Storm, page 26
I claw at his fingers, tears streaming as I watch the water tower over the beach.
“No prince to save you, no family. You are all alone. Let me in, and I will use your powers to save these people, something you will never do.”
Panic surges, my heart cracking.
“Okay,” I croak. “You win.”
He yanks me back to his face and hisses the words: “Now I will have you.”
His eyes bore into mine as they change from black to a glowing red, his grip on my neck tightening. I beat at his hand for air, the edges of my vision fraying.
This is it. I’m going to die and he’s going to take me.
But he can’t take something that was never his.
Power pools into my hands and bursts. The man’s eyes flare before he loses his grip. Another low rumble hits, and the sand suddenly plummets beneath us.
We fall into a deep pit in the sand, hitting the bottom with a thud. The Shadow King stumbles to his feet with a moan, as if momentarily forgetting himself. But then he spots me and dives for my neck. I swing-kick him off, sending him flying to the other side of the crater.
In that moment, I realize how tight the space felt. Scrambling, I crawl out of the hole and see Zawadi standing at the bottom of the stairs, a hand on the ground. She gives me a nod.
“Ororo!” the Shadow King bellows just as he clambers to the top of the pit, wet sand covering his enraged face. I throw lightning at his chest, tossing him toward the receding water, and he hits the wet sand. I slap the air twice, and a small tornado whips up, tossing the man again. I throw lightning once more, and he falls flat on his face.
“Uhhh,” he groans, fish flopping around him. His body stills. Red particles drift out of his skin, floating above us.
“No you don’t!” I shout, shooting light at them with a sizzling zap. The red particles short-circuit, my lightning zapping between them as if playing a game of Ping-Pong. The particles drift drunkenly away.
I dive for the Shadow King’s most recent host.
“Zawadi!” I call, turning the man onto his side, tapping his cheek.
The man lets out a small groan, and I exhale a sigh of relief. He’s still breathing. I didn’t kill him.
Zawadi runs toward me, dropping to her knees. The massive wave races closer.
“Get him off the beach!” I yell, helping to lift the man to his feet. “Hurry!”
“Come with us!” she says desperately. “The wave…You won’t survive!”
I turn back to the sea, the wave barreling toward us. I push the man onto Zawadi’s shoulder.
“Go, now!” I order. Then I turn, facing the wave. And I walk toward it.
The sound of water grows louder, like a stampede of antelope through the savanna, heading straight for me. I take a deep breath.
Imagine it. Be it.
I spread my arms wide, palms up, and I stare down the wave. The air around me stills; I can see the tiniest bits of water floating in slow motion. I call on the wind, pulling it toward me. My body shakes, trying to stay rooted to the ground as the wind builds into a solid invisible wall. Fingers splayed, I stretch the wall wider, as far out as it can go.
The wave—it’s massive. The wall of wind needs to be taller, higher.
A dream so big that it may scare you. That’s when you learn just how brave and powerful you can be.
“Goddess, help me,” I mutter, sweat building on my brow, my muscles trembling, palms growing so cold they almost burn. I bear down, pushing harder, my jaw quivering against the mental weight. I take another step toward the incoming water.
Higher. I need to be higher.
Suddenly, something inside me cracks, a thunder so loud it’s deafening, and I’m blinded by an explosion of colors. Brilliant blues, greens, golds, and purples tint my vision. My body jerks as all my power comes pouring out of me, as if it was trapped by a wall. A wall of doubt I could not break until this very moment.
The power unfurls in waves. I can feel every atom shift, every strand of hair sway. Air rips through my lungs in the form of a scream, a battle cry, before my vision sharpens behind foggy white eyes.
The wind swoops under my feet, dancing up my sides to my arms, and I’m lifted off the ground. My hair comes loose and coils around me. I’m too busy staring the wave down to notice how high up I really am.
Focus, Ororo. Focus.
I take a deep breath and shove the wall of wind toward the wave like a shield.
The water crashes violently into the wall and I push forward, teeth bared, flexing my muscles. The water pushes harder, as if it refuses to believe it can be stopped.
“You will not get past!” I scream, pushing back, flying closer, shoving my wind-made dam into it.
Then, suddenly, I’m no longer struggling. I’m just existing.
I glance down the beach at my wall in wonder and notice the red particles, weakly struggling down the shore, and remember Zawadi’s words…
If he does not find a new host within minutes, he will be lost and forced to return to the plane.
I lower one arm, letting a sliver of the water tip over my wind-made dam and dump on top of the red particles, stopping them in their tracks.
The giant wave swirls and pipes into itself, slowly losing its anger until it begins to calm and shrink.
I lower my arms, letting the dam down, and watch the small remainder of the wave rush onto the beach, never making it far up the shore. The wave scoops up the particles and pulls them into the sea. And then they are gone.
As I watch, I realize I’m still floating in the air.
Because I want to be.
The thoughts come crashing in. I wanted to save T’Challa, to rescue the children from war, to help the villagers, to save the people on the beach…. It all begins to make sense. Who I am is more important than who I thought I was supposed to be.
Still floating, I spin around and spot Zawadi by the steps.
I sail over to her and try to touch down on the beach but stumble, falling on my knees with an “Oof!”
My landing isn’t the best, but it will get there.
I glance up at Zawadi.
“You were…you were flying,” she utters in disbelief.
“Yes,” I agree, breathless.
“But…how?”
I glance back at the sea. “Because I wanted to.”
* * *
Zawadi and I sit on the boulders, looking out at the sea, the water returning to its normal gracefulness. My body buzzes with an intoxicating energy that I never want to go away.
“You saved me,” she says.
I nod, not looking at her. “Yeah.”
“You were willing to give yourself up…for a stranger. Why?”
“I told you…. We’re a lot alike,” I say, nodding to the caves. “We can both do things no one else can.”
Zawadi twists her fingers. “You know, I had never been to Caribou until that day,” she admits.
I figured as much. “And your grandmother?”
She shakes her head. “My grandmother died last year. She was my only family. She knew I was…different. I was trying to keep my secret about what I can do to the earth. But sometimes…I was tempted to try. So I went near the caves, where I thought no one would see or hear me, and I touched the ground. The cliffside cracked, and the Shadow King came out in this red light.” She laughs harshly. “I thought he was an angel. He told me that I was special. That he could provide for me what no one could—protection, a family, the chance to belong to something. He had a great big plan, and I helped him. I’d been so alone, and it all seemed worth it.”
I think of Moche and the boys in Cairo, and how familiar I am with wanting to do anything to feel like you belong. Even trying to be everything I am not.
Her eyes well with tears. “I wanted to be a part of something. But now…no one will take me after what I’ve done. I don’t belong anywhere now.”
I glance back at the sea and smile. “You know what’s amazing?”
She frowns. “What?”
I scoop up a handful of sand and wiggle my fingers, whipping the wind into a mini tornado.
“We actually can belong anywhere we want.”
TWENTY-THREE
I glance up at the sunny sky, palming the phone in my hand. I take a deep breath before dialing the number.
T’Challa answers on the second ring.
“Ororo?” he gasps, and his voice sends all those silly butterflies to my tummy.
“Hello, my king.”
He sputters out a quick chuckle. “I would tell you to not call me that, but I will let you call me anything if you keep talking. Are you okay? I heard what happened in Mombasa. You were flying!”
I wrap a strand of hair around my pinkie. “Indeed. It was…amazing.”
“Are you back in Nairobi?”
I look out from Thomas’s tin house in Caribou at Zawadi, playing soccer with a few of the children, laughing and giggling.
“Yes.”
“Stay there! I can be there in a few short hours.”
I steel myself for this next part. “T’Challa, I have a favor to ask.”
“Anything!”
“I know Wakanda doesn’t like outsiders. But Zawadi…she’s all alone.”
There’s a pause before he says, “You…want me to bring her here?”
“Yes.”
“And will you come as well?”
I hold my breath for a few seconds before releasing it. “No. I’m afraid not.”
There is a long silence. I can almost picture his thinking face.
“You are going to look for your family,” he says, but not as a question. He knows me too well.
“Yes. I’m not ready to give up the search just yet.”
“But I can help you. We have tools here….”
I twirl a strand of my frizzy hair and sigh. “Wakanda sounds amazing, T’Challa. It would be an honor to be there with you. But I respect that Wakandans are not fully ready for the outside world to know of their existence, and you’re not king just yet. Letting in two outsiders might be too much, and I won’t have you jeopardize the start of your great reign for me.” I pause, letting my voice soften. “Let Zawadi take my place. She has no friends or family, no place to call home. My family is still out there. And my home is here, in Egypt, in Sudan. My home is the world. The way I felt when I saved all those people on the beach, or in Caribou…I just have this feeling that this is a part of my destiny. Or something bigger.”
T’Challa sighs and clicks his tongue. “You have always been wiser than me.”
“You’ve finally seen the light!”
He laughs and I smile. I’ve so missed the sound of his voice.
“There must be others like me and Zawadi,” I say. “I don’t think the world is ready for people like us, so we need to get ready for the world. Will you help her?”
“I will send a ship to pick her up. She will be in good hands.”
I glance out the door at the new and improved homes, the solar panels and potted plants, so different from how I first left things.
“T’Challa…I’m sorry for what I said to you in Caribou. This entire time, you were only trying to help me. And I was being an ass. An ungrateful one, too. I would have never gotten this far without you.”
“No, I am the one who is sorry,” he says. “I pushed you to do something you were not ready for. You told me and I did not listen.”
I breathe a sigh of relief. “So, forgiveness all around.”
He laughs, then exhales. “Ororo, you have given me a lot to think about. About the type of king I want to be. About the future of Wakanda. Our privacy has made us blind to some of the suffering around us. But we are hoping to change that. So, I hope, one day soon, you’ll reconsider. There are lakes with no crocodiles here.”
My heart is ready to burst out of my chest.
“Well, we’ll see,” I say, trying to play it off. “Well, thanks again.”
“You are most welcome.”
The line goes silent, but I sense he is still on the other end.
“What are you waiting for?” I ask.
“For you to wish me good night. So I know that I will see you again. Soon.”
I glance up at the high sun and grin so hard my face splits. “Good night, T’Challa.”
And I can just picture his deep dimples before he says, “Good night, Ororo.”
* * *
“T’Challa is sending a ship,” I announce as I walk out the house. “You are going to Wakanda.”
Zawadi’s face turns up as if she’s smelling something rotten. “Wakanda? That little place?”
I laugh. “Trust me when I say you’re gonna want to be there. And they’ll be able to help you.”
She kicks the ball to the kids and walks over to me.
“And I should be helping you,” she says. “I was not lying about the stories my grandmother used to tell me. She told me a story about a tribe with a white-haired priestess who wielded magic and could control the weather. She said they were descended from the rain god, who knew how to ride the winds and lived in the Forest of the Lost Child.”
My eyes flood with tears. I grasp her shoulders. “Thank you.”
“Ororo!”
I spin around at the familiar voice. “Mukami! What are you doing here?”
Mukami rushes toward me, the sight of his red robe both alarming and welcome.
“You must hurry,” he says, out of breath. “Ainet is ill.”
A blade pierces my heart.
The medications! I never brought them back to her.
I pull Zawadi into a quick hug. “I have to go. Stay here and look out for a ship!”
She nods as I run toward the dam.
Mukami points to the road in the other direction. “The car is this way….”
“Yes, but flying would be faster,” I yell back, and take to the sky.
TWENTY-FOUR
Ainet is a stubborn woman.
“I can get water fine on my own,” she snaps, tugging at the other side of a bucket.
“Ainet, you’ve only just gotten back on your feet,” I say, pulling at the handle. “Let me help you.”
Whatever illness came over Ainet, it passed within a few weeks. But she still seems feeble and a little out of breath at times. I helped nurse her back to health, cooking her stews and broth, taking over her beading duties. But now she’s up, dressed, and being ridiculous.
“This is not up for discussion,” she scolds outside her hut. “Now let it go.”
I pull the bucket closer to me, meeting her eye. “You can either let me get it, or I’ll have the water come to you.”
Ainet’s eyes flare. She knows I mean business. She sucks her teeth and releases the bucket.
“I am quite tired of your little rain clouds and wet clothes,” she grumbles, plopping down on her stool.
I smirk, slipping off my sandals, and take to the air, the wind wisping under me, my blue dress fringed at the hem. I twirl, my hair wild and free.
“I’ll be right back in no time.”
She groans, lips set in a hard line. “You know, I think you just like using any excuse to fly anywhere.”
“Maybe.” I laugh, and turn just in time to see a few villagers drop their buckets and each fall to the ground in a full bow.
“Mungu wa kike!” they shout.
Not this again.
“Would you tell them to stop that?” I say, floating just above Ainet’s head.
Ainet juts her lips at the people. “What do you expect them to call a flying white-haired girl?” I sigh and head for the river, passing over the grazing cattle, grass now plentiful since I’ve been watering it with a few quick showers. I wave to Kioko, pretending not to notice the other villagers fall to their knees, shouting.
“Mungu wa kike! Mungu wa kike!”
Goddess. That’s what they started calling me the moment I came back from Nairobi. From the second my foot touched the ground, the villagers broke into hysterics, hollering at the gods, performing ceremonies of praise and sacrifices. I was too busy caring for Ainet to correct them. Now they’ve made me their deity. In the mornings, I wake up to offerings at my doorstep. Food, jewelry, cow’s blood, even once a baby. That made for an interesting day.
I skip across the water, toes tapping the cool surface, and land by the rocks at the river’s bend. Hippos eye me curiously but continue to hunt for their next meal while the zebras gather around and stare. I think of all the animals I’ve encountered, especially the dogs in Garbage City, and smile.
Ainet is right: I’m a miraculous being, and this is my new normal. But could I live the rest of my days here being known as a goddess? What kind of life would I have here? Making it rain during droughts, protecting them from the elements? Shouldn’t I be doing more?
Where else could I go?
I gaze into the mirror at my reflection and pause, admiring the girl before me. The golden, rich copper skin, the sparkling blue eyes…the beautiful white crown of hair. Everything about me has somehow heightened since I started using my powers.
“I was there all along,” I muse, poking at my reflection’s nose, letting the ripples spread out.
As I dip the bucket into the water, a breeze ruffles the nearby reeds. Pulse spiking, I straighten with a gasp.
That’s not the wind. Something is coming. And fast.
I ditch the bucket and shoot up to the sky, speeding back toward the village, dropping down in front of Ainet’s house with a loud thud.
“Eh, eh. That was quick,” she says, amused, her hands busy working on a new necklace. “Where is my water?”
