Storm, page 17
He thinks for a moment before picking up a stick and drawing a sketch in the red dirt.
“You see, your soul is separated from your earthly physical form and transported there.” He pauses to regard my face. “Ororo, where is this all coming from?”
Do I tell him about the Shadow King? What would he do?
Knowing T’Challa, he might try to face him. He could be hurt. Or worse, he might succeed, and I’d abandon my mission to rid myself of this curse. No, it’s better to keep him in the dark. I’m not even sure what I’m dealing with. No way am I going to let T’Challa get involved with the Shadow King.
I roll back my shoulders. “I’m just…interested. I read something about it in a book. It’s…fascinating, no?” It sounds unconvincing even to my ears, but I meet his gaze coolly.
T’Challa stares as if he can see right through me, and I have to force myself not to fidget. But, as always, he doesn’t pry or poke further.
A donkey dragging a cart of palms stops in front of us and lets out an eager hee-haw in my ear. I reel back as T’Challa giggles.
“I agree, my good man,” he says, patting the donkey on its side. “She is being too serious.”
The roar of a beaten truck dusts up the red dirt road, pulling up to the bike. The men on the other side of the road start shouting, waving at T’Challa and pointing at the truck. The petrol ended up taking no time at all.
T’Challa jumps to his feet and I follow, grabbing his arm to hold him still. If he knows things about the Astral Plane, I need to learn as much as I can so I’ll know how to fight the Shadow King if it comes to that.
“Can your ancestors leave the plane and come back to Earth?”
He shrugs. “It is improbable. But not impossible.”
“Say more.”
T’Challa crosses his arms, staring down at me. But he relents.
“Once they are of the plane, they are merely spirits. If they were to come back to Earth, they would need a body to inhabit. But in order for that to happen, one first would have to find an opening, a portal, which is like finding a very small needle in a vast universe. Then that opening would only last for a brief stretch of time. Minutes, a couple of days, maybe weeks, depending on the moon it serves.”
It must be the worm moon! That’s why Farouk kept mentioning it. The portal will close next month. But there’s still the matter of why he wants me on his side by then. He can move through dimensions; how can I compete with that?
“What happens when the portal closes?” I ask, failing to keep the eagerness out of my voice.
“Well, if the spirit does not find a body to inhabit before the portal closes, it will cease to exist entirely.”
I gulp. “And if someone were to…die there, in the plane…”
“No one can truly die there. They are merely stranded for the rest of eternity.”
A chill runs down my arms.
So that’s it. The Shadow King came back through a portal and has the power of possession. But his reach is long; he can live inside anyone.
“How do you know all this?” I ask, breathless.
T’Challa’s eyes shift, avoiding mine. “In Wakanda, we make it our business to know all there is to know about the world outside of our own,” he says, his voice hard. “Come. We should head back to the bike.”
T’Challa finishes his exchange for the petrol as I buy a few slices of fermented bread, beans, two mangoes, and another bottle of water from the market, my mind still spinning. It’s all coming together. The Shadow King must have somehow found a portal and taken the body of Farouk. He found a way back. But after surviving all he’s been through and beating the odds, what would possess him to come after me? What do I have to give him?
T’Challa avoids my eyes as I approach the bike, his expression heavy, and for a change, I know what he’s thinking. I assume my position on the seat, scooching forward, hugging T’Challa’s back.
“You’ve considered it for yourself, haven’t you?” I ask. “The plane, the portal.”
T’Challa’s body goes rigid. He grips the bike handles, knuckles turning white.
“Yes,” he hisses, without looking at me. “I, too, have researched. Because I would have given anything to bring Baba back.”
Then he doesn’t say another word as we take off down the road, and I get it. If I had the chance, I would give anything to bring back Mommy and Daddy, too.
* * *
We reach the city of Moyale, a market town at the border between Ethiopia and Kenya. The pull in my stomach is stronger than ever, and somehow, I know we are close.
T’Challa confirms this when he says it will take us another day to make it to Nairobi. My stomach twists at the thought of our trip together coming to an end. I’ve grown accustomed to his laugh, his terrible jokes, and his blinding smile. A part of me wouldn’t mind giving up my old life and just staying on this bike forever. But why would he ever want me? A prince with a street urchin on the run from…who even knows what. I have nothing to offer him.
And then, when I think of Moche, my brothers, the kiddies…I can’t abandon them. I have to keep going.
We speed on, and somewhere past Moyale, the skies open up. Sheets of rain pour down like I’ve never seen. T’Challa tries to take it slow, but the bike swerves on the muddy road, and I let out a yelp.
“We need to pull over!” T’Challa shouts above the roaring water. “We will not make it far in this.”
He veers off into a cluster of trees and turns off the engine. I run into the forest for the cover of the baobab trees as T’Challa pushes the bike over.
“The rain won’t last long,” I say, taking off my scarf to wring it out. “It’s just a passing storm.”
“How do you know?”
I stop short. “Just a…feeling.”
He grunts. “Your feelings are often very accurate.”
I rub my temples. Not this again. “Let’s…make a fire to keep warm.”
We each scan the ground, looking for dry leaves and broken bark. I pick up a few rocks to make a small circle, thinking distantly on my initial feeling of loss upon leaving Cairo. I’ve become accustomed to camping life in such a short amount of time.
“You know,” T’Challa begins, “if you can make it rain, can you not stop it, as well?”
I pause to look up at him. “Is that a serious question?”
He shrugs, his face genuinely curious. “More of a suggestion.”
I sigh and wave him off. If I am honest with myself, I guess I can understand his curiosity about everything that’s happened with me. But with the Shadow King looking for me, his men watching my brothers back home, I just…can’t. I can’t let anything distract me from the one thing that will get the Shadow King off my back, once and for all.
We work quickly to build a small shelter with fallen palm leaves and branches, then lay out our mats. There isn’t much dry wood, but T’Challa is still able to make a small fire. I hold my hand out to the flames, warmth seeping into the chill in my bones. My hair is drenched, and I unravel my braid to comb out the tangles.
“Well…,” he says, looking up at the trees. “We are almost to your family’s homeland.”
“Yeah,” I say quietly, laying my scarf out to dry. “Almost.”
All the adrenaline that has been coursing through my veins to make it to Kenya has been replaced by nervous prickles. With so many unanswered questions, what am I expected to do when I finally find my people? Do they even know about me? If so, why haven’t they come and looked for me? I’m sure they must have heard about Mommy’s death all those years ago.
Maybe they did come and search, and I was too busy stealing wallets and jewelry to be found. Or maybe they didn’t. I’m not like T’Challa, I’m not someone to be missed.
I glance over and find T’Challa watching me.
“What?”
His eyes flicker to the fire before he clears his throat. “You should wear your hair out more often. It is very beautiful.”
“Oh. Thanks,” I mumble, trying not to let his pretty words sink too deep. But I can’t ignore the thrumming tension racing through my veins.
“I’m tired,” I lie, trying to find a way out of the awkwardness. “All this rain, I guess. Think I’ll take a quick nap?”
T’Challa nods. “Okay.”
I turn and lie on the mat. But I can feel his eyes on me, burning through my back. Though I don’t feel tired, the sound of the rain and the soft warmth of Moche’s jacket lull me to a light sleep. It feels like I’ve barely blinked my eyes closed before I hear T’Challa’s frantic voice.
“Ororo, wake up!”
T’Challa is leaning over me, face marred with fright, hand gripping my shoulder.
I steel myself, stomach filled with dread. “What’s wrong? What happened?”
His eyes soften. “You were having another nightmare.”
I sit up, rubbing the sleep away, noticing that the rain has stopped. The sun has set, and night has erased all traces of the road ahead. The trees are thick with darkness—we must be deep in the forest.
I raise an eyebrow at T’Challa. “Another?”
He nods sheepishly. “You…do not really sleep. Your eyes close, but you toss and fight the air. Tonight, it seemed exceptionally violent. I couldn’t let you suffer.”
Heat rises to my cheeks. I didn’t know my nightmares were so visible.
“Why are you watching me sleep?” I ask with a nervous laugh.
He crouches in front of me. “I…worry about you.”
“Oh,” I mutter, wincing, and quickly look away from him. My voice is small when I speak again. “Are you worried I might…hurt you?”
I wouldn’t blame him. He’s practically traveling with a ticking time bomb.
“What? No! Why would you think that of me?”
“Because I don’t have control over”—I wave my hands—“whatever this is that’s going on with me.” I sigh, hating myself a little as I say it out loud. “I’d understand if I scare you.”
He shakes his head, as if I’m such a disappointment. “I told you, I do not scare easily,” he says sharply, and stands to walk back to his mat.
My heart surges at the thought of being away from him. “Hey!” I blurt out before I can stop it, then lower my voice, sheepish. “Can you…stay close?”
He blinks at me for a moment, mouth gaping. “Yes. Of course.”
T’Challa comes back to me slowly, and I scoot over to make room. We sit with our backs against the tree, side by side, looking out on the blackness of the savanna.
I lean my head on his shoulder, just to ground myself to something real, to feel his comfort again, like the way we were up in the tree. His muscles twitch, skin warm. He turns, lips almost pressing into my hair.
“What are your nightmares about?” he asks.
I squeeze my eyes shut at the pain. I don’t want to talk about them, not with anyone. But I know I have to. Once we arrive in Kenya, I’ll have to talk about them a lot to find my family.
This feels like a good start. A safe start.
“My parents,” I admit, my voice scratchy.
He stiffens. “Oh. Do you want to talk about it?”
Normally, I would have said no. But there’s something about tonight, less than a day out from Nairobi. The last night, maybe, before I find my mother’s family.
And maybe our last night together.
I look up at him, and his eyes are gentler than I expected. It feels like there is so much riding on being honest.
I glance down at my feet.
“A plane crashed into our home. I remember my mom wrapping her whole body around me, and my dad trying to wrap his body around the both of us as the building fell. So, you could say my parents died saving me, too.”
T’Challa leans his head against mine.
“I am sorry,” he whispers. “How did you survive?”
I wince a breath. “It took me hours to get out. Hours of being buried in the dark. Everything was closing in on me. Even now, rooms just feel so tight, I can’t stand it.”
“Claustrophobia,” he says, realization in his voice. “It all makes so much sense. No wonder you didn’t want to sleep in the cabin on the ferry.”
I nod. “So that’s what my dreams are always about. I’m trapped under the rubble of our home…my parents next to me, and I’m not strong enough to save them.” T’Challa takes my hand.
“It was not your responsibility to save them. You were just a child.”
“I know this. Still doesn’t change me wanting to do whatever I could to keep them alive. They were my entire world.”
T’Challa exhales. “And you were their world.”
Tears bubble up. I wipe a stray one away.
“And then, my world became much darker,” I admit. “But I just keep thinking back to that last day. How I was about to cut all my hair off and my mom stopped me, telling me that I was meant to be a part of something bigger. I keep wondering if they knew about this thing…this power inside me. And if they knew, why didn’t they tell me? Did they expect all of this to happen? Was that why they left New York and brought me to Cairo? Were they running from something?”
I sit up as the words start tumbling out faster, all the thoughts that have been trapped in the back of my mind gushing out. Now that I’ve started talking about them, it feels like I can’t stop.
“I mean, what if the plane crash wasn’t an accident? What if it was my fault somehow? And why weren’t they close to my mom’s family? Why didn’t they want me to know them? Could they be dangerous? Am I dangerous?”
T’Challa looks away with a perplexed scowl.
“And did they know I would need someone like you to help me find my people? Someone who is all the things I’m not, and makes me want to be all those things again? And I guess…I don’t…Is any of this even possible? What do you think?”
T’Challa stares into the fire, unblinking, and I just know I’ve said too much. I know he’s judging me and thinks I’m completely mad. And, in some ways, he’s right. Nothing has made sense in weeks….
But he could at least say something rather than just sitting there like a damn robot.
“T’Challa,” I say softly. “What do you think?”
He swallows hard, then finally speaks. “I think…I am going to kiss you now.”
Sirens ring in my head. “Um…what?”
“I am going to kiss you. Because if I do not kiss you right now, I will regret this moment for the rest of my life.”
I stop breathing as he shifts closer, arm wrapping around my waist, hand snaking up the back of my neck, into my hair, as if to keep me still, a fire in his eyes. He brushes the stray strands out of my face, cups my cheek, and holds my stunned gaze, pausing as if giving me a moment to decide.
My racing thoughts dissolve into a different type of panic. Because if I actually listen to that nagging voice inside me, telling me I’m not good enough to be kissed by a prince, I will run.
But I don’t want to run. I want to kiss him. More than anything.
So I close my eyes, lean forward. The moment his lips touch mine, everything just fades…all my worries, all my panicking…melt like butter.
He draws back to gaze at me, amazed, and a rushing sensation takes over.
I pull him back to me, hungry for more. He smells like campfire smoke and leather; his lips taste like honey. His hands are everywhere, and I want more of him. All of him. Pressure builds in my chest and before I realize what it means, thunder cracks above us as a bolt of white light hits the ground near our feet, scorching the earth black.
We jerk away from each other with a scream, staring at the space by his foot in silence.
“Well,” T’Challa says, catching his breath. “I have never had a girl try to kill me with lightning before.”
I slowly turn to him before sucking my teeth and elbowing out of his embrace to stand.
“So you’ve kissed a lot of girls, I take it,” I snap, stomping out the leftover flame.
He jumps to his feet. “A few,” he admits, glancing back to where we sat in awe. “But that was…that was…”
I groan. This is not at all how I expected my first kiss to go.
“That was nothing. Let’s just forget this ever happened.”
“Ororo…”
I whip around. “I almost killed you!”
“But you did not,” he says, reaching for me. “And as you once so eloquently told me, ‘almost is not enough.’ ”
I back away from him. “Now do you see why I need to get rid of this thing? I can’t even kiss a boy without…without…Tah! What kind of life can I have, being like this?”
“An extraordinary one, if you ask me,” T’Challa says, smiling. “These abilities of yours, if you learn how to control them, you can change the world. You just need to have patience with yourself.”
“I don’t want patience. I don’t want to learn. I want to get rid of whatever this is so I can be normal!”
“But…what if you decide not to rid yourself of it?”
“And stay a freak forever?”
He scowls. “A freak to whom?” He waves his hands wildly. “To me, you are absolutely amazing!”
“Do you really think everyone is just going to accept me?” I pitch my voice higher. “ ‘Oh, you can control the weather? Right, we’re not scared of you at all!’ ”
“You are a terrible actress,” he quips. “You could help so many people, save so many lives. Look what you were able to do for Ameen’s village.”
The praise chants echo through my thoughts. I shake them away.
“You act like this is all so simple.”
“I believe you can learn how to control it. With patience and focus.”
I know all about focus and I still find this to be impossible. I want to believe him. I want to believe that I can do something worthwhile. Be a part of something…bigger. But I can’t let myself go down that road. To believe it, then to be proven wrong, it would kill me.
