“You do not look particularly agreeable, Savannah.” The mayor looked old; hollow. “I suppose you are not willing to listen to any offers I might put on the table.”
“I suppose not.” Savannah stood over the mayor, looking down at the emaciated figure that had so long held the reins of her life and of the SWATS.
“You think now is the time, do you?”
Savannah looked around the room, at how sparse and empty it seemed. “You knew, didn’t you?”
“If you think I am going to sit here and explain everything to you, then you are mistaken.”
“Then let me explain it to you.” Savannah moved around behind Mayor Green. She put her hands on the old man’s shoulders. “You didn’t come here to make things better.”
The mayor grunted. “I suppose that depends on your definition of ‘better’.”
“People fought the darkness a long time before you got here, you old bastard. They didn’t need any Root Woman to keep them walking on the Here Road.”
Savannah had put it all together down in the cave. About the people who had settled in the SWATS; about how far they had fallen. About how they had sold themselves to the lowest bidder, because they did not know what else to do.
“You didn’t come here to protect the residents in the SWATS; hell, not even the residents of Atlanta. You came here to ruin us.”
The mayor chuckled and coughed. “Cattle, Savannah. Sheep. That’s all they are. They need a herdsman.”
“But you’re no herdsman. You’re the goddamned jackal that preys on the herd.” Savannah shifted her hands, closing them around the old man’s throat. “Sitting up here in your big house, sucking the life out of those people; draining the hope and belief from one generation after another—”
The mayor’s eyes bulged, swelling out of their sockets.
The mayor tried to speak, but the words died in his throat.
Savannah squeezed harder. “Shh… time for you to just listen.” The old man’s trachea creaked in her fists like an empty water bottle. Savannah could feel the mayor’s fear. Savannah let the vermin god’s power rush down through her arms. “But then a new god came along and screwed up your sweet deal.”
The old man wrenched his head around to stare at the Root Woman, veins standing out like black worms on his face.
Savannah knew the choking was not killing Jedediah Green. It was the power she had stolen from the vermin god pouring into the Mayor, scorching him like lava.
“These people deserve better. They deserve someone to keep the jackals from their door and the wicked spirits from their shadows.”
The mayor was near to death. A little more pressure, and Savannah’s fingers would crush the old thing’s windpipe. A little more, and the power of the vermin god would burn the mayor’s insides to ash.
“So that’s what you’re gonna be from here on out.” Savannah took her hands off the Mayor’s throat, then stepped back. “You’re going to be the kind of protector you always claimed to be.”
The mayor stared at Savannah over his shoulder, sucking in ragged breaths.
“You and I, we’re gonna turn the SWATS around,” Savannah went on. “Between the two of us, I figure we can undo all the damage we’ve done the past twenty years or so.”
The mayor looked away.
The Root Woman turned then sauntered away. At the door to the sitting room, she stopped. “And if you get any ideas about messing with me or mine, I’m going to come back up here and squeeze your throat until your head pops off.”
She left the Mayor to think about the new order. The black dogs howled after Savannah as she drove off.
***
The SUV rumbled up the drive. To Savannah, it seemed that the world was conspiring to keep her from home, but for the first time in a long time, she felt up to the fight.
Something was off in her head. The new head honcho – the vermin god – was gone, but there were still pieces of it, little splinters, jammed into the nooks and crannies of her mind. She figured it was something she would have to deal with sooner rather than later. There was hardly enough room in her skull for herself, much less for the remnants of a dead god and the presence of a live one.
She stopped the SUV in front of her home, then hopped out.
The front door opened.
Rashad limped out, then leaned against the porch rail, watching; waiting; ready.
Savannah had never seen anything so beautiful in her life. Her boots crunched the gravel in an uneven rhythm as she made her way to the house.
Rashad smiled at her from the porch. “You look like shit.”
“Better to look like, than to smell like,” Savannah said.
She approached her husband with caution, moving toward him, waiting for the old curse to come. She could see the same caution in Rashad – the way he kept his arms crossed on his chest to protect himself from bitter disappointment. There had been so many years of uncertainty and fear of one another.
It seemed too much to hope for that the wall of rage and bad hoodoo between them had finally crumbled away to nothing.
She hooked one thumb into a belt loop of his jeans then tugged Rashad up against her. They stood close, just looking.
Savannah rested her chin on Rashad’s chest then wrapped her arms tightly around his lower back. The last fireflies of the year blinked in the shadows behind them.
Rashad squeezed her back just as tightly. “You really broke the curse.”
“Yes.”
They stayed that way for long minutes, before Savannah let go of Rashad. “What you did…” she began.
Rashad watched her with big, wet eyes.
Savannah blew out an exasperated sigh. “You knew what I’d have to do.”
Rashad did not say a word; he just watched Savannah as she spoke.
Savannah could feel the air thicken between them and see the shadows darken around her husband’s eyes.
“I’m not going to kill you,” she said. “But I would have. If I had come in and found you playing with spirits alongside the mayor last night, I wouldn’t have even given it a second thought.”
“And now?” Rashad asked.
“I’m not that woman anymore,” Savannah replied. “I used to hate this place; hate the people; hate all the infernal bullshit that kept it running. But I just… I don’t know. It’s harder to hate now.”
“What changed?”
“When that goddamned mole rat god was coming for me; stomping all over the fools who summoned it…” Savannah struggled with the words. “It wanted what it wanted; it didn’t care about the screaming fools under its feet. They called it here to help them; to save them… but that’s what people need to be saved from… gods who want everything their way; men who throw their weight around to make everybody ask ‘how high’, when they say ‘jump’. The SWATS doesn’t need any of that bullshit.”
Rashad was measuring her words. Savannah could see it; she could tell from the way he looked at her.
“What did you do?” Rashad asked.
“I changed the rules.” Savannah shrugged, unable to find the words to explain how much she had changed, and how much work she had ahead of her.
Rashad hugged himself tightly. “What now?”
Savannah could feel the warring powers she had tricked, still trapped inside her. They both wanted her dead, now. She would just have to see if she was strong enough to hold them off and use their powers for good. Savannah smiled, then pressed a gentle palm to Rashad’s cheek . “Let’s find out.”
***
It took Lashey weeks of rest and attention from her father to shed all the spikes the conjured girl had stuck into her flesh. Eventually, the crystals cracked and flaked away, leaving behind little bloody divots. Before the fall had given way to winter, she was back to her old self, chasing Carter around the house and down to the creek.
Carter scooped his little sister up onto his shoulders then walked along the gravel-strewn shore. “You think we’ll find any crawdads
?”
Lashey tugged at Carter’s hair then kicked her heels against his chest. “Yep. Six of ‘em.”
“Just six? Hardly worth the walk. And that water’s going to be cold.”
They made their way down to a bend in the creek, a curve that the current had carved into a deeper pool where life blossomed. Carter lowered Lashey to the ground. Lashey crept up to the creek’s edge.
The current was lazy and the water was clear and smooth as a mirror. Lashey looked at her reflection. She felt older; old, really, but she still looked like a child.
Lashey’s nose wrinkled. There was something in the air, a whiff of sulfur. She saw a trio of black bears amble out of the forest on the far side of the creek, their heads dipping to acknowledge Carter.
She scowled at them. They curled their lips in return, like they did not care much for her, either.
“Stupid bears,” she mumbled.
“They scared o’ you, girl,” a familiar voice whispered in her ear.
“I know, Granny,” Lashey whispered back, keeping her voice so low even her brother’s acute hearing would not pick up the words.
“But you ain’t scared.” The old ghost’s hand brushed through Lashey’s hair, stirring the locks like an unseen wind.
Lashey shrugged. She could sense the crawdads gathered up near the shore under a big old rock.
She thrust her hand into the chilly water, leaning down so she could reach into their hiding place. The crawdads tried to scatter away from her touch, but Lashey felt the weak workings of their minds then squeezed until they stopped struggling and swam right into her hand. She was learning a lot of new tricks these days. “Got you,” she shouted, yanking them all into the air.
Across the creek, the bears growled. Carter let his own growl rumble in the back of his throat and the bears backed off, slinking back into the woods.
“You’re getting better at that,” he said.
“Yeah,” Lashey grinned. A cloud floated across the sun, throwing a shadow over the creek. “Ah-I’m-m-m stronger now.”
“What?”
“Huh?” Lashey brought the crawdads to her brother then dumped them into the little wicker basket hanging off his belt.
“What did you say?”
“Nothin’, silly.” Lashey hugged her brother around the waist. “I didn’t say anything.”
The bears growled.
Watching.
Waiting.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Balogun Ojetade is the author of the bestselling non-fiction books Afrikan Martial Arts: Discovering the Warrior Within, The Afrikan Warriors Bible, Surviving the Urban Apocalypse, The Urban Self Defense Manual and The Young Afrikan Warriors’ Guide to Defeating Bullies & Trolls.
He is one of the leading authorities on Afroretroism – film, fashion or fiction that combines African and / or African American culture with a blend of “retro” styles and futuristic technology, in order to explore the themes of tension between past and future and between the alienating and empowering effects of technology. He writes about Afroretroism – Sword & Soul, Rococoa, Steamfunk and Dieselfunk at http://chroniclesofharriet.com/.
He is author of twelve novels: MOSES: The Chronicles of Harriet Tubman (Books 1 & 2); The Chronicles of Harriet Tubman: Freedonia; Redeemer; Once Upon A Time In Afrika; Fist of Afrika; A Single Link; Wrath of the Siafu; The Scythe; The Keys; Redeemer: The Cross Chronicles; Beneath the Shining Jewel; and A Haunting in the SWATS: The Savannah Swan Files; contributing co-editor of three anthologies: Ki: Khanga: The Anthology, Steamfunk and Dieselfunk and contributing editor of the Rococoa anthology and Black Power: The Superhero Anthology.
He is also the creator and author of the Afrofuturistic manga series, Jagunjagun Lewa (Pretty Warrior) and co-author of the Ngolo graphic novel.
Finally, he is co-author of the award winning screenplay, Ngolo and co-creator of Ki Khanga: The Sword and Soul Role-Playing Game, both with author Milton Davis.
Reach him on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/Afrikan.Martial.Arts and on Twitter at https://twitter.com/Baba_Balogun.
Find his books on Amazon at https://www.amazon.com/Balogun-Ojetade/e/B00AVEA7SU.
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