by Nic Stone
Indefinitely, was the answer I received when I asked, “For how long?” but considering the success of my Dome technology and the fact that our Ministry of Defense is now clamoring to figure out how to expand it—the mechanized forest has been deemed “insufficient security” after the events of Challenge Day—I’m certain this bizarre punishment won’t last for long.
While K’Marah and I were trying to save the nation, three brave souls stepped forward to challenge T’Challa. And in his new kinetic-energy absorbing, hyperstretchy Panther Habit, he trounced them all.
Was our king stunned to regain access to his technology and immediately learn that over the course of the seventeen-minute Challenge, a full-on ground invasion had taken place? Yes.
But he was also grateful. For me. His darling “zeal”-filled baby sister who clearly has more “wisdom and foresight” than he possesses in his little finger. SO grateful was he, in fact, he convinced Mother of my need for tactical, weapons, and combat training.
In regard to the foreign troops: The sixteen or so that managed to progress ahead of the others were all caught and arrested. The ones within the Dome were so shaken by first seeing the Wakandan warriors literally lifted from the fray, carried away in midair, and then finding themselves entrapped within a structure that came down around them like a lowering glass goblet, none of them moved when the Dome vanished, and Wakanda’s finest warriors—led by the Dora Milaje, of course—surrounded them on all sides. T’Challa said many of them bowed to him as he approached, convinced he was a god. (Like his head needs to be any bigger.)
After confiscating their weapons and having their hands bound, T’Challa had them escorted back to the tunnel in groups of thirty and let them leave the way they had come.
I’m sure—as he is—that they won’t return.
And thanks to Ororo, Zanda was placed in a capsule with her very own tornado swirling around her, and hand-delivered to the Narobian capital. She’ll be fine provided they figure out how to extract her without unleashing the live cyclone on the city.
Henbane has been detained and is awaiting trial. There was, of course, more to his story than Zanda let on: While he was discovered in the act of killing some rude rich man’s mango trees, he only took the “job” with Zanda because she claimed she could connect him with members of the family he’s never known.
When she purported to have discovered a grandfather of his, he latched on like a drowning man to a life preserver, so desperate was he for family. He did everything she asked of him, despite the fact that she continued to pile on demands that had to be met before she’d “reunite” them.
He got suspicious, of course. But then she began to threaten first Henbane, then this grandpapa, with death if Henny didn’t do precisely as she directed. And at that point, what could he have done? Even if there was no grandpapa (and unfortunately, there wasn’t), he was in too deep. Zanda was the ruler of Narobia, and Henbane is only fourteen.
But the interesting twist: that final herb? He deliberately left it alive. It remained when we returned to the Sacred Field.
Which brings me to the real reason for this log: Through a bit of trial and error over the past few days, I just figured out a way to rid the heart-shaped herb cells of Henbane’s toxin—which, it turns out, is a mutated version of the poison found in the plant from which “Henbane” derived his name (his given name is Larry, apparently).
Long story short, by immersing the desiccated roots in a hypertonic solution made of water and the fishy-smelling goop I extracted from previous plants (of all things!), I’m able to stimulate osmosis and force the toxin out. Then after a time in a hypotonic solution of water that has been purified through reverse osmosis and infused with Vibranium, the cells fix themselves.
It will take a while to regrow a solid crop, but that’s okay.
For now, our nation’s (pssst … my) future is safe.
Wakanda forever.
NIC STONE is the New York Times bestselling author of the novels Dear Martin and Odd One Out. She was born and raised in a suburb of Atlanta, Georgia, and the only thing she loves more than an adventure is a good story about one. After graduating from Spelman College, she worked extensively in teen mentoring and lived in Israel for a few years before returning to the United States to write full-time. Having grown up with a wide range of cultures, religions, and backgrounds, she strives to bring diverse voices and stories into her work. Learn more at nicstone.info.
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