Kambili

  … a beautiful young woman with a smooth, deep brown complexion and a short, untamed afro. Her lips were plump, and her large, open doe eyes stared at Gweneviere. As Gweneviere stared back, there was an instant unspoken spark between one another, which was quickly diminished when Thomas once again spoke.

  “Well? How do you like your new slave?”

  Gweneviere’s mouth dropped open, and her eyes widened in shock.

  “I bought her for you while you were at Gerald’s house today. She’s not much of a manual labourer, by the looks of her, but she can cook and clean, which should surely help you out and take some of the load off your shoulders,” Thomas said.

  Gweneviere was mute, still trying to wrap her head around the whole idea, while also being transfixed by the girl’s beauty.

  “God, don’t thank me too quickly. Come on, what do you think?” he urged, nudging Gweneviere’s arm.

  “She’s… amazing, thank you,” Gweneviere replied, still clearly entranced with the girl who couldn’t have been more than a year younger than Gweneviere herself.

  “You’re welcome. Though, I’d be lying if I didn’t say she was for my benefit as well, should you go cold on me again in the bedroom department. Afterall, she’s quite the sight for sore eyes, isn’t she? Well, if you ignore the fact she’s a darky, I guess.” He cackled to himself, almost choking on his phlegmy saliva. “Now then, I’ll leave you two women to get acquainted and delegate the daily chores while I grab a whiskey and await my dinner.”

  Gweneviere hadn’t stopped looking in the girl’s direction since she first laid eyes on her, and it was beginning to feel a bit awkward as neither of them had spoken a word to the other.

  “Hi, I’m Gweneviere, but you can call me Gwen.” She smiled, holding out her hand for the girl to shake, but the girl simply stared at her blankly. “What’s your name?” Gweneviere encouraged.

  “My name is… Kambili,” the girl stuttered in accented English, clearly unsure whether Gweneviere would be a kind mistress or not.

  “It’s nice to meet you, Kambili,” Gweneviere said, gently taking Kambili’s hand in hers.

  Kambili’s handshake was weak and fragile, giving Gweneviere flashbacks to just a few hours earlier when she watched a frail Jericho die. She couldn’t let that happen to Kambili. She wouldn’t.

  “I’m sorry. Though it is nice to make your acquaintance, I am truly sorry that this is your life. If I were in charge of this stupid, rage filled country, I’d have never allowed such vile actions to be lawful. But I promise, I’ll do my best to keep you well fed and safe for as long as you are here with me,” Gweneviere promised sincerely.

  “Safe?” Kambili questioned.

  “Yes, mainly from that retched excuse for a man out there,” Gweneviere replied, shooting a disgusted look through the wall at Thomas.

  “But he is your husband? Is he not?” Kambili asked.

  “Unfortunately, yes, but that’s a long story, that will hopefully come to an even longer overdue end sooner rather than later.”

  “Maybe you could tell me that story one day,” Kambili said softly, warming to Gweneviere.

  “Yes, maybe.” Gweneviere smiled. “I don’t mean to be rude, but might I ask how your English is so good?”

  “It’s okay, I’m not easily offended. I’m a second-generation slave. My mother and father were slaves on a colossal estate. They fell in love and managed to keep their pregnancy secret, and even once they had me, they managed to keep me a secret for many years. I lived in one of the old, dusty attic bedrooms that the masters never seemed to use. My parents brought me what food they could, I had a window to look through, and some old toys that must’ve been forgotten about.” Kambili described her childhood with a grateful look on her face, like she was in some way lucky to have what she did.

  “So, you never went outside?”

  “No, I didn’t, but I knew my parents were doing the best they could by me. And to answer your original question, I could hear the masters and their children about the house and playing outside. I taught myself much better English than my parents had achieved through listening in on their conversations.”

  “So, how did you end up here, then?” Gweneviere asked.

  Kambili answered while keeping an eye on dinner, making sure not to burn it. “Well, one day, one of the masters of the house had climbed up into the attic to retrieve an old family heirloom but instead found me, and then—” Kambili jolted as Thomas’ raised voice bellowed throughout the apartment.

  “I’m hearing a lot of chatting and not much cooking, I’m getting very hungry out here!”

  Clearly Thomas was back to his usual ways after his pathetic attempt at being nice to Gweneviere. Somehow, in his twisted way of thinking, buying her a slave was a good thing. He’d obviously been listening to Gerald and Agatha too much.

  “Sorry, Kambili, we should probably finish our conversation later, before his royal arse gets impatient,” Gweneviere said, making Kambili chuckle.

  Kambili began dishing up the food onto two plates, confusing Gweneviere.

  “Where’s the third?” she asked.

  “Third? Sorry, Mistress, Thomas didn’t tell me you were having company.” Kambili cowered back to her shy ways – her knee jerk reaction to any form of confrontation from a master.

  “Company? What? No, the third plate is for you,” Gweneviere explained.

  “Oh no, Mistress, I may not have been a working slave for very long, but still long enough to know that one doesn’t include themselves in such meals.”

  “Well, I’ve been a decent human being long enough to say that stops now. From now on, you eat every meal that we do, understand?”

  Kambili nodded with a shy smile.

  “Oh, and please call me Gwen, I’m only, like, a year older than you, I’m certainly not your mistress.”

  The term ‘Mistress’ also reminded her of Agatha, and Gweneviere was nothing like Agatha. Speaking of whom, Gweneviere couldn’t help but ponder what they had done with the poor man’s corpse. Poor Jericho was probably tossed away into a plague pit. No one would’ve even batted an eyelid due to the colour of his skin. Gweneviere lost her train of thought for a moment as she began to spiral internally.

  “Okay, Gwen,” Kambili replied, pulling out a third plate.

  As it clinked onto the table, it snapped Gweneviere out of her trance.

  “Come on! There’s two of you now, that’s supposed to make things twice as fast,” Thomas shouted from the comfort of his chair as he took another swig of whiskey.

  “We’re coming, now!” Gweneviere shouted back. “Right, let’s go,” she said hastily, as she turned back to Kambili.

  Thomas sat at the head of the dining table awaiting his supper. There was a candelabra in the centre which Gweneviere had lit with a flick of her finger before Kambili entered. As Kambili walked in and placed the plate of food before Thomas, he licked his lips, appreciatively. It wasn’t clear whether he was licking his chalky lips at the food or Kambili. Kambili inhaled deeply as she walked to an empty chair with the third plate of food. She looked over at Gweneviere to confirm that she was indeed allowed to sit and eat with them. Gweneviere nodded with a smile, and Thomas was too busy, already headfirst into his food, to notice. Thus, she took a seat and began her meal, albeit still warily. After a few minutes, the pig released himself from the trough of food to allow some oxygen to his brain, as well as a sip – or rather a gulp – of whiskey. As he wiped the food from his face, he noticed that Kambili was sat at the table.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” he said to Kambili, while bits of food spewed from his mouth.

  “I said she could sit with us,” Gweneviere spoke in her defence.

  “And who do you think you are to tell this slave girl that she has any rights at all, let alone to sit with us at the table.”

  “I’m not going to treat her like a dog, Thomas!” Gweneviere said.

  Everyone could sense the rising anger in her tone.

  “And I’m not going to treat her as a respected young woman, Gweneviere!” he barked.

  “Well, that’s rich, as you don’t respect any woman at all!” Gweneviere retaliated, slamming her fist on the table with her knife clutched within it.

  “I respect Agatha. Now, she’s a lady who knows how to carry herself and please her husband, you’re just pathetic. Now, I’m not having her eat my hard-earned money.”

  “Your hard-earned money?” Gweneviere scoffed a laugh. “Thomas, I know how much extra you’re making because of me and my magics. I’ve looked into the price of fuel for your ovens, and without me you’d barely be scraping a profit. So, I suggest you change your attitude towards Kambili, or I won’t be lighting any fires anytime soon, let me assure you of that!”

  “Are you sure you want to make threats like that, Gweneviere? I could always—” Thomas was cut off by Gweneviere.

  “Could always what? Find another witch at the next graduation?”

  “Yes, well—”

  Gweneviere once again cut him off. “Good luck trying to find another pyrokinetic witch on such short notice. You see, when I attended the Crone’s school, I was so kindly made aware, by a friend of mine, that I am indeed a rare breed. There’s really not a lot of me out there. So, if it’s all the same to you I would like a part of the money, that my powers provide, to go towards another plate of food, for Kambili, which is still half the size of your own, might I point out.”

  Thomas glared at Gweneviere; his face screwed up more as his anger grew. He huffed at them both, as he had no real retort to come back with. He stood up and, taking his food and whiskey with him, headed to his bedroom to finish it alone in peace. Though Gweneviere should’ve been glad that she stood up for herself, she knew the excuse wouldn’t last, and it wouldn’t be long before he reverted back to his usual, ignorant self. For now, though, Gweneviere was more than happy to enjoy the rest of her meal with Kambili and engage in a conversation where both parties were equally as interested in the other. They sat opposite each other on the sides of the table so that there was less distance between them, and Gweneviere popped open a sneaky bottle of wine from Thomas’ stash.

  “Do you mind if I move this to the side?” Kambili asked, grasping the candelabra that was between them, making it hard to make any unbroken eye contact.

  “Not at all,” Gweneviere replied, as she poured their glasses almost full to the brim.

  They said a cheers as they raised their glasses to one another, clinking them loud enough so that Thomas would surely hear, rubbing salt into the wound. Gweneviere felt Kambili’s knuckles brush hers and as their eyes met, Gweneviere’s soft cheeks flushed pink involuntarily. Gweneviere had always been attracted to both sexes but, in the day and age in which she lived, it was seen as a sign of the devil himself. No one would have accepted that two people of the same sex could entertain such feelings. So, Gweneviere tried to push the feelings of desire she had for Kambili down. After all, if she’d have had a husband like Poppy’s, she might’ve been happy – that was a man worth suffering marriage for. Thomas, however, was just repulsive in every way; there wasn’t a single redeeming quality about him.

  Kambili, on the other hand, was, from what Gweneviere could tell so far, kind and very pretty, but Gweneviere also knew that the likelihood of Kambili reciprocating those feelings was near to zero, and thus she would have to try and ignore her desire for her. Kambili’s youthful face was staring at Gweneviere’s still, as she let out a little smirk at Gweneviere’s blushing cheeks.

  “Should I continue my story?” Kambili asked, waking Gweneviere from her enamoured trance.

  “Huh?”

  “My story?” Kambili reminded.

  “Oh, erm, yes, please do,” Gweneviere said awkwardly, as she tucked her hair behind her ear.

  “Okay.” Kambili smiled at Gweneviere’s awkwardness. “Now, where was I?”

  “Someone found you in the attic?”

  “Oh, yeah, one of the masters of the house found me when I was about ten. Surprisingly, though, they weren’t angry, they actually seemed rather glad. I think they liked the idea of a free slave that they could train from young to obey them. My parents begged and pleaded them to allow me to live a free life. Even more to their surprise, the lady of the house offered to raise me as her own and give me everything I could ever want in life. The catch was that I could never see my parents again. I couldn’t be seen to have a slave mother and father on the property, it wouldn’t have looked good, and the lady was sticking her neck out in the first place by offering to look after me. Her husband wasn’t best pleased by the idea, though she seemed to enchant him with her beauty as he could never stay mad at her for very long. He was truly in love. My parents inevitably agreed, as they saw it to be the only chance, they’d have to give me a life better than theirs. And well, that’s all any parent wants, right?”

  Gweneviere nodded as she thought about her own parents, and reminded herself what she was living for and that she had to make them proud. At least by making something of her own life it might ease the guilt that she felt about failing them in the first place.

  “Anyway, their plan for me worked for a few years. I ate amazing food, I bathed almost as often as I slept, and she taught me talents, like how to play the piano.”

  “Wow, I can’t even play the spoons,” Gweneviere interjected, causing them both to giggle. “So… where did it all go wrong?” Gweneviere shifted her tone in a bid to console Kambili.

  “The lady of the house fell ill and eventually passed, and for some convoluted reason, her husband decided to blame me for her illness. He had always despised me, and I think he was probably jealous that she spent so much time with me. She really did treat me like I was her own. Once it was just me and him, he wasted no time in selling me off to the local slave tradesman. I didn’t even get to attend the funeral. So, I’ve spent the last year being sold from one master to the next, as no one cared for a slave with intellect, they just wanted someone who could complete laboursome tasks, until Thomas purchased me this morning.”

  “I’m so sorry, Kambili.”

  “What do you have to be sorry for?” Kambili asked, confused.

  “I’m sorry that you have to endure this way of life. You’re not property that others should be able to buy, trade, or possess. You’re priceless,” Gweneviere said, reaching her hand across the table.

  “It’s okay, Gwen. Honestly, I’ve had a much better life so far than most slaves, I’m lucky, really.”

  “No, you’re not. Luck isn’t being spared torture, even though you’re a woman, or black. Luck is supposed to be something that affects little things in life. It’s bad luck if you slip in the street, it’s good luck if you find an extra penny in your pocket, or on the ground. Luck isn’t something that should be used to measure the amount of sorrow in a person’s life. I promise, Kambili, you won’t live an enslaved life forever. I will free you.”

  Kambili had kept silent during Gweneviere’s passionate speech. Her eyes had slowly widened as she listened to every word that left Gweneviere’s lips with as much enthusiasm as the last. It was truly captivating to watch Gweneviere talk about something so passionately.

  “Thank you,” Kambili said, letting out a smile as she clasped Gweneviere’s hand in her own.

  “What for?”

  “For not being like everyone else. This world is full of sheep flowing from field to field, guided by one shepherd and his mutt, but you, you go against it all. You swim upstream, and it takes a strong person to do that.”

  “I’m not strong,” Gweneviere said, shrugging off the compliment.

  “Gweneviere, I haven’t known you very long, well, only a few hours, really, but even I can already sense you’re one of the strongest, kindest people that exists. You’ve survived living with that oaf, for God’s sake. Gwen, you can do anything.”

  “Thanks.” Gweneviere smiled, gripping Kambili’s hand tighter.

  “Oh, by the way, I couldn’t help but notice you mentioned your powers earlier. You know, when you were putting Thomas in his place. Could I see them?” Kambili asked excitedly.

  “Powers?” Gweneviere stopped as her eyes suddenly widened tenfold. “Er, I don’t have powers, it was… it was a metaphor,” she said, rather unconvincingly as she stumbled over her words.

  “Gwen, relax, it’s okay. Thomas told me you were a witch. I don’t have a problem with it. Besides, my parents used to follow a voodoo queen back in their days of freedom in Africa. They’d tell me stories about her: a powerful mother figure that protected the people in their village. Well… I guess until she couldn’t any longer. And though I’ve never personally practiced anything, I’m more than open to learning about your magic. So, don’t worry, I know you’re not some child snatching monster. I know much better than to listen to everything the biased town crier’s cry.”

  “Okay, I suppose you have deemed yourself to be trustworthy,” Gweneviere said playfully.

  “I should hope so!”

  “Blow the candle out,” Gweneviere said.

  “What?”

  “You wanted to see my powers, didn’t you?”

  Kambili didn’t say another word as she blew the candles, and now that the sun had set, it left them in complete darkness. Gweneviere had enjoyed watching Kambili’s lips purse as she blew out the flame from across the table. Though they had been plunged into darkness, neither felt scared in the other’s presence. It was more like a comforting sensory deprivation. Gweneviere relit the candles with nothing but a thought. As the wicks sparked back to life, light was restored to the room to reveal Gweneviere and Kambili gazing at each other once more.

  “Wow, that was magical, literally,” Kambili gasped in awe.

 

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