by Kwame Mbalia
The bird flapped again. Those wings dwarfed me—he could probably carry me to his nest or wherever he lived and eat me there if he chose.
Wait.
Carry me.
A plan began to form in my mind. A stupid plan. Possibility of dying: 85 percent. But it was the only thing I could think of. I scooted backward until I rested against a tree and then slowly stood up to my full height. The bird hopped, twisting his head to the left and to the right, switching which large eye studied me. “Okay,” I said, peeking behind me quickly and grimacing at the long drop to the muddy ground below. “Okay, Mr. Deacon of Speaking, you think maybe you could help me get down from here? I landed—”
The bird threw his head back and let out a screech. It wasn’t until I saw his feathers quivering and his head bobbing up and down that I realized he was laughing. At me.
Anger bubbled up in my chest and I folded my arms. “What’s so funny?”
The bird clacked his beak and cocked his head at me. “You, my little smug smorgasbord. Only way down for you is through my beak and into my stomach.”
Remember the plan. I pressed my back against the tree as the bird flapped his wings. “I didn’t think crows ate people,” I shouted over the gusts of foul air.
“Crows?! Crows?!” The flapping stopped and DJ Kulture hopped angrily from foot to foot. “Do I look like a rehk rehk featherbrained marble chaser? I’m a flesh-rippin’ raptor! A buzzard ballin’ from the egg to the nest, you understand me? A crow? Why, little boy, I oughta—”
I couldn’t help it. Really, I couldn’t. I started to laugh. “Wait. Wait. A buzzard? As in a vulture? DJ Kulture Vulture? With a K?” I started laughing again as the stinky monster flapped and squawked in rage.
The bird’s cocky attitude and manner of speaking began to change as he got angrier and angrier. “I am not a vulture. I am the vulture. An avian aeronaut who rules the skies. Perhaps you’ve heard of me? I’m the one who chased those metal beasts back to the sea from whence they came. I’m the savior of the skies, the one who extinguished the burning seam in the sky with a flap of my wings.”
Hold up.
This bird was taking credit for things my friends and I did! And, to make matters even worse, the necklace looked familiar. Reeeally familiar. I recognized some items around his neck. A few of them, at least. Kulture Vulture had taken trophies from around Alke—as far as I could tell—and collected them in a necklace. There was a lifeless brand fly and a small fetterling. There was a kierie from the Ridge and strands of the Thicket, all of them twisted and shaped around bleached-white tiny skulls and finger bones.
“If it wasn’t for me,” Kulture Vulture continued, “the web-spinner would never have been found.”
That did it. I whipped out the SBP, intending to show Anansi how this…this thief was taking our exploits—no, my exploits—and twisting the narrative so he was the hero. Unbelievable! But when I looked at the screen, my shoulders slumped. I’d forgotten it wasn’t working.
“My, my, my,” Kulture Vulture said, suddenly so close I could see each dirty, dingy feather on his chest quiver as he spoke. “What is that? Hoo-whee, you’re full of surprises, little morsel. Maybe I’ll—Oh, no you don’t!”
Before I could slip the SBP back in my pocket, Kulture Vulture lunged forward, snagging the phone with his beak and retreating with a flapping hop-step backward.
“Hey!” I shouted.
The bird let out a harsh rehk rehk and turned to flap away with his prize.
I threw caution to the winds…I had no other choice. I dashed forward, lowering my head, and leaped at the bird. I grabbed Kulture Vulture around the neck and we tumbled off the roof.
I’d ridden on the back of a shadow crow the size of a bus. I’d ridden on a magical flying raft and a metal shield that converted into a hoverboard. I’d ridden the L train in Chicago—red, blue, orange, you name it, I’d ridden in cars you wouldn’t be caught dead in.
This—and I cannot stress this enough—was the worst of them all.
Riding on the back of a screeching, grown-man-size vulture that smelled like he had rolled around in spoiled meat (right before he ate it) was enough to make me wanna puke. And I would have, if not for the fact we were hurtling to the ground at a kajillion miles per hour. Anything I unleashed would just splatter right back into my face.
How’s that for a mental image?
“Reeeekh! Get off, get off!”
Kulture Vulture’s words whipped by my ears, barely audible as the wind rushed past us. At least the bird wasn’t trying to rap anymore. His wings flapped wildly as he attempted to steer himself. An emerald U went whizzing by, nearly clipping a wing. Another roof zoomed up at us, heavily carpeted in a green tangle of vines, but we shot past that, too. If I ignored the gorgeous rooftop gardens, the kaleidoscopic jeweled windows, and the crystal balconies that jutted out every so often—invisible if you didn’t look at them at a precise angle—it would have looked like I was dive-bombing downtown Chicago. That’s how many skyscrapers were bunched together, plants growing out of every surface.
“Give me back my phone!” I shouted.
“Rehk rehk!”
The ground was approaching fast. Old Stinky Beak spread his wings wide, trying to slow down, and at the last second, just as we reached the blue-green surface of the pond, I leaped to my feet and kicked off of the giant feathery back. The bird squawked in outrage before he plunged into the water, while I landed heavily on the shore. Pain shot through my right wrist, and I winced as I got to my feet. I could still move it, but it definitely felt sprained and throbbed every time I took a step.
I groaned as my sneakers squelched in thick mud. “Every. Single. Time. Next time I’m wearing sandals. Or swim shoes. Apparently you can’t be fly and save the world.”
The back of my neck prickled, and I stopped talking. It felt like someone was watching me. I looked around, cupping my hand over my eyes to block the glare from the jewellike windows of the dome. Nothing. Not a trace of anyone.
Except Kulture Vulture. He spluttered in the water and flapped his way out, until he stood dripping wet in front of me with a furious expression on his face.
I dropped into a fighting crouch with both fists up. “Give me back the phone,” I growled. “Now.”
I seriously needed the SBP. I had to figure out a way to fix it. If not, I was stuck out here with no way to get help, no way to find Nana, no way for anyone to find me, and no way to get back to my world, leaving me with nothing to do but wait around and hope that eventually I’d be rescued.
“Rehk! A phone?! A phone?! You could’ve killed the both of us, and you’re worried about that trinket?” The vulture shook his feathers, sending droplets everywhere. “I ought to rip you apart and slurp the marrow from your bones. Do you know who I am? I…”
The musty buzzard continued to shout threats as he shook his wings dry. The sensation of being watched came over me again. From every direction. There were people around, I knew it. Why didn’t they come help me? What were they waiting for?
I didn’t have a chance to shout for help. Kulture Vulture flapped closer, and I noticed something peculiar about the necklace around his neck. It was shimmering like heat rising from asphalt. I closed my eyes, then reopened them while holding Nyame’s adinkra.
The vulture had stopped shouting and was staring at me, his head cocked to the side again. “What’s wrong with you?” he asked. “Why’s your eyes glowing?”
I ignored him and studied the necklace with growing horror. What I’d thought were simple knickknacks, little charms and trinkets, were actually pieces of people’s stories. Dull gold words twisted around them, fragments of sentences and phrases linked by the chain of bones. MY LOVE, MY HEART WILL ALWAYS BE snaked around a dark metal heart-shaped bangle. TO MY BEST FRIEND IN THE WHOLE curled around a locket. Something told me none of these items had been given to the buzzard willingly.
“I’m through playing around with you!” the vulture said. “Just who do yo
u think you are, coming into my territory and messing with me? With me! Don’t you know who I am? I rule this miserable mud puddle, little worm. Me! And you think you can muscle me out?”
The necklace wiggled as the bird-monster flapped in anger. Part of it was hidden, stuck beneath a clump of matted and muddy feathers. It captivated me. I found myself fixated on learning what that last trinket was. The vulture spread his wings wide in preparation to fly at me, and the necklace jostled into view.
There it was.
The gold-and-black trim, the sleek and reflective case.
The SBP.
But what I didn’t expect to see, what forced a strangled cry to escape, formed from frustrated anger and fear and desperation all at once, was a familiar, slightly bent golden quilting needle twisted around a small bleached-white bone.
NANA.
Kulture Vulture had seen Nana! I was sure of it. At some point the mangy-feathered bird must’ve run (or flown) into the Shamble Man—recently! I had to figure out where she’d been taken. Was she okay? The image of John Henry fading, fragments of his story drifting off him like ash from a burned house, gripped my heart and squeezed.
My fists clenched even tighter at the thought of that foul-mouthed birdbrain touching anything of Nana’s. The water of the very shallow lake sloshed around my ankles as I widened my stance. Kulture Vulture screeched a challenge, flapped his mud-spattered wings, and launched himself at me in a rush of feathers and lake water.
“I’m going to tear you apart, little worm! Your fingers will be my appetizers. Your kneecaps will be my dessert! Your—bluurrgggh.” He spluttered as I kicked a glob of sand and mud into his face. Ain’t no rules in street-fighting. Or…lake-fighting, I guess. The large bird fell with a splash, flailing his giant dirty wings in an attempt to clear the dirt from his eyes and beak.
“Where’s my grandmother?” I shouted.
Kulture glared at me with eyes that streamed tears. “What are you sniveling about?”
“My grandmother. That needle on your necklace—that was hers.”
“Everything around my neck is mine, worm. Rehk rehk, whatever claim you think you have on it is gone. No more. Finished, you hear? You’re looking at the baddest, flyest, most talented bird with the word. Whoever you’re looking for I can’t help you with, but I can promise you one thing—you found a world of hurt.”
He flapped his wings as if getting ready to take off. I wasn’t going to give him the chance.
I dashed forward, lifting my knees high to clear the water in chopping steps. I guess there was a benefit to Granddad’s training on the shores of Lake Michigan. I covered the ground between me and my feathery foe in a couple seconds and squeezed my fists to make the akofena shadow gloves appear, ready to launch an attack.
A sharp pain stabbed my right wrist. I’d forgotten I’d injured it during the fall.
“Ah!” I shouted, grimacing in agony. The gloves pulsed briefly before they began fading from view. Their power wasn’t working! But it was too late to pull them back now, so I made the best fist I could make and threw a flurry of punches. Several connected. Kulture Vulture’s bald pink head snapped back, and flecks of mud went flying. But the giant bird remained on his feet and snapped at me. I shifted my weight, turned my hips, and fired a straight left. Again the punch connected…but the bird wasn’t going down. He tried to rake me with a talon. My backpack, with my provisions and Nana’s quilt pieces inside, threw off my accuracy, and the blows weren’t connecting like they should have. I was just about to launch a third attack when Kulture Vulture leaped high in the air; with two massive flaps he flew awkwardly into the sky, sending water and mud everywhere.
“Rehk, you miserable maggot! Who do you think you are?” The vulture flew in a wide circle, his shadow sliding over the surface of the lake like an oil slick. Above him, the storm lurked in the distance, promising to deliver punishment to whoever remained standing. “I will strip the flesh from your bones and use you as a puppet!”
The smaller birds, who until this point had given their boss a wide berth, now flapped around me, preventing me from escaping. I shielded my head from their onslaught as they shouted insults and encouraged their leader.
“That’s right, make a puppet outta him, Kulture!”
“Don’t let the groundworm getcha, boss!”
“Ooh, you gonna let him rough you up like that?”
With one more powerful flap, Kulture Vulture dove out of the sky, wings folded against his back and talons outstretched. I tried to dodge, but when I moved my head to the left, my feet went to the right, slipping on the muddy lake bottom. Luckily the talons missed my face, but they snagged on my hoodie and yanked me farther off-balance.
SPLASH!
I toppled into the lake face-first and swallowed a mouthful of mud.
You heard me.
Swallowed. Mud.
“Bleeeech!” I spat out a couple of pebbles and a wriggling something I didn’t want to think too hard about. My clothes were completely soaked again. I wiped sand from my eyes and looked around. Kulture Vulture was nowhere to be seen, and his bird brigade was hooting and chirping. My legs wobbled as I got to my feet. I was so tired, it felt like I was wading through cement. This couldn’t go on much longer. I had to find Nana. I had to stop the Shamble Man, and…and…and…
Exhaustion dragged me down to one knee in the water.
And that’s when Kulture Vulture struck.
Whumph!
It felt like one of Reggie’s punches hammering into my ribs. The buzzard’s talons gripped me around the chest, backpack and all, and yanked me into the air. Giant dusty-black wings flapped on either side of me as a loud screech rang in my ear.
“REHK! Where’s all the big words now, little worm? You’re not so tough up here, though you squirm!”
Oh, for the love of—The rapping was back.
As Kulture Vulture failed all of hip-hop in this realm and mine, the ground dropped farther and farther away, until I could see a series of nearly dry lakes stretching to the horizon, the emerald city rising in the middle with the U-shapes floating above it. Every so often a thundering surge of water would come from the octagonal dome, filling the half rings on their way into the clouds.
It was beautiful.
I would’ve loved to watch them a little longer, but, you know, I was trying not to get eaten.
“You like falling out of the sky so much, why don’t you try it some more?” With that, the talons let go, and I started plummeting to the ground. The lakes tumbled wildly as I flipped head over heels and back again. I tried to scream, but the wind ripped the sound from my mouth. The muddy surface of the water raced toward me, and at the last moment I closed my eyes and braced for impact.
Sharp talons snagged me once again, and I grunted in pain.
“No, little worm, I’m not done with you yet. I like to play with my food a little before I start to nibble.” This time Kulture Vulture had me facing upward, my back to the ground, so I could see him leering at me. A purple snakelike tongue ran over his beak, and I shuddered. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the bird brigade returning, and they squawked and hooted as they followed us.
“What’s the matter, little grub? Catbird got your tongue? That’s a shame—I was planning on eating that delicacy last. Well, if you don’t have anything more to say, I guess the party’s over, hmm? Unless it’s a dinner party…In that case, you’re cordially invited!” His yellow eyes narrowed in anticipation. “I insist.”
I wriggled left and right, struggling to free myself, but Kulture Vulture’s grip was like iron. His beak snapped inches from my face as he leered down at me. I couldn’t escape. This was it. The end of Tristan Strong, one-time hero and a failure of a grandson. Cause of death: digestion.
Kulture Vulture’s feathery friends laughed and jeered at my efforts, calling out helpful tips to mock me.
“Wriggle around some more, little worm, you almost got it!”
“Ooh, that was close!”
<
br /> “I can’t wait for Kulture to tell this story.”
I spotted something in the distance. A dark spot racing beneath the clouds. It was going to be the last thing I saw before a giant beak devoured me whole.
Kulture lowered his head, his fowl breath (Get it? No? Not the time? Oh, okay.) making me gag…when a rock whizzed through the air and clacked off the bird’s giant beak. He squawked and lost his momentum. Another rock hit him, and another, and soon a hailstorm of smooth stones the size of my fist began to pelt Kulture Vulture. With wings flapping awkwardly, he dropped out of the sky, and we splashed into a giant mud puddle. I scrambled away, kicking and swinging as the bird brigade began to dive and swoop to harass me.
Then the rocks started hitting them, too.
Bink
Bink
Bink
Three rocks thrown, three birds from Kulture’s goon squad sent flapping in outrage to the mud below. It was unbelievable. I’d never seen anyone aim so well. I could barely get my trash into the trash can. The rest of the birds stopped attacking me and started to retreat. One by one they changed course, flying away as more rocks chased them off.
“Hey!” Kulture Vulture shouted after his winged goons. He stood wobbly on his legs and shook his feathers. “Get back here, you cowards! They’re just three little morsels!”
Three?
Just then, a familiar voice rang out. “Tristan!”
I turned to see Ayanna, staff gripped in her hand like a baseball bat, running through the mud toward me. And, to my extreme surprise, Junior was following. The boy had his satchel slung around in front of him, one hand inside it, the other holding a stone like the ones that had just whizzed through the air.
Kulture Vulture let out a deafening squawk, and his gang of feathered flunkies wheeled around and flew sheepishly back toward us. Soon we’d be outnumbered again. Kulture Vulture turned to us and clacked his beak.
