by Kwame Mbalia
Bear leaned in close, so I could see every putrid lump and bubbling pustule in the shifting amber mask. Beneath the surface the oily shadow I’d seen before shifted back and forth. I narrowed my eyes at it, which didn’t help my headache, but I didn’t get a chance to investigate, because Bear opened his mouth and a harsh snarl slipped through teeth the size of knives.
“You don’t get to say those names,” he said softly, inches from my face. “Your very existence is a betrayal of their lives. Fox is dead thanks to you. Brer Rabbit was kidnapped and held captive, and now he clings to life because of that little bug you’re so buddy-buddy with, whose offspring plots under your very nose. You…sicken me.”
I stopped struggling for a moment, stunned. I looked at Junior.
He opened his mouth, paused, then looked away.
“Yesss,” Bear hissed. “You see it now. Too little, too late, grum grum.” Still gripping me tightly with one paw, Bear used the other to pull up my left wrist. I was terrified he was going to take my adinkra bracelet, but instead, he outlined my hand with a wicked sharp claw. “Where are those blessed gloves of yours, hmm? Did you lose them like the little boy you are?”
I squirmed and gasped for air.
“Tristan Strong punched a hole in the sky,” Bear said in a whisper. “And brought the evil in.”
A chill slid down my spine. “No,” I said.
“Cities burned, now what did we learn?” He bared his teeth at me. “Don’t let him do it again.”
He let go of my throat and I slid to the floor with a jarring thump. I coughed and rubbed at where his claws had pricked my neck. “Where is my nana?” I said with a rasp. “What have you done with her?”
Bear winced for the first time. “That yammering old lady is safe. For now. But she won’t be for long…not if I don’t get what I want.”
“What do you want? The Story Box?”
He laughed, then scooped me off the floor and flung me across the room. I landed hard on my shoulder, and lightning shot down my whole right arm. “Keep your stories, little hero. You can use them to entertain your friends when I bring your world down on your head.”
“Then what?” I shouted in pain. “Just give me back my grandmother!”
“YOU CAN’T HAVE HER BACK!” Bear roared. “I want you to suffer! You hear me? Suffer! I’m taking from you what you took from me. Someone you care about, grum grum, and they will die, just like you will, knowing that you failed to save them. Just like you failed to save MidPass.”
“Your children—”
An earsplitting growl shook the juke joint as Bear launched himself forward, his hind paw crashing into my chest and pinning me down. Stars bloomed in front of my eyes. My fingers feebly struggled for the pocket where the SBP was.
Bear laughed and shook his head. “What, you think I don’t know about your plan?”
He lifted his paw off me and I froze.
“Go on. Call your gods. They won’t come even if you beg them to save you. They are leaderless, divided, squabbling like children forced to share. You are alone, Tristan Strong, champion of MidPass, warrior from the Battle of the Bay. Scream for your gods. I would rip them to pieces in front of you if they dared to show their faces. CALL THEM!”
My fingers hovered over my pocket, eyes prickling with tears as my lungs wheezed. Was he right? Had the loss of John Henry thrown everyone into disarray? Were they afraid? Fear gripped me tight, a block of ice around my chest, and Bear began to cackle.
Not laugh, cackle.
I dropped my hand.
“Pathetic,” Bear said. “I’d planned to let you live to see the destruction you will be blamed for. But now your presence is a stain on everything that all except for you have sacrificed. Better to crush you like the bug you shelter in your pocket, grum grum.”
He stepped outside for a moment, and I heard a woman’s cry of surprise and pain. Bear came back in with John Henry’s hammer. The massive symbol of MidPass’s strongest god looked warped in Bear’s claws, and as he gripped the handle, the iron head began to glow with a pale-green fire. “Your world will burn, little hero. And everyone will think you did it. Again.”
Bear raised the hammer over me with both paws, his face twisted into a snarl. I closed my eyes.
Thok, thok, thok
Stones hammered Bear’s mask, knocking it askew and sending him reeling backward in outrage. Junior stood on the stage, his hands a blur as he threw with painful accuracy. Fear was written all over his face, but his mouth was pressed thin and he didn’t flinch as Bear roared with each blow.
I scrambled away and took refuge under a table in the back.
CRASH!
Bear stumbled as the drum set from the stage launched itself at him, the snare and the hi-hat cymbals colliding with his mask. The kick drum flew across the room and knocked into his legs, sending him crashing to the floor. The drumsticks battered his head and poked at his eyes through the holes in the mask.
I gawked at the sight.
“This is my home, and no one disrespects me in my home.”
The pain-laden shout came from the broken front doors. Lady Night leaned against Ayanna. Swirling lavender smoke hovered above her right hand. She whispered to it, then lobbed the spell at the overturned tables and chairs, where it exploded into a silver-and-lavender cloud. The effort nearly forced her to double over in agony.
Rumbling, scraping sounds filled the room, and the chairs and tables assembled themselves into five large figures that hurled themselves at Bear. The god roared his challenge and smashed the first two into pieces with his stolen hammer.
“I’m not going to be able to keep this up much longer,” Lady Night grunted. She stood upright and shoved Ayanna toward the door. “You have to go now. Hurry! The magic will keep him busy for a while. Tristan, find your grandmother and Mami Wata and stop this before it’s too late.” She hurled another spell, sending a second wave of musical instruments crashing into Bear’s face.
“Junior, let’s go!” I called.
He glanced at me, then shook his head and redoubled his efforts. The stones he had already cast flew back into his hands and then across the room to pummel Bear again. How could I have missed the fact that he was one of Anansi’s six sons? It was so obvious now. The same brown skin, the quirky smile, and then there was his special talent: throwing stones with laser-like accuracy. No wonder Nyame wanted to keep such a close eye on him.
I hesitated, then called, “Stone Thrower!”
The SBP buzzed in alarm in my pocket. I winced. Onstage, the boy smiled, then shook his head. “Go!” he shouted. “Just go!” Three stones pinged in quick succession, landing in a narrow gap between the armor on Bear’s wrist. The god roared and the hammer dropped to the floor.
“Tristan, come on!” Ayanna shouted.
I limped to my feet and paused, torn. Junior tossed a few more stones, glanced over at me, and gave me a mock salute. “Do better, hero,” he said, right before he hurled a stone that thumped me in the chest and sent me stumbling backward through the ruined door. “Someday I still have to tell my father that story.”
Outside, the night sky had begun to lighten at the creases where the horizon watched from a safe distance. Gum Baby lay motionless on the ground, dust coating her still form. I scooped her up and limped to the pilot raft, hesitated, then climbed aboard. Nana was still out there somewhere, waiting for me. Ayanna followed and quickly took over, sending us up into the storm clouds. We both looked back in horror as another roar exploded into the darkness.
“TRISTAN STRONG PUNCHED A HOLE IN THE SKY,” I MUTTERED, fists clenched so tight my fingernails threatened to pierce my palms. The pain from my right wrist raced up into my elbow, but I ignored it. “And let the evil in.”
“Tristan?”
What was I supposed to do now? Bear was too strong. The other gods were scared to face him, and John Henry was barely clinging to his stories. What chance did a skinny kid from Chicago have?
“Tristan? Are yo
u listening? Tristan!”
I lifted my head from my knees, which I was clutching to my chest while sitting in the middle of the raft. We floated above another dry riverbed leading north to the Golden Crescent. A further reminder of how Alke was falling apart and I couldn’t do anything about it. When I tried to work with my friends to save people, I failed. When I tried to do things on my own, I failed. It felt as if a boulder had settled onto my shoulders, driving me to the ground and anchoring me in place.
“Tristan?”
Ayanna knelt in front of me, the SBP in her hand and a look of concern on her face. In my head I saw the juke joint collapsing, Lady Night and Junior inside, and my eyes welled up with tears. Lady Night had helped so many refugees from MidPass, and now she was gone. And I’d been so mean to Stone Thrower at first, when all he was trying to do was overcome his family legacy.
I knew something about that, and yet I’d failed him. I’d failed them both.
“Tristan!” Anansi peered out of the screen, a worried expression on his face as Ayanna leaned forward to put her hand on my shoulder. “We’ve got to keep moving.”
“For what?” I muttered.
“Your grandmother! Your friends, your world, everything!” Ayanna threw up her hands. “What do you mean, for what? Your world and mine are in trouble if we don’t stop that mangy-furred cretin!”
I looked around. The sun was just rising over the tip of Isihlangu to the east. It covered the mountain range in a gold-and-pink blanket of light that reminded me of Nana’s quilt, a warm layer of comfort and reassurance. Somehow I was still wearing the backpack, though at this point I couldn’t figure out why. For a brief moment I thought about flying to the fortress city of the Ridgefolk and begging them to hide me. But if everyone blamed me like Bear did, would they even open the door?
Ahead of us, the Golden Crescent sparkled like a polished crown. The gilded city was a distant glow on the horizon, like an early sunrise in a world of night. And yet the beauty didn’t do anything for me. Who could care about beauty amid so much destruction? I couldn’t look at it without remembering the iron monsters flooding the shores of the seaside city, the rotted corpse of the Maafa squatting in the bay like a hungry leviathan. I didn’t want to see that happen again. But what could I do?
“Tristan. It’s time to act, boy.”
I looked down to see Anansi staring out at me. His face was so similar to that of the kid I’d just left behind to face Bear’s wrath. For once, there was no mischievous smile or glint in the spider god’s eyes. Only sadness.
“Is it true?” I asked, knowing the answer but wanting to hear the trickster god confirm it. I couldn’t move until I did. “Was Junior…Is Junior your son?”
Ayanna looked back and forth between the phone and me, resignation warring with the need to keep moving, to keep busy, rather than deal with losing someone close. I knew that feeling well.
“It’s wild…” I said. “The last story Nana told me, the only one I can still remember clear as day, was about Anansi and his six children. Whenever the trickster got himself into trouble, his sons had to come bail him out. He might’ve been eaten by a giant fish or a giant bird, but no matter the conundrum, his boys had his back.” I shook my head. “I guess it’s true…even when he’s trapped inside a phone.”
Anansi smiled softly. “Ah, yes. They’re good boys, my sons. Trouble Seer, Road Builder, River Drinker, Game Skinner, Ground Pillow…and Stone Thrower.”
Junior’s face popped into my mind, along with the cross-body satchel he’d always kept close. It looked like he’d never be able to tell the story about his father…. Did Anansi know that Stone Thrower had sacrificed himself for their sake?
Just then, Gum Baby groaned and began to stir, which was a good thing, because I’d started to get worried about her, too. How long can a doll stay unconscious?
“Unnngh. Gum Baby needs to go easy on the chocolate milk next time.” She sat up slowly while holding her head in her hands.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
“Yeah, Gum Baby’s gone to rougher parties.” Then she dropped her hands and hopped to her feet, her little fists balled as she searched the area. “Where is he? Where’s that evil teddy bear? Gum Baby’s gonna pound his face into mush!”
When she realized we were no longer in the juke joint, she dropped her hands, confused. “What’s wrong? Why ain’t y’all taking Gum Baby to the next fight? Did we win?”
“No.” I sighed and sat down on the edge of the raft, letting my legs dangle over the edge as I stared at the muddy remains of one of Mami Wata’s rivers. “No, we didn’t win. We lost. We lost Mami Wata, we lost my nana, we lost Alke. Bear won. I couldn’t beat him.”
“Did you try?” Gum Baby climbed into Ayanna’s lap and cradled the SBP in her arms. Anansi stared unhappily at a smear of sap on the screen.
“She’s right,” Ayanna said. “Can’t win anything if you don’t try.”
“What’s the point? He can whip me seven ways from Sunday. He’s done it twice already. He even beat John Henry! What am I supposed to do against that? Hope? I don’t have any more of that. I’m clean out.”
“What would your grandmother say?” Anansi asked, ducking under an app as the sap continued to roll down the screen. “Would she want you to give up without even attempting to fight?”
“I. Can’t. Win.” Why couldn’t they understand that? This was when you threw in the towel. When you stopped the fight. I’d have to find some other hero to save the world. Nana would understand, wouldn’t she?
Wouldn’t she?
The sun finally rose above Isihlangu—maybe for the last time. Bear was going to do something horrific, the gods of MidPass and Alke couldn’t make up their minds about what to do to prevent that from happening, and I was useless.
Get back up.
The thought popped into my head like Nana herself was speaking in my ear. I shook my head and tried to ignore it.
Get back up.
“No,” I said out loud. “Just to lose again? No.”
Anansi and Gum Baby exchanged a look. They probably thought the stress was getting to me. Maybe it was. I was arguing with myself…and losing at that.
Get. Back. Up.
“He’s just gonna win again, so what does it matter?” I folded my arms across my chest, well aware it looked like I was sulking, which was fine, because that’s exactly what I was doing.
“Uh, Bumbletongue?” Gum Baby asked carefully. “Who are you talking to?”
But I flapped her question away and hopped to my feet, rocking the raft dangerously. “How am I supposed to fight against irrational outbursts? Or misplaced anger? Yes, I ripped open the sky the first time, but I didn’t light MidPass on fire! That was the iron monsters, and King Cotton. And we beat them back to the bottom of the sea, together! But Bear won’t listen to that. He’s…he’s…”
“Bear’s dealing with trauma,” Anansi said gently. “And he’s not handling it well.”
That stopped me mid-rant. Trauma. Nana had mentioned that trauma was a deeply distressing event. I guess I’d never really thought about it before, but losing someone you cared about was traumatic—it lingered with you for days and months. Years, even.
Eddie’s death still lingered with me.
And just the thought of losing Nana was tearing my heart in two.
Everyone from MidPass who’d had to watch their homes burn or see their loved ones be ripped from them and taken away—that was traumatic.
And Bear…losing his children. His best friend. His home.
Yeah, all that was trauma.
“But,” I said slowly, “how could he then turn around and inflict more trauma on others?”
Gum Baby hopped off Ayanna’s lap and scrambled onto my shoulders as I knelt and picked up the SBP, wiping the screen on my shorts.
Ayanna pursed her lips. “Some of the folks from MidPass used to lash out in the days immediately after…well, when the iron monsters were defeated. Never like this
, though.”
Anansi nodded. “Something has wormed into Bear’s head and poisoned his thoughts against the rest of the world. Both worlds. It’s like he doesn’t care anymore and just wants to cause as much mayhem and destruction as possible.”
Something stirred loose in the back of my mind. “Poisoned his thoughts…”
The amber mask.
The oily shadow.
Poisoned his thoughts.
“Oh no,” I whispered, horrified. I hurled myself at the rudder at the back of the raft, jerking it forward and shooting the vessel into the sky. I pointed it west—beyond the Golden Crescent.
“Hold it, Tristan, where are you taking us?” Ayanna shouted as we zoomed off.
I bit my lip and crossed my fingers and toes, praying that I was wrong. I so wanted to be wrong. But if I wasn’t…Sweet peaches, I didn’t want to think about that.
“Tristan?”
We sped through the breaking dawn. “I’m going to talk with an old friend.”
Not too long ago, archeologists found the last ship to bring Africans across the ocean to America. The Clotilda, it was called, a wooden vessel of nightmares and horror. It was discovered in the Mobile River in Alabama. Wild, right? I’d thought about asking my grandparents to drive me to where they were planning to display it, to take a look at the tool of a terror that had severed families, friends, and communities again and again.
I never did ask, though.
Maybe the memory of another slave ship kept me silent. The hulls filled with disease and despair, the holds stuffed with shackled prisoners—those images still haunted me some nights. The folks I hadn’t been able to save.
After learning about the Clotilda I’d wondered whether its reemergence all these centuries later had caused trauma in the descendants of abducted Africans.
Or what if it had the opposite effect? Sometimes, as Nana used to say, the only way to get rid of a boil is to lance it. (I think that means cut it with a knife and not with a jousting spear like I originally thought.) The point is, you have to experience some pain in order to begin healing.
