MOUNT KWENZI

The climb up Mount Kwenzi began the next morning, and from the very first step, it was clear this would be the hardest part of their journey so far. The path wound steeply upward, switchback after switchback, through forests of pine trees that grew smaller and more twisted the higher they climbed. The air grew thinner with each passing hour, making it hard to breathe, and cold winds swept down from the peaks above, cutting through their clothes and chilling them to the bone. “This is worse than I imagined,” Sungu said, pausing to catch his breath and lean on his walking stick – a sturdy branch he’d cut from a tree at the base of the mountain. “How much further do we have to go?” Rixile consulted the map, holding it carefully to keep the wind from tearing it. “According to this, we should reach the pass by sunset tomorrow – if we can keep moving at this pace. But the map also says there are caves along the way where we can shelter for the night.” Ntila was ahead of them, leading his horse with steady hands despite the steep slope. He’d been quiet since they’d left the river, lost in thought about his parents and what lay ahead. When he heard Sungu’s question, he turned and called back, “The harder the climb, the greater the reward. My father always said that – he was a shepherd, and he’d climb these mountains every year to find the best grazing land for his flock.” They continued upward, stopping every hour or so to rest and let their horses catch their breath. The higher they climbed, the more spectacular the view became – below them, the Valley of Whispers stretched out like a green ribbon between the mountains, and beyond that, they could see the distant plains where Hlaneki Village lay hidden among the trees. To the north, the peaks of Babangu’s mountains rose sharp and jagged against the sky, still covered in snow even though it was late spring. As the day wore on, the weather began to turn. Dark clouds gathered overhead, blocking out the sun and plunging the mountain into grey twilight. The wind picked up, carrying with it the first few flakes of snow – small at first, then growing larger and falling faster until the path ahead was covered in a white blanket that made it hard to see where they were going. “We need to find shelter,” Rixile said, his voice barely audible over the howl of the wind. “The caves – they must be close by.” They pressed forward, their horses struggling on the snow-covered path. Ntila’s horse slipped on a patch of ice, and he barely managed to keep it from falling down the steep slope beside the path. Sungu’s face was pale with cold, and Rixile could see that even with the warm boots his grandmother had given him, his friend was struggling to keep his feet. Then, just as Rixile was beginning to fear they’d have to stop and make camp in the snow, Ntila called out, “There – look!” Through the driving snow, Rixile could see the dark mouth of a cave carved into the mountainside, large enough to shelter them and their horses comfortably. They led the animals inside, grateful for the sudden warmth that greeted them after the bitter cold outside. Once inside, they lit a small fire using dry pine needles and twigs they’d gathered before the snow began to fall heavily. The cave was deeper than it looked from the outside, with a small chamber at the back where water dripped from the ceiling into a clear pool that reflected the firelight like a mirror. “This is perfect,” Sungu said, rubbing his hands together over the flames. “I thought we’d be spending the night buried in snow.” Ntila had already begun unsaddling the horses and spreading blankets on the cave floor for them to lie on. “My father told me about these caves,” he said as he worked. “He said shepherds have been using them for shelter for hundreds of years. There’s even supposed to be markings on the walls – messages from travelers who came before us.” Curious, Rixile walked to the back of the cave where the walls were smoother and less covered in moss. As his eyes adjusted to the firelight, he saw them – symbols carved into the stone, similar to the ones on his grandmother’s stones and the map Mrs Shongotelo had given them. Some were simple lines and circles, but others were more complex – drawings of mountains, rivers, and what looked like two creatures: one with wings spread wide, the other made of twisting shadows. “They knew about the beasts,” Rixile said, calling his friends over to look. “These markings – they’re thousands of years old, I’d guess.” Sungu ran his fingers lightly over the carvings. “Look here,” he said, pointing to a section of wall where the symbols formed what looked like a story. “It shows people traveling to a distant village, finding a crystal, and bringing it back to the mountain. Then there’s a drawing of light shining from the crystal, and the two creatures falling away into darkness.” Ntila stared at the carvings, his eyes wide with wonder. “This isn’t just a story we’re telling ourselves – people have tried to do this before. They knew about the crystal, knew how to use it.” “Maybe they succeeded,” Rixile said, studying the final panel of carvings which showed people celebrating in a village that looked much like Hlaneki. “Maybe that’s why the creatures slept for so long – why they only woke up again recently.” They sat in silence for a moment, watching the fire crackle and listening to the wind howl outside the cave mouth. The snow was falling harder now, and Rixile knew they’d be stuck here until it passed – maybe for a day, maybe longer. “I’m going to fill our water skins from the pool,” Ntila said, standing up. “We’ll need fresh water if we’re going to be here for a while.” As he walked toward the back of the cave, Rixile noticed something odd about the pool – the water seemed to be glowing with a soft, silver light, similar to the light from his stone. He stood up and followed his friend, crouching beside the pool to get a closer look. The light was coming from beneath the water’s surface, just as it had in the river, but this time it was brighter, more intense. As Rixile watched, the water began to ripple, even though there was no wind in the cave to disturb it. Images appeared in the rippling surface – not reflections, but pictures that seemed to be coming from within the pool itself. They saw a village nestled in a valley far to the north – Babangu Village, with its round huts and central gathering place where a tall stone tower rose toward the sky. They saw people working in fields of grain and tending to herds of goats that climbed the steep slopes around their homes. Then the image shifted to show a cave deep in the mountains above Babangu, where a crystal the size of a child’s fist sat on a stone pedestal, glowing with bright white light that filled the entire cave. “Is this… is this a vision?” Sungu asked, his voice barely more than a whisper. Ntila reached out and touched the water’s surface, and the image changed again. Now they saw Mrs Shongotelo, walking through the forbidden forest with a determined look on her face. She was carrying something wrapped in cloth – something that shone with the same light as the crystal in the vision. She moved with purpose through the dark trees, and ahead of her, they could see Rixile, Sungu and Ntila themselves, walking through the forest toward the place where the creatures waited. Then they saw Ntila’s parents, young and happy, walking through the same forest with Mrs Shongotelo all those years ago. They were laughing and talking, stopping to look at plants and pick berries from bushes along the path. The vision showed them finding the rare flower they’d been searching for, then turning to head back to the village – just as the shadows began to gather around them, and the Lord of Birds appeared in the sky above. Ntila pulled his hand back from the water, his face pale. “That’s what happened to them,” he said quietly. “They were on their way back. They’d found what they needed to save the child.” The vision faded, and the pool returned to its normal state, reflecting only the firelight and their own faces looking down into it. “My grandmother said the mountain speaks to those who are meant to hear it,” Rixile said, standing up. “This pool – it’s showing us what we need to know. It’s showing us where the crystal is hidden in Babangu, and it’s showing us what awaits us when we return to the forest.” Sungu nodded slowly, his mind working through what they’d seen. “The crystal is in a cave above Babangu Village, in a stone tower? No – wait, the tower was in the village, but the cave was higher up in the mountains.” “We’ll know when we get there,” Ntila said firmly. He picked up the water skins and began filling them from the pool. “This water – it’s special, just like the river water. It’ll give us strength for what comes next.” They spent the rest of the day and night in the cave as the snow continued to fall outside. They ate their stored food and talked about what they’d seen in the pool, making plans for how they’d find the crystal once they reached Babangu Village. Ntila told stories about his parents – how they’d met Mrs Shongotelo as children, how they’d fallen in love and built their life together in Hlaneki, how happy they’d been when he was born. Rixile pulled out the stone his grandmother had given him and held it in his hand as he listened. The silver streaks glowed bright, matching the light from the pool, and he felt a connection to all those who had come before them – to the travelers who had carved the symbols on the cave walls, to his grandmother and Mrs Shongotelo who had faced the creatures and survived, to Ntila’s parents who had given their lives trying to help others. When morning came, the snow had stopped falling, but the world outside was transformed into a white wonderland. The path ahead was covered in several feet of snow, making it impossible to continue on horseback. “We’ll have to go on foot from here,” Rixile said, looking out at the snow-covered mountain slope. “We can leave the horses here – they’ll be safe in the cave, and we can come back for them when we return.” They spent the morning preparing for the rest of the climb – packing their supplies into smaller packs they could carry on their backs, wrapping extra cloth around their feet for warmth, and tying ropes around their waists so they wouldn’t get separated if they encountered bad weather or difficult terrain. Before they left, Ntila walked to the cave wall with the carvings and took out a small knife. He carved three new symbols beside the old ones – one for each of them – and beneath them, he carved the words his father had always told him: “The harder the climb, the greater the reward.” Then they stepped out of the cave into the bright morning light, squinting against the glare of the sun on the snow. The climb ahead would be long and difficult, but they were no longer afraid. They had seen what awaited them, and they knew their purpose. As they began the steep ascent toward the mountain pass, Rixile looked back at the cave one last time. The pool inside was still glowing with soft silver light, and he could almost see the images playing there again – the crystal in its mountain cave, the journey home through the forbidden forest, and the light that would finally free their village from the shadow of Xindewula Mountain. The hardest part of their journey was still to come – but they were ready to face it.