by Kwame Mbalia
Everyone climbed the ladder. As Ayanna stepped aboard, Keelboat Annie jerked her chin back at the tiller. “Don’t get comfortable, Miss Thang—it’s time for you to get some practice in.”
“Me?” Ayanna said, her eyes wide.
“It’s what you’re here for, ain’t it? Besides, I’m not messing up my favorite dress.”
The pilot gulped, but she nodded and unstrapped her golden-tipped staff, whispered to the face on the end of it, then marched with grim determination to the tiller. She wasn’t planning on using that little thing as the keel pole, was she? I grinned, then stepped closer to Keelboat Annie. “Where’s…the SBP?” I asked in a low voice. No need telling everybody I let the Story Box and Anansi out of my sight.
Keelboat Annie made a face. “I left that thing beneath one of my old boots in a storage locker. Don’t need Mr. Web Butt doing something he ain’t supposed to. Go on and fetch him if you like. Good riddance.”
I quickly walked over to the locker that Annie had indicated, found the beat-up, funky boots she’d mentioned, gingerly pulled out the SBP, and let a sigh of relief escape my lungs. Anansi was still snoring in his web hammock, a strand of drool dangling from his mouth as his hat covered his eyes. Thank goodness. Everybody was where they were supposed to be.
Well, almost everyone.
When I returned to the railing, Junior continued to shuffle his feet on the dock, his toe tracing one of the worn carvings. From here he didn’t look as sure of himself as when he was talking junk on the beach. In fact, he looked…well, like a boy whose friends (AND I USE THAT TERM LOOSELY) were about to leave him behind. So while the others prepared for the trip, I called down to him, “You still worried about Miss Sarah or Miss Rose finding you?”
He scowled. “I’m not afraid.” Then the scowl disappeared and he said, “And they’re not that bad, really. They just worry. It’s really Nyame who’s always after me. I’m trying to avoid hearing any more lectures about my future, how I could be better than my father, blah-blah-blah.”
Now that I could understand. Grown-ups are always going on and on about the future, but it’s the now we have to suffer through. It’s hard thinking about next week when today is punching you in the face. Guess you get better at it the older you get.
I felt sorry for Junior. He was a bit of a jerk sometimes (a lot of times), but…I don’t know, sometimes when people are going through things, they act out. I’d gotten a lot of detention slips for fighting in school the weeks after Eddie died. I’d picked up on every insult, real or imagined. If Junior’s trouble with his father, whoever he was, was impacting him the same way, maybe I had to give him another chance. What was it Keelboat Annie had muttered to herself? Sometimes it’s something deep in the water that’s stirring things up on the surface. That sounded like it could apply to humans, too.
“Okay,” Ayanna called out. “We’re ready! Wait, that isn’t supposed to do that…. Oh, we’re good!”
I made a snap decision. As Keelboat Annie moved around the deck loosening lines and doing her best to ignore Gum Baby stomping behind her and shouting out fake sailing orders, I gestured to the ladder.
“Come with us,” I said to Junior. “Worst thing that can happen is they yell at you. Again.”
Junior squinted at me suspiciously. When he realized I wasn’t joking, he grabbed his hair with both hands. “Are you serious?”
I nodded.
“Ha! You aren’t as stuck-up as they say you are.” He scrambled up the ladder and then vaulted over the deck railing with one hand, the other firmly grasping his satchel. He punched me in the shoulder and jogged over to where Ayanna was gripping the tiller. He said something and she laughed, the tension slipping out of her shoulders.
“Smooth, ain’t he?” Gum Baby appeared on the railing, walking it with both tiny arms outstretched like she was on a tightrope. “Gum Baby would hang with him any day.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I muttered, rubbing my shoulder and turning away. “Real smooth.”
“Aw, don’t be jealous, Bumbletongue. Gum Baby would hang with you any day, too. Well, no, it’d have to be a specific day. In the afternoon. Gum Baby can’t deal with you first thing in the morning. So…let’s say on Tuesday afternoons. That’s when you can come hang out.” She stared at me for a second and shook her head. “On second thought, make it every other Tuesday.”
The boat rocked from side to side, and Keelboat Annie glared down at the clear blue water of the bay. “Don’t you start with me,” she warned.
I frowned. This was the second or third time she’d gotten upset with Old Man River, and the situation was beginning to set off warning bells in my head. I pinched the Anansi adinkra on my bracelet. It was warm. Not hot to the touch—just warm. What did that mean? Half an iron monster was nearby? Somewhere a hullbeast was calling me names? What was I supposed to do with that?
Ayanna held out her staff behind her, whispering beneath her breath, and my eyes grew wide as Keelboat Annie’s giant pole mimicked her actions. When Ayanna lifted her staff, the keel pole went up, too, and when she brought it down, the boat shifted beneath us, lurching awkwardly out of its slip in the marina. It moved in fits and spurts toward one of several river mouths that emptied into the bay, this one guarded by large boulders with deep shadows.
The boat tilted. “Sorry!” Ayanna called. Her face was creased with determination. “I thought that would be smoother.”
I bit my tongue.
Gum Baby, however, did not. “Don’t you get Gum Baby’s hair wet! It ain’t a wash day.”
The staff lifted and descended carefully, and so did the keel pole. The boat jerked forward abruptly, then shook, and as we passed between the giant boulders, it began to pick up speed.
“Um…” I said as I grabbed the railing for dear life. Junior stumbled back over to where I stood, his jaw clenched as he stubbornly held on to his satchel instead of the hull. That boy needed to prioritize better.
“It’s not me!” Ayanna said, her voice filled with panic. “Look, I’m not moving it!”
Sure enough, she held the staff up in the air, and the giant keel pole had risen out of the water, too. And yet the boat was steadily racing along the river, sloshing around curves and scraping across shallow bends.
The SBP vibrated as Anansi woke up. “What in the seven webs is going on? Boy, what have you done now?”
Beside me, Junior stiffened. I glanced at him, then showed him the phone screen. “Ignore him. He’s just—”
But while I tried explaining how rude the trickster god could be, Junior dashed to the other side of the boat, slipping and sliding as he went. I stared in disbelief. What had I said?
Keelboat Annie shook her head, her eyes narrowed. “Something ain’t right,” she said quietly. “Let me take over, maybe Old Man River wasn’t just hollerin’ to holler earlier. Maybe if I—”
She didn’t even have a chance to unbind the pole before the boat shot forward as if out of a cannon, throwing everyone to the deck. A huge wave slammed over the railing, dousing everyone with ice-cold water, and the taste of something metallic got into my mouth. I spat it out, disgusted, then froze.
Metallic.
Iron.
“Wait a—” I began to shout, just as another wave washed over the railing, picked me up, and slammed my head into the deck. The world blurred. I felt the boat list to one side, and the last thing I heard was someone screaming as we all tumbled into the freezing river.
BACK IN CHICAGO, OCCASIONALLY IN THE SUMMER WHEN IT GOT really hot, one of the fire hydrants in the middle of my block would be opened. Sometimes the fire department would do it, swooping into the hood with their truck sirens off but the lights flashing, and one firefighter would toss out candy while another wrenched open the hydrant and let out a jet of water for us to cool off in. Other times, somebody from the block would do it. Kids would laugh and play in the spray, and even a few adults would dip their toes in.
Once, when I was very young and feeling brave, I stepped into the blast
of water and it hit me in the chest like a freight train, knocking me over and sending me head over heels down the street until I crashed into a lamppost. Every now and again I remember that scary feeling of suddenly being out of control as some incredible force carried me away and I was powerless to do anything about it.
That’s how I felt as the river swept me along.
My head was just barely breaking the surface, allowing me the chance to breathe. But I couldn’t see anything but gray water, and a constant roar filled my ears. Old Man River was in pain—I could hear the cries of someone being forced to go to a place against their will. More water got into my mouth as I was propelled forward, and I just hoped it didn’t have anything nasty in it. Like blood. Or flat soda. Bleeeeech.
“Oomph!” I gasped as I crashed into something round and solid. It felt like a light pole, and I grabbed it before I was carried away again. My legs flailed behind me as the rushing current tried to pull me along, and my arms grew tired as I hugged that pole like it was my favorite teddy bear.
I mean…the stuffed animal I lost.
A long time ago.
And definitely wasn’t still sitting on my bed back in Chicago.
ANYWAY…
Just when I felt my grip begin to give way, the water receded all at once, like someone had shut off the magical-river faucet, and I crumpled on the ground in exhaustion. It felt like the earth trembled beneath me when I landed, and I groaned.
“There’s gotta be a better way to get around Alke,” I said, wincing as I sat up, pausing as the ground shook again, just a little. What was going on? “First a fiery sinkhole, and now rivers with attitudes. What’s next, blizzards that make fun of your haircut when you cross the mountain?”
No one laughed. Or said anything. I was alone. The mist slowly began to fade, and I saw that I was sitting on a patch of grass so green it looked fake.
“Hey!” I shouted. “Ayanna. Annie? Junior?”
No answer. Where had everyone gone? It’s pretty hard to hide a twenty-foot magical riverboat. My backpack hung limply off my shoulders and I panicked, peeked inside, then let out a sigh of relief. The inner lining was waterproof. Nana’s quilt, even though it was in tatters, was safe.
“Phew. Got scared there for a second.” I patted my pocket and pulled out the SBP. “Anansi, where—”
I stopped mid-sentence and stared in horror at the phone.
“No.”
It couldn’t be.
“Ohhh no.”
There, right down the middle of the screen, was a giant crack that ran from top to bottom. The phone was off, the screen dark and unresponsive. Worst of all, Anansi was nowhere to be seen.
“Oh no. Oh no, no, no, no, no.”
When I flipped over the SBP, water dripped from between the edges of the screen and the back cover. Somehow the insides had gotten wet! But Anansi had said the SBP was waterproof. Had he been mistaken? Or lying? I couldn’t put anything past him, but right then I’d have given my left arm to hear his advice about what to do next.
I had to dry out the phone, and fast.
As I sat there and worried (just a little) and panicked (okay, a lot) and tried to regain my breath, I looked around. The mist had disappeared completely.
“Sweet peaches.”
The object I’d crashed into wasn’t a light pole. It was the strangest tree I’d ever seen, with a straight, turquoise-colored trunk that seemed to ripple as winds gusted against it. The branches curved in the air like outstretched arms, and the leaves alternated between coral blue and emerald green depending on which way I turned my head. Other trees just like it grew nearby. Tiny ornamental shrubs and bunches of multicolored flowers grew between the trees, and tall, stiff stalks of grass covered the landscape everywhere else. It was a garden, a small and beautiful one, and for a moment I thought I was back above Nyame’s palace in the Golden Crescent.
But there were no waterfalls, no view of the Ridge to the north, nor the bay and the Burning Sea to the south and west. Instead, there was a massive cloud system that covered the land, turning everything charcoal gray like a thick, drab curtain. Was this the storm we’d seen on the horizon?
“Enough sightseeing,” I muttered to myself. I had things to do. Fix the SBP. Go to Nyanza and find the Shamble Man. Finally, I had to get my nana back. I got up filled with determination and marched through the garden to the…edge of the ground?
Wait a minute.
Nothing but gray sky surrounded me and the garden. Another gust of wind blew through the trees and I felt the earth tremble. I held my breath and gripped the tree nearest me as I leaned past it to look over the ledge.
“Ohhh,” I said.
I hadn’t landed on the ground—I’d landed on a roof.
A very-high-off-the-ground, wind-yanking-at-my-clothes sort of roof.
“Ohhh nooo.”
Far below, a nearly dry lakebed stretched as far as the eye could see. Brown mud and sand surrounded the few remaining pools of water, but the most amazing part? There was a city growing out of the middle of the lake.
You heard me right.
An honest-to-goodness city.
Single-story homes and tall skyscrapers rested on giant lily pads currently nestled in the mud, and enormous plants on the shoreline provided shade. Tall grass grew between the lily pads, while miniature forests topped the skyscrapers, like the one I’d apparently landed on. I was very thankful the tree had been there to keep me from falling off.
In the middle of it all, like a jewel set in a ring of amber and jade, was a large turquoise dome the size of a football stadium, sectioned and patterned like a tortoise shell. It looked like an upside-down bowl made out of a stained-glass window, bright and semitransparent, and even from this distance I could see more homes and buildings inside it.
Inverted emerald arches floated in the air above the dome, as if someone had drawn smiles in midair. They hovered in a circle like the tips of a crown. Every so often the ground would rumble, and a surge of water would come from a hole in the top of the dome. Very little of it landed in the lake. Instead, it went into the U shapes, where geysers shot the water into the clouds above the city. Not the huge thunderhead on the horizon, but smaller rain clouds that could feed the plains below.
All in all, this place was actually pretty cool.
Except for me having to cling to the tippy-top of a narrow roof.
“Deep breaths,” I said. “Deep breaths. You’re fine. You are absolutely fine. You’re talking to yourself while in a magical land with blue trees, but you’re fine. Just…find a way down.” I still clutched the damp SBP in my right hand, and I had the irrational urge to find a bowl of rice to drop it in. That’s what fixed a wet phone, right? Rice? Or was it oats?
I was imagining the SBP sticking out of a bowl of oatmeal, with Anansi begging me to save him from his wholesome, cinnamon-flavored demise, when a shadow swept across the rooftop. A gust of wind carried a foul scent and something brushed my ear. I recoiled.
“Easy there, li’l fella,” said a drawling voice behind me. “Easy there. Another half-drowned fish floppin’ about. Stuck in the mud, huh? Just you lie still and don’t wriggle around so much, and this won’t hurt a bit.”
I turned and froze.
A six-foot-tall bird with a wicked hooked beak and wings was perched on the tree above me, and it stared at me hungrily as it reached out with talons as sharp as knives.
This bird…this bird was enormous. Gigantic. Half dinosaur, maybe, I don’t know. The weird monster had a bare head and wings the length of couches. It was covered in matted and droopy grayish-brown feathers and…
Wow.
Okay.
The bird wore tattered blue jeans that had been ripped into uneven shorts. But the weirdest and scariest thing (if that last sentence didn’t terrify you enough) was that the creature wore a necklace of what looked to be trinket-covered bones.
A sickening odor drifted from the bird as it fluttered down to stand over me. It turned
its head sideways so one large eye could swivel to examine me, and then it spoke, its huge hooked beak clacking with each word.
“Ahhh, rehk, what do we have, what do we have here? A flying worm? A floating deer? A meandering morsel on my side of town? Hoo-whee, rehk rehk, it’s about to go down!” The bird did a little hop-step and flapped its wings. I gagged. That odor was nasty! And…was it rapping to me?
Just then I realized it wasn’t alone.
A group of smaller birds—magpies, hawks, even a trio of chickadees—circled above, shouting out encouragement to what was apparently their leader.
“Get him, boss!”
“Tell him what the deal is!”
“Break it down for him on the one and three!”
Great. Hype men. Hype birds? Whatever.
The giant bird strutted forward and shook out its feathers. “What’s the matter, dinner number two? You come to my home and think I wouldn’t notice you? I run the Nyanza, baby, this my turf. Now just hold still, or this’ll hurt much worse.”
Nyanza. So I had made it to the City of Lakes. But…that was in the Grasslands. How had I ended up so far away from the Golden Crescent? What had Old Man River been thinking? And where was everybody else?
“I’m talking to you, little grub.”
I didn’t think it was wise to insult a creature that looked like it could rip me to shreds in any number of ways, so I just shook my head and covered my nose and mouth with the crook of my elbow.
“Who are you?” I asked in a muffled voice.
“Me?” The bird hop-stepped again. “Me? Rehk rehk, I’m the bird with the word! The deacon of speakin’, the chaplain of what’s happenin’. You can’t get flyer than me, my little snack, and it’s not just because of these wings. I coast on the rhythm and soar on melodies. You can call me DJ Kulture, with a K. Throw a ‘sir’ at the end to put some respect on my name.”
Okay, first of all, I didn’t like the way the bird—DJ Kulture, or whatever—kept referring to me as some sort of meal. Second, I definitely didn’t like the way his talons clicked closer with every little hop. I needed to get off this roof and down to solid ground, but there was no way I was jumping from this high up. Where was Ayanna’s raft, or even Thandiwe with her forebear when I needed it? I would’ve given anything, even some of their good-natured ribbing, to have their help right now.
