‘If she wants to return to her people, why do you want to bring her back? Perhaps she’s not happy here.’

‘I want to know why she left and why she left Harman by himself. It’s also possible that she was captured.’

Neeltje dried her hands on her apron.

‘I never thought of that. How long will you be?’

‘I don’t know. When I find the sheep.’

‘Come in, and I’ll give you some food to take with you.’

He followed her into the house. Harman was wrapped in blankets, and lying on a pile of folded clothing on the kitchen table. Roeloff looked at the sleeping infant, marvelling at the miracle he and Zokho had created. His own flesh and blood. Who would the baby take after, his father or his mother? Would there be in him something of the man whose name he bore?

‘How much food should I pack?’ Neeltje cut into his thoughts.

‘Enough for three days. Maybe four.’

‘As long as that?’

‘If I find the sheep—you know how long it will take to walk them back.’

Neeltje stood in the doorway to see him off. Her life had changed since Roeloff’s arrival. She was no longer satisfied.

Out in the veld, Roeloff headed in a northerly direction. It had been easy at first to follow the tracks, but by noon he had lost them over stony terrain. He spent the afternoon riding around trying to pick up the trail, but it was useless. Either he’d missed something, or Zokho had fooled him and was even then watching him from some hiding place, laughing at his ineptness. He could take the easy way and tell himself that he’d done what he could, let her go, then simply look for the sheep and head home. But he couldn’t. He wanted to see her eyes when she told him why she’d done what she had; he wanted to hear it from her own lips. He wanted to know that he had not made a mistake.

He thought of Neeltje. Headstrong, but soft-hearted. Looking after his son. How had all this happened? What force had steered him towards the Cederberg and the Roos farm? How could he have feelings for both of them? He’d grown up with Zokho, but Neeltje was the one who understood his Africaander heart.

He decided not to waste any more time in the area. He would travel towards the Hantam, his own birthplace, and look for the Sonqua behind the mountains. If Zokho was going there, he would find her along the way; if not, he would find out from the Sonqua if they knew anything about who might have taken the sheep.

He rode steadily throughout the day, setting the horse out to graze once in the afternoon. There was nothing slowing him down, and by nightfall he had covered quite a distance. He camped near a clump of trees, built a fire, and sat down to a supper of biltong and water. It felt strange in the inky silence without Twa, the sounds of nocturnal predators his only company. Presently, he fell asleep with his back against a tree, the gun between his knees. He woke up once to see four pairs of eyes glowing in the dark, and threw a stone in their direction. The onlookers scampered off and he closed his eyes again, kicking wood onto the fire.

On the second day, late in the afternoon, he reached the Hantamberge. Smoke was furling through a patch of trees, and he realised that he had arrived at a camp. The sound of his horse’s hooves on the hard ground would alert them and send them hiding, so he got off the horse, covering the last mile by foot. Twa said you could be almost on top of the Sonqua and not know they were there, so naturally they blended with their surroundings. As he drew nearer, he heard chanting and clapping. He hoped it was the right tribe.

But he was not as careful as he thought he had been, for one of the children, playing on the perimeter of the camp, ran back to camp and warned them of his approach. The music stopped and a hush fell over the group.

‘Eyes of the Sky!’

He had come to the right place.

Those who had never seen him watched in awe as a tall figure clothed in the same sun-baked colours as the Karoo, white hair flowing off broad shoulders, came striding towards them.

He came upon the skerms suddenly in a clearing behind a clump of trees, to find the largest group of yellow-skinned hunters he’d ever seen. He recognised some of the faces.

Koerikei detached himself from the group.

‘Eyes of the Sky. We are honoured by your visit.’

Roeloff greeted him and nodded to all those around him.

‘You are wondering why I am here.’

‘We have no sheep. We kept our promise to stay off your land.’

‘I know.’

‘What brings you here, Eyes of the Sky?’ Toma came forward, not as patient as the others to wait for the visitor to speak.

Roeloff looked at the young hunter.

‘I’m looking for Zokho.’

It was the last thing they expected to hear.

‘Zokho? Why are you looking for her? She ran away long ago.’

‘She came to me.’

The voices rose up as one.

‘To you?’ Koerikei asked.

‘There’s a child. She left him by himself, scarcely a few hours old.’

They looked at each other in disbelief.

‘The two of you? A child?’ It was all too incredible.

‘You’re brave to come here after taking one of our own,’ Toma said.

‘I didn’t take her. She came to me, of her own free will.’

‘And left you too, the same way. That is Zokho.’

An old man came limping away from the group. Roeloff recognised the bent figure of Limp Kao.

‘You remember Limp Kao?’ Koerikei asked. ‘He’s blind, but he sees farther than most of us. He tells us, old father, that Zokho has been with him. There is a child. Now she’s run away.’

Limp Kao nodded.

‘Come, we’ll sit,’ Koerikei said. ‘The day will be long. We will talk.’

Roeloff noticed that they had been standing in a circle around someone lying on the ground. He looked more closely and saw that it was a young girl, several months pregnant, with a man dressed in skins, vines wound around his legs, bent over her.

‘I’ve interrupted something.’

‘A healing ceremony. It is over. This girl is Toma’s wife. She’s possessed by bad spirits. Toma has not been lucky with his wives. This one also has her head filled with devils.’

Roeloff looked at Toma.