Chapter 14: Smoke Above the City
We were ready.
The cart had been repaired. Lutho had polished the new wheel brackets. Naledi had packed the bundles herself, each wrapped in branded canvas stitched with the Embers & Ash seal.
There were 30 bundles.
If sold at R40 each, that meant R1,200 in one trip — enough to cover expenses, restock supplies, and grow our savings to just over R10,000.
But this wasn't just another village delivery.
This was Durban.
And it would be my first time setting foot there since I ran.
The morning was cloudy, sea air thick like breath held too long. Naledi touched my wrist before I left.
"If you feel watched, turn back," she said. "If your chest tightens, leave it all and run."
"I know," I whispered. "But I have to try."
We hugged like people who'd known goodbyes before.
Then I left.
Durban moved like music — fast, layered, complicated. Horns. Taxis. Smoke. Shouting.
I kept my scarf loose, my shoulders squared, my eyes scanning everything. I pushed the cart through side streets and alleys, never using main roads.
My first stop was a café in Glenwood. A woman named Thembeka owned it. Naledi had made quiet contact with her through a customer — told her a "charcoal woman" might arrive one day with a product that burned slow and clean.
Thembeka looked me up and down as I stood at her back gate.
"You the fire girl?" she asked.
"I'm the one who brings heat," I said simply.
She smirked. "Come in."
She tested a bundle. Lit a small fire in a metal stove.
Fifteen minutes later, she raised an eyebrow.
"This is good stuff."
"I know."
"How much?"
"R40 a bag. You sell at R80. Keep the difference. I deliver weekly."
She didn't ask for papers. She didn't care about names.
"You've got yourself a deal," she said. "Just keep the quality and the silence."
I smiled. "That's all I have."
I sold the rest near Warwick Market. Quiet vendors. Meat stall owners. One baker.
All thirty bundles gone by sundown.
R1,200 earned.
I sent half with a taxi driver I trusted, who took it straight to Naledi.
I kept the other half in my sock, under the lining of my boot.
That night, I didn't return to the forest. I stayed in a room above an old bookstore. The man who ran it let me sleep there in exchange for three bundles.
I curled into a corner and whispered to myself, "We're growing."
But just before sleep, I heard something through the floorboards.
A man in the bookstore below, whispering.
"…girl from Mpumalanga… went missing… new bounty posted… wanted for arson… name might be Zukhanyi…"
The bookseller replied: "You think she'd show her face here?"
"People do crazy things when they think they're safe."
I froze.
The name.
The bounty.
They were hunting me again.
In the morning, I left Durban before the city fully woke.
By midday, I was home.
Naledi rushed out the moment she saw me.
"You're early—"
"They know," I said. "They posted a bounty."
Her eyes widened. "How much?"
"Enough to make people curious."
We didn't speak again until the fire was lit.
Then I looked at her and said, "We need another name. A legal one. One that hides me but protects the brand."
She nodded slowly. "Whose name?"
I turned to Lutho.
"You said you wanted in. This is your moment."
That night, we registered Embers & Ash Distributors under Lutho's name. He would be the legal face. The one on the documents. The one buyers called.
And I?
I would remain the flame beneath the brand — never seen, but always burning.