Painted Pearls

Tyoborha, 11 July, 1889 From her vantage the Black Mountains slithered, rock and woodland strewn artfully as if by God’s own hand.And there, beneath the dark, roiling clouds, a stab of lightning appeared and made its blinding voyage towards the dry, famished earth, awesome and frightening in its brilliance. Her eyes grew wide against the surge, the very pits of her stomach leaping to the tines of her wings, her fingers… ‘‘Liziwe…’’ the very air whispered, consuming her senses; a voice carried on the wings of a falcon.‘‘Liziwe!’’ the sharp tone of her Mother’s voice overcame her, and she sat upright, the hazy edges of sleep escaping her mind. ‘‘Child, what on Earth possessed you to sleep unclothed? Good heavens, and without a covering, as well! You’ll catch your death of cold, mark my words. Wake up! We have compa

 ‘‘The absolute nerve,’’ she muttered under her breath, treading carelessly on any weed or flower that dared cross her path, the clean air invading her faculties, clearing the cobwebs and dust of gossip from the nethermost corners. Exercise, she noted, always did one good.Time became open then, unoffending in the expanse of the rugged landscape as she followed the trail with determined strides ever upwards, towards an outlook she loved best. And there, where craggy boulders stood like broken teeth against the cool horizon, she shuddered suddenly as a gust of wind wrapped its probing tentacles around the thick wool of her shawl.She glanced at the sun hidden behind the thin sweeping clouds, and supposed that people, perhaps kinsfolk, had lived and worshipped and existed on this here woodland for far longer than she could ever imagine.The breeze grew chill, and she pulled her shawl closer.And at last she foun

 ‘‘Hurry up, Liziwe, we will be late!’’ exclaimed Miriam, tugging Elias alongside her as if he were a small child.‘‘Coming, Mama,’’ Liziwe called in a sing-song voice, as she attempted to make her strides as short as possible. But no matter the size of her steps, they did inevitably bring her to the entrance of the church, where the Pastor stood in all his pompous benevolence. His presence served to hold the doors open as much as to greet the congregation, and she scrutinised him for all of a moment, attempting to extract from his manner the subject of today’s sermon. A small and sallow man, the Pastor was, with the shrewd face of a weasel and a vacant glance that seemed to nevertheless hone in on the most unwanted of aspects. The wind whipped her skirts into a frenzy as she approached, the ribbons of her bonnet fluttering behind her. Dr and Mrs Matiwane had already disappeared into the depths of the church,

 Dear LiziweI have solved that case which called me away in such a hasty manner. It was, in the end, divinely simple; but that is not why I write you now. No, now I write on matters most adroit at turning the edge of boredom, that foul, double-headed serpent. It is decided: let us test your mettle. I throw at your feet a case: not a demanding one, but a case all the same. I will endeavour to the utmost not to influence your verdict, and will supply you with ample details, though the challenge truly lies in reading a scene in its natural state; but alas, it is not to be. You are not here, and we must make do, and hope for the best. Nevertheless, I beg of you to send a return with your thoughts, whatever they might be. Think of it, if you will, as an exercise in mental dexterity. The life of the Spinster of Tyoborha could hardly be a challenging one; though I grant that you do have a thirst for knowledge which, I must admit, rivals my own- but only in

 Thunder roared across the vale, a crackling burst that birthed great forks of lightning. The sleek white shards tumbled to the indebted earth, and the shattered heavens flew asunder in feral delight. Deep in their burrows the little creatures cowered, and waited for the rains to subside. And low the storm came, its shadowy wing beckoning over the window where Liziwe sat with hands folded, peering through the thick panes of glass. She smiled, and shifted to a new position, pressing her nose to the window in childish enchantment. There was something so awfully thrilling in the nature of the storm; the unadulterated power coursing through the heavens, and through her fingertips she felt it. It was as if some essence could be harvested from the very air around her, tingling with jagged, electric energy.When she was young, she had often sneaked out from the house, bursting forth at the slightest bloom of thunder and prancing barefoot among the knee-deep brush, howli