Tristan Strong Destroys the World

by Kwame Mbalia

  Meanwhile, Nana stared at me with a peculiar expression. Confusion? Sadness? Understanding? Frustration? Maybe a combination of all four.

  “It’s about time you and I had a talk,” she said in a hoarse voice. She frowned at the sound of her own words, then sighed and pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose and tried to stand. But when she got to her knees, Nana’s face contorted, and she let out a hiss of pain. My heart jumped into my throat. She dropped back onto the ground, sending torn pieces of quilt scattering like dead leaves as she clutched her chest.

  “Nana!” I shouted and scrambled to her side.

  “Get…Walter,” she whispered, and her eyes fluttered shut.

  REGGIE’S RING DOCTOR AND GRANDDAD STEPPED OUT OF MY grandparents’ bedroom. Quietly. Carefully. The way adults do when something serious has happened and they don’t want to talk about it in front of kids, so they exchange Looks and tiptoe to another room.

  The doctor was a short and stocky Afro-Latina with curly black-and-brown hair pulled into a bun. Her small medical kit had the name ALMEIDA TORRES stitched on the side, and she flashed me a warm smile before murmuring to Granddad in the hallway. I was sitting on the large fluffy couch in the middle of the living room, my fingers tracing the flowers on the dust cover, my bare feet slowly sliding back and forth over the plush area rug.

  Thunder boomed in the distance. No rain or lightning yet, but with the dark clouds gathering outside, it felt like one was going to unleash its fury any minute now. As if we needed this day—evening, I guess—to get any worse.

  After Nana fell, Reggie and his trainer had helped us carry her into the house on a bench. That had been several hours ago, and since then I hadn’t moved from the couch. I couldn’t.

  “She’s going to be fine,” I heard Dr. Torres say quietly to Granddad. “It was more exhaustion than anything—some stress as well. She needs to rest. That’s important. Lots of rest, and I put in a prescription for her blood pressure.”

  Granddad seemed to sink into himself. I’d never seen him look so haggard, so…so unsure. He kept wringing his hands slowly, carefully, as if there was something clinging to them and it was dogging him relentlessly.

  “But she’s gonna be all right, you said?” he asked. “I mean…she’s gonna be fine?”

  “Yes, Mr. Strong. But she needs rest. Also, have you thought of…”

  Their voices trailed off as the two moved into the kitchen. I watched the empty hallway for a few moments, then looked at Nana’s door, which was open a crack. It wasn’t fair. She’d gotten hurt while trying to protect me from something I should’ve been able to take care of myself. I was the Anansesem; I had the adinkra bracelet from the gods of Alke. I was so upset, I started talking to myself. “If I hadn’t flinched, if I hadn’t frozen, if I—”

  “You’re doing it again,” came a small voice.

  The SBP rested on my lap. Anansi reclined on the Contacts app icon and swung his six legs like a child. His floppy hat was pulled down over his eyes and he was nodding gently to a beat only he could hear. When I didn’t say anything, he lifted his hat with one finger and shook his head. “That thing you do where you make everything about you. It’s not your fault, boy.”

  “But she was trying to save me,” I whispered.

  He shrugged. “Most people would have. Okay, I know a few who would’ve just watched you suffer without lifting a finger. But that’s not your grandmother. She saw someone in trouble, someone she loved dearly, and she acted. I’ve seen you do similar things.”

  “Not when I needed to most,” I said bitterly. “And those…whatever those creatures were—they could still be out there somewhere, waiting to attack us again. We need to figure out what’s going on, Anansi. Everything’s falling to pieces and I don’t know why. If only I could’ve—”

  “You know,” Anansi said, talking right over me, “ifs are pretty powerful. You can collect them like a lazy man collects excuses. If this, if that. If I can’t, if I could. Better watch it, little storyteller, or you’ll build yourself a wall of ifs you can’t get around. Now, ever since you gave me more permissions, I’ve been digging around in this here Story Box Phonogram—”

  “Phone,” I muttered.

  “—and I’ve managed to cook up some interesting things. Which shouldn’t come as a surprise to anyone, of course.”

  “Of course.”

  “I’ve got something that’s going to spice up your soup, you just watch.”

  I wrinkled my brow suspiciously.

  “Don’t look at me like that,” Anansi said, making an innocent face. “I’m trying to help, honest! I’m a web developer, after all.”

  My brow wrinkled even further. It probably looked like someone had balled up my forehead like a piece of trash.

  Anansi raised his right hand. “I promise, young Anansesem, I have only the purest intentions. I just need a little more time. Let me do my thing and work my magic, and I’ll have a web app hopping like ole Frog did when I told him I’d bought him a brand-new hot tub.”

  I rolled my eyes, then squinted. “Fine. Hey, wait…Where’s your other spider-arm?”

  He cleared his throat and pulled it from behind his back. I shook my head. He’d probably had his fingers crossed the whole time. You can never trust a trickster god. But at this point, who else could I rely on?

  A cough sounded from Nana’s bedroom. After a second, another one came, and I dropped the phone on the couch and tiptoed over to the door. I peeked inside, but couldn’t see anything, because it was so dark.

  “Hello?” Her feeble voice rang out, followed by another cough. “Is anyone there? I need some water. Let me just—”

  I heard the bed creak, and I quickly pushed the door open wider. “Nana, you’re not supposed to get up! You have to rest!”

  “Tristan? Is that you?”

  “Yes, ma’am. I’ll get you some water, hold on.” I walked to the kitchen, ready to explain what I was doing to Granddad and Dr. Torres, but it was empty. They were out on the front porch. The doctor was pointing at the sky, a worried look on her face. I grabbed a glass, filled it with some water, then hurried back to Nana.

  I paused before I entered. I rarely went into my grandparents’ bedroom, out of respect for their privacy. (And maybe Nana’s leaning tower of hatboxes by the door scared me. Seriously. She had more hats than I had sneakers, and that was saying something.) It smelled of antiseptic and Granddad’s aftershave. Nana sat up on their queen-size bed, pillows propping her upright as if she were sitting in a chair.

  She smiled at me when I handed her the cup. “Thanks, baby,” she said. When I turned to go, she reached out and touched my arm. “Set yourself down and stay awhile. I expect we need to talk about a few things.”

  I’d been hoping she would say that. “Really? About what?” I did my best to imitate Anansi and smiled innocently.

  Nana’s stare could’ve melted ice cream and stripped paint off a wall. “You really gon’ try that on me?” she asked.

  I hung my head. “No, ma’am.”

  “Good.” She took a sip, then another, and sighed. “Used to be a couple li’l old cats weren’t nothing. They should’ve been a breeze for me to take care of.”

  “I’m sorry, Nana,” I said in a low voice. “They were coming for me, and I froze.”

  “Shoot, boy, ain’t no need for you to be feeling sorry for yourself. One plat-eye is more than I expect someone to handle on their own the first time, let alone two.”

  “One what?”

  “Plat-eye. That’s what your great-grandmother called them. She was born over on the Sea Islands.” Nan shifted, straightening her back, and I smothered a smile. Sick or not, she was going to tell her story.

  “Plat-eyes are spirits that still need something done. Can’t move on until they get it resolved. Might be treasure they buried, or a wrong they committed, or any number of things. Most of them are harmless, but you gotta be careful with them—that’s why I stepped in. Them things will change s
hape and grow and haunt you until you can’t take it no more.”

  “Wait. Change shape and grow? Are they Pokémon?”

  Nana looked down her nose and over the top of her glasses. “Pokey-what?”

  “Never mind.”

  She blinked, then sniffed. “As I was saying…the only way to get rid of a plat-eye, if you don’t know how to solve its problem, is to keep something foul on you at all times. In the old days, folks would’ve used gunpowder, but it looks like a grandson’s sweat towels work just as well.”

  “So they’re gone for good?” I asked hopefully, but my shoulders slumped when Nana shook her head.

  “No, child, we just shooed ’em away for a bit. If they were looking for you, they’ll be back in a different form next time, but you’ll recognize them.” Nana tapped the side of her glasses. “The eyes. They can’t change them eyes.”

  She leaned over the side of the bed, looked down at the fragments of her quilt in the bag on the floor, and sighed.

  “I’ll help you fix that,” I said.

  Nana smiled. “Sometimes there ain’t no fixing something, baby. If you wanna rebuild, you gotta break it down and start all over. Might seem hard, but it’s the only way if you wanna get it right.”

  I helped her sit back on her pillow. “Nana, why do you think those plat-eyes were looking for me?”

  “You know why,” she said. “’Cause you could see ’em, hear ’em.”

  “But so could you….”

  “There’s something special about you,” Nana continued, as if she hadn’t heard me. “Known it since you was born, child. You got Granddad’s and my blood running through your veins—Strong blood. What is it you kids say? Game recognize game.”

  I rolled my eyes. “No one says that anymore, Nana.”

  “Well, they should. Soon as I catch up to the slang, y’all go and change it. Rude children. But yes, I’ve always known that you were special. I also know the places you been, the people you’ve talked to.”

  “You do?”

  Nana nodded and leaned closer. “Alke.”

  The word started as a whisper and grew into a gust that stirred the blankets. A shiver of excitement rippled down my spine. Finally, someone in this world who could understand what I’d been through, what I’d seen!

  “Nana, this is incredible!” I whisper-shouted. “Have you been to the Golden Crescent? Or Isihlangu? Did they let you in the front door, or did you have to pretend to be trash, like I did? And the stories! Is that where you got your stories?”

  Nana laughed. “Easy, child, easy. Yes, I got a few stories from them. Left quite a few behind, too. Can’t help it—all of Alke is a story. You should know that by now. Didn’t you see the special thread I was using?”

  I started to ask another question, but just then the bedroom door opened and Granddad stepped in. He flicked on the light and I stood up quickly. His eyes were red and he was still wringing his hands. “Okay, Tristan, that’s enough. Your grandmother needs her rest.”

  His tone brooked no argument, so I kissed Nana on the forehead and headed out. As I crossed the threshold, she called out to me.

  “Tristan, remember what I said, now. You got Strong blood. Whatever comes calling, you remember that.”

  I nodded, then shut the door. I headed toward my own room and then stopped.

  Strong blood. Plat-eyes. Spirits needing help.

  Enough was enough.

  It was time for the Anansesem to do his job.

  I STEPPED INTO THE BARN WITH A FLASHLIGHT ON AND ALL MY Anansesem powers active. My ears thrummed as the world sang around me. My reflection appeared in a mirror Granddad had mounted on the wall for shadowboxing, and what I saw made me pause.

  A tall Black boy, hoodie pulled over his head, with glowing golden eyes.

  I shivered and then, holding the flashlight in one hand and the ancestral bead from my bracelet in the other, scanned the barn. The place was empty…except for something shimmering in the corner. The river spirit. I’d half expected the girl to be gone like the rest, but she still floated there, staring at me with a pleading expression, and this time I didn’t ignore it.

  I put an overturned bucket on a bench and propped the SBP on top of it, opening the camera so Anansi could join our conversation. The more I focused on her, the brighter the spirit girl seemed to flare.

  “Please,” came her faint voice. “Please, he’s coming. You have to save her.”

  A bright blue aura surrounded her transparent body. Not the blue of a clear sky, or the blue of the ripe berries that Nana baked into her pies. No, it was more of a bluish green, the color of lakes and seas and oceans, and her outline was the white of rushing rapids. Her dress and braids gently swirled around her as if she were floating in water at that very second.

  “Who are you?” I finally asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

  Turquoise eyes studied mine. “Ninah. I am called Ninah. And I need your help, and the help of the tiny god you’ve trapped.”

  “I’m not trapped,” Anansi protested. “I’m one of them virtue assistants. Tell her, Tristan.”

  “You mean virtual assistant. But that’s not important. Ninah,” I said, turning back to the spirit. “How did you get here? Is there another tear between our worlds? You aren’t here to steal something from me, are you?” A certain sap-covered doll baby came to my mind. “I swear, I need an Alkean alarm system.”

  Ninah shook her head. “River spirits do not steal, Anansesem. We give and we heal. But yes, I arrived as the others did, through a seam. But that doesn’t matter. Someone has taken her, and we need you to get her back. Only you have the power and knowledge to do so.”

  I couldn’t help it. My back straightened and I stood a bit taller.

  Anansi smirked. “Pardon me, spirit of the river, but you keep mentioning ‘her.’ Who exactly has been taken from your home in the Grasslands? And—no offense, boy—why is Tristan uniquely equipped to perform this rescue?”

  The river spirit looked surprised. “Because he holds the Story Box. He has the blessings of the gods of Alke. He is the Anansesem, and the hero of the Battle of the Bay.”

  “Is that what they’re calling it now?” I muttered.

  “Hmm.” Anansi stroked his chin. “I’ll come back to that undeserved praise. But you still haven’t mentioned who was taken.”

  Have you ever seen a spirit sigh? Their aura fades a little. I was suddenly more aware of how faint Ninah was. It must have been taking great effort on her part to stay there and talk to me, and I felt guilty. But that emotion disappeared when she spoke again.

  “The Shamble Man took my mother,” she said softly.

  The SBP vibrated, startling me. Anansi was pacing back and forth, and the screen was flashing. “Your mother?” he asked. His voice was loud, almost as if he were standing right next to us. “Is she—?”

  Ninah shook her head again—sadly this time. “I don’t know.”

  I looked between the two. They knew something I didn’t. Anansi glanced at me with an expression that said Later.

  I scratched my head. “I don’t even know who this Shamble Man is.” Again I wondered whether he was the one who had attacked John Henry. If so, I couldn’t take him on by myself…. “Or where he’s taken your mother. Are they in Alke? With my grandmother sick, I’m not sure I should be leaving right now….”

  “But that’s just it.” Ninah looked from me to the phone, where Anansi sat in his web. “There’s no time left.”

  A chill ran down my spine. “What do you mean?”

  “He’s on his way. The Shamble Man is coming here.”

  Her words punched me in the gut harder than Reggie had earlier. I stumbled back a few steps and collapsed on the bench. A thundering roar filled my ears. It felt like a storm was surging around me, and my fists were clenched so hard I thought my fingernails would pierce my palms.

  “Tristan.”

  When I raised my eyes, I saw that Anansi and Ninah were both staring at me. N
o, they were staring at what was floating in midair in front of me: four gleaming black boxing gloves with emblems of crossed swords. The akofena, the Swords of War, had come to life. Okay, then.

  I stood and took a deep breath. “What do I have to—? OUCH!”

  Something had burned my wrist, like that time I brushed against my mother’s flatiron before church. Searing pain.

  “Oh no.” I looked down at the adinkra bracelet dangling at the end of my arm.

  Anansi and Ninah hadn’t been staring at the floating gloves.

  The very first adinkra I’d received, the one my best friend, the dead seventh grader now known as Tupacrates, had attached to his journal, Anansi’s personal symbol…

  It was glowing.

  “Iron monsters,” I whispered.

  My nightmare had been ripped out of my head and given life.

  There were two versions. In scenario number one, I’m at some sort of public event and everyone’s looking at me. Maybe it’s a school assembly, or a talent show, or that one time Nana took me to her church and I had to lead the choir in singing the Black National Anthem and I forgot the words.

  Forgot. The. Words.

  Anyway.

  No matter where I’m at, though, I’m missing something extremely important and vital.

  Clothes.

  That’s right—I’m in front of a bunch of people in my tighty-whities.

  Scenario number two is even worse. This nightmare started after I came back from Alke. I’m running after someone, someone I love. They’re being taken from me, and I can’t stop it. Sometimes the abductors are iron monsters—fetterlings or hullbeasts; other times it’s King Cotton. I can be back in MidPass, in the Drowned Forest, or chasing after a school bus on an icy road, knowing what happens next. I never catch up to them…I always lose.

  It repeats over and over until I wake up breathless, panicking. Nana called it trauma, and now I was reliving it. Granddad and Nana were in the house all alone, and something terrifying was about to attack the farm.

  It felt like I couldn’t run fast enough.