Morning brings with it an array of colours and scents. The sun rays speak of a new-found hope, as does the fragrance of dew on the grass, wetting the dry earth. Uncle now dons a black robe and straps a blade on his hip.

“There is no time for anything else, Umkele. We must begin your training at once.”

“Training, Uncle?” I ask. “I have always been the best fighter in the family.”

“This is more than just fighting with the weapons forged by man. You will learn how to use the gift given to you by the Gods themselves. I will teach you how to turn into a great impisi, a formidable werewolf.”

* * * *

I do not know if it is excitement or fear that now flows through me, but I rise to the challenge. Baba Athka puts me through the most gruelling physical tests my body can endure. Every pain, every stumble, every fall hurts, but it is the idea that I can avenge my father’s murder that keeps me going. The love he had for me softens every blow, the love I bear him, even in death, helps me rise after every fall.

“Show more grit boy!” Baba Athka yells. He has been giving me grief all afternoon and yet I cannot get it right. The Gods may have blessed me with this gift, but they did not bless me with the automatic ability to control it in any way.

“I am trying, Baba,” I want to scream, but his glare terrifies me more than I care to admit. I fall back on my butt and remain there. The exertion of training has been more gruelling that trying to escape from the guards.

The sky slowly fades into darkness as the sun sinks into the horizon. An entire day’s practice and I could not conjure up the slightest growl nor even partially become a werewolf. I feel like a failure, but Baba has assured me that no-one has ever managed to transform on their first day. His words have provided me with more comfort than any I ever received from my mother.

A fire now burns brightly between Baba Athka and I. Our bellies filled and our bodies aching, Baba snores softly. Even with a body that has been pushed to its limit, I do not feel the need to sleep. It eludes me. I lie on my back and gaze at the sky, wondering how people could ever feel small in such a colossal world.

The stargazers in the castle once taught me that the world is infinite and so are our possibilities. But how could one feel that way when your world has been shrivelled and shrunk by those you know and love?

My throat chokes up, my eyes almost tear up, but I gently wipe them. I need to be strong. For myself, for Baba Athka – my uncle – and for father.

My thoughts are suddenly disturbed by what seems to be a shooting star. I marvel at the sight of it, a long streak of red darting across the sky. I am awestruck, but my sighs of awe quickly turn into screams of dread.

I sit upright and quickly crawl towards baba Athka.

“Baba, wake up,” I hiss in a hurried tone as I violently shake him from his slumber. “Wake up. We need to go.”

Baba groans as he opens his eyes, still half asleep, but he sees the terror in my eyes.

“What is the matter, boy?”

“We are being attacked! We need to leave now.”

As we try pack up camp, a hundred shooting stars whistle across the velvet sky. The only thing is – it is not stars, it is arrows! I see light in the distance. First a single one comes into sight, then a hundred more: torches carried by guards. The royal unogada.

As they edge closer to us, Baba and I see a man on a horse, a man armoured in a golden breastplate, with a dark wolf emblazoned on his chest. He dismounts before us and drops the hood from his head.

“Brother, we have been looking for you,” says Ubukile, a dark smile on his face.

***

Tell us: Do you think Ubukile is able to transform into a werewolf too?