by Kwame Mbalia
“Mm-hmm.” Brer grunted as crumbled leaves tumbled out of an opening near his head.
“Got it,” he said as a flash of gray fur disappeared into a burrow by his feet.
“I’ll pass it along,” he muttered as a fluffy white tail dashed away.
“This is the Warren,” John Henry whispered as we watched Brer work. “Them little holes are tunnels that lead all over MidPass, and even beyond. Somebody once said a few of ’em go clear over to the mainland. Brer’s friends gather information and bring it back here, where he organizes and files it away for future reference.”
“He’s got spies?” I blurted out. “And you accused me of being—”
“Collecting information is hardly spying,” Brer snapped back, his ears flattening in annoyance.
“Enough, you two,” John Henry said. “We’ve got a problem that has to be dealt with, and I reckon it’s time we talked about how to fix it.”
“Fine, fine. Of course,” said Brer. “But I’m waiting until the others get here—no sense in wasting my breath twice.”
The rabbit collected his scribbled notes and began sorting them without another word. John Henry shrugged an apology to me and I rolled my eyes. God or no god, Brer was working my last nerve.
Miss Sarah and Miss Rose arrived a short time later, and I was surprised to see Ayanna trail them inside. While the winged goddesses both murmured greetings to me, the raft pilot gave me a brief smile that I hesitantly returned.
“Ah, good. About time.” Brer shuffled a stack of his notes and cleared his throat. “I, for one, will not dally, as I’m incredibly busy.”
“Doing what, sitting?” I said before I could stop myself.
Brer hopped to his feet in a huff. “Some of us, boy, actually contribute around here. Some of us believe that helping everyone survive is important. I solve problems—problems that you created—so spare me the insolent sarcasm and start pulling your weight.”
“I didn’t ask to come here!” I snapped.
“We didn’t ask for you either, and yet here you are.”
“Well, help me go home and I’ll get out of your hair!”
“THERE IS NO GOING HOME!” Brer exploded. He hopped inches from my face and glared. “That’s the problem! Nobody here has the ability to fly you up to a burning spiral of death that’s been hanging over our heads for a year, growing bigger and bigger. Not with hordes of iron monsters lurking in the mists! Not with brand flies swarming in the skies, chasing you this way and that! Until the tear is closed, and those iron monsters dealt with, you’re not going anywhere. So lose that idea until I tell you otherwise.”
I bit back a retort and remained silent, struggling with what he said. I was trapped there. For how long? The time difference between my world and Alke continued to throw me off. When I escaped—if I ever escaped, that is—how many days would have gone by at home?
“So then, what’s the plan, Brer?” John Henry threw up his arms, and his fingertips grazed the walls on opposite sides of the room. “If we can’t get up there, that hole will keep growing, and those iron monsters from the bone ships will keep boiling out of the Burning Sea!”
Brer rubbed his furry face and sighed. “From what we’ve been able to gather, there’s some connection between the abnormality in the sky and those creatures. I just haven’t been able to figure out what it is. What we do know is that when young Fisticuffs here”—he pointed his ears at me—“battered the poor Bottle Tree, that upset something, and the iron monsters, a minor nuisance since you-know-what was defeated, have been a menace again. If we can push this boy back through and close the hole behind him, it stands to reason whatever is aggravating them will be cut off….”
Miss Sarah said, “That’s all well and good—”
“—but someone still needs to get up there,” her partner continued.
“And we’re not trying again,” they finished at the same time.
Miss Rose sniffed. “My wings still twinge in the mornings, you know.”
Miss Sarah nodded, and I imagined the two goddesses beating their wings in time as they shot toward the tear in the sky.
A crash of thunder, and black feathers falling, a shriek of pain, and—
“Tristan, honey, you all right?” Miss Sarah peered at me, and I shook the vivid image from my mind. I could even smell the singed feathers.
“Fine,” I croaked out.
John Henry was still arguing with Brer. “And like you just said, them monsters ain’t letting no one get close enough to try,” he rumbled.
Brer hesitated. “Provided we figure out a way past them, which I’m working on, there are two people I know who can make it through that fire unscathed, but only one of them can fix the rip in the sky and perhaps rid us of our unwelcome guest.”
We all leaned forward to hear the name.
“Anansi.”
A BREATH OF WIND BRUSHED across my face, and I thought I heard someone whisper my name, but when I looked around, nobody was talking to me.
John Henry and Ayanna were arguing with Brer, who had both paws crossed over his chest and a determined look on his face.
“That tear in the sky needs to be sealed shut, and who better to do it than the Weaver himself?”
“Kwaku Anansi hasn’t been seen in months,” Miss Sarah said.
“If we could find him, though…” said Miss Rose.
“Ain’t happenin’.” John Henry shook his head. “It just ain’t. Even if he wasn’t long gone by now, hiding somewhere, what makes you think an Alkean god is gonna help us MidPass gods?”
“Because he has to!” said Brer.
“And how do you expect to find him?”
The bickering continued, growing into shouts and hand-waving, and I shook my head. Adults are so quick to jump on us kids for acting like that, when they do the same thing. Hypocrites.
“Excuse me,” I said loudly. “Hey! Excuse me!”
Everyone broke off their debate and turned toward me.
“How could Anansi help us?”
Silence greeted my question for so long I started to think I had food in my teeth, until Miss Sarah slowly asked, “You don’t know about Kwaku Anansi?”
“Oh, I know about him. Spider god. Stole stories from the gods and brought them to the people. The original trickster. Makes Brer, here, look like a teacher’s pet. I mean the teacher’s favorite kid, not the teacher’s animal, though I guess you’ve got that going for you, too.”
Brer snarled, and Miss Rose hurried to cut him off. “Yes, all of that is true. But Father Anansi is also known as the Weaver. The threads he spins are powerful magic—”
“—and right now, that’s what we need,” said Miss Sarah. “Powerful magic to close the tear in the sky.”
John Henry frowned. “But even if we can find him, and even if he bends that stiff neck of his, his help don’t come cheap.”
“No,” Brer said. He sighed and dropped back to his reclining position. “It doesn’t. We’d have to offer something mighty valuable to lure him out and over to our side.”
I looked around. “And we don’t have anything? What about your hammer?”
My suggestion brought a grunt of disapproval from John Henry. “That hammer might come in handy next time those iron monsters come ’round. And besides, what’s the spider god gonna do with a hammer?”
We all fell quiet for a moment, and then Brer cleared his throat.
“There is…one thing.”
“No,” John Henry said promptly.
“Johnny Boy, I’m just saying—”
“It’s too dangerous, Brer.”
“So is lying around here waiting to be snatched away by some overgrown bracelet!”
I waited for an explanation, and from their looks, so were Miss Sarah and Miss Rose, but John Henry and Brer just glowered at each other. I swear, adults act worse than sixth graders sometimes.
“Sooo…anyone going to tell us what’s too dangerous?” I finally asked.
John He
nry glared a warning at Brer but didn’t say anything. Brer sat up, his ears flat to his skull.
“The Story Box,” he said.
Miss Sarah and Miss Rose drew back in a flutter of black feathers and sharp inhales. John Henry clenched his fists. Ayanna gripped the carved end of her staff and narrowed her eyes.
And me?
I stood there like an idiot, confused.
“A story what?”
“Story Box. A treasure vault for tales and ballads. A repository for lullabies and fables older than the sun, some familiar, some no one has ever heard before.” Brer hopped to his feet and stretched his arms wide. “This wide, and this high—though it changes in appearance depending on who carries it—and every city in Alke has their own version. The original, however…the true Story Box, Anansi’s Story Box, the one he outsmarted Nyame to get…is unique.”
“And you think this treasure that is already his will lure him because…”
Brer fidgeted suddenly. “Because we were working on a project for it together. Then the iron monsters attacked, and we fled our separate ways. I came back here, and Anansi disappeared, but the Story Box was left behind.”
I thought about every Anansi tale Nana had told me over the years. He always had to prove himself the smartest, the trickiest, and above all, the most renowned. Losing the Story Box had to be a blow to his pride. “Anansi is a glutton for stories,” I muttered.
“Watch it. It’s bad business to insult a god,” Brer warned. “Not that I expect someone with your manners to know that.”
“It is a well-known fact, Brer,” John Henry said. “Get that Story Box and the Weaver is liable to spin his way to us quick, fast, and in a hurry.”
I looked at the giant man. “Wait. You said it was too dangerous, but Brer says every city has its own. Why don’t we just use the MidPass Story Box? Isn’t it good enough to lure out Anansi?” Maybe this could work…. And once Anansi was reunited with a Story Box, there’d be no need for me to stick around as the new Anansesem on the block.
John Henry looked away and sighed. “We actually don’t have one. A Story Box is an important icon of our history, and we haven’t yet hit on just the right combination of materials and spirit to build one with yet.”
Miss Sarah said, “We’ve tried many times before—”
“—but each disintegrated after only a day,” said Miss Rose.
“There’s some wood over on the Alkean continent,” John Henry mused. “Heard that it’s right powerful, but with things the way they are, the iron monsters and them being stubborn, it’s liable to be months before we can try again.”
That comment floated between us for a moment. Ayanna shook her head sadly like this was a constant source of disappointment.
“Okaaaaay,” I said. “We need a Story Box, and we don’t have one.”
Brer cleared his throat and John Henry’s face went grim, and again he clammed up. It was obvious that he didn’t approve of what Brer was going to say next, and after hearing it, I understood why.
Brer moved closer, both ears shading his eyes as he looked at me. “No, you’re not understanding. There’s a perfectly good Story Box waiting on its next owner. I just told you we left it behind. It’s there, right now, in the Golden Crescent. That’s where Anansi and I were studying it.”
“The Golden Crescent?” I asked. “What’s that? A city or something?”
“It was the jewel of Alke,” Ayanna explained. “But soon after the tear appeared, Brer said the iron monsters came and destroyed it. Any hope of Midfolk taking refuge there or in any other Alke territory disappeared after that. The cities are all afraid they’ll be the next to be overrun. And I don’t blame them.”
“But we’re not talking about taking refuge. We’re liberating the one thing in the world that gives us a fighting chance. The power in that Story Box…” Brer’s eyes narrowed to slits as he rubbed his paws together, and I shook my head. That rabbit had problems.
John Henry frowned but was no longer arguing. As much as he hated the idea, I could tell that the constant fighting, defending, leading the charge—it was starting to wear on him. On all of them. I considered Brer’s scars, and Miss Sarah’s and Miss Rose’s burned feathers. The gods were suffering right alongside the Midfolk who were hiding out in the Thicket.
John Henry sighed. “How?” was all he said.
Brer shot up and started pacing around the Warren. “Simple. Well, not that simple, but easier than you might expect. Especially with the butterfly whisperer over here.” He pointed at me and I scowled. “Anyway, a Story Box is a vessel for the magic of stories, right? It holds it, ready to bring them to life, much as an Anansesem would, only on a larger and grander scale.”
“Okay, so…” John Henry prompted.
“So, any stories told in its vicinity would be drawn to it. And vice versa.”
I didn’t like where this was going.
“If the boy—”
“The name’s Tristan,” I said, alarm entering my voice. “And I don’t think—”
“Yes, whatever. If he spun one of his tales like he did earlier, the magic from it would lead us straight to the Story Box. Then, easy as you like, someone slips in and snags the treasure, and we’re out, back home, and waiting for Kwaku Anansi to show up at the bargaining table.”
He clapped his paws and gazed around the room. John Henry looked thoughtful again, while Miss Sarah and Miss Rose seemed skeptical. Ayanna’s brow was furrowed. I shook my head, but no one paid me any attention.
Miss Sarah said, “And if someone has—”
“—an issue with us taking it?” Miss Rose finished.
“No one’s there anymore. Don’t you see? Since that…meeting, I’ve had the Warren keep track of movements in the Golden Crescent.”
John Henry narrowed his eyes, and I did the same. So Brer’s tunnels did go all the way to the mainland.
“All the citizens left after the iron monsters attacked,” Brer continued. “The Story Box is just sitting there, waiting for its next owner to pick it up.” The giant rabbit looked at me and frowned. “And you bring it right back here, understand? To me…to us.”
“Wait a minute…”
But they ignored me as they all fell silent, weighing the risks versus the potential benefit of having such a valuable treasure to lure Anansi.
Finally, John Henry shrugged.
“I hate to say it, but that may be our only option.”
“But who will accompany him?” Miss Rose asked. “It’s so dangerous.”
“Can I just—?” I began, but the conversation rolled right over me.
“We can’t go,” said Miss Sarah. “We’re already shorthanded, and those beasts are going to attack again any day now. Besides, John Henry would be spotted a mile away, and, Brer, you’re needed here to oversee the Thicket.”
“You’re right,” John Henry said.
Ayanna cleared her throat. “Chestnutt and I will go with him. Patrols around MidPass have been called off for now, and I refuse to just sit here and wait.”
Miss Rose pursed her lips, then nodded. “It would be reassuring to have you go as well. As for Chesnutt…” She trailed off, and her partner spoke up.
“It would get her mind off…losing Brer Fox.”
John Henry clapped once, nearly scaring me half to death. “So, Tristan, you ready to be a hero?”
I stared at him.
Ready to be a hero? The words echoed in my ears and pounded in my skull as images of Eddie and Brer Fox came to mind. In both those instances, I’d failed to help anybody. This would be the third attempt, and this time there were even more lives at stake. I might strike out for good. I backed up, nearly stumbling in my haste, and shook my head.
“No.”
SEND A SEVENTH GRADER TO do a god’s job, why don’t you.
When I refused to go along with their plan, Brer started pulling his ears and shouting, John Henry rumbled something, and Miss Sarah and Miss Rose took turns cutting each o
ther off. But it was Ayanna’s expression that hurt the most. She looked betrayed, and she stomped out of the room, her staff gripped tight.
Finally, John Henry waved both giant arms. “Enough, enough!” He waited until everyone settled down before turning to me with a frown. “Tristan, I know this is scary, but we need your help.”
“Why?” I asked, a challenge in my voice.
“Because…like Brer said—”
“Then let Brer do it. He’s obviously the expert. I’m not going back out there.”
Brer’s ears went flat and he sneered at me. “Oh, forget it. It’s obvious he’s too afraid. He’s done pretending to be a hero. Just as well. Fine. Whatever.”
If my face got any warmer, my eyebrows would’ve started smoking, but I refused to look away. Let them readjust their plans. I was tired of trying to live up to everyone else’s expectations.
Before I could respond, John Henry cleared his throat. “I reckon I might need to talk to Tristan for a bit. Will y’all excuse us?” He looked at me and nodded at the door. “Let’s take a walk.”
I studied John Henry out of the corner of my eye as we headed back to the Thicket glade where he liked to think. He reminded me of both my father and Granddad. Proud, silent, stern men. His knuckles weren’t scarred and swollen like theirs, but his wrists were marked and the palms of his hands were callused.
Everybody wears life’s scars a little differently, I supposed.
The ground began to slope upward, and the tangle of barbed branches we moved through became less dense. Sunlight speared through in angled beams. Green buds could be seen on the vines that crawled up the walls, and tiny white-and-yellow flowers blossomed near the ceiling.
The flowers reminded me of Mom’s windowsill garden, and without warning I got hit with a wave of homesickness. I wanted to get back to my world, but the fetterlings and the moaning bone ships in the Burning Sea…they stood between me and home. The thought of trying to get past all that again locked up my muscles. Froze ’em stiff.
And then there was the matter of reaching the tear in the sky. It sounded impossible.
