to choose a book, any book, and make a cover illustration for it. No pressure. No time limit. Just me and the art and however long it takes. I am so glad that I chose Alice.
This painting has giving me my confidence back. It’s bright and colourful and it makes me happy. When I look at it, it reminds me that yes I can do this. I do make good art.
And thanks to Alice I have a sudden wealth of new ideas just waiting to be painted. Of course, I need to finish her still. She has a good couple of hours left to go, but they’re hours I’m excited to get to.
I haven’t taken a tonne of progress shots, but I will be sharing what I have in a future post.
Last year I attempted to do another round of 12 short stories in 12 months. I got 6 stories into it before I realised it was taking too much of my time and seriously impacting the progress on my current novel WIP. It was a really tough call to make, but I made the decision to quit the challenge half way and save what was left of my crumbling sanity.
With the short stories no longer a priority I threw myself into Draft Two. It took a lot of self bribery (in the way of chocolate and clothes) but I got. It. Done.
Unfortunately, it still wasn’t done done.
I am currently deep into edits of draft three and have made it to 50000 words. It is going slower than I had hoped and with the current state of the world, I am finding it increasingly difficult to get much done. Not to mention that I have suddenly become a quarantine-Home-school mom and what time I did have has suddenly shrunk to almost nothing.
But the book is coming along. I am making progress. I even have an excerpt to prove it. 😉
“What does it do?” Autumn heard herself ask. She could not look away from the candle. She couldn’t stop the gaping pit of dread that grew inside of her.
She knew what the candle did. Of course she did. This was a gift like all the other gifts, made to fix her. Only, Zanele had never given her a gift before. Zanele had never even hinted that she cared about Autumn’s lack of manifestation. Zanele was a safe witch.
But not anymore. Just like the rest of them, Zanele was here presenting a gift. Like the rest of them, Zanele wanted her to change.
Zanele began to explain the magic and the more she spoke, the more the pit of dread grew.
“At it’s core, it’s a spell of waking, but there’s a lot more to it. It has threads for breaking barriers and some others to uncover hidden things. And the last bit, the really tricky one, is a thread of life giving. It took me months to work out the intricacies, otherwise I might have gotten this to you sooner.”
This was complicated magic. Difficult magic. Not entirely sanctioned magic. Waking? Life giving? Autumn swallowed.
“I can’t take this.”
Autumn reached out and pushed the candle away from herself. Just the brief touch made her feel like she might throw up.
“Of course you can.” Zanele pushed the candle back. “I’m giving it to you.”
Autumn’s eyes shot up to Zanele’s. She stared, wide eyed. “Is this even… legal?”
“I might be treading some fine lines but, “ Zanele shrugged. “This is for your Affinity, I don’t think anyone would object.” She leaned in close then, a spark of laughter back in her eyes. “Just don’t light it in a graveyard. You might wake up the inhabitants and then we will be in trouble.”
Autumn’s eyes went wide. “It can do that?”
Zanele pushed away from the counter, she laughed. “Not without a very elaborate spell, it can’t.”
Autumn was not convinced. She stared at the candle, horror plain on her face. Zanele spoke softly.
“It’s fine, Autumn. Light it, focus on your core. The only thing that will awaken is your Affinity. I promise you that.” She pressed her shirt straight. “But I do need to get going. Message me if you need to talk more, okay?”
Lucy woke slowly. Sleep clung to her mind like warm toffee. She pulled at her consciousness and watched as it came toward her. It was a reluctant thing, kind of Lucy-shaped, and it was knee deep in a thick, slow moving stream. The Lucy-shaped-thing moved against the flow. It wasn’t making much ground. The sticky sweetness curled and hugged and pulled. It would be easy, so easy, to let go and drift away on that gooey warmth.
A soft “prrp” sounded in Lucy’s ear. Her eyes fluttered, but remained closed. The little “prrp” sounded again, this time followed by a fluffy head butt. Lucy rolled over onto her side and reached out with her fingers. She found fur and a string of frantic purrs followed. The cat was not content with head scratches, however, and kept pacing a small circle, tail, head and sides taking turns to buffer Lucy in the face. She crinkled her nose against the onslaught and pushed herself up.
“Mkay, Mags.. I’m… up… I’m…”
Lucy blinked her eyes. It was still dark. Very dark. Yawning, she reached over to the side table and picked up her phone. The screen lit up and Lucy was momentarily blinded by the light, but then fuzzy outlines became crisp digits and Lucy frowned.
“2:13? You woke me up at 2:13?”
The fluff ball responded by pressing himself tight against Lucy’s side. Her fingers reached into fur again. Little purrs reverberated fast against her skin, but beneath that and between those rhythmic rolls was a slight tremor. A stuttered shiver that didn’t belong.
A dull thump sounded from somewhere beyond the bedroom. Lucy’s eyes shot toward the door. Not that she could make out anything beyond vague shapes. Her brain was still fogged with sleep and her eyes had not adjusted to the dark, not with her glowing phone still in hand.
“Blue?” Lucy’s voice was little more than a whisper. A second cat jumped up onto the bed. Blue stayed near the edge, crouched low and staring into the shadows.
The cat spoke to Lucy as clear as if it were a normal conversation, except Lucy was the only one who could hear it. That revelation had come as a shock. She’d assumed everyone could talk to cats and her parents had assumed she was just a kid with a vivid imagination. It had only been later that Lucy had realised her relationship with cats was more than a little strange. And later still when she realised that the world was a lot more than a little strange.
Another thump came from outside and then the tinny thrum of a pot lid clattering to the floor.
Maggie pressed tighter still. Lucy looked to Blue. “Do you know what it is?”
An Unnatural. In her apartment. At this time of morning? Great. Just absolutely, bloody, great. Lucy weighed her options. She could turn the bedside lamp on, but not only would that momentarily blind her and the cats, it would also alert whatever that thing rummaging through her kitchen was to her sudden change of consciousness. If she knew what it was, she may be willing to take that risk, but Unnatural was a broad term and Blue did not use it lightly. The Unnatural could be anything. Lucy cradled Maggie to her chest and directed her attention back to Blue.
Blue gave the softest of prrps and then dropped from the bed. She crept from the room on silent paws. Seconds passed, the kind that felt like hours, and then Lucy’s mind was filled with Blue again, only this time it wasn’t words, but imagery. It was odd to see through the eyes of a cat, like a kind of grainy black and white film. It always took a moment for Lucy’s brain to catch up and begin translating the reels that the felines shared. Lucy was still adjusting to the vertigo of being so low to the ground when Blue peered around a corner and the Unnatural came into view. It was small, maybe around knee height and most certainly humanoid. It waddled on stubby legs, fat feet pattering against cold tiles. Long, monkey arms reached into a cupboard and rummaged through a mismatched collection of plastic containers. The body was covered in a haphazard spattering of bristle like hair. Blue edged closer and Lucy leaned forward with the motion. The bed creaked. The creature spun. And Lucy got a full view of crinkled white skin, glowing orb eyes and a mouth that split into a wide, toothy grin. It could only be one thing.
The creature laughed, a gut wrenching cackle.
Lucy broke contact with Blue. She threw her feet out of bed and flicked on the light. Maggie yelped as Lucy plopped him on the floor and then he secured himself to her ankles as only a cat can. It would have been a problem if Lucy hadn’t made a point of learning how to move with a terrified fluff ball attached to her feet. She grabbed a pair of short sticks from beside her bed and stormed from the room, flicking lights on as she went.
Blue was on the kitchen counter, back bent and hackles raised. She was spitting viciously. The Unnatural danced beneath her. It hissed and spit and blew raspberries. All of his actions a mockery of Blue. All of it followed by that spine grating cackle.
Lucy raised her sticks and banged them together. The Tokoloshe turned to face her. He stuck out his tongue and then laughed.
“Silly cat lady!” He looked at Maggie. “Scaredy cat lady!”
Then he turned back to Blue and threw something. Blue shrieked and bolted from the counter. She came to stand beside Lucy, hackles still raised and eyes shining with murder. Lucy held out one of her sticks and advanced on the devil. “Visiting hours are over, little man.”
The Tokoloshe smiled. It was a horrid, gap toothed thing filled with bleeding gums and rotted teeth. “I’m not done here,” he said.
Lucy bared her teeth and poked out with her stick. The Tokoloshe jumped back. “Haai man! Voetsek with that stick!”
Lucy advanced again. This time the Tokoloshe backed away. He had no real power here and he knew it, but still, that ugly grin remained plastered to his face.
“You want to stick around and see?”
Lucy flicked her eyes down to Maggie and the Tokoloshe followed her gaze. Maggie was puffed to twice his size, and managed a small spit, but for all of that, he still looked like a terrified kitten and not at all like the threat Lucy dangled in the air. But the Tokoloshe understood. They had all heard about the cat, Magma. They knew what could happen if Lucy dared unleash him.
The Tokoloshe looked back at Lucy. This time the smile could not hide the fear creeping into his eyes.
The Tokoloshe grinned. He shrugged. “Maybe another time, heh?” With a click of his fingers, he erupted into a cloud of dust and was gone.
Lucy’s arms sunk to her side and she let out a slow breath. Her eyes panned the one bedroom apartment. The kitchen was an absolute wreck. Most of the cupboards had been opened and the contents spilled across the floor. Bags of meal and rice and sugar had split open. Broken glass lay amongst the wreck. At least the Tokoloshe had not made it to her fridge. It was enough of a nightmare job to clean this without adding food to the mix. Lucy turned. Her living area was even worse. It wasn’t so much a living room as it was her workspace. One side had her day job, easels and canvas and paint and the other held her workbench and all of the tools necessary for her after hours engagements. The canvases had been thrown over. Pages from her sketchbooks torn out and littered across the floor. The abhorrent creature had even tossed her paint tubes to the floor and then proceeded to step on them. Splatters of paint and wildly colourful footprints tracked across the whole floor. And then the other side of it. Books and texts and vials of herbs and tinctures. How on earth had Lucy slept through all of this destruction?
She walked the few steps to her workbench and sank into the single chair in the space. Maggie hopped up onto her lap and Lucy’s fingers went to his ears. Her eyes glazed over and she shook her head.
“What in the hell was that?”
A Tokoloshe? In her apartment? No Unnatural had ever been so bold as to come at her in her own space. Heck, they hadn’t even been brave enough to face her in broad daylight. Not before those fairies last week, at any rate. And things had been ramping up, hadn’t they? Work in the Supernatural had been picking up dramatically, in volume and strangeness. Spirits following living relatives to work. That shared dream between an entire residential block. And now a Tokoloshe ramshacking her apartment, looking for something. For what?
Lucy had no clue. All she knew was that something was wrong. Something was horribly wrong.
She scratched behind Maggie’s ears. “Any idea’s boy?”
Maggie mewled and pushed his head deeper into her fingers. Blue did the cat equivalent of rolling her eyes.
He could have helped.
He could have helped better.
Lucy shook her head. It was no use arguing with Blue about what Maggie did and didn’t do. The threat of him had been enough. Forcing the poor boy to erupt into a ball of fiery vengeance wouldn’t have made any difference. He hated doing it. Better to spare him the anguish. Lucy ignored Blue and went back to the problem at hand.
“I don’t suppose you know what’s going on?”
Something is wrong
“Yes, Blue. I think we all know that. The point is, what?”
The balance is off.
Lucy knew that too. She was just about to voice those thoughts when a shadow coalesced on the workbench before her. A midnight black Maine Coon formed from the billowing mass. He stepped forward, fully intent on a quick nose-kiss, but then he saw the mess and paused.
Hades sat down. His tail flicked.
It’s true then. I had hoped they were just rumours.
It was taken from the Underworld and brought here. Someone has opened the box.
Lucy swallowed. “What box?” But Lucy already knew what box. She didn’t need to ask. She didn’t need to hear Hades’ answer, because Lucy already knew.
Men and women stood in a line. It stretched across barren land and ended, quite abruptly, at a white tent. No birds flew overhead. No creatures scuttled for undergrowth. There was no undergrowth. Only the dirt. Only the harsh glare of the sun.
Gabriella shuffled forward. The man in front of her disappeared into the tent. Soon, it would be her turn. She waited three breathes and then Gabriella stepped out of the harsh light and into the dim interior.
Before Gabriella could prepare herself, a syringe plunged deep into the tissue of her upper arm. Gabriella sucked in a breath. Dark green liquid left the vial and seeped into her veins. The syringe wielding woman ushered her forward.
Another woman waited. She pressed a rapid succession of devices to Gabriella’s person and then, satisfied that everything was as it should be, she nodded.
“Fully synthesised. Please move forward.”
A shattered cry echoed from behind and Gabriella clenched her eyes shut. Sometimes the body rejected the serum, but that was only the first of a list of things that could go wrong. Gabriella moved toward the next station. A man waited for her.
“Arms forward. Palms up.”
Gabriella complied. A needle jabbed into her thumb. Pain jolted and something new awoke. A tiny lick of flame spurted from her hands. The man recoiled, but Gabriella stared in wonder.
A Firesage then. The military was not what Gabriella had intended, but it would do. Firesages were granted asylum.
The man gestured her forward. “Gate seven. Report to Commandant Alyssa on arrival.”
The portal was a mass of swirling darkness. Gabriella shuddered at the thought of stepping through, but there was nothing left for her here. She shed one last tear for her dying world and then, Gabriella stepped into her future.
The hive was beautiful. A drop of sunlight twisting in lazy loops. It all but glowed with promise and Harry licked his lips in anticipation. He squinted up at the hive and his brain began to whorl. The hive was a good six meters from the ground, but that was hardly the problem. The real problem, the thing that gave Harry pause, was the Gigantus Fungalus.
Gigantus Fungalus were a rare species of giant mushroom and this hive, this beautiful font of sweet treasure, was nestled deeply within the black fronds of one such mushroom. Harry stroked his stubbled chin. Even within the Neglar Marshes, a veritable paradise for fungi, the Fungaluswere rare and Harry’s prime directive was to keep them safe.
Well, his actual job was harvesting honey, but it was his personal belief that one could do so without unnecessarily hurting the environment. The whole thing with the bees was unfortunate, but Harry had heard some interesting stories of keeping bees in boxes, almost like livestock and he was eager to try it out for himself. If all went to plan he would be able to secure the queen from this hive and…
“So can I cut it down yet?”
Barnaby was… well, Barnaby carried enough size and weight to make up at least three extra people. His ego was of a complimentary size. Harry scowled at his partner. Of all the muscle in the village, why had he been paired with such an unconscionable jerk?
“No. You can’t cut it down. Ever. We have to preserve the ecosystem. Now shhh. I’m thinking.”
Harry circled the giant toadstool. It’s trunk was a musky off white, the cap a dull brown. The black fronds fluttered in the wind playing a taunting game of peek-a-boo with the hive. Harry pressed his hands against the trunk. It swayed slightly at his touch. They would never be able to climb it, but Harry already knew that. The giant mushrooms could not support the weight of a man. Yet, some of the other species could.
Harry squinted at the surrounding flora. He spied the telltale yellow of Agricarum Agricarum and hurried toward the outcropping. As was particular to this species, they grew in a kind of radiating spiral, each mushroom an offshoot from the one before it, creating a step-like effect. The tallest barely came to a third of the Gigantus Fungalus, but Agricarum were notorious for their springy quality. Harry clambered up onto the smallest one.
“Oh come on! Just let me hack at it!”
Harry ignored his partner and began a gentle bounce. If he could use the Agricarum as a spring board, perhaps he could launch himself high enough to grab the hive.
“You look like an idiot.”
Harry bounced a little higher. He smiled at how quickly he was gaining height and then he was falling. His feet sunk into yellow cap. Puffs of black spore shot out from under the Agricarum. Harry didn’t get a chance to react. Momentum pushed him into the air once more. When his feet found yellow again, the spore cloud erupted. Harry floundered inside the dark cloud, choking to find breath. Struggling to orient himself. He misjudged his footing, hit the cap side on and crashed roughly to the marsh floor.
Harry crawled into clean airspace and heaved. Barnaby stood a little off to the side, shielding his face with a bandanna. His voice was muffled, but Harry didn’t have any trouble deciphering the words.
“Genius plan, Mastermind.”
Harry stood up, still hacking spore from his lungs. “Eh… I forgot… that… about Agricarum.”
Barnaby rolled his eyes at Harry and then he unhooked the Machete from his belt. “Right, my turn.”
Barnaby paused and for a moment Harry thought that his partner had listened, but then he saw the play of rainbow light against the ground and heard the telltale hum of Anisop Pterras. Harry turned to face the large insectoid. It was hurtling straight toward them. Harry felt his chest tighten. The Pterras was as beautiful as it was deadly. All iridescent wings and gnashing mandibles. Man against beast. It shouldn’t have to be that way…
And it didn’t.
“Wait! Stop! Bandannas up. You don’t have to kill it!”
Harry didn’t wait to see if Barnaby had obeyed. He sprinted toward the yellow mushrooms, hoisting his bandanna over his mouth and nose as he went. He clambered up onto an Agricarumand he began to jump. His feet pounded into yellow and he rose into the air. Clouds of mushroom spore following him up. Black filled the air and soon Harry could not see a thing, but neither could the Pterras.
Lungs burning and body drenched in sweat, Harry finally stopped. He waited for the clouds to clear and then he made his descent. He smiled to himself. The spore clouds had been a great idea for the Pterras, but what of the hive?
Harry found Barnaby black with spore. Only his eyes shone out and they were red with anger.
“Are you done?”
“A thank-you for saving me from the Pterras would be nice.”
Barnaby gave Harry a cold stare. “I don’t need any saving.”
It was then that Harry noticed the machete still in Barnaby’s hands. Barnaby swung the blade with practiced ease.
The Machete sang through the air. There was a dull squelch and suck as it cut deep and severed flesh.
It felt like an eternity as the Gigantus Fungalus crashed to the floor.
Barnaby hoisted the machete over his shoulder and began walking toward the cap, toward the destruction and the prize. Harry followed after him, whimpering along the entire length of the trunk.
Beneath the fronds lay the few shattered remains of what had once been a hive. The honey had made a tasty meal for an undisturbed Anisop Pterras.
“Why,” Barnaby muttered, “Out of all the brains in the village, did I have to get the dumbest one?”
Here are the process videos for my Buhle Painting. Still a bit skwonky and all over the place, but I am starting to feel more at home in Photoshop. Huzzah!
The first Video is the initial sketch. I took a pretty long time figuring out how to place her arms. This video is mostly me drawing arms and then erasing arms and then drawing arms and then erasing arms… you get the idea. 😛
The second starts with a few quick colour comps before diving into the final piece.
Disclaimer: Yes, I know I shouldn’t do backgrounds last. 😛
Buhle dipped her oar into the Lagoon. Ripples spread out across the surface, distorting the once prosperous city that lay beneath the water. It had been called Cape Town, but that was before the ocean invaded the land, before the world went mad and before humankind changed. Now it was simply the Lagoon: a place where life flourished above the water and memories twisted in the currents far below. It was those memories Buhle sought. It was those memories that all Salvagers sought. At least, it was that curiosity and desire for something more that first drove them to join the salvaging crews. But time and failure weathered the spirit. Many gave up. They returned to their homes, ready to forget, to become respectable members of society once more. Others simply salvaged for the raw materials their people could use and forgot the dream. They stopped believing that technology could be recovered. It had drowned along with their ancestors.
Water swirled and pressed against the wood of Buhle’s oar. She pulled back, feeling the pressure of the oar’s passage. She felt it through her skin, muscle, bone. She felt it pressing against her spirit, that pushing, suffocating sense that the water had nothing to give. The water could not answer her dreams. It was a terrifying feeling, but the more time she spent below the surface, the more time she spent staring at the strange lines of circuitry, unable to decipher their secrets, unable to bring them back to life, the more it felt like truth. The Lagoon could not answer her dreams.
But it had not crushed them.
Buhle’s gaze drifted toward the distant foothills and the flat-top mountain that rose from them. Even from this distance, she could see the pristine white walls stretching across the summit. The people that lived atop the mountain -the Table- had secrets. At night the mountain glowed with yellow dots, like stars dropped from the sky. The lights did not flicker or dance. They remained chained in place, perfectly still and obedient. The lights on the Table did not burn like fire.
The Table did not share its secrets. Because secrets were power.
To leave the Lagoon, to step onto dry land and enter those foothills meant slavery. It meant torture. Death. Children were taught from a young age never to leave the water, but The Table had secrets, and as far as Buhle could see, the Lagoon had only ghosts.
A soft croak pulled Buhle from her thoughts. She gently rested her cheek against the toad perched on her shoulder and smiled faintly.
“Ah Buddy. You’re right of course, one battle at a time.”
They sat like that for a moment, the toad croaking a soft, almost purring melody and Buhle breathing in the contact like it was a drug. Then her village came into view, and the spell broke.
Thick concrete squares pushed up and out of The Lagoon. They were the last surviving remnants of Cape Town: the top-most stories of high-rise buildings standing defiant against the water. Coloured cloth fluttered on balconies, and everywhere was the activity of people. Men and women gutting fish, children running about and playing in the water. Still others pushing off in canoes to go hunt or fish. Floating walkways had been constructed between the buildings, and the rooftops served as common areas for people to gather. The high-rises made for easy homes -many villages such as this one existed across the Lagoon. Buhle took in a deep breath as she steered toward the docks. This visit was a farewell. She couldn’t tell her family that, wouldn’t tell them her plans, but she couldn’t bear the thought of leaving without one last chance to be with them. One more day of laughter with her brothers, one last chance to be wrapped tight within Goggo’s warm embrace…
But they would have to forgive Buhle first.
Buhle looked up and smiled, the tension easing slightly as she marveled at the ridiculous enthusiasm Wezi could muster for waving. Nathi did not show the same outward excitement, but he was smiling broadly.
“Molweni, my brothers!”
Wezi leaned over to grab the canoe, mooring rope already in hand. He spoke as he worked, every action a vibrant release of energy, “Goggo will be so happy to see you! She has been asking, -and when will that little one that makes all the trouble be coming again?- Goggo makes like life is boring with just me and Nathi at home.”
Wezi’s words should have felt soft, a laughter in the breeze, but they burrowed into Buhle’s chest and held fast. She stood up, her muscles feeling as if they had been replaced with solid stone, and heaved herself onto the jetty. Wezi bounded forward, arms wide to hug his little sister, but then he paused. He stared at the toad on Buhle’s shoulder.
“You have been making trouble.”
Buhle curled into herself. Her eyes stung with the promise of tears.
“Yeah… but… I can still get a hug, can’t I?”
Buhle choked on the silence that followed. Out of all of them, she had told herself, at least Wezi would understand. Now she stood before him, broken and exposed, as he contemplated her with a deep intensity he rarely allowed people to see. Buhle turned back toward her canoe.
“If you… If you think I should go…”
“Oh no… no, Boo, of course you can still get a hug. Hey, it’s okay. You’re still my little sister.”
Wezi wrapped his arms around Buhle and pulled her in tight, switching effortlessly from manic playmate to protective big brother. Buhle nestled into his warmth and allowed a few tears to escape. The hug was over too soon, but when Buhle pulled back, she saw Nathi was already on his way to the apartment. A whimper escaped her.
Wezi wrapped an arm around Buhle’s shoulder.
“It will be better if Goggo has a few moments to prepare. This won’t be easy for her.”
And Buhle did know, but it still stung. Nathi didn’t wait to say hello. He didn’t even give her a chance, he just… left.
“C’mon, let me take your bag.”
Buhle handed her belongings to Wezi and started walking. Her muscles were twitching. This was hard. This was so much harder than she had ever imagined it to be.
“Hey,” Wezi said gently. “It’s going to be alright, you’ll see. Goggo will find a way to blame me and Nathi. You know how it is.”
Wezi’s voice suddenly erupted into a terrible imitation of Goggo. “You call yourself big brothers? Hai! You let my granddaughter run off with a Salvaging Crew! My granddaughter! Of course something like this would happen! You are a disgrace as brothers! Disgrace!”
Buhle couldn’t help but let a smile cross her lips, “You let me run away, huh?”
“Of course. You couldn’t possibly do anything without first obtaining our brotherly approval.”
“And do you approve?”
There were several beats of silence. Then Wezi said, “I understand.”
Buhle grabbed onto those words, simple yet layered with so much meaning, and held tight. No matter what happened, Wezi would always be waiting on the other side of it. Wezi would be her beacon in the darkness.
Buhle blinked and found herself barely an arm’s length from Goggo. She wanted to throw her arms around the old woman. She wanted to confess and cry and have all her sins washed away in soothing lullabies, but that look on Goggo’s face…
Goggo stretched her hand out toward Buhle, but jerked it back with a cry. She brought both hands up to her chest, fisting them in her clothing. Tears gathered in her eyes, and her voice broke on a single word,
Buhle looked at her grandmother. There was no pride shining in her eyes, no warmth, no love. Only the hurt and the shock and confusion that Buhle had caused. Buhle didn’t know how to process it. Goggo, her Goggo, in so much pain because of her.
“I… it.. it was an accident. I didn’t mean for…”
Buhle hadn’t meant to lie, but the look in Goggo’s eyes broke her, and the words tumbled out. There was always talk of spontaneous bondings. No one could actually confirm the phenomenon existed, but the first familiar pairs could not have been deliberate, and so the theory remained valid. Her lie was plausible.
Buhle took a deep breath. It had taken months of careful study and planning. She had spent hours talking to the Bonded, finding out the strengths and weaknesses of their familiars. She had been exhaustive in her quest to know how the bond was formed and all the nuances that came with being Bonded. And then she had made her decision and gone out to find her toad. What she hadn’t spent enough time considering was the impact it would have on Goggo. Truth be told, no amount of time spent considering her family would have changed her mind. Even now, standing in the midst of the pain, she knew she would not hesitate to make the same decision. And so Buhle told them a story as close to the truth as she could allow.
“I was salvaging near the marshes. My mind was elsewhere. I wasn’t concentrating on what my hands were doing… I… I touched a toad and it just… it felt warm. I fell into the warmth… I didn’t think to pull back. I hadn’t realised… and then… ”
Goggo was shaking.
“No! I can’t do this. I can’t… Buhle? Buhle! No!”
Goggo turned away from Buhle and stormed into the apartment block. Nathi ran after her. Buhle stumbled back. She stared at the door. Just a few weeks back, that door had offered her sanctuary and a place to belong. Now they were barriers keeping her out. Now she was the one her family needed sanctuary from.
“I’m going to go sit on the roof,” she told Wezi. “Go to Goggo. She needs you.”
“Are you sure, Buhle? I can stay with you.”
“I’ll be fine.”
Wezi nodded once. “I’ll come find you once she’s calmed down.” And then he disappeared behind that now impenetrable barrier.
It was Nathi who found Buhle perched on the edge of the roof. The sun was setting across the Lagoon, and the chorus of night bugs just beginning. He took a seat beside Buhle. The two of them sat there, legs dangling off the side, watching the world turn orange. When he finally spoke, his words misted over with emotion.
“Mom used to have a toad. It was a leopard like yours. She called him Spudge.”
“Mom… mom’s familiar was a leopard toad?”
“Ah Boo, the picture you painted today. You look so much like her and then… and then you have this toad on your shoulder…”
“No wonder Goggo freaked out as much as she did…”
Buhle wiped away a tear. She had been young when their parents had died-barely walking. Goggo had spun fairy tales of their lives, but she had avoided talking about their deaths. Familiars were to blame, that was all Buhle was told.
“How did they die?”
Nathi shuddered. “It was a lake gull. It came out of nowhere and snatched Spudge. Dad had a gull as his familiar, and he sent it after the one that had got Spudge, but something went wrong. They flew into this huge flock, and soon all the gulls where snatching for Spudge. Dad’s gull didn’t stand a chance, but he tried to fight them all. Mom was screaming on the floor and then dad was crashing down beside her and… well… Uncle Themb, he -he always said that was no normal gull, that someone sent a familiar to snatch Spudge… but…”
“Why would someone want mom dead?”
Their deaths had been brutal. No wonder Goggo didn’t want to talk about it. Buhle had come home with a toad and dredged up all of those memories. A toad, just like her mother’s. Goggo had looked at Buhle and seen the ghost of her deceased daughter. Maybe if they had told Buhle… maybe if they had been more open…
No. Buhle would still have chosen to take a familiar. Her parents’ story was not the first she had heard. It was not new information. It happened, it was a risk, but it was rare. And that was the thing about being bonded. It was a two way street. The creature to whom you bonded gave you powers, but in return you gave it your life. You were forever tied and, anything that happened to your familiar happened to you too.
“I’m sorry,” Buhle whispered.
Nathi shook his head. “I always thought that one day you would come home like this. Deep down, I think Goggo has always known too. You’re restless. Always searching for something more. It was always going to happen.”
“Will she forgive me?”
“I don’t know. But she will feed you. Are you ready to go down?”
Buhle nodded. She would eat, and she would sleep, and maybe she would catch a glimpse of light in Goggo’s eyes.
The oar felt heavy in the water now. Buhle let it drag as tears fell freely down her cheeks. The village was behind her, nothing more than a few smudged blocks on the horizon. Before her, a cluster of canoes waited. Buhle felt broken. Broken and stupid and entirely unprepared. One last day to spend with her family, she had thought, one last day to recharge, and then she would be ready. But the day had left her broken. Dinner had been suffocating. Every time Buhle had tried to explain herself or talk about familiars, Goggo would look toward her. Goggo’s eyes would bore into her and tear little pieces of her heart until it felt like only ribbons remained. You hurt me, those eyes said. You knew that this would hurt me, and yet you did it.
Buhle had not been able to sleep. In the morning, she had chosen to pack her canoe and be on her way, forgoing her original plan to stay for lunch. Wezi and Nathi had hugged her fiercely, making sure she promised to stay longer next time. Goggo had watched it all and finally, when it was all done, she had approached her granddaughter. Buhle had stepped forward, she had tried to embrace Goggo, but Goggo had stepped back, her head shaking.
“I will always love you Buhle, but I need time. Your choice brings out my darkest memories, and you lied when I asked you why. I’m sorry, Buhle. I need time.”
The words sunk into Buhle. She was leaving the water, but her ghosts would be coming too.