by Kwame Mbalia
Tears were rolling down my face now, and I took a deep, shuddering breath. I finally looked up.
Everyone crouched nearby. Thandiwe with Gum Baby on her shoulder, and High John holding an unconscious Chestnutt.
“Some hero, right?” I said.
“Tristan, it wasn’t—” he began, but I cut him off.
“Don’t give me that mess. Don’t even. Y’all grown folks quick to say something like that. ‘Oh, it wasn’t your fault.’ Don’t lie to me, High John. Give me that much, at least.”
Silence followed the rant, and I focused on my breathing. In and out. In and out.
High John sat down and set Chestnutt in his lap. A tiny bag hung around her neck—more of his conjure medicine. He sighed, then turned to me. “Fine. I reckon I can at least be honest, sure I can. Could you have saved your friend? Maybe. But that maybe ain’t gonna change anything. Can’t live your life with grief whispering in your ear, pulling you this way and that. But you can’t shove it in a drawer deep inside yourself, neither. Naw, you got to sit grief down and talk to it. Listen to it. Come to terms with it. Pain is the body’s way of saying it’s healing, so you gotta let it heal.”
I shrugged. “That’s what Mr. Richardson says. ‘Give it time, let it work itself out naturally.’ But how much time does it need?” I caught a glossy black feather that fluttered loose from Old Familiar’s back. “Eddie was my best friend, and I miss him, and walking around with this hurt…well, it hurts.”
Thandiwe spoke up. “The elders have a saying. Too much is the same as not enough.”
“What does that mean?”
Gum Baby flicked sap at me. “It means be sad, but not too sad.”
“Okay, but—”
“Gum Baby ain’t got time to lead you everywhere, Bumbletongue. This is one of life’s great mysteries. A puzzle. Shoot, it might even be one of those hedgehog things. What are they called? Echidnas, that’s right.”
I stared at her. “You mean an enigma?”
“Why you always correcting somebody?”
“The point is,” High John interrupted with a ghost of a grin, “you should grieve your friend. But remember to live your life as it is now, and not how it would have been. Never forget, but accept. Understand?”
I nodded. I thought I did.
“Hey,” Thandiwe called. She pointed over the left wing, where a glimmering sliver of golden-orange land appeared. “We’re here.”
SOMETHING WAS OFF.
The burning tear in the sky covered the Golden Crescent in an orange glow. Ghostly flames danced on the beautiful palaces beneath Old Familiar’s wings, somehow throwing off real heat. Nyame’s land had turned into a giant sauna, and sweat beaded on my forehead.
But it wasn’t just that.
There was a…feeling in the air like something was lurking, watching and following us as we arrived. That familiar feeling from the Drowned Forest, and from my dreams.
They were here.
Uncle C and the Maafa.
I wasn’t the only one who noticed. High John clutched his conjure bag and frowned, Thandiwe held her kierie at the ready, and Gum Baby…well, Gum Baby was herself.
“This ain’t how Gum Baby left the place! You see? This is why Gum Baby can’t have nice things. Company comes over and RUINS EVERYTHING!”
We soared over the empty city. Ivory towers, now beet red as they reflected the burning rip in the sky, stood tall and angry. The crystal-blue pools boiled and steamed, and a thick mist curled down the wide avenues and marble-lined streets.
The giant crow landed near a familiar forest with the golden fence and gate running around it. Gum Baby’s eyes grew big and she shuffled closer to me.
“Say,” she mumbled, “ain’t this the place with those creepy whistles and where you ran away like a—?”
“High John,” I said hurriedly, “how will this help Ayanna? The city is empty—so I heard.”
High John slipped off Old Familiar’s back. His face tightened, like he was about to do something adults found uncomfortable, like plunge a toilet, or apologize to a kid. He straightened his vest, smoothed the front of his pants, then cleared his throat.
“Can you bring Ayanna? Might be I need to have my hands free.”
He frowned at the arching gate, then snorted at the crumbled gilded leaves in a pile off to the side.
Gum Baby asked him nervously, “You, uh, you know this place?”
“Yeah,” he muttered. “I studied under…them, for many years. Before…Well, before.”
I squatted and gently lifted Ayanna.
“Tristan?”
The whisper was so faint I almost missed it. But when Ayanna’s head shifted, and I looked down to see her eyes open, crinkled with confusion, I stopped moving.
“Right here. I’m right here. We’re getting help—you’re gonna be on your feet yelling at me in no time. Just hold on.”
“Tristan,” she murmured again, and then her eyes fluttered shut.
“Ayanna?”
As soon as I stepped off Old Familiar with her in my arms, the giant crow cawed and took off, disappearing into the shadows.
My voice carried down the street as I told the others, “She woke up. She spoke, but now…”
High John’s face grew worried. “Come on, we need to hurry.”
The marble street echoed with our footsteps, and the mist curling around our waists was the only other thing moving as we made our way to the gate. High John raised an eyebrow at the statue with the gummy gag still over her mouth, and Gum Baby and I looked at each other. There’s a time for honesty and a time to focus on the important issues possibly threatening everyone in Alke.
We crossed the threshold, and just like before, the whistling began. Thandiwe kept glancing over her shoulders as she walked, and Gum Baby hid in my hood.
“Look who’s the scaredy-cat now,” I said.
“Take one for the team,” she whispered in my ear. “Gum Baby’s too pretty to get in trouble.”
High John led us to the foot of the large sycamore tree, and once again I stood in awe of its massive size. It reminded me of the Tree of Power back in MidPass, with its gnarly roots and roof-like branches. We stopped in a hollow among the roots, and High John surprised me. He got down on his knees, placed his hands on his thighs, and began to whistle.
“What is he doing?” Thandiwe whispered. “He’s going to get us caught!”
The branches in the tree began to rustle, and leaves floated down around us, as though someone—or a bunch of someones—was climbing down. The mysterious whistles intensified, and High John paused, then began to whistle again.
“I think,” I said, realization dawning, “that’s the point. Listen. They’re talking to each other. Well, signaling each other.”
“Who’s they?”
A small shadow stepped from behind the trunk, and in the fiery glow of the sky, I saw a tiny, fairylike creature. Suddenly a lot of things fell into place.
High John’s mentors in conjure and rootwork.
A forest palace.
The whistling stopped, and High John said to us, “I reckon this might be a mite strange, but this is—”
“A mmoatia,” I interrupted. “I mean an aboatia—one of the Mmoatia.”
High John paused. “Yes. How—? No, let me guess. That nana of yours.”
Thandiwe looked back and forth, confused. “What is an aboatia?”
“A forest fairy,” I answered. The aboatia had a long nose and brown skin that rippled like a forest stream. Its thick braids touched the ground, and its sharp eyes followed me as I took a deep breath and gingerly stepped forward. I kneeled in front of it, still cradling Ayanna, and looked at High John. “Nana told me that Mmoatia are the keepers of healing. Illnesses and ailments are their domain—and they will teach cures to those they deem worthy.”
I remembered more, but I didn’t think it would be a good idea to say it out loud. Nyame had tasked Anansi with capturing one of the Mmoatia to satisfy his pri
ce for the Story Box. To catch the fairy, Anansi had used Gum Baby. (This was back when she was silent, believe it or not.) The aboatia became stuck to the little doll and—whoosh—Anansi took them both off to the sky god.
No wonder Gum Baby was hiding now.
High John nodded. “They’ve agreed to help. But…only Ayanna. No one else may stay. Seems they’ve had a recent problem with unwelcome intruders.”
His eyes flashed at me and suddenly my sneakers looked incredibly fascinating. But Gum Baby rustled in my hood.
“What about Chestnutt?” she stage-whispered. “She’s hurt, too!”
High John whistled with the fairy for a few minutes, then nodded. “She can stay as well. But now we must go. The others are getting agitated, and you don’t want to anger the Mmoatia.”
“You can say that again,” Gum Baby muttered.
“What?” asked High John.
“Nothing!” I answered quickly. I laid Ayanna on a flat stretch of ground, thick with grass. Goose bumps rose on her arms in the midnight breeze, and, after a brief moment of hesitation, I took off my hoodie (“Hey!” Gum Baby cried as she tumbled out) and draped it over her.
“I’m coming back,” I whispered to Ayanna. “So don’t you dare go anywhere.”
I wanted to ask the aboatia questions, get High John to translate…. Was Ayanna going to be okay? Could they help her? She was unconscious again, and it was ripping me apart inside.
First Eddie, then his memories, and now Ayanna? It all was too much.
More shadows danced beneath the tree, and the whistling picked up again. Gum Baby danced in place nervously. A hand rested on my shoulder, and High John stood up.
“It’s time, Tristan,” he said. “Gotta get that box to Nyame.”
“Yeah, let’s go already!” hissed Gum Baby, tugging my arm.
I nodded and got to my feet. The aboatia cocked its head at the charms dangling from my wrist, visible now that my hoodie’s sleeves weren’t hiding them. It whistled, and High John nodded and whistled back. Then he turned to me.
“Hold out your arm,” he commanded.
“Why?” I asked, even as I did so. The fairy came closer, and I tried not to stare as it hopped this way and that, peering at the charms. It whistled, and High John rubbed his chin. The fairy bowed, and he bowed in response.
“Come on, kids,” he said, heading for the gate.
“What was that about?” Thandiwe asked as she and I followed. Gum Baby stood on my shoulder, one sticky hand on my head for balance.
“Turns out,” High John answered, “that despite Anansi’s ultimate insult, the bearers of his mark are welcome beneath the branches of the Mmoatia.” He met my eyes and grinned. “Seems they have taken a shine to you, boy. You should find your way back here at some point to see why. Favors from the fairies are a powerful thing, sure they are.”
I definitely planned to come back—for Ayanna and Chestnutt. Gum Baby patted my head and whispered, “Don’t expect Gum Baby to go with you. Nuh-uh.”
We stopped outside the gates and retrieved the Story Box from where Old Familiar had left it. High John glared at the burning tear flickering in the sky.
“Time’s getting thin. The rip has nearly reached the mainland. We’ve got to hurry.”
“Nyame’s palace is this way,” I said. I pointed at the trail markers Chestnutt had left during our last visit here, feeling an aching tug. At least she and Ayanna were in good hands now. “Let’s go get this Story Box fixed.”
THERE’S A POINT WHEN I get so worked up I can’t tell my emotions apart. Am I angry or sad or scared? Is it everything at once, or none of the above? Mr. Richardson said that when I feel that way, I should grab one emotion like a rope and pull myself back to the moment it first hit me. Retrace my footsteps. Do some mental detective work.
While we followed the silent street to Nyame’s shimmering gateway, I followed my tangled and raw feelings back to their beginnings. There was anger at Eddie for leaving me. Stress over Ayanna and Chestnutt being injured. Fear of things getting even worse and my not being able to get back home. Frustration with everybody telling me Man up, or It’ll be fine, or Go punch something, because it’ll make you feel better.
By the time we arrived at the large plaza and stopped in front of the towering gateway, my hands were shaking and my heartbeat was pounding in my ears.
“You okay?” Thandiwe asked.
I wasn’t sure what would come out of my mouth, so I just nodded.
High John looked around uneasily. “Something don’t feel right.”
“What? Gum Baby don’t see anything.”
“Naw, it’s…in the air.” He glanced at me. “Do you feel it, too? The rhythm, the wind—it’s all wrong. That hole in the sky is turning this world inside out.”
Ah yes, one more emotion I’d forgotten about.
Guilt.
High John was right. The electric rhythm, the drumbeat, the words from the land that I’d gotten used to hearing in the background—they’d all disappeared, leaving just a buzzing hum, like speakers cranked all the way up with no music playing. Like lightning about to strike.
“There’s a storm coming,” I said, keeping my voice low. “I can feel it. We need to hurry.”
“Yeah.” High John looked around one more time, then checked the sky. “Yeah, sure you right.”
We ran through the gate and down the path to the sky god’s palace. I felt the statues’ golden eyes on me again, but this time their gaze was more appraising than threatening. The Story Box felt heavier as I lugged it past them, and when we reached the final statue, the old queen who’d saved us from the bosslings, I swear I saw her wink.
“Did she just—?” Gum Baby whispered from my shoulder, and I nodded.
“I think so.”
The burning sky crackled overhead as we slammed through the giant palace door and skidded to a stop in Nyame’s hall. Leopard paused in mid–paw-lick, Python raised his massive head from the stone floor, and the sky god sat moodily on the throne.
“Well,” Nyame said, his eyes flashing almost as bright as the tear in the sky. “The non-hero returns. The ungrateful, the selfish, the spurner of gifts. Come to complain some more?”
His eyes moved to Gum Baby and softened, then to Thandiwe and High John, where they lingered. “And you’ve changed your team. Interesting. Is this a downgrade or an upgrade, young Tristan?”
High John had both hands in his pockets, but I could see the anger in his jaw when he spoke through tight lips. “Your sky god seems upset,” he said. “All this gold and nobody to impress.”
Nyame got off his throne and stalked down the dais stairs. “Mind your tongue, vagabond. You are here because I allow it.”
“Sit back down and count your money, Pops,” High John said with a sneer. “You ain’t scaring nobody in here.”
Leopard growled, a rumble like thunder in a forest, and the massive beast prowled over. High John grinned, a wide, easy smile that I was starting to suspect meant the opposite of good times ahead.
“Tell your kitty to play nice before I send it outside to chase its tail.” The grin disappeared and High John’s shadow started to stretch and grow. “After I remove it.”
Nyame’s eyes began to glow, and I sighed and stepped between the two. Honestly, adults are the worst. Do-as-I-say-not-as-I-do hypocrites. Eddie and my memories were out there somewhere, and these two were having a spitting contest.
“I see you’re feeling better than the last time we were here,” I said, dropping the Story Box in front of the sky god. Nyame paused, scowling at the interruption, then froze.
“Is that—?” he asked, reaching out a trembling arm, and I nodded.
He traced a finger over the splintered and warped lid, then let his hand fall. The symbols etched on its sides sparkled briefly, as if they remembered their former glory, before they faded back to worn shadows.
“It’s been emptied,” he whispered.
“Anansi did it,” I said.
I held up my adinkra bracelet. “It’s the only thing that makes sense. We found his notes and the iron monsters he’d been researching. The Story Box—he used it to attract them, like bait. But something went wrong. There was a mishap, a fight…. I think he accidentally drained it of its stories.”
Nyame picked up the Story Box and hugged it to his chest. “Anansi…” he repeated, staring blankly at a waterfall across the room.
He summoned the pedestal from under the floor and placed the Story Box gently on top. Then he leaned on the stand, suddenly seeming old and weary.
“But where are the stories now?” Thandiwe asked. “And why did the Weaver go into hiding?” She looked between me and Nyame. “When Anansi gave us the Box, you hadn’t even punched the sky open yet. The iron monsters were still scattered and weak.”
I winced at the reminder that most of this was my fault. “I don’t know, but I plan on asking when I see him.”
“So you still intend to go through with this?” Nyame asked.
“We have to. When I smashed the Bottle Tree and created this mess, something fell into this world along with Gum Baby and me—a haint. I know what he wants now. He wants the Story Box so he can get stronger.”
High John thumbed his belt buckle and frowned. “You keep on saying he, not it. This supervillain of yours got a name?”
“When I saw him, he told me to call him Uncle C.”
Nyame narrowed his eyes. “Uncle. UNCLE? You are related to the creature persecuting my people?” The suspicion in his tone made me flinch, but I stood up straight and shook my head.
“No, of course not! It’s his idea of a sick, twisted joke! And he’s coming for us. For me. And he’s bringing the Maafa with him.”
Nyame stood up straight. “Here?”
“Take a good look at the sky, Sky God,” High John sneered.
The edges of Nyame’s fists began to glow white-hot, and before things got any worse, I had to step in again.