Storm, page 23
“I need scissors. Or a knife.”
She frowns. “For what?”
“My hair.”
“What?” she snaps, and her anger catches me off guard.
“It’s…distracting,” I try to explain. “Everyone is staring.”
“And what is wrong with that? What is wrong if people stare at the gift you have been given?”
“Gift?” I balk, grabbing a fistful of hair. “This is not a gift! None of this is a gift. More like a curse!”
She narrows her eyes. “You dare to consider your gift a curse?”
“I can’t believe anyone would think this is anything other than a damn curse.” I sigh. “Ainet, it would just make my life…easier if I at least try to fit in. I can try to dye it with some clay from the riverbed. Dress like you.”
She sucks her teeth. “Eh, eh. I do not know why you are so set on making yourself small when you were not born for that purpose.”
“So you’d rather me be arrogant? Flaunt this in everyone’s face?”
“I would rather you be confident! Walk with your head held high, and be proud of who you are. Being humble does not mean to shrink into oneself. Rather, it is to be exactly who you are, unapologetically.”
I shake my head, looking away. “You don’t understand. You look like everyone here.”
“Do you think the zebra has never wanted to change its stripes? Or the giraffe has never wanted a shorter neck? They know they cannot, and yet they continue to walk tall and carry on. They do not sit in the grass complaining.” She stomps closer. “You said the women in your family have your hair, your eyes, yes?”
I swallow. “Yes…”
“So your powers must be from their tribe, correct?”
“Well, yes, but—”
“Then why would you want to throw away the one gift your mother has left you?”
The gut punch lands so hard I almost buckle over. I have…never thought of my hair that way. My eyes fill with tears as I look to Ainet.
“You must change the way you speak of yourself. Words have power. And to call this power a curse is an insult to the very person who gave it to you. Your mother’s greatness was passed down not just in your features, but in the very essence of your soul. Where your power lies.”
EIGHTEEN
We fall into a steady morning routine: just before dawn, I take several breaths, then sit by Ainet as she prepares breakfast while I boil water for tea, readying for the day’s work. Yesterday, I heard Ainet mention something about the moon in passing, and I realized the worm moon must be approaching. I haven’t given much thought to the Shadow King since I’ve been here. I feel at ease here, as if I’m unreachable by his grasp. But at night, when I look up at the changing moon beginning to peek behind the black blanket of sky, that sense of impending dread creeps in.
A part of me wonders what would happen if I just let life go on without anyone knowing I’m here. Do I really need to know how to use my powers if I stay hidden? The Shadow King would just be forced to live without me. It’s better this way; I’m too harmful to people I love.
I sit on my cot, eating a small bowl of rice for breakfast. Ainet sits on her stool, sipping tea, staring at me from across the room.
“What’s up?” I ask, holding a spoonful to my lips.
She slowly stands, picking up a bucket of water. “It is time that I kick you out of my home. You are cramping my style.”
“Okay,” I say with a chuckle. “So where am I supposed to stay?”
“How everyone else lives. Come.”
Outside, a woman carrying a large pile of sticks under one arm and three stacked bowls in the other smiles as she passes us and walks to a spot just beyond Ainet’s hut, where a large pile of black dirt sits.
“What is she doing?” I ask as we approach.
The woman sets down her sticks and starts digging up the dry earth, creating a hole next to a pile of rocks.
Ainet nods at the woman. “This is Osunda. She is one of Mukami’s wives.”
Osunda smiles, nervous eyes shifting over to Ainet. Of course she’s scared of me.
“What’s all this?” I ask, gesturing to the different piles.
Ainet sets the water bucket down and Osunda immediately pours some into the hole.
“These are the materials for your enkaji, your new home.”
“Really?” I tiptoe closer to the pile of dirt. “It smells awful!”
“The best homes are made with the freshest cow dung Kioko can offer.”
“Wait…this is…no.” I stare at the massive pile, floored. “You expect me to build my own home…with this?”
“All of our homes are made of mud, sticks, grass, cow dung, rocks, and ash.”
Mukami carries over two more buckets of poop, dumping it next to Osunda, who begins combing through it with her bare hands.
“Ew. Gross,” I say, gagging. “There is no way I’m touching that!”
Ainet holds a steady gaze. “The home that has provided you shelter was made of these very materials. So is everyone’s home. No one complains. Are you too good to live in our homes now?”
Shame bubbles up, my cheeks on fire. “No.”
Ainet regards me with a skeptical eye, then continues. “Osunda will teach you how to build your home.” She walks in a large circle. “I believe you can build something right here.” She stomps her sandal in the ground. “I would start soon, before it gets too hot.”
Ainet grins and walks back to her hut. I stare at the empty space, then look to Osunda, who smiles at me, and I can only wince a smile back. With rocks, we outline the small circular shape of what will be my home. Mukami, Osunda, and I begin building the skeleton of the hut with sticks lying on top of one another. Ainet watches us from outside her hut on a wooden stool, a bowl of beads in her lap as she works on a new necklace.
Once the structure is up, Mukami heads back to the cattle and Osunda ushers me toward the buckets. Osunda doesn’t speak English, so we communicate through hand gestures and nods as she gives me the recipe for cow dung plaster. First, we start by mixing dirt with water to create a muddy soup; then we add the mashed cow dung, kneading all the ingredients together until it has a thick consistency. Then we mix in sticks and grass, followed by ash from the firepits. Once it’s ready, we pat it against the sticks, like frosting a large cake, so it looks like a mound of black hummus. Or just a big pile of poop, but I try not to think about that part too hard.
She pats more mixture against the sticks, building upon it. And as it dries, it cements and takes on a light brownish color. Once Osunda finishes with the first batch, the hut starts to take shape. Then she wipes her hands and waves with a smile as she walks away.
“Wait, you’re not going to help me finish?”
“All the women build their own homes here,” Ainet answers for her. “You do not need help. You only needed guidance.”
I glance back at my house materials.
“It’s fine,” I mutter to myself. “It’s just another test. I got this.”
I start making a new batch of plaster but can’t replicate what Osunda did. It’s soupy and doesn’t seem to thicken, despite all the ash I mix in.
The next day, I try another batch, adding leaves and grass, hoping it will hold. It works for a moment, but by the time I start laying it against the siding, it drips to the ground. I make another batch and think I’ve nailed it, but by the next morning, I find that half of the plaster has softened.
“It keeps melting,” I shout over to Ainet. “I don’t think I’m doing this right.”
“Sounds like you have a problem,” she says without looking up from her beading.
“Can Osunda maybe write down the measurements of stuff?” I huff. “Ainet, this will take me forever!”
“Forever is a mighty long time. Good thing you like to sleep outdoors.”
I suppress a shiver. “Being inside is too…restricting.”
“A roof can keep you safe.”
“Not always,” I grumble.
Ainet looks up at that comment, but I don’t meet her eye as I snatch a bowl and head to the village to collect more ash. On my fourth batch, I have to return to the stables and collect more of Kioko’s poop, and I hold my breath to fight the rancid smell.
I ask Osunda for help, but she signals that she is busy. Everyone is. I can’t tell if they’re trying to avoid me or if this is all a part of my “test.”
* * *
Night falls on the fourth day. I’m almost sure this is just a big, elaborate joke, as I’ve barely put a dent in my new home. My back aches, my legs are stiff, and my fingernails are permanently stuffed with muddy poop plaster.
But while the rest of the village sleeps, I keep working, unable to stand the thought of failure, of not being able to unlock the key to this one simple task. I’m on my sixth, maybe seventh, batch of plaster, and I’m out of water, so this batch has to work until I can retrieve more in the daylight.
Ainet walks over from her hut, standing a few feet away. I can barely see her in the pitch-black dark, but I feel her watching me slab the plaster against the sticks with my hands, letting it drip down my arms.
“It’s late,” she says.
There’s a taunting laugh in her voice. I glance over my shoulder, seething.
“You think this is funny, don’t you?”
She doesn’t answer. Just stares down into my latest bowl of plaster. “I do not believe that you paid any attention to what Osunda showed you. Instead, you are just throwing things in a bowl to see what sticks.”
I turn and shake the plaster off my hands. “You know what,” I snap, kicking the bucket over. “I’m done!”
“Hmm. How can you be done when you still do not have a roof, girl?”
“Does that really matter?” I shout. “I’ll be gone in the morning.”
“Hmm. So you are quitting?”
“You said you would teach me how to control my powers. And all I’ve learned is how to beg a cow for milk, fetch water, and build a house out of sh—Poop! This is all useless to me!”
Ainet rocks back on her heels, her stare steady, her face expressionless.
“I can’t believe I was so stupid to think even for a second that…that…that I could control any of this,” I say, waving my arms around. “That you or anyone could help me!”
“So you are giving up? Without even trying?”
“Did you hear a word that I just said? I’ve been trying! All my life, I’ve tried!”
“Hmph. That remains to be seen.”
I stomp away from her. “You don’t even know me. You don’t know what I’ve done or been through!”
“If there is still air in your lungs, is life truly so terrible?”
“Ha!” I whirl back to her. “First I’m born with this ridiculous hair. Then my parents die, and I’m left to live on the streets, stealing anything I can get my hands on just to survive. Now I’ve turned into some freak shooting lightning out her hands. I’ve lost my brothers, my home, and T’Cha—I’ve lost everything. It’s just not fair. All I want is to be normal! I don’t want whatever you think this stupid gift is!”
The air tenses, wind kicking up, but Ainet seems unfazed by it.
“So you still think the gift given by your mother is stupid? Why?”
“Because she’s not here to teach me how to use it!” I scream, bursting into tears as thunder rips through the sky overhead. “None of them are! They’re all dead, and I’m still here. I don’t want a gift; I want HER. I’d give all this up to have her again. To have my father again. Even for a moment.” I crumple to my knees, sobbing. “My life would have been so different. I wouldn’t have been left in the streets to die. I wouldn’t be alone!”
Ainet’s eyes soften. “Alone, you say? Silly girl. You have never been alone. The ancestors seek to be one with you, but you refuse to listen. Too obsessed with what you lost.” She steps forward as tears stream down my face. “A terrible thing has happened to you. Something was stolen that you will never be able to steal back, something you wanted to hold with both hands. Life is unfair. It will always throw crap at you. But you must learn to take that crap and build a new life with it. The smell will eventually fade. And you will go on. You cannot let what happened yesterday keep you from tomorrow.”
I blink and let out a breath. “I’m going to be honest with you, Ainet. I wasn’t expecting you, of all people, to say crap.”
She smirks. “They say I am full of surprises.”
I bow my head. “I just…The things I’ve had to do…” My mind flashes to houses collapsing, water roaring down streets, Moche jerking away from me in horror. “I don’t deserve whatever gift you think this is.”
She shrugs. “You did what you needed to do to survive. But you must learn to let go of what no longer serves you. If not, it will always be what weighs you down, what keeps you from greatness.”
I slump, hair billowing over my shoulders. “But what good is it all if I can’t control it? And who the hell am I to have this gift? I’m no one. Just some street rat. It should go to someone good. Someone who’s worthy.”
She steps forward and grabs my arms. “You are more than worthy of such a gift,” she whispers. “Close your eyes.”
Emotionally drained, I let go and listen.
“Now breathe.”
“Ainet, I don’t want to—”
“Breathe!” she says sharply, and I inhale. “Deeper. Breathe from the core of your belly.”
I breathe in deep, then let it out. In, out. In, out. The winds begin to calm.
“You have an emotional block that is affecting your ability to control your power,” she says. “It is why you have been struggling. Breathe!”
I jerk and let out another breath.
“Your breath controls your nervous system, much like the systems of weather here on Earth. If you can control your emotions, then you can control your powers. Even without your powers, if you can’t master your mind, then you’ll give anyone or anything control over you without even trying. It all starts and ends with you.”
“I don’t think I can,” I whimper.
She grips my hands. “What is a storm made of?”
“Um…wind?” I reply. “Rain, thunder, lightning. Sometimes ice, snow, and hail.”
“And where do storms come from?”
“The sky. The atmosphere.”
“Can you make a storm?”
“Huh?”
“Think of the way Osunda builds a hut. How does she make her plaster so that it stands? She has all the materials she needs, but what does she do with them?”
I think hard, back to watching Osunda mixing the plaster, trying to remember every step she took, her method. The memory blurs, but I realize…she wasn’t following any hard rules; there was no measuring as she mixed. She was following her instincts.
“Do you see it now?” Ainet says. “Now breathe and imagine a storm the same way, just in your mind. What would go first to create it?”
“You would need clouds,” I whisper, feeling a pull inside me.
“Then?”
I lick my lips. “Then…rain? Maybe wind. Lots of wind. Um, thunder. Moisture, water for rain. Then lightning.”
“Do all storms have lightning?”
“No. Not every storm.”
“Only if Mother Nature is so inclined?”
Wind whips around my hair, the air electric. “Yes.”
“You and Mother Nature have a lot in common. Both of you can create the very things you think of. You can decide what you want in your own storm. So think hard, girl. Listen to your soul. Imagine it, then be it. Ask for what you want. You can build a storm as big or as little as you want. And it is yours to control.”
I think hard, bearing down, trying to feel for that light when I realize what she means.
I don’t have to look. I just have to ask.
But I shake my head, a sob bursting from my lips. “But…what if I can’t stop it? What if I fail? I’ll hurt people.”
Ainet grips my hands tighter. “You are not the same girl who arrived in this village all those days ago. You are something stronger, wiser. Now ask for exactly what you want. As long as you respect the order of nature, she will respect you.”
Trembling, I bear down on the rubber band pulling inside me.
Rain.
At that very moment, water hits my eyelid and I look up. A small cloud has formed just over our hut, rain sprinkling, not as heavy as the rains in Caribou. Ainet kicks a bucket under the cloud.
“This is the gift your mother gave you,” Ainet says. “The gift your people blessed you with. No one can steal it from you. It is in your hands alone.”
Her words ignite a fire within me. This is mine. My mother gave this to me. And I won’t let anyone take it.
I widen my arms, let the clouds bloom wider and the rain fall, heavy like a waterfall, but never overwhelming. I let it pummel my face, and I breathe.
“Enough,” Ainet says.
I draw my arms back in, and the storm evaporates as quick as it came. Panting, I turn to Ainet.
“Very good,” she says, picking up the filled bucket of water and passing it to me. “Now go wash off. You smell like crap.”
* * *
It’s like a switch flipped. For the first time maybe ever, it feels like I can breathe. Actually, truly breathe.
I complete the walls of my hut the very next day, with plaster I make on my own. When I return from my walk to the river a few days later, I have two buckets of water and a handful of leaves that Ainet requested.
She takes one leaf from my grip and lays it on the floor.
“Here,” she says, motioning. “Make this leaf dance.”
I take a deep breath and call to the wind, feeling it tug at my chest, and hold out my hands toward the leaf.
