Free Crowned by Cheryl S. Ntumy

his lips slightly parted. He’s staring at me as though he’s just seen me in my underwear. I inch away, repulsed.
    He shakes his head and licks his lips. “You saw something. A premonition!”
    I’d never have chosen to have a premonition in his presence, but right now I have bigger concerns. “Where did you get it?”
    He blinks, apparently confused. “What?”
    “The tattoo, Thuli! Who did it?”
    “Oh.” He smiles, back to his cocky self. “I was wondering when you’d realise. Impressive, isn’t it?”
    I see it now – what’s different about him. He’s giving off a new energy, and most of it comes from his voice. It sounds smooth and supple, a snake slithering through grass. There’s magic in it, running from the tattoo to his larynx, adding power to his words.
    I lean forward and grab his arm so I can study the tattoo. On closer inspection I can see that there’s something odd about the ink. It looks like it was applied with a brush rather than a needle, yet the longer I look at the black lines the more I get the sense that they’ve seeped right through to his bones. I turn his arm over, and sure enough I see the faintest trace of an outline on the other side. It vanishes before my eyes, the ink fading until it’s completely gone.
    “What did you do?”
    He pulls his arm away but doesn’t answer.
    “You have no idea what you’re messing with!” I hiss, furious that any gifted would be stupid enough to give a magic tattoo to an ungifted, let alone a freak hunter. “Tell me where you got it!”
    Thuli glances at his watch. “Tea time’s over.” He gets up and gives me a sly smile. “See you around, Connie.”
    I sit there in the empty reception area, my mind reeling. I can’t believe he finally got what he’s always wanted. Thuli Baleseng, freak hunter and scum of the earth, has a gift.
    * * *
    I can’t sleep. I’m agitated and restless, and my bed feels by turns too soft or too hard, too hot or too cold. I’m worried about Thuli’s tattoo. I haven’t told anyone yet, but I’m seeing Ntatemogolo in the morning.
    I get out of bed and sit at my desk for a while, reading a mystery novel I picked up second-hand at the Main Mall. I only get through a few pages, though; I’m too wound up to concentrate. I close the book, fold my arms on the desktop and rest my head on my arms. My mind is full of clashing sounds and images and I need to find a way to put them all in order.
    I raise my head, open the chest and take out the bell. I set it on the desk and ring it softly. Immediately I feel the confusion and anxiety drift away. I remember the person in my premonition – the figure with the pencil and paper. It wasn’t ordinary paper – it was a sketchbook. The person is an artist. He must be the one who drew the tattoo.
    I ring the bell again, and the fragmented thoughts in my head start to knit together. He’s not a tattoo artist; that much is clear. The first time I saw the tattoo the skin looked raised and a little swollen, but now I realise that wasn’t because of a needle. It was because of the influx of energy moving through Thuli’s body – energy his body isn’t used to. His tattoo was done with ordinary paint, and the only thing keeping it from washing off is the fact that the artist is gifted.
    But who is he, and why would he give Thuli a tattoo infused with psychic energy? Money? It’s possible. Maybe the artist is poor and Thuli offered him a fortune. Or maybe Thuli bullied him into it. Either way, I have to track him down.
    I ring the bell once more for luck, then put it away and return to bed. There’s a good chance Ntatemogolo knows this gifted artist; a lot of gifted come to him for counsel.
    I curl up in bed and drift off, my mind clear and quiet. I dream of a forest with rich black soil that smells of living things. I’m barefoot, but it doesn’t bother me. Despite being a child of dust and thorn trees, I am at home in this wilderness.
    It feels old, as old as time