The many coils of copper wire that adorned Marimira’s arms and legs were indications of her father’s high status in the councils of Nyange. But for that, Mbodze cared nothing.
Again, the crimson giant laughed. A huge hand reached down and closed around Marimira’s arm. The grasp was not painful, but Marimira knew that the slightest increase in pressure would break her bones like dry twigs.
“I know what I will do with you, human-child,” the ogre rumbled. “I will make you my bride.”
Marimira screamed.
Well did she remember the tales storytellers had recounted about the many “brides” Mbodze had taken from Nyange ... and how each of those “brides” had ended up in the belly of the zimwe ...
MANY DAYS LATER, MARIMIRA sat high in the branches of a mtini tree near the house Mbodze had built for her. The luscious fruit of the mtini hung invitingly from the boughs around her. But Marimira refused to touch them. She knew the zimwe wanted her to eat as much as she could, since he preferred his “brides” to be fattened. Fortunately for her, Marimira did not gain weight easily, despite the mounds of meat Mbodze set before her every day. This food, he could force her to eat, for her fear of the ogre grew daily.
If she squinted her eyes narrowly enough, Marimira could see wisps of smoke from the cooking-fires of her home-village. At one time, she had harbored hopes that her father would lead the warriors of Nyange to rescue her from the ogre. But then she had seen the awful strength of Mbodze. She watched him bring in carcasses of buffalo and rhinoceros, which he had killed with his bare hands. She knew the spears of the warriors would only splinter against Mbodze’s rock-like hide, while he squashed their bodies as a man might dispose of termites underfoot.
Even the strength of the fabled gorilla of the forests far to the west would be as nothing against that of the blood-red zimwe.
The first time Marimira had attempted to flee while Mbodze hunted, she became painfully aware that the zimwe had sorcerous skills to augment his strength. When she began to run, the grass suddenly came to life, clutching like green fingers at her feet. The trees reached down to menace her with branches like gnarled, groping arms. And, most terrifying of all, the rocks half-buried in the ground suddenly acquired mouths that cried: “Go back, Marimira. Go back!”
Quivering like a leaf in a typhoon, Marimira had followed the rocks’ advice and retreated. She mentioned nothing of the incident when Mbodze returned. But the leer on his bestial face told her that he knew ...
A sigh of despair fled Marimira’s lips. Not for the first time, she asked herself why she had ever touched that accursed stone. And why, if Mbodze lived again, couldn’t there be a way to resurrect Chitsimbakazi? She knew there were rituals that could be used to call up ghosts – but as a shaper of clay rather than spells, she hadn’t the slightest notion as to how such rituals were performed.
Suddenly, Marimira’s morose reflections were interrupted by the soft flutter of wings above her head. Looking upward, Marimira spotted a sparrow hovering hear her. Instantly, her heart leaped in joy, for the sparrow was the symbol of Chitsimbakazi. Indeed, it had been said that the sorceress had possessed the ability to transform herself into a sparrow at will, so that she could fly away from danger ...
Daintily, the small bird settled on the end of a tree-branch. As Marimira gazed at the sparrow in a mixture of hope and curiosity, the bird spoke in chirruping tones:
“Fear not, Marimira. Tonight, I will come to you and show you the way to free yourself from Mbodze.”
Just as Marimira was about to ask the sparrow why she must wait until dark to be rescued, a thunderous roar shook the air. Staring downward, Marimira choked back a shriek.
Mbodze had returned – and he seemed to be insane with rage. The freshly killed carcass of a buffalo lay discarded behind him. Growls fiercer than those of a lion rumbled in the zimwe’s throat as he seized the bole of the tree in his hand and began to wrench it violently from side to side.
Startled by the sudden lurch of Mbodze’s effort, Marimira lost her grip and tumbled headlong from her perch. Landing heavily on her back, she lay half-stunned as the zimwe continued to vent his rage.
Dimly, Marimira heard Marimira heard a sharp crack that signaled the success of the demon’s efforts. Moaning in pain, she sat up in time to see Mbodze holding the broken tree above his head like a gigantic spear. The fleeing sparrow was only a tiny speck in the azure sky. But when the zimwe hurled the tree-trunk, it shot straight toward its distant target. It appeared to merge with the shrinking dot. Then the tree hurtled back to the ground, leaving an ominously empty sky behind.
Then Mbodze turned to Marimira, looming over her like a crimson colossus. The expression on the demon’s face was unreadable, but the malevolent fire in his eyes as he seized Marimira was not.
Effortlessly lifting her limp body from the ground, Mbodze snarled: “That bird was bad luck. It reminded me of ... her. I think that I will not fatten you further. Tomorrow, your flesh will be part of mine!”
Marimira heard those awful words through a thickening haze that mercifully enveloped her in unconsciousness.
WHEN MARIMIRA’S EYES finally blinked open, she was lying on the floor of the house Mbodze had constructed from shattered trees. By the sputtering glare of a single torch, she saw that the entrance was barricaded by rocks too heavy for her to budge. Then she remembered what had happened earlier in the day: how Chitsimbakazi had appeared to her, only to be knocked out of the sky by the raging zimwe ...
With a moan of hopelessness, Marimira sank back
