Wings of Ebony

by J. Elle

  “Rue, with this power, you’d be…”

  “Unstoppable,” I say.

  CHAPTER 27

  A PASSAGEWAY AT THE REAR end of the cave opens up to the very edge of the island, hugged by jungle foliage and cricket-chirping darkness. A stone path cuts through the trees to a cluster of short huts—chakusas—with cone roofs and woven doors. Bati showed me back here to a spacious room where I could have just a minute, a second to breathe.

  I appreciate that.

  My Air Maxes are caked in dirt. Shit’s going to take forever to clean, if I can even clean them at all. I nudge a loose stone in the dusty floor with my shoe and glare at the woven ceiling, thoughts racing through my mind. I can hardly focus on any of them.

  A mix of anger laced with frustration burns through me. I’m not some wielder of the Ancestors’ magic, like they’re making me out to be. I can’t even get this “inner magic” I’m supposed to have to work. I’m no one’s avenger. Ain’t nothing special about my blood. I’m just me.

  But can I really just walk away and leave things like this?

  They’re basically kin, brown-skinned like me.

  I’ve never felt a connection to this place, but this… this is wrong.

  I pull at the ends of my hair, which are crying for some coconut oil. Taking down the General and the Chancellor will do a lot of good for a lot of people. Maybe I can help that way? Not as Jelani, or whatever they think that means. But as me, as Rue.

  But how would I even do that? Ugh, the million-dollar question. My head hurts. I’ll figure this out. Somehow, I’ll make a way. I always do.

  I slip the cuffs on my wrists and they dangle there. The heat from them has all but died out, now that they’re united. I can sense them, but it’s not the same. It’s like they were using me to get back together. But now that I have them both, they have nothing to say. I don’t get it.

  I close my eyes and search for that warmth, that familiar wiggle and twinge.

  Nothing.

  Focus.

  I bite down, my nails digging into the straw arms of my seat. Ow! My tongue. I rake my hands through my hair. If they have an instruction manual on how to access this raw magic inside me, there because Aasim was my sperm donor, that would be helpful right about now.

  “Jelani?” Aasim and Bati appear in the doorway. I wish they’d stop calling me that. I stand up and dust off my clothes. I can at least appear as if I have my shit together.

  “Yeah? In here,” I say.

  “Everything alright?”

  “I’m fine. Just thinking… figuring out my next move.”

  “You’re not in this alone,” says Bati.

  I am. Protecting East Row, Tasha, taking down the General, the Chancellor. I don’t see a line of people trying to hop back to my block and throw down. I am in this by myself. But that’s why Moms raised a diamond.

  “I appreciate it,” I say. Trying to work on my sass around these Ghizoni who look like me. “Thanks.”

  Speaking of East Row… I pull out my phone. Eight percent battery, but no signal, of course. “I need to check on my sister.” How long have I been gone? No sunlight in the cave, so it was impossible to tell. And now it’s pitch black outside.

  I tap my watch and buzz Bri. Maybe she can figure out a way I can talk to Tasha. “I’m asking Bri to come here.”

  Aasim fidgets.

  “That a problem?”

  “Who is this Bri?” Bati asks Aasim.

  “A Gray,” Aasim says, and Bati frowns.

  “Why do they look like that anyway?”

  “The grayish skin? Something about the UVB rays and the veil over the island turns pale skin that grayish color.” He turns back to Bati, whose frown has deepened. “Bri is her bes—”

  “She’s my best friend here. The only Ghizo—I-I mean, G-Gray—I trust.” No shade to Aasim, but Bri’s my girl. I pretty much just started talking to him. “I-I don’t mean to say I don’t trust you all here, I mean the only one I trust of them.”

  Bati nods. “I understood what you said.” He purses his lips.

  This idea doesn’t please him. Why?

  “It is not for me to criticize. The Ancestors trust your judgment, as should I. Do as you wish.” He turns to go. Shit, did I offend him?

  Aasim watches him leave then turns to me. “It’s a sensitive topic.”

  “But, Bri—”

  “I know. But look at it from where they’re standing. Everyone out there is the enemy. The Chancellor’s brainwashed the people out there into worshipping him. Those outsiders in New Ghizon wield magic, thanks to him. You think they’d give that up? You think they’d see him the way we do?”

  We.

  I mean, he’s right. People do get comfortable in their ways, like a favorite pair of jeans. Hell or high water, no matter how tight they get, they ain’t throwing them out. Will it be the same with this?

  “Bri would.” I think. “I mean, I hope she would.” My insides flip. Would she see what the Chancellor’s done? Why it’s wrong? Would she get it? “Well, I’m bringing her here, so I guess we’ll find out.”

  “And if she doesn’t see things our way?” he asks.

  Our.

  “Then what?” There’s something in his gaze that makes me uneasy.

  “I-I’ll deal with it. With her.” What does that even mean? I don’t know. And I don’t want to find out.

  Like clockwork, my wrist vibrates. I’d told her I need to check on Tasha, and asked her to get here right away, alone and undetected.

  Bri: K, send me the coordinates.

  I shoot her our location.

  Bri: Luke’s keeping an eye on the General. Any movement in or out of Ghizon, he’ll let us know.

  Me: Thanks. Y’all still good?

  Bri: Eh. I guess.

  Me: See you soon. I want all the deets.

  Bri will understand. She has to. She’s always been my girl and she won’t let me down in this. She usually recognizes messed-up shit when she sees it. She’ll see this for what it is.

  My insides are a bed of eels.

  * * *

  He tugs my hand harder and I follow as fast as I can. As if this time we might actually get out of this forest. As if this time we might finally make it to where he’s leading me. My kicks skid clumsily over the damp forest floor. I hook an arm around the black bark of a tree and it’s smooth to the touch, like polished ebony. Faster. He tugs, hands wrapped tight around my wrist. I’m breathless. I push, even though I know the crack is coming.

  My hand hurts under the pressure of his squeeze. Fear does that—makes you stronger than you should be. His nails dig into my skin and I hop over a branch I know is coming before I even see it.

  “A’ja! A’ja, do’vexi,” he says.

  He’s talking to me?! He never talks.

  “A’ja! A’ja, do’vexi!” His nails dig into my arm.

  “I don’t understand,” I tell him, searching his expression for some indication of where we are and where he’s trying to take me. But I find only panic.

  Something cracks and in seconds I’m awake and panting. The thatched roof solidifies in focus and I can breathe again.

  Aasim let me be after our exchange and I was thankful for it. My mind had been racing since our conversation about Bri. A moment to rest my eyes is what I thought I needed.

  He spoke.

  The boy in the dream spoke to me.

  Like he knew I was there. And those trees—jpango, like the ones around here. I swallow to force myself to inhale.

  It’s just a dream.

  It’s not real.

  I exhale and it turns into a yawn and I spot tiny red craters—fingernail wounds—dug into my wrist. They sting like a fresh wound.

  I still my shaky hands. A-a dream. Just a dream.

  Before I dozed off, the little girl with the colorful beads brought me a tray of refris. Maybe I should eat. Its fragrance washes over me like Ms. Leola’s kitchen on Easter Sunday. Lemony, sugary, and sweet, but o
ne bite in and I can’t stomach anymore of it. Not when so much hangs in the balance. So much pressure.

  I slip on the cuffs again and try to feel something.

  Nothing.

  No whispers, no flicker of feeling, no heat.

  Everything’s silent. Cold. So frustrating. I slide them off and set them on the bedside table.

  Air. I need air.

  And Bri should be here any moment. Matter of fact, it’s taking her much longer than I’d expected.

  I step out beneath the speckled sky painted with a strip of crimson. Bendy jpango trees cluster around one another overhead. Their leaves flutter in the wind, starlight twinkling between them. That’s one thing about the nights in Ghizon, they’re beautiful. And out here in the wilderness, even more so. Never seen views like this from my square of concrete back home.

  I stick to the stone path, the sound of waves lapping the side of the cliff lulling me toward it. Bet I could see more of the stars from there.

  I like staring up at the stars. Something about them feels so far and yet so close. I imagine Moms is up there watching over me, reminding me to make sure I shine.

  She took me to the country once, just me and her. Tasha was at her Dad’s grandma’s. It was really odd that Moms had time off work and even more odd that she wanted to spend it in the boonies so far outside Houston you could see more cows than people.

  “Where we going, Ma?” I had asked.

  “Oh, you know, just felt like driving.”

  A lie. Moms ain’t wasting gas money. I gave her side-eyes and noticed a giant bag in the back seat, a bunch of clothes spilling between its busted zipper. I felt weird in that moment. Moms always kept it one hundred with me, or so I thought, but in that moment something told me I didn’t know everything she was thinking—and I wasn’t going to.

  “Well, wherever we going, do they have food? I’m hungry.”

  She had laughed and pulled out a turkey sandwich and hot chips, my favorite. “With extra mayo, no lettuce, and a thin slice of tomato, just like you like it.” She’d gripped the steering wheel with a heavy sigh. “I just feel so free out here.”

  “Free?” I had asked. I never knew Moms felt chained. Now, I guess I get what she meant.

  “Yeah, like out here it’s just me and the stars. Nothing in between. I could just reach out and touch one if I wanted. Or be up there with them if I wanted.”

  “Ma, dancing with the stars is a TV show, I don’t think you can actually do it.” I’d laughed so hard at my own joke, my ribs hurt.

  She’d joined in. “You a mess. I just mean that when I look up at the night sky, there’s no distraction, no noise,” she’d said. “I feel like if I reach high enough I can actually touch them. Back at home… when things are busy, you know… and work… I just. It’s easier to see that the sky’s the limit out here. There’s nothing between you and the stars, you hear me? Nothing.” She had squeezed my hand. “You just reach. Whatever it is, you make—”

  “—a way, I know, Ma.” I’d squeezed back.

  I imagine Moms up there dancing with the twinkling specks overhead. And she could renegade and bop better than a DaBaby music video, so if she is dancing up there, she showing out f’sho.

  The sound of lapping waves snatch me from my daydream. The farther the path goes, the denser the foliage. Trees rustle between my steps and I glance backward, but there’s no one there. The path curves between another patch of bendy, crooked trees with familiar red flowers.

  I know this nest of tangled branches, that crimson bloom.

  The dream.

  CHAPTER 28

  I SHOVE PAST THE BRANCHES and over several fallen ones, the sound of the ocean growing louder. The knot of branches from my dream is real. I’m trudging through it, my heart in my throat. The constant feeling someone’s watching cloaks my shoulders, but I keep walking toward the way the boy always leads me. Wisps of sounds like soft footsteps tickle my ear.

  Crack.

  “H-hello? Someone there?”

  Silence.

  The stone path turns to dirt and a layer of dead leaves. Trees close in around me, knitted tighter together, moonlight hiding behind wide, towering leaves.

  I know this place.

  I brush a finger across a black bark tree with deep red flowers.

  Smooth to the touch, just like I thought it’d be.

  A flicker of golden light flashes in the distance. I creep toward it, half curious, half terrified. The forest comes to an abrupt end up ahead. And there, on the literal edge of the mountain, is a ring of fire hissing like a snake around the perimeter of a pit.

  And someone’s inside it.

  I squint, half expecting to see the little boy, his tiny hands and moon-like eyes. I peer between tangled branches, coarse bark scraping my knees.

  In the center of the flames, a guy much too old to be the little boy pivots and thrusts like he’s fighting an invisible enemy. He bounces back and forth on his feet, thighs like boulders clenching with each shift in stance. He moves like music, circling, slower at first, then faster. A staff made of orange wood—no, orange light—sparks as he slashes and twirls.

  I gasp. I’ve seen flames from fingers, transport spells, hovering dishes, but this—a weapon made from magic?

  I gape at my hands. C-can I do that?

  Behind me, murmuring voices whisper. I knew someone else was out here. I peer backward, but darkness hugs my vision. The fire pit lights are dying out. But the guy? There’s no one in the center. I looked away for a split second. He was just there. The hair on my back stands up. Am I’m seeing things? No, light, fire, or whatever it was, was just there.

  The fire ring is a rusty glow of embers. Maybe he left. Maybe I’m losing my mind. Someone clears their throat.

  “Who’s there? Show yourself.”

  “It’s not polite to spy on people.” The guy from the clearing steps from the shadows, his angular jaw pulsing. Black fabric wraps around his legs, his torso, and his folded arms. He’s a lot bigger in person, with thighs like drums and thick leather straps hugging his chest in an X. His deep-set dark eyes burn into mine and I ball my fists.

  My magic might be broke, but these hands ain’t.

  “Creeping up on someone in the dark is a way to get an ass beating,” I say.

  He steps closer and moonlight illuminates his face. His features are softer than I thought. His dark eyes are set back beneath a prominent brow, but they’re not stern; they’re soft, slanted at the corners.

  “I’m sorry.” His voice is deep, but his hands fidget and his tone is cautious. He’s nervous! “D-did I scare you? I-I didn’t mean to. I would never—”

  “It’s all good.” I offer a hand. “I’m Rue.”

  Closer now, I recognize him as the guy who helped us to our seats when we first arrived. The one frustrated with the flame staying lit in the stone bowl. But judging by his ass-whooping practice or whatever that was, it looks like his magic is working just fine.

  Now mine on the other hand…

  “Jhamal.” He bows, raising my knuckles to his pillow-soft lips, and kisses. “My pleasure, Jelani, my Queen.”

  I swallow a laugh. He already feels bad and I’m trying to be polite. “I’m not a queen.”

  “You’re daughter of Aasim. He works with the Grays in New Ghizon, their third in command.” He grimaces. “I don’t respect the other two. Thieves. Aasim is as good as a ruler to me. Which would make you”—he bows again—“my queen.”

  I laugh; can’t even help it. He can’t be serious. Is this game? If so, it’s some weak-ass lines he spitting. He smiles and I chew my lip.

  “Okay then, well, how do they say it where you are from?” he asks.

  “What do you mean?” I want to be annoyed, but a smile tugs at my lips. I keep walking toward the pit, now barely distinguishable in the darkness.

  He follows. “What do the gents from where you are from call you?”

  “I don’t know what you mean by gents. But I guess th
ey’d call me…” I try to think of something that doesn’t sound completely ridiculous to someone who’s lived on an island that, technically speaking, doesn’t exist—for his entire life. “Guys usually say girl, woman, even chick.”

  “Like with feathers, chick?” He tucks his hands under his armpits and pops out his neck.

  “No.” I sigh. “Not—”

  He sputters a moment like his mouth’s full of air, then bursts out laughing.

  “You playing me?!” I shove his shoulder and he laughs harder. “You are totally playing me!”

  “No, no, only kidding.” He snorts, laughing. The definition in his jaw pulses when he laughs, and my toes are suddenly prickling. The dirt path ends and we keep walking on the rugged mountainscape, the salty air growing colder.

  His chuckle settles down as we approach the pit he was training in. “I swear I only know a little. It sounds like a very different sort of place than here.”

  “It is.”

  “No magic?”

  “None. Well, besides me.”

  The light above glitters in his eyes like diamonds against black velvet. “I could not imagine a world without magic.”

  “I couldn’t imagine one with,” I say, stepping into the pit, still shivering.

  He conjures a flame and brushes the rim of the pit with his hands. “Some heat.” It catches, circling us. “But to be the first is amazing,” he says.

  Fire dances around us, and our skin glows orange. He continues, “Your people back in your hoodhome, how do you say?”

  “My hood.”

  “Your hood. The people there must think you very special. They must marvel at your gift.”

  “You would think, huh?”

  “Now it is you who’s telling jokes.” His sleek cheekbones rise tight under his eyes as he laughs. A heat washes over me and I’m not sure if it’s from the flames popping around us, or how close he’s standing to me. I hug myself and find something other than his lips to stare at.

  “Where I come from our people aren’t treated special because of where we live, how we dress,” I say. “Turn on the news and they say we’re violent or criminal. Even lowlifes.”