by Kwame Mbalia
Anansi looked up at me and raised an eyebrow. “You can tell the story, can’t you?”
I kicked a rock in frustration. “Yes! It’s just…I don’t know. I…I’m not feeling too good at the moment. Must be something left over from the Shamble Man.”
Anansi studied my expression. Surprisingly, he didn’t offer any wisecrack or insult. Instead, he examined the glittering net he’d woven and pursed his lips. Then, with a flick of his wrist, the net returned to a pile of silk and he started over. His body shimmered, and all of a sudden he had six arms instead of two. His additional hands moved in a blur, and the silvery strands curled across the screen.
“Words?” I asked, confused.
Anansi nodded. “Read the story as we walk. When we get there, summon the spell of activation for this symbol.”
“You mean open the app by touching the icon? Fine. And get where? Where are we going?”
Anansi cleared his throat and, for the first time, hesitated. “That ancient forest. You know…the place where we emerged from Alke.”
I stopped in my tracks as realization dawned on me.
“I assure you, my boy,” he continued quickly, “it will be fine. We will not touch the tree, nor any of the haint traps there. In fact, we’ll be on the opposite side, by the creek. Trust me. We need to be in a place of power to make this happen. It is the only way.”
The only way. I started walking again, slowly. The Bottle Tree forest. We were going back to the Bottle Tree forest. I had to take several deep breaths to calm myself down. It was just a forest. Only it was like a porch light for spirits ranging from troubled ghosts to devious haints. And the forest felt alive at times, as if it were watching and judging me, like Nana when I spill spaghetti sauce down my shirt. And—
“Boy, read the story.” Anansi’s voice broke into my thoughts. “We’re nearly there.”
Sure enough, the ominous treetops of the Bottle Tree forest peeked over the sloping hill I walked up. I gulped and held the SBP in front of my face, trying to focus on the words the trickster god had woven.
“‘May the stories you hear sound just as good the second time around.’” I paused and wrinkled my brow as I thought about that. Anansi kept working, but he did look up at me as his hands moved in a blur.
“You’ve got to open a story right, or don’t tell it at all. And this won’t work without some style, you understand? Some flavor. In Alke you brought forth stories that your grandmother told you, or you created your own from your memories. Right now I need you to take someone else’s story and transform it into something magical. Hear me? That’s also part of being an Anansesem. Listening and keeping the stories of others to tell again at a later date. Very special. Very necessary. So don’t walk all over my good name.”
I nodded and cleared my throat. Read the story aloud and make it my own. I could do that. Maybe it would even help get rid of whatever was preventing me from doing my thing. I took a deep breath and began to speak.
“‘They say Old Man River didn’t love nobody like he loved the greatest soul to sail along the waters. And that great soul loved him back. I’m talking, of course, about Keelboat Annie.’”
As I spoke, the weirdest thing began to happen—the words untangled themselves as I said them, disintegrating into gold and copper pixels that floated over the fire onscreen before being lifted into the blank app icon above. It was like we were cooking up a tale. The story—fused with Anansi’s magic, an Anansesem (me), and the power of the Story Box in its cell-phone form—built the mysterious app with every word I spoke.
And it was a doozy of a story.
“‘THERE ARE TONS OF STORIES FLOATING UP AND DOWN OLD MAN River about Annie, some more incredible than others. But each and every one of them sprang from a seed of truth. If I had to start with one, if you twisted my arm and forced me to choose, it’d have to be the one that started it all. The one where Old Man River couldn’t hold her back.’”
My feet moved on their own. Somewhere in the back of my mind I knew I was still walking, but the nighttime sounds faded away and all I could see in front of me were those swirling silver words. I knew I was still heading to the Bottle Tree forest, but the story had taken hold of me and demanded to be shared. Who was I to refuse that call?
“‘They say Annie ran a keelboat up and down Old Man River all day long, sunup to sundown. She was the only worker on that boat, and she owned it outright. She took passengers when floating downstream and fought the current with nothing but her pole when she carried cargo upstream. Now, how did she manage to do something by herself that it took four others to do in the same amount of time?
“‘Easy.
“‘Annie was the strongest person living on that side of Old Man River.’”
I could hear something. Strange sounds. The kind that didn’t belong in the middle of a farm in Alabama. It was almost like…a low splash of something entering water. Like an oar, or a pole.
“‘One day, Annie loaded up the most cargo she’d ever carried upstream. I’m talking barrels, crates, bushels, and bundles. On top of that, several families running from trouble down in New Orleans were riding as well. All them people meant it was slow going, but progress was progress, as the old folks will tell you. That is, until the keel pole snapped in half like a twig under a boot. Oh, how the children cried. That keelboat bumped and clattered its way back downstream a ways before Annie finally got it righted.
“‘But now there was a problem. She would lose good money if she couldn’t deliver that cargo, and she’d lose sleep if those families didn’t make it to their destination safely. That left one option.
“‘Annie grabbed a rope, tied it to the front of the keelboat, then jumped into the river and waded ashore. There, she wrapped it around her wrists several times, glared at Old Man River (who was surely chuckling over this turn of events), and began to haul the keelboat upriver.’”
The sounds around me grew louder and louder as I read. I could hear people cheering. I could feel vibrations as the small riverboat bumped against large logs and scraped over sandbars. My eyes stayed focused on the words of the story, however. The app Anansi was building was three-quarters of the way finished. I just had to keep going.
“‘Annie pulled that boat through mud and over rocks. The waters rose and still she hauled. Old Man River battered and bruised her and tried to rip the rope from her hands, but still she pulled. She bled and she ached. She heaved and she dragged. Annie willed that heap of wood upriver until her feet were sore and her back was screaming. Just her. No one helped. Everyone else was too afraid of the dangers in the water, like snakes and the current. But not Annie. She wrapped that rope around her waist and put one foot in front of the other, moving one inch at a time.
“‘Progress is progress, remember?
“‘Finally, she made it into town, and she hadn’t lost a single passenger or piece of cargo. Not one. The legend of Keelboat Annie had been born.’”
I stopped speaking, confused. The words Anansi had woven had all disintegrated, and the pixelated fire had died. Above it, the app icon was no longer blank. Instead, a deep blue boat glimmered in a silver circle. The label RIVERBOAT RIDESHARE hovered above it.
“Well?” Anansi leaned against the side of the phone. “You planning on pressing it? We’re here.”
“We are?” I looked around and my eyes grew wide. I hadn’t even noticed. The wind chuckled as it curled around me, gusting through a shadowy opening in a stand of trees. A thick group of old trees as tall as buildings leaned in my direction, as if they were happy to see me. The Bottle Tree forest. But it wasn’t a section I remembered. I stood in a field of grass that came up to my knees. It stretched behind me to the horizon, rolling up hills and down into valleys.
“Where—?” I began to ask, but Anansi cut me off.
“No time. If we’re going to go, it has to be now. Activate the symbol and then enter the forest.”
“But—”
“Tristan, that icon isn’t
going to last for long!”
Anansi was right. Even as I watched it, the shining boat icon began to fade, and the app began to lose its luster. Soon it would be a gray square again. If he was telling the truth—and that’s always a biiiig if with the trickster god—my shot at getting back to Alke was disappearing fast.
“Fine,” I said through gritted teeth. “But it better not be another fiery pit in the ground. I’m running out of underwear.”
“What?”
“Nothing,” I said, then pressed the icon and stepped into the Bottle Tree forest. The only thing I heard was the sound of my own panicky breathing. No birds. No crickets. Everything was blanketed in a layer of silence that made me nervous beyond belief.
Squelch
That is, until I stepped into a trickling stream of water.
“Oh c’mon,” I said with a groan. “Why can’t I start an adventure with dry feet for once?”
I could’ve gone on complaining (trust me, I’m a highly skilled complainer), but just then a low roar echoed through the forest. It sounded like a freeway at rush hour. It shook the trees and rattled the ground. In the distance, between the branches and the leaves and the trunks, something glinted and sparkled like stars on a clear night.
The roar grew louder, and I took a step back.
“I wouldn’t do that,” Anansi said.
When I turned to look behind me, I gasped. “Where’s the farm?”
The trees crowded in around me, and there was no sign of the field or the path anywhere. Just darkness.
No, wait. There was one new addition.
Clouds of white mist began to creep out of the forest, covering the ground and washing over the tree bottoms. It started at my ankles, climbed to my knees, and soon I was waist-deep and too worried about tripping to move.
Turns out I didn’t have to. The forest was moving for me.
The trees parted as more and more mist seeped out of the ground and swirled around us. It was as if the Bottle Tree forest was clearing the way for someone—or something—to come find us.
“Seriously?” I muttered. “This is starting to become the worst adventure I’ve ever been on. And I’ve only been on two!”
The roaring grew even louder, and with it came faint singing and a very familiar drumbeat.
“Um, Tristan…” Anansi said, his voice filled with worry.
“Don’t Tristan me,” I said, glaring at him. “What did that app do? Where are we, exactly?”
The spider god scratched his head. “You know, I’m not sure.”
“You’re…you’re not sure?”
“No. But, Tristan, I think you need—”
“I’m about to go Gum Baby on you.”
“Turn around, NOW!”
A wave of water rushed toward us through the trees, parting the mist, ripping up the soil, and uprooting saplings. And it was wide. Wiiiiide. There was nowhere to go. The trees blocked our escape in every direction.
That was when I started screaming.
Just when it looked as if the wall of water would batter us into the trees right before it drowned us, and I was getting ready to wish my Chucks a tearful farewell, the onrushing wave dropped and sank into the ground, like someone pulled the stopper from a bathtub. It drained away until it was only ankle deep, leaving a soggy boy and a wet phone confused in a swirling mist.
“If this don’t beat all,” a giant voice boomed in the night.
My jaw dropped as a wooden barge as long as a bus and twice as wide emerged from the steamy fog. A woman the size of John Henry and with skin I could only describe as midnight brown stood with one foot resting on the prow, her hands on her hips and a giant smile on her face. Someone else was behind her, but I couldn’t get a good look at them because the woman threw her hands wide. She wore loose pants rolled up at the ankles and her feet were bare. A blue collared shirt was unbuttoned at the very top, and its sleeves were rolled up over massive forearms. A scarf was tied around her neck.
“Well, if it ain’t the ole ghost wrassler himself.” The woman jumped down off the boat, causing the ground to tremble. “How do? The name’s Annie. Am I right in presuming you need to hitch a ride?”
I gawked.
At Annie, yes. But also…was that…? No, it couldn’t be.
“Don’t mind him,” a familiar voice said. The second crewperson hopped down, splashing me in the process, but I didn’t care. I couldn’t help it—a big goofy smile spread across my face as a short brown girl with golden bangles on each wrist and a gold-tipped staff strapped to her back folded her arms and put on a mock glare.
“He did the same thing when I first met him,” Ayanna said.
KEELBOAT ANNIE WAS BIG AND PROUD OF IT. HER HAIR WAS BIG—a mass of tight curls somehow wrangled into a bun that exploded in all directions and swished through the air when she shook her head. Her movements were big, too. Every gesture was exaggerated, every facial expression authentic and genuine, and when she stepped forward, she did it with purpose.
But maybe the biggest thing about her was her voice.
Her laugh boomed through the forest. If her voice had a volume control, it was stuck on ten. It got down into your bones and shook them, like when you stand next to the speakers at a block party, or when your cousin with a couple of 808 speakers in the back of his Tahoe drives slowly through the neighborhood. Annie’s voice was pure, loud joy.
And yet…something worried her. I could see it in the way she constantly scanned the forest. The way her eyes lingered on the shadows. Just as I was about to ask her what was wrong, she spied the light from the SBP and whistled.
“So that’s where ole Web Butt snuck off to,” Annie said. “We’d heard a few rumors, but seeing it up close really puts the hog on the spit, don’t it? Serves him right. Serves you right!” She shouted this last sentence at Anansi, who was busy building a cocoon of silk high in the corner of the phone and hiding inside. I didn’t blame him. I wouldn’t want to be on Keelboat Annie’s bad side, either. Her good side was scary enough. She held out her hand and I sheepishly deposited the SBP into it, and the giant woman began to give Anansi a piece of her mind, and then a few more servings.
Ayanna jabbed me in the ribs with her elbow, dragging my attention away from the booming lecture. “You too important to speak to me now? Tuh. Big heads get bigger, I see.” But she smiled when she said it, robbing the comment of all its sting.
I smiled back. “Still upset you missed the big showdown?” When the Maafa, an ancient sentient slave ship, had attacked the Golden Crescent, MidPass’s ace raft pilot had been unconscious and in the care of the Mmoatia, the African forest fairies. It really lifted my spirits to see her back in full health.
She cocked her head. “You still afraid of heights?”
The smile dropped from my face. “That’s low.”
“Any higher and you’d be afraid of it.”
I made a rude gesture and she scowled at me. After a second we both dissolved into laughter. It was so good to see her again. Felt like old times. Too much, now that I thought about it, and my good humor faded. I sighed.
“Couldn’t get enough of us, huh?” Ayanna asked.
“I’ve, uh, got some unfinished business.” I wasn’t sure how much I should say in front of Keelboat Annie, at least not before I consulted with Anansi, and he was busy getting the lecture of a lifetime. Maybe two lifetimes.
Ayanna raised one eyebrow, and I knew she was going to ask more questions, so I beat her to the punch.
“How is everyone?”
“Fine, I guess,” she said. “Things are…well, things are fine.”
It seemed like she wasn’t in a sharing mood, either. “Why are you hanging out with Keelboat Annie?” I asked.
Ayanna grinned. “Work study. A few of us got to pair off with a god or goddess to help oversee the repairs to Alke and get experience. It was Thandiwe’s idea. She’s with High John on a mission to recruit more artists and builders from the Sands.”
I was glad
to hear that the princess of Isihlangu and High John the Conqueror weren’t off fighting some kind of threat. I didn’t need any distractions from getting Nana back home safe.
“Where’s your raft?” I asked.
Ayanna’s magical raft had literally saved my life when I’d first dropped into the Burning Sea. The vessel could shrink to the size of a skateboard so she could sling it over her back, and without it, I don’t think we could’ve saved Alke. Even if she did fly it like a daredevil.
She shrugged. “Wasn’t exactly useful on the boat, and it got in the way. So I lent it to Gum Baby.”
I choked. “What?!”
Gum Baby, scourge of iron monsters and clean clothes everywhere. The ten-inch loudmouth had been another key person—doll?—in the fight against the Maafa, King Cotton, and the iron monsters that terrorized the land. She was all right, I guess. In small doses.
Very small doses.
“Where’s the sticky menace now?” I asked.
“Helping with the rebuilding process. It’s amazing—one of her sap attacks has the adhesive power of fifty nails.”
I rubbed the back of my head and winced. I’d been on the receiving end of those sap attacks on many occasions. After a few moments I cleared my throat. “Who’s with John Henry?” I asked as casually as I could.
She glanced over at Annie, then pulled my elbow and we began to stroll around the keelboat. It took a few moments for her to speak, and I used the time to study the boat. It was huge and flat-bottomed, built of massive planks that had been polished to a gleaming shine. When I reached out to touch the hull, my fingers thrummed as if a small jolt of electricity had shocked me.
“No one at the moment.” Ayanna looked left and right, then bit her lip. “He’s holed up in Nyame’s palace. I’m not really supposed to talk about it, though.”
