The sky was already a luminescent blue, the stars only faintly glittering in the early morning sky, as the car zoomed by. The siren screamed into the empty city streets, its blue light momentarily painted the surroundings. Sizwe took no notice of the traffic lights as he broke all the traffic laws, panic rushing through his mind, he could only think of one thing. “I got to get home, I have to get home”, it was almost a mantra, a way to block all the other thoughts that herald the consequences of his actions this morning. He felt sick and never had he been so afraid in his whole life; well except for that day; Sizwe shook his head, trying to grasp his mantra again, “I got to get home, and I have to get home”.

He thought about the bottle under his bed, he knew he needed his ‘medicine’. The cold stare of the cleric’s mask entered his thoughts, “God, I saw one, I actually saw one, a freakin Cleric, but how!” Sizwe shook his head he didn’t want to think about it; the only thing he knew is that he couldn’t think clearly until he drank some medicine, perhaps on the rocks. The car zoomed past another red light. If Sizwe was honest with himself, he didn’t know why he was speeding anymore; he was very far from the outskirts by now but all he knew was that he had to get away. He had to drive as far as possible from that place. “I got to get home, I have to get home”, he repeated to himself.

​

Suddenly, in the darkness, someone sniffed. A shiver shot up his spine, the boy! The boy was sitting next to Sizwe in the front passenger seat of the small police hatchback. He was draped in the dirty, sweaty black jacket that Sizwe wore but rarely washed. Sizwe looked at him out of the corner of his eye, “Well it’s better than nothing” he thought, “better than the weak garb that he was wearing anyway. They pulled into Sizwe’s parking spot. Sizwe turned to face the boy, “Let’s go kid”, but the boy just sat there, stunned, shocked, scared, all of the above; Sizwe couldn’t tell. Sizwe first calmed himself and then got out of the car and circled to the passengers’ side. He opened the door and gently lifted the boy into his arms.

 

Sizwe stepped through the oak finish doors of his apartment building. The smell of fresh wood oil smelled like a pleasant childhood memory. The door creaked as he pushed it slightly ajar, as quietly as he could. The entrance lobby was finely polished to military perfection, with the subtle fragrance of summer flowers. Even in this time of peace, his neat freak, ex-military landlord obsessively cleaned every part of the building. “eeech ahem”, came the cough of someone clearing their throat, from behind Sizwe’s back. He turned abruptly; “Sneaking someone in, eeey” said the strangely squeaky voice of the muscular military man.

“As you know, Mr Sibiya, all guests should be declared one week prior to their arrival.” The landlord said in a pretentious sneer, “You may live here, Mr Sibiya, but you must still follow the rules; ‘Sir’”. He hated Sizwe and they both knew it, perhaps it was because of the general sloppiness of his manner, or maybe it was because soldiers and policemen have always had a subtle rivalry, or maybe it was the fact that Sizwe never paid his rent on time.

No matter what his reason was, there was always an air of hatred and contempt, even in the way he looked at him. The landlord stood before him, a conundrum of archetypes. He was a bulky muscular man; a decorated veteran of the old war that always wore his shirts and pants, pressed and clean, with a razor sharp crease ironed to perfection. He was always neat with a cropped hair style and clean shaved chin. He was grey by now and much older, but still an obviously intimidating man; until he spoke. He spoke with voice of a terrified mouse, but regardless it seemed to demand respect! “I know Mr Van Wyk” replied Sizwe, as he tried to keep his cool. “It was an emergency; he has nowhere else to go. Sizwe hated how Van Wyk always tried to control EVERYTHING.

​

“Be that as it may Mr Sibiya, we have rules in this building and in this building, we live by the rules.” said Mr Van Wyk certainly not relenting. “What would you have me do Mr Van Wyk, I have a duty to serve and protect, would you have me relinquish my duty to this country.” Sizwe hoped these words would back Van Wyk into a moral corner. “Duty, what do you know about duty, the problem with your generation is that you like to jeepo and take short cuts, you never do the right thing.”Van Wyk shot back. “You don’t pay rent in time; you can’t clean up after yourself, in fact; why didn’t you take him to the station, huh?”

 

Sizwe kept quiet for a moment. Then he straightened up, he certainly wasn’t going to let an old man tell him how to do his job. “Sir, I did what I thought was right, now if you’ll excuse me, I going to my apartment; I don’t have time for this. Step out of the way” commanded Sizwe as he proceeded towards the polished wooden staircase. “Yeah, yeah”, responded the landlord “just don’t forget to pay the rent this time young man! “Just don’t tell anyone you saw us, old man” said Sizwe as he made his way up the staircase. Van Wyk dropped his gaze as he looked at them with suspicion.

 

Sizwe pushed his apartment door open with his back, trying to shield the boy from bumping his head and feet. He lowered the boy and sat him on his rickety chair, and then he made for the light switch. As he clicked the switch, warm yellow light exploded into the room, slightly blinding his eyes that only a moment ago were adjusted to the dim. Sizwe’s room was filled with an uneasy medley of colour as the incandescent light competed with the light blue morning light, shining through this worn thinned out curtains.

In the brightness of the room, he kneeled on all fours and frantically searched for the hard glass bottle that he thought was under his bed. Almighty BRANDY. He found it and poured the amber contents into his short glass.”Aaaaah”, came a relieved sigh from his lips, as he raised the glass to the light and admired the effect of his medicine. The hot liquid was like an electric bolt of power, calming him down but opening his senses. With his mind clear, he could finally take a good look at the boy.

 

Under the jacket the boy wore light cream cotton robes with a blue cloth sash, intricately woven with golden thread, all wrapped almost majestically around his slender frame. He wore similar loose cotton pants with many folds and he was barefoot with an ornate blue bead ankle bracelet around his right leg. The bald headed boy had thick eye lashes and light brown eyes that glistened with curiosity as they fluttered nervously across the room. Suddenly, He spoke.

“Excuse me Sir” said the nervous boy “why didn’t you take me to the police station after you found me”. That was the golden question, even in his panicked state; Sizwe still had enough sense to observe all that was around him. That definitely was a police van outside the building, and it was empty. Could it be that the Cleric was in the police van? But, how? Sizwe took another sip of his brandy; he looked at the boy as he tried to decide his next step.  A tiny growl came from somewhere in the room, the look of embarrassment from the boy told him where it came from. “Young man, are you hungry” asked Sizwe with a gentle smile. “Yes Sir” replied the boy, still embarrassed. “Come young man, I don’t have much, but I think you could use a sandwich and some milk”. The usually dull room was filled with smells of eggs and toasted bread, the small boy sat the small round table, his back to the window as he enjoy the morning warmth that was now shining in. He was obviously hungry, he ate the sandwich with big mouthfuls; lettuce, tomato and caramelised onion hung precariously from the edges of the bread as the boy made quick work of his welcomed treat.

He didn’t speak again until he had drunk his slightly sour milk in one gulp. “I'm sorry about the milk young man, It was slightly off” said Sizwe apologetically “I don’t usually have guests and milk isn’t really my drink; so…”. “Thank you so much, Sir that was a great breakfast.” Interjected the boy; with a large, grateful smile. The boy reminded Sizwe of another young man, in another time, in another place. Things were different then.

The kitchen was clean with the subtle hint that a woman lived there, it was full of fresh smells of eggs, mixed herbs, fresh tomatoes and love. The little boy sat across the table from Sizwe with a colourful book in front of him, NEBULA warrior of the red Star; that was his favourite comic and he loved it when Sizwe read it to him. The boy looked up at him and smiled, he was the happiest when he ate one of Sizwe’s “world famous breakfast sandwiches”, suddenly two hands closed around Sizwe’s eyes. The hands were warm and soft; a scent of fresh jasmine seemed to follow their gentle touch. “Guess who” said a female voice, “aw c’mon, we are the only three people that live here, of course I know who it is” Replied Sizwe with a hint of a giggle in his voice. “Aw Sizwe, you are no fun” she said as she gave him a kiss on the forehead.

​

He turned his head to see her sashay around him; she wore a loose floral night dress that draped itself delicately around her curvy form. He always marvelled at her smooth caramel brown skin and how beautiful she looked in her short afro hairstyle. Sizwe was sure that it was her eyes, however, that caught all of his attention. Big and deep brown, her eyes had a soft glow about them that instantly cast away any dark cloud that might have been lingering around him. He looked all around him, at the small boy with his head full of dreams and the beautiful lady that was all he could have dreamed of; then suddenly, a scent drifted into his nostrils.

It was the sickly stench of something being burnt unintentionally, suddenly the whole room burst into flames! All he could hear was the desperate screaming of a woman and a child and the frantic blood curdling scratching of a man trying to get to them.

"Sir...Sır...Excuse me Sir, please help me" yelled the frantic little boy. Sizwe shook his head; he was back in his tiny apartment. In front of him the little monk boy stood panicking in front of the stove, the milk that Sizwe had been trying to warm had boiled over and was spilling violently all over the stove, sizzling with an angry hiss. Sizwe let out a deep sigh as he walked over to remove the scolding hot pot from the stove, all the while trying to dispel the phantoms of his earlier day dream.

Sizwe being the technology hater that he was, still had an old fashioned flat plasma screen, he hated what he called “new kids’ stuff”; having a holophone was already more torture than he could bare. A pompous looking news anchor-man with the stereotypical sharp edged afro-faded cut was blaring off into his living space. “Well we understand that people must stand up for their convictions”, said the man, in the well-practiced, false empathetic voice that was so common on talk show segments; “but what about the good of the nation?

A bald, dark skinned and grey bearded man, with a husky voice spoke out in response “Is it not good for a nation’s moral fibre to stand up in conviction over their belief?”

 

“But not everyone in this country believes what you believe in” argued the anchor man.

“That is true, but those who do believe should be free to do so; and do so in every facet of their lives” came the collected but husky voice of the dark skinned man. Sizwe realised that this program had be running for a while now and he had missed most of it as he was lost in his day dream. His mind was trying to catch up with the conversation though. He turned away from the stove to watch this program. He saw that the man with the husky voice was wearing white flowing ceremonial robes. His neck was adorned with the intricate beaded neckpiece that he knew could only be associated with a high ranking Ecclesiastic Patriarch. He wore a red stole around his neck, with delicately woven gilded thread, a rich tapestry detailing a scripture tale from the LUMINE. If Sizwe could get a closer look, the tapestry would tell him which principle he has been ordained to live by.

 

Sizwe used to enjoy studying such details; he spent hours reading the Holy book and pouring over the text of history books. He loved reading about the lives of the holy people of the Invisus, the Unseen, as most people called the divine creator these days. He especially loved reading out the brave deeds and conquests of the great paladins of the Old Kingdom. These were men who were chosen by the Invisus to aid others. They were men chosen to bring the holy word to the nations of the world. In the parables and tales, these men were endowed with great powers, which were fuelled by the purity of their hearts and the conviction of their intent. Ecclesiastics could literally move mountains and they forged prosperous cities, they feed the hungry by the grace of divine providence. Their paladins were always victorious in battle, casting out whole armies with the might of the four winds. The paladins, being a warrior class, had long been abandoned in a modern world and only tales of their feats remained.

 

Sizwe’s mother always said he had a good heart; she had prayed and wished that one day he would be a brother of the ecclesiastical order. This always filled him with great pride that his mother thought so highly of him. In his childish heart he wished with all he had, that the Unseen would also choose him for this path, not only that, but that he could also get the power of intent. Whenever he walked in the playground and he saw another child get bullied or pushed around, he wished that he could be blessed there and then and reign divine justice with the hammer of the Unseen. He would make them all scatter like the great Machaera Tenkamenin, who when faced with a powerful invading force, retreated from the open battle field to a narrow pass between two mountains and prayed to the Invisus. The Heavens darkened and then with an Almighty force, the advancing army was flushed out of the pass by a torrent of divine rain in the form of powerful celestial fist. That is what he would’ve done with the bullies. He always felt guilty about these violent thoughts and wondered if the gentle approach of Beatus Idris would’ve been better suited. The sweet Beatus Idris who walked into a village terrorized by a group of armed bandits and converted them to the right path, making them repent and turn to the Invisus.

 

He knew even back then that he had always wanted to protect others. perhaps that is why he decided not to walk the religious path but instead become a police officer. Well this was just a comforting though, he only hoped that was the reason, he didn't know anymore. He had lost his reason for most things, including his reason for living. Any way these scriptures were about a time gone by, Ecclesiastics didn’t have spectacular spiritual powers anymore, today they were religious leaders to those that attend sermons at the temple once a week. Regardless, hardly anyone really believed in them anymore, they were just stories and they belonged to a time of miracles, the age of the Old Kingdom. The only miracle that could still happen, Sizwe thought, was him ever going back to the temple; on any given day.

 

“With all due respect Patriarch, you are not looking at the bigger picture” argued the anchor man the finest soft voice he could muster from his years of perfecting rhetoric “We are a country that is still healing from the pains of war and economic sanctions.”

 

“The war of Secernere, shook us apart, we were divided for so long” Continued the finely dressed anchor man “we need to find new reasons to come together and leave the old reasons that pull us apart, don’t you think.”

 

The anchor man paused for a second, which was confusing, and then continued “especially reasons that have become redundant and obsolete”. Sizwe saw the calm look wash away from the patriarch in an instant, the effect of the pause was understandable now and was done with the most artful execution.

 

“Are you saying that our belief is redundant” boomed the Patriarch.

 

“Some may argue that the Invisus has literally gone unseen over the years” said the anchor man with a slight smirk, “wars have broken out, while the temple has done nothing that aid organisations couldn’t”.

 

“It’s not just about the acts that are needed by the body”, the patriarch rebutted.

 

“So are you saying that people's bodies don’t matter to your faith, Patriarch” shot back the anchor-man.

 

“No it’s that, we as…” the Patriarch tried to respond but the anchor-man interrupted him, “what do you at least have to say about the cleric organisation”.

 

“They are an abomination!!” boomed the patriarch.

 

“So you are saying that it is an abomination to stop the advance of combat vehicles of terrorist right wing force that wanted to massacre a whole town?” said the anchor man sternly, with a look of utter disgust.

 

Sizwe switched off the Television, it was pointless. That ecclesiastic didn't stand a chance, it doesn’t matter what he would have said next, the news today was mostly scripted. The media in general had become less focus about reporting the news and more focused on opinion control. Sizwe felt that they were too focused on making waves and headlines and being the first on a scoop, that they did not give information to open the mind anymore, but rather just told the world what to think. After all what yardstick do advertising agents use to determine which news agency to invest in, what's a better indicator than just sales alone? Sizwe figures that the race to claim and dictate the public's view of a topic made each news agency stand out, and on these confused sheeple(people that act like sheep), the cash would start flowing in.

Sizwe pressed the mute button on the remote; he had more urgent things on his mind. The morning that been a confusing one and he needed answers. He looked at the skinny young boy sitting at his dining table, through his dark grim eyes. The boy was stealing glances at his new and unfamiliar surroundings, his eyes nervously darted around the room. For a moment their eyes connected, suddenly the boy looked down at his feet, clearly embarrassed that he had been caught. Sizwe couldn’t help but smile at the boy’s innocence. Sizwe cleared his throat and attempted to speak politely in his deep husky gruff voice. “Erm...Young man”, Sizwe started “what is your name?”

“My name is Vangeli, sir”, relied the timid boy. Sizwe couldn't help but chuckled at this. “There's no need to call me sir Vangeli” Sizwe added “How old are you?” Vangeli seemed to at once become slightly withdrawn, from his experience as a detective Sizwe knew that the trauma victims often acted this way when confronted with questions. Perhaps the young boy was feeling as if he was being interrogated and Sizwe knew that he needed to gain his friendship first. Sizwe simply smiled at him and casually walked towards the window to let some light and fresh air into the room. As he turned around to attempt to talk to Vangeli again, he noticed that boy's eyes stealing glances around the room again. Sizwe followed the boy's eyes and he noticed that Vangeli was actually looking at the bookshelf on the opposite wall.

It had been a while since Sizwe had actually read anything of note, these days his reading consisted of the criminal reports that he had to deal with every day. On the book shelf were books which were more of a nostalgic keepsake. There were romance novels in their typical pink, blue and red perfect binding, these were old and not generally kept well so the lamination was starting to peel off. These were HER books. There was also a collection of saddle stitched single issue comics as well as a collection of NEBULA comics, and then Sizwe saw it. It had been years since he noticed it, but there is was. Vangeli was stealing glances at the NEBULA action figure. The red skinned humanoid crab action figure had seen better days but Sizwe was pretty sure it still was pretty cool to a young boy. “Would you like to have a look at Nebula, Vangeli” asked Sizwe. Vangeli nodded sheepishly, “So is that really Nebula?” “Yes do you know Nebula, young man” Sizwe asked, "yeah I used to read the graphic novel all the time at the seminary, he’s so cool” Vangeli seemed to come alive at this topic. Sizwe could still remember a few things about this cartoon character, so he decided to show Vangeli that he also knew a thing or too.”

What was happening in the last novel you read” Asked Sizwe. “I can't remember the title of the novel” Vangeli admitted “but I remember that he was being trained to master his Sangoma powers, his master was calling on that ability ‘eerm, what was it again? Oh yeah, Vuka Thongo lam’ to fight this other ice Sangoma I think”.

“Well that means you missed out on his final release” Sizwe said with a smile, knowing full well what kind of effect this would have. “WOOOOA, wait, are you talking about the masters final water realise?” Vangeli asked excitedly “what's it called!?, I've always wondered what would happen when he used the VUKA summoning chant”.

 

Sizwe walked over and took the action figure from the shelf and handed it to Vangeli. The young monk started playing with it, his eyes alive with excitement. It reminded Sizwe of another little boy, the few books on his shelf were the only books he had left, and they survived because they were in the car. “Erm, Vangeli” Sizwe attempted “were the men I found you with ecclesiastics from your seminary?” “Well; yes sir” Vangeli responded still fixated on the toy “but only one of them”.

 

“What do you mean, son? ” Sizwe asked, pushing forward.

 

“Well two of them were paladins” Vangeli answered.

 

This statement totally threw Sizwe off. The paladins had not existed for generations, they were a myth and a tale told to children. They had existed in the ancient religious books in the LUMINE, but not in this modern age. How could he talk of such, not now, not in this era.

 

“Are you really that surprised?” Vangeli questioned, not even looking up at Sizwe, in fact he seemed to have read his mind. “The paladins have always been called to action to protect the Lord's people in their darkest times, and times are dark”.

 

“Wait did you just..” Sizwe started.

 

“..Just read your mind” Vangeli interjected, “No sir, I can’t do that. It's just that the Invisus can grant me the ability to connect to the souls of others when they are troubled, and yours is especially troubled.”

 

In that moment the boy seemed wiser than his years and yet he was still so young.  Sizwe wanted to understand more about this ability but he thought better of it. At the moment it was more pressing to understand the events that happened at the crime scene.

 

“As I understand it, paladins are fabled warriors tasked with protecting Ecclesiastics” asked Sizwe

“Yes that is true, the men who you saw slaughtered in that apartment, were my protectors” replied Vangeli.

 

“So are they a private security company?” Sizwe pursued, “Are they registered and where did they train?”

 

“They are servants of the Invisus, just ordinary men that are trained at the seminary” replied Vangeli calmly.

 

This worried Sizwe, it would seem the temple was raising its own private army. There was nothing legal about what they are doing. What reason could they possibly have for doing this?

“They are called to do the divine work of the Invisus”, Vangeli continued, “and they have done a great job in our order thus far, they are truly blessed by the Unseen”.

 

“Hmmm, in the holy book paladins were warriors endowed with the power of intent through the Ecclesiastic monks that they protected” Sizwe ventured, not certain what to think “are you saying that is also true with these paladins that were with you?”

 

“After what you did with your pistol today”, Said Vangeli looking at Sizwe in the eyes “is it really so hard to believe?”

 

At that moment the holophone rang.