Storm, page 15
We must get out of this town before the soldiers come back looking for us. And there’s no way we can make it anywhere on foot and expect to live. We need the bike.
I roll my shoulders back and nod. “Well, we’ll go together and see.”
T’Challa opens his mouth to argue but seems to think better of it. “Okay.”
The town is busier than last night, people going about their daily routines. But that still doesn’t stop anyone from staring at the bare-chested boy and the girl with a T-shirt on her head walking through the streets. T’Challa’s jaw clenches, his fists ready, bracing himself for a fight. Meanwhile, I’m tenser than I’ve ever been, checking the face of each person we pass. We’re too exposed.
Anxiety pushes through each step we take, and my mind runs wildly through the possibilities of who might be waiting for us at the bike. Maybe it’s not the soldiers. Maybe it’s the Shadow King’s men. That soldier who survived saw my hair. If he made it back to camp, he could have told someone. It wouldn’t take long for word to spread. If it’s them…it would all be over.
I glance up at the sky, then down at my sweaty palms.
Now would be a really good time for some of that lightning.
We take a side street, running behind the garage to keep the element of surprise. Then we peer around the corner, searching for the bike, and find it still parked in its same spot.
But no one is there.
T’Challa checks his beads as I scan the road, surrounding buildings, and passing tut tuts. Nothing seems out of the ordinary. But when dealing with the Shadow King, anything is possible.
“I don’t understand,” T’Challa mumbles. “Wait here.”
I grip his wrist. “No! You could be walking into a trap.”
“Just wait,” he says, leaving no room for argument. “Watch my back.”
I hold my breath as he creeps over to the bike. He circles it once, stops short, staring at something on the other side of it that I can’t see. He looks up and calls me over.
A little boy sits beside the bike, staring up with frightened eyes and dry lips.
The boy from the cage.
I gasp, dropping to the ground, offering him water. “What are you doing here? In broad daylight!”
His eyes fill with tears. “I did not know where to go. I watched them take you and was scared.”
“Why didn’t you go home like I told you?”
The boy hesitates, wiping his face clean. “I do not think they want me there.”
I glance up at T’Challa, his eyebrows pinched with determination.
“Don’t want you,” T’Challa echoes, his voice low. “What is your name?”
“Ameen,” the boy mumbles.
“And where is home, Ameen?”
He hesitates, then tells us about a small village several kilometers outside of the town. I glance at the sun. Time is slipping through my fingers. We’ve lost over a day’s travel time, but we can’t just abandon the boy.
Once I buy a new hijab and T’Challa buys a black tunic, we clean my wound again and set off. Ameen rides between us on the bike as we head east, away from the setting sun. T’Challa remains stoic on the journey while I’m busy wondering about the tiny boy between us. What happened to this poor child that he feels his own people don’t want him? His eyes are closed as he nuzzles into T’Challa’s back.
He reminds me so much of the kiddies back in Cairo.
My stomach churns at the thought of everyone back home. What if no one is helping them find food? What if the Shadow King hurts the young ones to get to me? Would he be so cruel?
Ameen’s desert village is small. So small that almost everyone steps out of their tiny homes that form a small U-shape when they hear our bike pull up in front of a white stone house. I adjust my new hijab, the curious stares making me fidget.
A thin woman in a deep-blue chador steps outside, carrying a basket, her wheat-brown skin glowing. But when she sees Ameen, she almost goes white, her body turning to stone.
It’s clear all the villagers recognize Ameen, but this isn’t the homecoming I’d expect it to be. They seem almost wary of him. I clench my jaw.
Is this how it’s going to be for me when I go back to Cairo?
T’Challa scans the crowd with a raised eyebrow. “Wait here,” he whispers to me.
Ameen hops off the bike, biting his thumbnail. He glances up at me.
“Thank you,” he says. “For saving me.”
In that moment, all I want to do is hug him. To press him into my stomach and never let him go. To tell him it’s going to be okay. But with so many eyes on us, I grip the bike and give him a nod as T’Challa walks him over to the woman.
They talk in hushed voices, their conversation escalating. She doesn’t speak English, like Ameen does, but she manages to keep saying no. A universal language.
The woman shakes her head with a stone-cold expression. Denying her son.
Ameen looks stricken. It’s too gut-wrenching to bear.
I jump off the bike and stalk toward the family, skin on fire.
“What’s going on?” I snap.
T’Challa hesitates. “Apparently, there was an arrangement with the soldiers. She is saying that we should not have brought him back.”
Immediately, I see red. Of all the terrible things I’ve witnessed, this by far tops them all. She sold her son, a kid, to those disgusting madmen.
“What did you do?” I shout at the woman, blood sizzling. “How could you just give your son away? How? Do you know what they do to children?”
“Ororo, calm down,” T’Challa warns.
“Don’t tell me to calm down!” I hiss. “She’s a monster!”
“She didn’t have a choice!”
I glance down at Ameen, choking back a sob. So this is what he meant by not being wanted.
A sharp breeze threads around us, so quick I almost lose my footing. The woman shakes her head, tears in her eyes.
“He was all alone,” I bark, not caring if she doesn’t understand. “In the streets. Scared. He could have been killed. Starved! Abused! Do you have any idea what that’s like? To be all alone!”
Shadows dance across the sand. The sky grows darker, but I can only see the woman in front of me, Ameen cowering from his own family. The woman looks up, horror in her eyes.
“Ororo, please,” T’Challa begs, a hand on my shoulder, pulling me back.
“Don’t touch me!” I snap, slapping him away.
T’Challa’s eyes widen. He takes a staggering step back. “Ororo, your eyes!”
“What?”
“Your eyes!”
I whip around to the crowd. The woman takes one look at my face and lets out a guttural scream. The rest of the villagers back away and scatter, shouting.
I freeze, immediately transported back to my own scream. Back in the bathroom at the Villa. When I stared into the mirror to see that my blue eyes were gone.
This time, others can see the white fog.
I snap my eyes shut, grabbing hold of my hijab.
“T’Challa,” I whimper, waving a hand about. He grabs hold and pulls me back to the bike, helping me on.
“You have to calm down,” he says as I feel the first drop. Then another. Rain comes down slow, a soft trickle of mist.
The once-hectic voices surrounding us grow quiet, almost silent.
“It isn’t real, it isn’t real,” I cry out, shaking my head.
“It is real, Ororo,” T’Challa says, his voice hard. “And you are doing this.”
“I’m not,” I sob, trying to deny it. But the water feels so pure against my skin. So cool and healing. I almost want to drown in it.
T’Challa jumps on the bike, and I press my face into his back, squeezing hold of his stomach.
“Wait, Ororo. Look!”
I open one eye to peek. Rain pours down from the sky…but only in the spot above us, around the bike. I raise my head to get a better look and see the sun shining in the distance. The rest of the desert remains bone-dry.
And the villagers are scrambling, grabbing buckets, bowls…all smiling as they collect the water. A small chant rings out, people singing and dancing.
Some of them reach out to me, saying words I don’t understand, but their gratitude is clear.
Ameen’s mother stares at me with new eyes, her expression unreadable. Then, slowly, she looks at her son, still cowering from her. She bends toward him, arms outstretched.
A moment passes before Ameen runs to her, sobbing.
I blink slowly, stunned, my body going limp.
T’Challa revs the bike and pulls off, leaving the rain cloud behind.
* * *
There is a dull pain in my chest. The longer we ride, the heavier it weighs on me. T’Challa speeds down the road, his back tense, not turning once to check on me. We haven’t uttered a word to each other since leaving Ameen’s town.
Just after sunset, T’Challa pulls off the road, stopping in a small clearing surrounded by a scattering of desert gum trees and prickly bushes, mountains far in the distance. As night falls, we set up camp in silence. No food tonight—we didn’t have a chance to stop at any local villages.
T’Challa pokes at the small fire. My mind races as the quiet between us becomes deafening. He hasn’t looked at me once. I fear his reaction and curiosity in equal measure.
The white hair, the strange eyes, the sudden manic clouds…this has to be too much for him now. He would be mad to stay with me. I wouldn’t, if I were him. He’ll probably be gone by the time I wake up. And by morning, word of a miraculous rainstorm will make its way to the Shadow King.
I’m doing a horrible job of keeping a low profile. I’m practically leaving a road map for him to follow.
I sit opposite T’Challa, combing through the tangles of my hair with my fingers. I’ve only ever done this freely in front of Moche. That’s how comfortable I’ve become with T’Challa. And the thought of him leaving me alone makes my heart ache.
I never asked for a companion, but now that he’s been with me so long, it’s hard for me to imagine traveling without him. The loneliness will devour me.
“I’m sorry I yelled at you,” I whisper to the fire. “You were only trying to help.”
He takes a deep breath, rubbing his face. “We need to talk about the rain.”
I wince. “Can we please talk about anything but that?”
“There is no denying it,” he says. He looks up, and his face is almost stern, but his eyes burn bright. “You can control the weather! Do you know how miraculous that is?”
I puff out air and braid my hair into a long ponytail. “It’s…something.”
“If I could just get you back to our labs in Wakanda to do testing, to further understand your genetic makeup….”
“I’m not a science experiment!” I snap.
T’Challa leans back, his face going slack. “That is not what I am implying at all.”
“But that’s what you want to do, right? Poke at me like I’m some kind of freak.”
He shifts his jaw, eyes narrowing.
“So that is it? It is not this power that frightens you. You are worried about what others may think of you.”
He snatches the words out of my head so fast it gives me an instant headache. He jumps up and stands over me.
“Do you have any idea how extraordinary you are? The things you can do…You cannot just ignore this!”
“Tuh! Watch me,” I grumble, turning over on my mat. “Good night, T’Challa.”
T’Challa throws up his hands.
“Fine,” he grunts, stomping back to his mat. “Good night, Ororo.”
The crackle of the fire sizzles between us. Everything is spinning out of control. The whole point of this trip was to find a cure so I can go back home. Not to fight kidnappers or be shot at. Not to make it rain in the middle of the desert.
I made it rain….
“Ugh,” I grumble, slipping my shoes back on.
“Where are you going?” he asks, annoyed. As if he has the right to be.
“To the bathroom. Are you going to watch?”
He purses his lips as I stomp off, my skin prickling. I don’t want to admit it, but I’m unnerved by our fight. Even if it isn’t really a fight—I know I’m just denying what’s right in front of me. But I can’t help it.
I just need some space. Away from him and his annoying insistence.
Why can’t he just leave this alone? Isn’t it obvious this is the last thing that I want? I’m already so different from my brothers—a girl, an American with white hair—I don’t need to add anything else to the list.
I’m just a few yards away from the orange light of the campfire when that pressure starts to build again, a breeze kicking my hair off my shoulders.
“No! Stop it!” I tell the wind, as if it will listen to me.
Wait…. Is that even possible?
My thoughts churn. Slowly, I extend my hand toward the lingering breeze and stare. Just stare. Because I don’t know what else to do. All these things keep happening when I least expect them, until there’s that tightness in my chest, that aching of the rubber band around my belly.
I shift, finding that the tightness is strongest when I am facing south. I close my eyes for a moment, sinking into that feeling. Pressure lumps in my throat, and I let out a gasp.
A puff of breeze blows through the trees, short but precise.
No way…
I lower my hand, letting the dark and heat swallow me. Tears threaten to bubble over, and my vision blurs. What can I do? How can I turn back time? Back to when I was in full control of myself, when I was safe?
Were you ever really safe in Garbage City, though?
Deep down, I’ve always known the way we lived wasn’t legit. But it’s hard to dig yourself out of a hole once you’re in it. You only end up burying yourself further. Always walking on eggshells, living life on the edge of a sharp knife waiting to cut me open. Every score a risk, every building a potential tomb.
When have I ever felt safe?
I glance back at camp, thinking of T’Challa’s arms. And I walk back.
“T’Challa?” I whisper as I approach.
“Yes,” he answers dryly, keeping his back to me.
“Um,” I say as my voice dies in my throat. He’s still here, I tell myself. Even after everything we’ve been through. He isn’t gone yet. I try to slow the beating of my heart. “Can you show me those fight moves you were talking about again?”
He glances over his shoulder, shock apparent. “Yes. Of course, yes.”
He scrambles up to face me as I shrug out of Moche’s jacket. He stares at my face for a long moment, but I refuse to meet his gaze. I swallow, rubbing at my eyes with my palms.
“You were clearly taught tactics to escape,” he starts. “But you should also know how to defend yourself. You may not always have the space, or know where to run. You may have to stand your ground.”
He steps closer and holds my hand up.
“Strike with the heel of your palm,” he says, pointing. “Don’t give them a chance to break your fingers. Try an elbow strike. You want to get your attacker away from you. You need distance, the upper hand to use your powers….”
“T’Challa,” I warn.
“Too close and they can take advantage of you,” he continues as if I said nothing. “Avoid the chest, that won’t give you the maximum impact you need. Stabilize your center.”
He stands firm, knees bent, and I mirror his position. “Root your feet. And hit.”
I throw a quick jab toward his jaw, and he blocks it easily.
“Good. Again.”
TWELVE
T’Challa doesn’t leave, after all, and he doesn’t ask about my “powers” again. We cross into Ethiopia, continuing to make our way, staying off main roads, stopping each night to camp and practice fighting techniques.
“Now go for the neck!”
Adrenaline surging, I swing my leg at T’Challa’s head, and he ducks with a grin.
“Right. Now left elbow,” he orders.
I spin, jabbing my left elbow toward his nose, and he blocks me. I try the other elbow but pitch forward and fall into him.
“AH!”
T’Challa catches me and lets out a joyful laugh. “Good! That is good. You are getting the hang of it!”
I grumble. “If you think falling on your butt is a good sign, then I have a variety of pyramids to sell you back in Cairo.”
When we’re not training, each night we trade childhood stories. My childhood and his are polar opposites. He tells me all about the history of Wakanda, showing me videos and pictures on his bracelet thingy, all holograms of sleek buildings, cutting-edge technology I couldn’t even dream of. It feels like I have to pick my jaw up off the floor each time he shows me something new. Hard to believe such a magical place even exists.
“How do you keep all of this secret from the rest of the world?” I asked him one night, but he just gave a mysterious smile.
“We have our ways,” he said teasingly.
It is exactly what I need. A distraction from what is happening to me. If I don’t pay attention to it, it all just goes away.
But the farther we travel, the more the rubber band pulls at me. And with each night, it feels stronger than it did before.
* * *
Somewhere past Addis Ababa, T’Challa pulls over on the side of the highway, and checks his map.
“Why are you stopping?” I ask.
“There’s a lake not too far from here,” he says, and looks over his shoulder. “Let us camp there tonight.”
I’m used to T’Challa suggesting spots off the road, hidden deep where no one can see us. A lake seems like we’d be too exposed. But then he pulls up and the sight of it takes my breath away. Crisp, dark blue waters lap at the sandy bank, circled by tall grass and boulders. The sunset is just turning the sky a dusky pink, and the clouds cast purple shadows over a beautiful view of the surrounding mountain peaks in the distance.
