Quickly raising her head, Marimira let out a small cry of amazement. For the same sparrow she had thought slain by Mbodze was standing in front of her, gazing at her with uncommonly intelligent eyes. Just as Marimira realized that the bird must have flown in through the smoke-hole in the roof, a strange transmutation commenced.
The image of the sparrow wavered. Its very outlines appeared to be changing ... expanding, even as the crimson rock had grown into the monstrous Mbodze.
That memory brushed icy fingers of fear along Marimira’s spine. But when the transformation was complete, it was not a zimwe that stood in the place of the sparrow. It was a woman: tall, beautiful, attired in the plumed garments of a sorceress. Only the white bush of hair crowning her head suggested the woman’s true age, for her ebony face was unlined, and her body was as supple as Marimira’s. She looked down at Marimira’s tear-streaked face ... and smiled.
“Are you Chitsimbakazi?” Marimira asked, her voice breaking in wonderment.
“Who else?” the sorceress replied.
“How did you know I needed you?” Marimira asked.
“I didn’t, until I flew here from the Mosima-ya-Fisinzwa – the Country of Ghosts. You see, Marimira, there is a bond between Mbodze and I, though he is too stupid to realize that. When your touch brought Mbodze back to life, I, too, lived again, so that I can once again rid Nyumbani of his loathsome presence.”
Those words brightened Marimira’s spirits.
“And now, you will destroy the demon?” she asked breathlessly.
“No,” said Chitsimbakazi. “You will.”
Marimira’s mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out.
“H-h-how?” she finally choked.
“With this,” said Chitsimbakazi.
She reached into her feathered cloak, and extracted a long bamboo tube. Each end was securely plugged with dried clay, but it was the strange hum emanating from its interior that aroused Marimira’s interest.
“What’s making that noise?” she asked.
“Never mind,” Chitsimbakazi admonished. “Just be sure that you give it to Mbodze when he comes for you in the morning.”
“Wait!” Marimira cried as the shape of the sorceress suddenly became indistinct. “How can tube of bamboo harm a demon that can rip up trees?”
“Trust me,” Chitsimbakazi’s fading voice urged. “And remember ... do not open the tube before you give it to Mbodze!”
Within moments, the sorceress was gone, and a sparrow was winging its way through the smoke-hole before Marimira could say another word.
Bewildered, Marimira held the mysterious tube gingerly. The hum continued unabated, and the bamboo vibrated at her touch.
She resisted a strong temptation to break the clay plugs. And she remembered stories of the battle of magic long ago, when Chitsimbakazi had finally tricked Mbodze into turning himself into a rock so that Chitsimbakazi could hurl him into a land that – she said – was filled with delicious young girls and never-ending herds of game. But the moment the trusting zimwe had simply locked him into the spell, then flown off in her sparrow-form.
Yes, Marimira decided ... she would trust Chitsimbakazi. Carefully she laid the bamboo down. Then she settled herself on the earth that was the only bed Mbodze provided. Despite a few lingering misgivings – and total mystification as to how a bamboo tube that hummed could have any effect at all on the red giant, Marimira fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.
THE HARSH GRATE OF stone against stone greeted Marimira’s return to wakefulness. For a moment, she blinked in sleepy unawareness. Then she realized that Mbodze was pulling the rocks away from the entrance to the crude dwelling. Terror clutched at her heart, for she well knew what the zimwe would do after the last obstructing boulder fell away ...
Then she remembered the bamboo. Quickly, she scooped it into her hands. The steady, vibrating hum from the tube seemed to reassure her as she watched daylight flood into the opening. Then the light abruptly disappeared as the massive body of Mbodze blocked the entrance.
“Are you going to come willingly, or must I drag you out here?” the zimwe growled.
Wordlessly, Marimira rose and walked toward the waiting demon. Mbodze, intent on leering at the more toothsome parts of her anatomy, paid scant attention to the object in Marimira’s hands. Moving aside, he allowed Marimira to pass.
The moment she stepped into the open, she recoiled into Mbodze’s immovable form. For the zimwe had built a huge, crackling cook-fire surmounted by a freshly constructed roasting-spit.
Mbodze gave Marimira a sharp shove forward. She stumbled, and nearly dropped the bamboo tube. The sheer panic she had experienced at the sight of the fire nearly drove all reason from her mind. Then she remembered what she must do ...
Gathering what remained of her courage, Marimira turned and thrust the bamboo into the zimwe’s hands.
“What is this?” Mbodze growled.
“A ... gift for you,” Marimira blurted.
Then she backed away as Mbodze glared in puzzlement at the tube, which looked like a straw in his gargantuan hands. The humming noise was more intriguing to him than where the “gift” may have come from. He held it next to his ear, then shook it. The humming grew louder.
“What’s inside this thing?” he demanded.
“I don’t know,” Marimira replied truthfully.
“Well, then ... I’ll find out,” Mbodze declared, easily snapping the bamboo between his fingers.
Immediately, a buzzing black cloud erupted from the broken tube, and descended upon the face and upper body of Mbodze. The crimson giant roared in pain, and flailed the air with his mighty arms.
Bees! thought Marimira as she dodged the zimwe’s wild lunges. She quickly realized that these were not ordinary bees. They were nyuki, the fire-bee, before which herds of elephants had been known to flee. Where spears and fangs could not penetrate, the stings of the nyuki could. It was little wonder that Chitsimbakazi had warned Marimira not
