DRAFT the Nyama Eaters - The New Imaniya

8/12/2019 DRAFT the Nyama Eaters - The New Imaniya

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Troy Wiggins468 Lundee StreetMemphis, TN 38111

[email protected]

(Your agent's name)(Your agent's address)

41,200 words.

<The Nyama EatersBook I: The New Imaniya>

by <Troy Wiggins>



Wiggins / THE NYAMA EATERS - BOOK I / 1

Markel savored the smell of brass polish and Phoenix

Blast body spray that wafted from the elevator shaft outside

of his top floor office. The scent marked the return of

Lieutenant Colonel James Raswick, representative of the United

States Army and, Markel hoped, authorized buyer of the K-

Isotope. It had only been a few minutes since Daabari, the

first floor secretary, had buzzed the officer up, and only a

few seconds since Markel had detected his scent. He turned to

the window and looked out at Memphis. His city, as far as he

was concerned. He closed his eyes, focused, and sent a tendril

of his mind out into the streets, searching for his servant,

Rashid. His mind snaked through the lesser thoughts of

pedestrians, looked into the traffic cop's nervous jittery

memory pangs of bankruptcy, and zipped through the vacuous

brainwaves of another top-floor executive dozing off in a

company meeting.

Raswick was getting closer, perhaps six floors down.

Markel noticed a scent of metal and grease that disguised the

presence of five additional men on the elevator with the

Colonel.

"Seems like he doesn't trust me much," Markel muttered,

and sent his mind out again. He sensed a fleeting familiarity

in the night-cloaked city below. The energy was so close, it

sent him back in time, and he nearly lost himself in golden




plains, emerald jungles, among the ruins of stone temples, and

amongst it all, the docile face of a young, brown-eyed woman.

Cursing, he sent his tendrils out in search of Rashid, but to

no avail. Unable to locate his lackey, he sent a concentrated

wave of mental power toward the familiar energy. His message

was warped, evil, deep violet and full of malice and bloody

promises. The effort of it tired him. He berated himself for

being out of shape as he caught his breath, then strode over

to his desk and leaned coolly in front of it as Colonel

Raswick and his entourage appeared in his doorway.

Lt. Col. James Raswick was an enormous beefeater of a

man, with sunburned pink skin and the jowls of a forest hog. A

pitiful amount of what had probably been even more pitiful

hair straggled around his ears. Despite the unattractiveness

of his head and face, his broad shoulders and a barrel chest,

concealed only minimally under his dress uniform, attested to

the high level of physical fitness that the man had

maintained. Markel smiled at the prospect of testing Colonel

Raswick's skills, then forced himself to remove his mind from

the physical hunt, and focus on the financial hunt. He

extended his hand, and the Colonel shook it vigorously. Behind

them, the five men that he had brought milled around in

Markel's spacious office. They were dressed lightly, in drab,

earth-toned button downs and dark slacks. Each man wore an




earpiece tucked conspicuously behind his left ear.

"I didn't think you'd be back," Markel said. His voice

was only a few octaves higher than a growl, with distinct

undertones of thunder. "You brought company, too."

"Well, frankly, I didn't think I'd be either. Most'a my

commanders think your product's a load of hogwash. But when we

showed the President, his eyes bugged out like he'd just found

out that candy grew on trees. A load'a red tape later, and

here I am. Sorry I didn't mention the plus five. I figured

it'd be okay."

"It's perfectly fine, Colonel. And I'm glad you've

returned. Would you like something to drink? Tea, perhaps?."

Markel stood a head taller than the Colonel, and could see

each point of light that the officer's head reflected as he

shook it in response. He scowled, then erased the expression.

"So how are we going to deal today? I have four batches of the

K-Isotope stored, packaged, and ready for purchase."

One of the Colonel's men stepped away from the group to

examine a statue. One of Markel's favorites, it depicted a

nude young man sharpening his spear in preparation for a hunt.

The curves of the young man's muscles, the grain of his spear,

his fiercely doleful expression, all were painstakingly etched

in blocky, obfuscating detail. The Colonel scratched his

blonde hair as he contemplated the statue.




"It's called The Final Hunt," Markel said. "A capturing

of the tension and energy that goes into the preparation for

the stalking and killing of prey. I like to think that I

inspired the artist. So, Colonel, are you ready to purchase

today?"

"I'd like to think we are," The Colonel said. He held up

a finger at Markel's reply. "Except...I need to see how the K-

Isotope works in real time. We've analyzed the samples you

sent, but haven't been authorized to test them on subjects

yet. Figured we'd leave that up to you."

Markel inclined his head. "It's your lucky day, Colonel.

It just so happens that I am testing the latest batch of the

K-Isotope today." He sent a mental command to Daabari. Get the

lower laboratories ready. We will be paying the new Vuli

Jaambar a visit today.

Yes, Feseya Markel. As you command.

"If you would, gentlemen?" he said, gesturing toward the

door.

It took two trips on high-speed elevvators to get them

down to the lower labs, a set of offices located a few meters

underground. Markel led the group through a maze of corridors,

stopping them in front of a thick, digitally locked door

marked "LL-01". Markel turned to the Colonel and smiled.

"Could you and your men turn your backs for me please?




Privacy, you know."

The Colonel smirked and motioned for his men to turn

their backs to the door. Markel focused on the lock, and sent

a pulsing wave of mental energy into it. The digital sensor

beeped, switched from red to green, and the door slid open

with a hiss. Inside the laboratory were many sets of monitors,

instruments, and tools, all of them humming and beeping

merrily as the technicians assigned to them worked their

myriad experiments. Markel led the men to a large dual-

chambered area, occupied by three scientists in hazard gear

and various sets of tools. The inner chamber, separated from

the outer by a glass partition, only had one occupant: A semi-

nude man, muscular and crouched, his eyes closed as if in

prayer. Markel collected several sets of hazard masks and

passed them out among the men.

"Is the procedure dangerous?" The Colonel asked as he

stretched the mask's straps over his shiny head.

"It's perfectly safe," Markel replied. "I just don't want

you or your men to get a free sample of the K-Isotope." Markel

motioned at one of the scientists. He nodded and flipped a

switch. A low hum sounded through the room, and the men looked

as the inner chamber was filled with a pink gas. It swirled

around, obscuring the sole occupant from view for a minute or

so, then the gas was sucked from the room in a gush of air.




The man inside the chamber looked none the worse for wear.

"That's it?" Colonel Ruswick asked, incredulous. "That's

all it does? He just looks...more shiny if anything!"

"You can administer the K-Isotope intravenously for more

potent effects," One of the scientists volunteered, "But those

effects are less permanent."

"You require further testing, Colonel?" Markel asked,

narrowing his eyes. Inside of the chamber, the man flexed his

arms and legs, tumbled a couple of times, and threw a few test

punches. "How about the one exposed to the K-Isotope versus

your five men, a show of prowess?"

"You're kidding right? That's no contest! These are

Special Operations Forces, trained for years to be the best

operatives on the planet." The Colonel smirked and waved in

the direction of the inner chamber. "You ought not write

checks your butt can't cash, son."

Markel suppressed a snarl at the Colonel's use of the

word 'son' in reference to him."Hmm. That makes me wonder why

you brought five specially trained soldiers into my office

then, Colonel." Markel contemplated briefly, then whispered to

one of the scientists. The man scurried away, then returned

bearing lightweight graphite batons. He gave one to each of

the Colonel's men.

"Now it is a contest," Markel said. His voice dipped




deeper.

"Alright, crazy. It's that guy's funeral." Colonel

Raswick turned to his men. "Incapacitate only. Got it?"

They all nodded, then padded into the chamber door as it

hissed open. Markel could not help but compare the five men to

elite predators as they warily circled the young man. The

young man, in return, kept his eyes unfocused, looking at each

man briefly as he retreated into a crouch. The young man's

back touched the far glass wall of the inner chamber just as

two of the soldiers blasted into motion. One of them, burly

and bald, swung his baton at the young man's head, the other

at his feet. The young man, sweat gleaming off his brown

thews, leapt, and in an impossible maneuver, twisted between

the batons as they whistled through the air where he had been.

What followed was a deadly dance: The young man wove, ducked,

and danced around the larger men, who swung their batons at

the younger man with deadly efficiency. The Colonel's men,

working as a cold unit, slashed at the air around the young

man but their batons met no flesh. Then, pedaling quickly

backwards to evade a vicious thrust, the young man collided

with the opposite wall of the chamber. With triumphant cries,

two of the men slashed their batons down at the young man's

shoulders--only to have them bent at an impossible angle

against his arms as he thrust them into the air to block the




assault. The Colonel's men stopped in mid-attack,

flabbergasted.

Markel heard Colonel Raswick's gasp as the young man went

on the offensive, becoming a blur of brown that tossed the two

elite soldiers into far corners of the chamber while they

gaped at their broken batons. Two more men rushed him, only to

be batted aside like falling leaves. The last man, in a show

of bravado, brought down his baton with enough force to

shatter bone. The young man caught the soldier's arm at the

wrist mid-swing and pulled a jaw-breaking punch just short of

the soldier's chin. Markel and the Colonel could hear the

larger man's teeth chattering through the glass partition.

The Colonel turned to Markel, who was smiling knowingly.

Markel extended his hand again.

"Well, Colonel? Is the United States Army interested in

my K-Isotope or not?"

Colonel Raswick shook his head, then grasped Markel's

hand. "You're damn right we're interested, son! You got

yourself a deal!"




CHAPTER ONE

Untitled Document

Someone was talking. That was first, the words that

slithered through every wrinkle in my brain, leaving a reeking

poisonous trail in the folds of my consciousness. I forced my

eyes open, my eyelids cracking apart like I hadn't used them

in years. As the moisture cleared from my vision, I noticed

strange dark shapes swimming through a shifting rainbow haze.

I felt like I was standing in putty, unable to move or think

clearly. And the talking continued, beckoning me in a ragged

circle that I couldn't force myself out of.

I bit my lip in an attempt to clear my head, and

momentarily succeeded. With an enormous whoosh that sounded

like the world's biggest vacuum cleaner, the haze grayed and

split zig-zag, a spear through space. A path to nowhere,

because I had no idea where I was.




I set off, aware of dread creeping along the bones of my

spine. My feet were dusty and bare, and I was dressed in a

tattered linen tunic and leather loincloth. Thorny vines

reached at my ankles from dusty cracks in the road and snagged

my feet as well as my eyesight. As I pulled my leg free, I

collided what felt like a gigantic mountain, gasped, fell,

glanced, and realized that it wasn't rocks at all. A bizarre

creature reckoned me, a creature with golden eyes slitted so

sharply that they might have been cut in two. Golden eyes in a

woman's face. No, a boy's face. A liquid, shifting face, a

shadow-edged face on the gigantic muscled body of a lavender

feathered bird. A lavender feathered ostrich, with a snakelike

neck. It turned, trudged away. When it realized I didn't

follow, it turned back. I felt its whisper in my brain,

soothing, non-poisonous.

"Nataa le."

I shook my head, a clear no. Its repeated whispers nerved

me, and my feet moved behind her without my consent.

Without warning, a screaming message assaulted my brain,

setting the previously laid poison on fire and splitting

cracks in the earth around me.

"DINDIN-KOTAN! NATAA LE, DOMA!"

With a flex of its immense legs, the lavender ostrich-man

bowled into me, gathering me up onto its back with small




ruffles of its wings. It whispered into my brain again, its

voice neither that of a man or a woman.

(I want you to be safe, but he will kill you. He will

kill me. I must take you to him.)

We flew across the land without ever leaving the ground,

the ostrich-person's feet thump-thumping against the rocky

earth like it was a gigantic drum. The air smelled yellow-

green, like rotten eggs. We outran the stench of the breeze,

the ground, sound itself even, until the thump thump turned

into the splashing of water. The ostrich man shook me off his

back and I fell into the water--but didn't get wet. The liquid

was as solid as rock, even though ripples bounced from its

surface as I struggled to my feet.

(I must go),The ostrich person said, its long neck waving

its feathered human head from side to side. It threw its head

back, gurgled, and with a squawk, threw up a bright green gem

that skittered across the water and landed at my feet. The gem

pulsed slightly, the water carried the rhythm up my legs and

into my chest. I picked up the gem and examined it. Hundreds

of whispers flitted through my body, and the gem was warm

against my hands. The gem's pulsing continued, but it was

gentler now that I held it in my grasp.

(That's the best that I can do for you. Good luck.)

It sprinted away, so quickly that it left a wake of




ripples in the water. And I stood, alone.

I probed with my hands, and opened my eyes wide, but the

same fuzzy light that shone everywhere else was here as well.

I took a step forward--

And gasped as two gigantic hands--no, claws, exploded

from the water and grasped me in a frozen grip, leeching the

warmth from my body and enveloping me in cold, ragged wetness.

"ARE YOU READY?" The question erupted in my brain as well

as through my ears.

I could only scream and thrash as the watery claws

enveloped me in their grip. The pulled and tore and grabbed at

me, filling me with agonizing coldness. As my strength escaped

me, I slipped deep into the blackness of my mind.

I shot out of bed, drenched in sweat and unable to form

coherent sentences. Ma stood in over me, gently lit by the sun

coming through my window, her hand outstretched as if she were

reaching over to shake me awake. The tips of her brown

dreadlocks trembled a little, and her eyes bugged out, like

she was afraid of touching me. This was weird, because my mom

usually reminds me of a lioness, or a velociraptor, or some

other ferocious hunting animal. To see her scared frightened

me. I pushed myself up from the bed and reached out to touch

her arm.




"What's the matter, Ma? Everything's okay--"

The words died on my tongue when I looked around and saw

my bedroom. My bedside drawer had been blasted in half, like

someone had karate chopped it. Clothes and my comics had been

thrown everywhere. My tiny window was broken into little

pieces, and my bedspread had been blasted across the room.

What was most disturbing was that I couldn't remember anything

that had happened the night before. Everything from when I

laid down to bed until Ma shook me awake was blank, a dark

canvas.

"You were screaming, I heard crashing. I thought someone

had broken in."

"Where were you?"

"In the backyard garden. Are you okay?" She was still

trembling a little bit.

"I'm good. Everything's good."

She sighed. "It's almost time for school. Let's get

dressed. I'll take care of your room."

While brushing my teeth, my mind drifted back to the

sight of my destroyed bedroom. What could have happened? And

why couldn't I remember anything? I thought about tweeting

about my dream, or posting a status update on Facebook. But

what do you post after having a freaky weird dream featuring a

purple, human-faced bird?




I didn't think so. Besides, the only thing that came to

mind when I tried to recall it were flashes of purple and a

scent of rot on the air, like old boiled eggs. The smell of

burning ripped my mind from my momentary musings. I rushed to

my room, wiping toothpaste from my lips, and pulled on the

clothes that I had laid out the night before. I heard Ma

almost curse, and a loud crash. When I got to the kitchen, my

mother stood in a puddle of brownish batter in front of our

new waffle iron, a bewildered sort of look on her face.

"Great Ones, why can't the boy just eat beans and rice?

Waffles. Hmph. Who created waffles, anyway?"

"Hey Ma." A banana dangled from the fruit tray on the

counter near her. I snatched it up, peeled it. "You know, I

prefer fruit for breakfast anyway. It's all good."

"What am I gonna do about this wonderful bran waffle mix

that I made for you on the anniversary of your first month as

a member of the inaugural integrationists of Master's

Institute of Creation for Exceptional Childrenl? Huh?"

"That's a mouthful. Did you just make that up?" I asked,

munching my banana.

"You didn't like it?"

"It was aight."

She feigned a hurt look, and made a show of wiping up the

bits of spilled batter.






something that I didn't want. "You're okay, aren't you?"

"I'm good," I shrugged, fighting a tremor in my throat.

"Okay, I guess. I don't know how my room ended up like that.

The wind must have blown through the window."

Ma pursed her lips. I didn't blame her. I didn't even

believe that one.

"You don't remember anything?"

A flash of purple brushed against my cheek. I was flying.

I steadied myself against the refrigerator. "Nope," I

swallowed. "Nothing."

"Go and finish getting dressed," she said. "Mr. Mendoza

will be here soon, and you know how irritable he is in the

mornings." She tried a smile, but it was off, like she was

forcing it.

"Yeah," I replied, trying to be more agreeable.

Mr. Mendoza was my ride to my prestigous high school

academy, Master's Institute of Creation, MIC for short. He was

also the father of my best friend, Manny. And he was also

quite possibly the most irritated man I'd ever met. He

complained about everything, no matter how awesome it was.

He'd probably complain about free ice cream, and the fact that

he came to pick me up and take me to school along with his son

right after he got off his second job only irritated him more.

Yet, despite all that, he was a nice, honorable man who only




wanted the best for his son. I chuckled, a real one this time.

"The last time I was late, Mr. Mendoza told me that if I was

late again, he'd make me ride on the roof of his car."

"I'd hate to have to beat him up," she laughed, but her

tone let me know that she would, if she had to. "Go ahead,

now. Go finish getting dressed. I'll give you a holler when

Mr. Mendoza pulls up."

I nodded and ran across the hall to my room. Everything

was completely out of whack. My comics were fluttered

everywhere. I had to have been sleepwalking, I reasoned. There

was entirely no reason on earth that would cause me to treat

my comics in such a careless manner. Everything else, yes.

Comics, no. Between gathering up back issues of Icon, Black

Panther, and Amazing Spider-Man and replacing them in their

top-loading sleeves, I remembered that I had once possessed an

iPod touch. I rummaged beneath the mountains of clothes and

rubble, and all along the knotted blankets on my bed until it

found it covered in a thin film of dust, but none the worse

for wear. I clicked through the songs, found MF DOOM's Special

Herbs Volume One, and searched the floor for the speaker-clock

combo that I'd used my summer job money to buy. A black

plastic corner peeked at me from beneath the corner of my

destroyed nightstand. I pulled it out, noticed that it was

still keeping perfect time. The dock clicked as I slid the




music player on it, and Coriander thumped and whined through

the room. My spirits lifted a bit. Couldn't find a smile,

though.

I picked up a large shard of glass that had been flung

far away from the window, peered into it. Two brown eyes

stared back, a nose a bit too thick for my liking, dark lips,

dark, tight coils of hair that proved how much I needed a trip

to the barber shop. I stroked the dark wires of hair that

formed the ghost of my beard. My fifteenth birthday had just

passed. A boy didn't look back at me. A man did. And a man

takes care of his house, not destroys it. Especially the brand

new house that we'd been in no more than a month.

I heaved a sigh and placed the glass on the edge of the

bed. My backpack waved at me from beneath the wreckage of my

nightstand. I climbed over the mattress, snatched it up, and

jumped a little bit as something heavy thumped to the ground

behind it. Rummaged through the wreckage until I found it.

"It" was a green gem, with an urgent, pulsing glow that I

could feel through the hardwood floor. Morning sunlight

reflected off of its thousands of faces. I reached down,

hesitated, then gripped the gem in unsteady, fearful fingers.

Yet, despite my fear, it didn't seem malicious, not dangerous.

Merely...interesting. The gem was small enough to fit in one

hand, but weighed more than it seemed like a rock of its size




should. As soon as both of my hands closed around it, I opened

my mouth to scream, but no scream came out, and the effort

wore the back of my throat raw. Thousands--millions of voices

swam around in my head, seemingly a centuries old conversation

that didn't involve me. Coriander was completely drowned out.

Green, pink, and blue images of dark-skinned men and women

swam through my head, their faces elongated and sad. Then,

something cut the fog of visions. A man with his back turned.

His hair was close cropped, his beard shaped around his face.

He looked really familiar...and then when he turned, set his

dark eyes on mine, and looked through me, into my soul, I

realized exactly why he looked so familiar.

I hadn't seen him in twelve years, since I was a kid, but

I recognized him. I'd recognize him anywhere. Tears welled in

my eyes, and I pulled my lips tight, fought them down.

The man staring at me was my father.

Ma yelled from the kitchen, the vision shattered into a

million tiny pieces. Then a million more. Tears slipped from

my eyes despite my efforts. Next, I fought down curses. I

would win one battle.

"Mr. Mendoza's downstairs! Let's get it!"

"Let's Get It" was my mother's signature phrase. She

called it a "motivator". I felt my father slipping away, and I

stood for a moment, trying to catch hold of him before he




escaped. Again. Ma's heavy footsteps headed toward my bedroom

broke my concentration. I shook my head to clear it, glanced

down at the gem, then stuffed it in my backpack. Ma didn't

need to know about the gem, or that I'd seen my dad. I took a

deep breath, turned just as she appeared in the doorway.

Coriander resumed, wound down, left that empty space between

songs filling the air.

"What's the deal, Gideon? Didn't you hear me yelling? Mr.

Mendoza's down--" She stopped short.

"Everything alright in here? You look like you've seen a

ghost."

I had. "No, ma," I said a little more snappily than I'd

have liked. "I'm good. Everything's fine."

Ma folded her arms, stared at me. "I know that you're

upset about your dream, and your bedroom, but that's no excuse

to let your attitude override your common sense, Gideon. It's

okay to be pissed. Don't take it out on the world. Okay?"

"Yeah--Yes ma'am. I understand." I pursed my lips. Ma

wasn't who I was mad at, she was right. It was my dad--No, it

was Adam. His name was Adam. He didn't deserve to be called

Dad. I opened my mouth to ask, but second thoughts shut me up.

Motioning toward the wall, I turned to take my ipod off the

dock, grab up some headphones.

Quick as fire, Ma enveloped me in a bone grinding hug,




her iron arms squeezing my collarbone. I squirmed my arms free

and managed to turn to wrap them around her. Ma was full of

muscles, and her dreadlocks tickled my arms.

"You're still my Tough Guy," she whispered, bringing up

the name she called me when I was a kid. When my dad was still

around. "No matter how long and gangly you get, no matter how

many hairs you grow on your chin, you'll always be that.

There's so much you don't--can't know. But I'm proud of you in

spite of that." I broke off the hug, stared in her eyes. She

jerked away, brushed tears off her cheeks. Rare that my mom

cried. My own tears evaporated.

"Go on, now. Go! Before Mr. Mendoza leaves you here."

"I'd catch him and ride his car to school. It's all

good." I smirked.

"Go!" She fake slapped my arm. "Seriously, Gideon. Get

out of here! I can't go to work until you leave."

I tapped a kiss on her cheek, then sprinted out of my

house and down the stairs.




CHAPTER TWO

Untitled Document

Manny slapped me five as I slid into his father's compact

car.

"Good morning, Mister Mendoza," I said. He grunted in

response. His tired eyes flitted across me in the rearview

mirror.

"What's up, man," Manny greeted.

"Nada. What's good with you, dude?" I pursed my lips,

biting back the urge to tell him about my weird dream. He

studied me with his deep brown eyes for a minute, then shook

his wild mane of hair.

"I got nothing..." I looked at his face, at the smirk

building around his lips. He reached into his backpack.

"...except the new Static Shock re-issue. It's an anniversary

edition!"




My sour mood broke like the sun breaks storm clouds. "No

kidding? Let me see!"

Manny handed the comic to me. It was heavy, with a foil

embossed foldout cover depicting a brand rendition of Static

by the original artist, John Paul Leon. A rainbow of color

shimmered along the cover as I turned it over and over. I

flipped through the comic, skimmed the pages and artwork.

"This is so cool," I murmured.

"It's yours, dude. My dad bought it for you." He nodded

toward his father. I leaned forward, glancing into the front

seat.

"Thanks, Mister Mendoza. This is really cool."

"Don't mention it," he said. "What good is it for Manuel

to get a shiny new book and his friend can't get one too? Just

remember that you owe me ten dollars when you get rich." I

thought I saw a smile playing in the corners of his eyes, but

when I looked at his face, his scowl hadn't melted in the

slightest.

Manny and I talked excitedly as his father sped through

the city toward MIC. I avoided any mention of my night, and

even attempted to not think about it as he chattered his

excitement about the new Final Fantasy game that was coming

out soon. I couldn't relate, because I didn't have a gaming

system, but his excitement made it fun for me to listen to




him, when I could focus long enough to pay attention. Once, I

caught a glimpse of him narrowing his eyes at me as I stared

off into space, but he quickly erased the questioning look.

Through it all, I could feel the green gem pulsing against my

back like a tell-tale heart.

The route to our school took us into so many cool

neighborhoods. We passed through a really colorful arts

district, with designs painted on every light pole in electric

blues, greens, and pinks. I ignored the shadow of a purple

bird that flashed in the corner of my eye as we passed through

the neighborhood. Past that, across a set of railroad tracks,

we found the projects, but it was a little different than

other places. You saw corner stores, and guys hanging around

outside of them smoking cigarettes and yelling, but it didn't

seem like they were going to haul off and start shooting you

like it did other places. Further along, we passed these

really huge old houses, with enormous lawns. I felt sorry for

the kids who lived in those houses, having to spend their

Saturdays cutting all that grass and trimming hedges into

perfect blocks and spheres. Ma had loved it, though. She'd

gone on and on about the area being one of the last all-black

historic areas in the city. Finally, when everything started

to look sterile and all the houses looked like they were built

using the same set of blueprints, I knew we were getting close




to the school.

Master's Institute of Creation looked like somebody's

great-uncle's ancient plantation. It was made of huge squares

of red brick, with tall white columns that supported a stone

slab with the school's name chiseled into it in old-timey

block letters. The columns supported a balcony, and above

that, two more stories of school stretched toward the sky.

Everyone had to drive through these weird black iron gates to

get on the school grounds, and through what had to be more

green, grassy land than any one person had a right to. Once we

made it to the front of the school, too many steps for comfort

led from the long driveway and up to large, bright blue double

doors. A banner that proclaimed "WELCOME TO MIC, HOME OF THE

PATRIOTS" stretched over the doorway. On a ledge of land near

the steps, a large marble statue of a really mean looking guy

in an revolutionary war era army uniform glared out over the

group of excited parents and bored-looking kids like he was

ready to start barking orders at us. Ma hated that statue.

Mister Mendoza swooped in front of the statue and

screeched to a stop. Manny flipped his hair as half-ran out of

the car, and I pulled my backpack up on my shoulders. Mr.

Mendoza grumbled something, then I felt Manny's hand on my

shoulder.

"Dude, my dad wants to talk to us." He rolled his eyes.




I saw Mister Mendoza's brown face peeking out of the

driver's side door, beckoning us over with a hard stare.

"Yes, sir?"

"It's difficult," he said. His bottom lip poked from

under his mustache as he spoke. "I know it is. We fought so

that you guys could get here. Now you gotta fight. But don't

fight too hard that you lose yourself. Just do your best.

Okay?"

Manny nodded, and I coughed out a "yes, sir."

"That's why I bought you the book. Not because I like

you. But because you're doing a good thing here. You aren't

bad kids. Don't let anybody make you feel like you are."

Mister Mendoza looked over us like we were steaming baby

vomit, leaned back in his car, and drove off.

"Sorry about that, dude." Manny said.

"It's okay. He's right. I mean, we gotta do what we gotta

do."

"Yeah, I guess. I never asked for this, though. You know?

I was cool at Miner Hill. Top of the class there. Here,

pressure much?"

"I don't know," I shrugged. "I mean, yeah, it's pressure,

but you have to treat people right. We were being treated

wrong. At least, that's what I feel like, anyway."

We started up the journey of stairs toward the front




door. The scene in front of the school was like an ad for

trendy high fashion. Everyone was white, rich, happy beyond

measure. They chattered about everything--which preppy

cheerleader had talked crap about one of the hipster library

assistants on Facebook, how many of them were going to see

Kanye West while at their family summer homes in Paris, how

excited they were about getting shiny new MacBook Pros for

rapidly upcoming birthdays. Suddenly, the iPod in my khaki

pocket had developed a serious self esteem issue. Manny and I

stuck out against the student body like two brown flies in a

gigantic vat of freshly pasteurized milk.

"Eh, maybe you're right." Manny popped a stick of gum in

his mouth. "Still, I can't believe my dad lectured us. He

hardly ever says anything. Ever. Like, even when I was a kid

and I hurt myself, he communicated in grunts. The sick part is

that I can understand him better when he doesn't talk."

Manny wasn't lying. The most energy that I'd ever seen

Mister Mendoza give to anything was the fight to get us

accepted into MIC. Our new school had a bit of a diversity

problem, and they weren't looking to correct it...until my

mother came along. She got other minority parents on board,

and they sued the school. Now, there are sixteen minority

students enrolled at Master's Institute of Creation besides

myself and Manny.




We trudged up the stairs to the blue doors and I checked

my watch. 7:11. If I hurried, I could stop by the breakfast

station before class, get a muffin or something to relieve the

lack of waffles in my life. Manny had stopped to talk to

India, one of the other minority students that had been let

into the school. She was one of the ones that I barely knew.

She wore her hair in long, glossy braids. Manny was trying his

best to be chivalrous and charismatic, but his hair kept

getting in his eyes. Instead of laughing at him, I punched him

in the shoulder and stuck my fist out for a pound.

"I'm going to get a muffin and some OJ before class."

He smirked knowingly. "Your ma must've tried to cook this

morning."

"Bingo. I'll see you at lunch."

"Have fun in Soloo's class."

At the mention of my second period history teacher's

name, the gem turned from a soft heartbeat into a full blown

heart attack, and a needle of heat burrowed into my back. I

winced, and checked my watch again. Fifteen minutes. I took

the stairs two at a time, bounding through the blue doors.

Lockers blurred into a gray wall as I wove between clusters of

milling teenagers. The halls were still so full, so soon

before class! Why?

"Cochran! Halt!"




I knew that voice. The assistant principal, Mr. Piner. My

day was getting so much better.

"Cochran! Slow it down, buddy!" I did as he commanded. No

use getting in even more trouble. His shoes sounded like

machine-gun fire against the floor. I set my back, braced it

against his wrath. I just knew that Mr. Piner was wearing a

gray suit.

Mr. Piner gripped my shoulder and roughly spun me around

to face him. Gray suit, gray hair, gray lips creased in a

sneer. He looked like the high school principal version of the

Tin Man, minus the funnel headwear.

"Running in the halls," he grimaced. His hair was cut

perfectly in a box, a geometrical cube. A laugh tried to

bubble up from my toes. "You know the speed limit, Cochran.

What's the deal?"

"I was trying to get some breakfast, Mr. Piner."

"And is the cafeteria running away from you? Is that why

you have to endanger all of these other students? For a carton

of orange juice?"

"Well, actually...it closes soon. So in a way--"

Mr. Piner snatched my arm, pulled me to the side. The

laughter rolling around in my gut was burned away by angry

flames.

"Don't think I'm not on to you, Cochran." Droplets of his




saliva splattered against my face. "You, your kind. You won't

sully the legacy of our institution. Hoodlums like you, like

Mendoza...you don't fool me."

I narrowed my eyes. "No one's trying to fool you...sir."

"Right. And barbecue flies. Open your backpack, Cochran.

Time to check for paraphernalia."

And that's when the cold wind blew out my righteous

flames of anger. All that I had in my backpack were books,

pens, pencils, a notebook...and a glowing, pulsing green gem

that spoke to me in different languages when I touched it. No

big deal, right? Piner rummaged through my bag, his lips

twisted in a maniacal sneer. The further he dug into the main

compartment, the higher my heart rose in my throat.

"Ah. What's this?" The smile of victory was

unmistakeable. I prepared a story for Ma, not sure if I'd

survive her destructive wrath long enough to tell it. He drew

his hand up past my books and papers, and pulled out a rather

ordinary looking, if large, stone. The same kind of stone

anyone could reach down on the ground and pick up. I released

the breath that I didn't know I'd been holding.

"It's a stone, sir." Think fast, Cochran. "It's actually

my pet stone. It's part of my...geological sensitivity

training."

Mr. Piner shoved the stone into my chest. The scowl that




he wore earlier crept across his face again, tightening his

cheeks. As I dropped the stone back into my bag, I felt his

breath on my face, his contempt in my ears. "I'm going to

catch you one day. You're going to slip, you and your pals.

And I'll be there. Eyes on you, Cochran."

The sound of his stalking away echoed off the walls. I

took a moment, shook the greasy feeling from the encounter off

my skin as best I could. It didn't go far, I could feel it

trailing behind me, like it was being pulled by a black

string. I checked my pockest, grateful that he didn't ask me

to turn them out. The iPod was a definite no-no. 7:27.

Running, I realized, was my only option. The halls were empty.

I took off.

The breakfast station was down a flight of stairs, in

cafeteria on the first floor. I whipped into the staircase. A

dark shape bloomed in front of me as I reached the edge of the

first step. I swerved, twisted my ankle a bit and avoided a

potentially catastrophic collision by a hair. Despite all my

efforts, though, I still tipped over the top step. It's crazy

the things you think of when you know you're about to die. My

life didn't flash before my eyes, just all of the things that

I'd miss when I was gone. Ma. My comics. My iPod. Our brand

new apartment. Arm flailing wasn't helping me not die at all,

but I was definitely grateful for the strong-armed yank on my




backpack. Brains splattered on the floor at the bottom of the

stairs? Not cool.

"You gotta be more careful, Cochran," the person that

saved me warned before I could thank him. His voice had a

weird, rhythmic quality, a dragging of f's and rolling of r's

that made me think of Berbers and hashashins in huge history

books that my mother had made me read. Weird, because I didn't

recall us having a teacher with this particular voice in the

school. He wrenched me around, stared down into my eyes. His

long nose curved over a venomous-looking sneer, and a pitiful

looking greasy string of beard dribbled from his chin. When he

leaned closer, his nose nearly snagged my lip.

"You could've killed me, running like that. Do you want

to kill me?" His breath smelled like sweet onions and herbs. I

felt his grip tightening on my wrist. How did he get my wrist

in his hand? I snatched my arm away.

"I don't even know who you are...sir. So no, I don't want

to kill you. I just want breakfast."

He narrowed his eyes. "This is a game to you, isn't it?

You cannot even grasp how serious your situation is, can you?

Pitiful." His hands were deathly quick as he reached for me,

his fingers tipped with long brown claws. Somehow, I knew that

if he grabbed me, I wouldn't be in a good spot. I jumped away

from his hands, down three steps, stumbled. The man hissed




from between clenched teeth. The gem blazed against my back.

Without thinking, I reached behind me, placed my hand between

the stone and my flesh. The man stepped down the staircase,

rumbling a low laugh.

"That won't save you. I found you now, and that won't

save you."

The way he stalked down the stairs, he reminded me of a

vulture or a buzzard, some ugly carrion eater. He took a step

down. I took a step down. I wondered why he didn't just rush

me, tear me limb from limb with those freaky claw-fingers of

his.

Now, I'm normally not a scaredy-kid. Not in any way. I'm

my mother's son. Ma's strong, and I am too. I never mind

fighting. But as soon as I saw the long ropes of shadow

writhing up from under the onion-breath buzzard guy's trendy

sport coat, as soon has I heard the death-rattle chant rustle

from between his lips, whispers of tearing and poison and

hatred, all of the courage that I'd ever had in my life

drained away. I felt it leave, whirling down from the crown of

my head and rushing through the veins in my legs and out my

feet. If I'd had the nerve to look down, I'm sure it would've

been in a green puddle. I found myself wishing that someone

would come up or down the stairs, even one of the teachers

that hated me, and save my life. I could hear the guy growling




as he stepped closer, his halo of shadows creeping through the

space between us. They wrapped themselves around the bluish

metal railings, worked their way into cracks in the brick

walls surrounding us. The feeling that crept up into my guts

let me know that I was getting close to the bottom of the

steps. I knew, somehow, that once I got to the bottom, it

would be over. I bit my lip to hold back tears. In a weird,

detached way, I realized that I wouldn't get my breakfast

sandwich. Then, I realized that I'd never graduate high

school. Or get to kiss a girl. Or get to hang out with my mom

again. My mom. Ma...

The gem flared against my hand. No way I was gonna just

leave Ma alone. The gem seemed to agree with this declaration.

It pulsed faster than it ever had, with an extreme sense of

urgency, thumping away until it was just a drone against my

skin. I chanced a look behind me. Only two steps remained

until I had no more room to retreat. The gem beat against me,

an ancient rhythm. Visions of black-skinned men and women

leaping high into the sky and moving their bodies to drumbeat

rhythms flashed behind my eyes. Warmth flowed along my skin,

through my veins. I felt my courage return, like a pitcher

filling a gourd. I was indignant. Who was this jerk to think

he could just run me down? Somewhere behind my head, I felt a

smile. My vision slowly misted, a bright red. The shadows




retreated, buzzard-guy faltered in his chant. I wanted him to

leave. I wanted him gone. As soon as the thought crossed my

mind, I heard the word. It sprouted in the back of my throat,

like a violent flower. I rolled it around in my mouth, thought

it hard at my assailant. His wreath of shadows broke like

glass, just for a second, then came back stronger. He stepped

down again, two steps, closed the gap. The warmth built in me.

The anger made the warmth into heat. I crooked my hand, set my

mouth.

"Go away," I said, barely a whisper. Then louder. "Get

away from me. Go! Leave me alone! ACAABA!"

"No--" was all he could get out before his shadows burst

into sand and his lips burned clean away from his face.

Surprise glittered in his eyes as he started to disintegrate

into black ash from the bottom up. He pointed one long claw at

me, snarled, and was gone.

And when the ash cleared, Mr. Soloo was standing on the

top step, hands in his pockets, watching me.




CHAPTER THREE

Untitled Document

Mr. Soloo was doing his best impression of a brick wall

as we walked down the upstairs hallway. He hadn't said much

outside of commanding me to follow him after he caught me blow

some buzzard-nosed freak into piles of black dust. I couldn't

even explain to him what happened, and I think that he wanted

me to do just that. I wasn't taking the bait. And besides, I

was hungry. I didn't even get my muffin.

I glanced up at Mr. Soloo. He was extremely tall, taller

than anyone I'd ever seen in person. And he was in great

shape. Not in bodybuilder shape, more like track star shape.

He was dark, darker than me, with a bald head and a little

tuft of beard on his chin. He flicked his eyes down at me, and

I turned away from his gaze. Mr. Soloo's eyes were the color

of honey, not exactly hazel. Almost...yellow. Kind of green.




It was weird. We passed the restroom, the auditorium, the

gym...and the principal's office. I even slowed down a bit to

let him lead me into the office, but he strode on right past

it. When he noticed that I had fallen behind, he turned and

motioned to me. His muscles bulged under his golden shirt and

brown tie. My stomach sounded like a couple of predators

fighting over a bone. I'd never get as fit as Mr. Soloo by not

eating. That's why I took the bait.

"So, Mr. Soloo?"

"Yes, Cochran?"

"Um, why didn't we go to the principal's office? You

know, back there? For what happened on the steps?"

Mr. Soloo stopped, turned to face me. "And what happened

on the steps, exactly?"

I couldn't believe my ears. Maybe he hadn't been standing

there the whole time. But if he hadn't, he'd at least heard

something as he approached. Why would he be standing there

waiting for me if he hadn't seen or heard anything? My mind

went into overdrive. No one else had come looking either, and

the confrontation had to be loud. Why would I imagine

something like that, though? Almost like an answer, the ghost

of purple flitted across the path in front of us. I narrowed

my eyes. "Mr. Soloo, you were on the steps. I saw you. So you

had to see me, right? You saw the guy with the hook nose




trying to kill me with his freaky claw things, you saw his

weird shadows, you saw me turn him into dust by yelling at

him--"

Mr. Soloo raised his hands slowly, cutting me off. The

tips of his fingers were trembling a bit, like he was fighting

to control his nerves. "I don't know exactly what you're

talking about, Cochran. Maybe you're hallucinating from your

lack of breakfast."

"But you were there! You saw!" I needed him to confirm, I

didn't care about getting in trouble at this point. It was the

only way that I'd be sure that I wasn't crazy. "You did see.

Right?"

"Gideon, again, I have no idea what you're talking

about." Mr. Soloo looked at me calmly, but the corners of his

eyes twitched slightly, What was wrong?

"Then why..." I was feeling hysterical. My voice cracked.

"Why were you on the steps in the first place, then? Why did

you come looking for me at all?"

"Firstly," he growled, eyes flashing, "lower your voice.

Secondly, I came to search for you because you were

dangerously close to being late to class. I saw your friend

Manuel in the hallway ten minutes before the bell was supposed

to ring. He told me that you had gone downstairs to get

breakfast. Being in the hallways with me after the start of




class is better than being in the hallways alone and at the

mercy of any teacher that wants to send you to Mister Piner's

office, don't you think?"

I nodded, because I knew that if I spoke, I might blow

Mr. Soloo into dust, too.

Mr. Soloo shook his head, and his shoulders slumped. A

door creaked open behind us. Mr. Tristan, the home economics

teacher, sidled by us as he made his way to the restroom. His

stare itched my back, and the corner of Mr. Soloo's eye

twitched as he stared Mr. Tristan into the restroom. We

started walking again.

"I worry about you, boy," He said. The "boy" hung in the

air like dirty laundry. I blew it away with a flare of my

nostrils. "I know that it's hard for you. You and the group of

students that had to fight to get in, you're not viewed

favorably by much of the staff here, nor the students. The

parents either, for that matter. But, I know that you're

equipped to handle it. I know as well as you do, perhaps

better than you, that we're not viewed favorably by the world

in general, never mind at this school. I know the pressure,

and you're handling it well--you're doing well in your

classes, but you're...I don't know. Distracted? All the time.

But especially today. What's going on?"

I started to explain that my distraction stemmed from




insane dreams of purple ostrich men combined with a run-in

with a shadow-wrapped maniac attempting to claw my brains out,

but I recognized how futile that would be. Mr. Soloo stopped,

turned, fixed his strange yellow-gold eyes on me.

"You don't have to explain," he said, his voice so low

that it was a growl, "I'm not your father, you don't owe me

anything."

I fought a derisive snort back down into my stomach. It

came out anyway, a baby sneeze. If anything, my father owed

me.

"I--" I began. Mr. Soloo kept rolling.

"Know that I know what's going on with you. You and I,

son...we are warriors. We must be strong, stronger than

everyone here. It's unfair, but it's true. No matter how much

they fear us, or loathe us. We have to use what we know about

ourselves, what we will stand for, to combat the poison that

some people bring to us. Knowledge is our greatest weapon.

Knowledge, and care. We--you and I--have to care. We have to

care about what's important to us, and take care of what's

important to us. We have to learn, to be desirous of

knowledge. Knowledge of self is necessary to pursue knowledge

of the world...or else we will be swallowed by the world. We

don't want that, do we?"

It seemed like today was Lecture Gideon day. I didn't




know what to say to that. The hook nosed guy's snarl flitted

at the corners of my vision. "No, definitely don't want to be

swallowed by anything."

When he started to walk again, I followed. We continued

in silence for a while, passing classrooms full of students

struggling to stay awake or keep from passing notes.

"I sure hope that your in-class performance won't suffer

from being late," Mr. Soloo said as we approached the door to

his classroom. There was no adornment, no decoration, not even

a welcome sticker. Just a clunky wooden door. This was the

essence of Mr. Soloo's personality. He was stark, efficient,

and, unfortunately, genuinely interested in me doing well in

school. Those qualities were why he came looking for me on the

stairs. I just wished that he'd acknowledge what I know he saw

down there.

"It's 7:53. We're both twenty minutes late." He opened

the door, pushed into the classroom. Every eye fixed on us.

"See me after class, Mister Cochran," he said, a little louder

than I thought was necessary. "We need to have a serious

talk."

What had we just done in the hallway, I asked myself as I

picked through the desks toward the only open seat. Viola, one

of the minority intake students, averted her eyes as I plopped

down next to her. She buried her face in her notebook, so that




all I could see was her brown neck and shiny black hair. I

checked my armpits to see if I smelled bad. I didn't. Did

everyone hate me today? "Good morning to you too, Viola," I

muttered as I swung my backpack off my shoulder. The gem

hidden inside clacked as loud as a gunshot against the floor.

I froze. Scanned the room. No one had noticed. Everyone's eyes

were locked on Mr. Soloo. Our teacher's arm pumped furiously

as he scratched today's topic discussion on the blackboard:

BATTLE OF MEGIDDO, 1457 B.C.

Mr. Soloo brushed chalk from his hands in meaty slaps,

and folded his arms as he leaned against the desk.

"So," he said, a smile creeping across his face, "Let's

talk. Who wants to start?"

I could hear the collective flick as the entire class's

eyeballs searched out different things to focus on instead of

Mr. Soloo's golden gaze. Mr. Soloo had a reputation of being

the hardest teacher in the school, with his nearest

equivalents being a drill sergeant or a Tyrannosaurus.

Everyone looked so ridiculous feigning interest in the naked

walls or the dust-beiged drapes and I let a little guffaw slip

past my lips. Too late, I realized my mistake.

"Ah, Cochran. Noble of you to volunteer. Give us a little




background on the battle, personnel specifically. Who led the

two armies?"

A scowl struggled to fight to the surface of my face.

After a fierce battle, I pushed it down. Besides, I'd read the

assigned chapter, and I was finding that I liked military

history. "Pharaoh Thumtose the third led his Egyptian force

against a group of Caananite rebels in order to stop an

uprising and expand the Egyptian empire."

Mr. Soloo nodded, pushed off the desk. "Thumtose was a

canny fellow. What did he have to contend with from the rebel

forces? Cochran, why don't you carry us on home?"

"Well, the rebels, led by the King of Kadesh and the King

of Megiddo, they all had these gigantic fortresses that

protected their cities. Oh, and also, Megiddo sat on a major

trade route between Mesopotamia and Egypt." A flash of purple.

Shadows danced in the corners of the classroom. I felt tiny

vibrations through the soles of my shoes. A lion grumbled in

the distance. "Thumtose had to get his forces to Megiddo on

one of three roads. Two of them were easy roads, but would be

slower travel, and the rebel forces were sure to be guarding

them. The third would have had the Egyptians traveling single

file through a narrow mountain pass, and easy to ambush. But

Thumtose listened to his scouts instead of his generals, and

took a risk. He led his men personally through the pass, and




found that the enemy had used most of its army to guard the

other two passes."

"And did it pay off?" Mr. Soloo asked.

"It did," Viola interrupted. "When the Egyptians got

through the pass, they found a really small rebel force there.

The Egyptians beat them, and made a clear path through to

Megiddo. The rest is history. Literally!" Viola giggled a

little bit at her own joke, then turned to sneer at me. Little

wrinkles sprouted in her nose as she made faces in my

direction. Viola was only a little cute, and definitely not

cool enough to steal my thunder with no retribution. A smile

played around the corners of Mr. Soloo's mouth.

"Looks like Thumtose wasn't the only canny one, eh

Cochran?" I only liked Mr. Soloo sometimes. He was a cool guy,

and he looked out for me. I'm sure that was why I hand't ended

up in the principal's office after my little dust bath. Still,

it seemed that he was doing his best to make sure that I

didn't like him today. Another rumble zig-zagged up through my

shoes. A few of my classmates shifted in their seats, and the

windows rattled slightly. No one else noticed. No one else

noticed the shadows rising in the corners either. For a brief

second, Mr. Soloo's eyes glowed even more golden, and a

predator-like snarl creased his lips. It was gone as quick as

a thought.




"There is a special something that great people

throughout history have," Mr. Soloo said. "It can be called

canniness, or ambition, or savvy. This quality is always

present in those select people who come into the world and

change it, those who lead the world into new ages. Thumtose

made an unpopular, yet effective decision. Through that

decision he led his army, and his country, into victory and

prosperity, albeit at the cost of human life. Who are other

canny, savvy, ambitious people who have left their mark on the

world?"

A hand shot up in the back of the room. The boy swept

straw-colored hair away from her eyes, as Mr. Soloo

acknowledged him.

"Nicki Minaj has," he said. "Boom badoom boom boom badoom

boom bass!"

Viola and I locked eyes, and rolled them simultaneously

as the class dissolved into laughter. Mr. Soloo's mouth

tightened.

"That's not the kind of influence that I mean, Marshall.

I mean someone whose non musical abilities have lent them

positive influence over the world."

"Does it have to be a military leader?" Someone else

asked.

"Not at all. These days, many canny leaders are




idealists, and have no need for war."

"What about Martin Luther King, Jr.?"

"Too obvious," Mr. Soloo waved the answer away like it

smelled funny. He fixed his gaze on me. "Come on, you guys. No

MLK. No Gandhi. No Barack Obama. Think outside of the box."

"Well," I began, "Someone who I've read about recently

that I didn't know about before is Charles Hamilton Houston.

He "killed Jim Crow" by using court cases to overturn Separate

but Equal." I wiggled my fingers for emphasis, and hoped that

I wouldn't get penalized for using air quotes.

"I'm going to assume that all of you know what Jim Crow

and Separate but Equal is, since we went over them not too

long ago." Mr. Soloo leaned against his desk, the ghost of a

smile on his lips. "And how did he exhibit characteristics

similar to Thumtose?"

"He used knowledge of the law and logic to stop the folks

who fought against his goals. It was risky during the time

that he operated, but in the end it furthered his goals of

equality."

"Good job, Cochran. Full circle," he said, making a small

circle with the tips of his fingers. "Okay, now that we've

discussed a bit, take out a sheet of paper, and make sure that

your name is on it, please? I don't have the time or

inclination to play Match-a-Quiz with any of you this






smoky darkness, throwing Mr. Soloo across the room and burying

him beneath a pile of wood shards and rubble. Desks screeched

against the floor as my classmates dove beneath them,

recalling elementary school emergency drill tactics that I

thought long forgotten. I didn't join them. The gem blazed

behind my seat, and shadows danced in the doorway.

Sika bero ye, the gem beat as it pulsed.

Pick up the gem.

I knelt, eyes fixed on the shattered door, and blindly

ran my hands along the tiles of the floor, ignoring the dust

that accumulated beneath my fingers. As I gripped the gem,

everything...froze. Ceased to move. The fire alarms blared

emergency to the school and the world. Mr. Soloo lay buried

beneath a door and countless other heavy bolts of wood, only

his shoes and a limp hand visible. Shards of glass quivered

inches above the floor, and the overpowering sweet stench of

onions and herbs filled the classroom. I chanced a glance at

my classmates. Viola wore an expression that was mingled fear

and wonder. Frozen tears glittered on Marshall's face. Then,

abruptly, all the heat drained from the room. Turning back to

the door, I could only stare as the culprit stepped over the

destroyed doorjamb. His joints click-clacked against each

other like drumsticks as he struggled forward, and his long,

hooked nose jutted out from beneath dark, heavy set eyes. His




ashen skin shone pale in the late morning sun. Patches of his

hair were gone, as well as his entire beard. Still dust on the

stairs, I guess.

"Ah," he said, surprisingly calm for a dead man. "Here we

are again. My feseya says that I'm not supposed to harm you.

I'm sure that the definition of "harm" doesn't include a few

missing fingers. Or toes."

He crooked his long, clawed fingers, his knuckles popping

like firecrackers. All the glass in the room quivered, and

shot into the air. Gentle breezes swept through the room,

intensified, became tiny hurricanes that swooped to the palms

of the hook-nosed man's hand to form roaring black spears of

wind.

I fought down the urge to vomit, among other base

survival urges. I'd handled him before. I could do it again.

If he wanted to go--

"If you want to go, we can go!" I yelled over the wind.

"Come on!"

A poisonous smile spread over his lips, in the cracks of

his yellow teeth. He waved the wind spears in his palms in

front of each other, and two spears became one, balanced and

whirling in his right hand. The gem flared in my hand,

suffusing my body with heat and energy. I felt as if I could

wrestle a lion, one handed. Still, the thin, zombielike man




that I had already once blown to dust once and had found his

way back to life, standing in front of me a brandishing a

tornado-spear made of air and glass was pretty intimidating.

Then, the gem sent two words through me, two whispered words.

Jurukuni, Soridas.

The words tasted like sweet fruit, mangoes or peaches, as

they passed my lips. A golden light blossomed in the corner

where Mr. Soloo had been blasted. His hand stirred, breaking

the freeze that the room had been placed under. The whimpers

of my classmates tinkled through the air. I drew in a sharp

breath of air. Would he kill all of us? I stepped forward,

trying to look as menacing as possible. Judging from the snarl

that creased the hook-nosed man's face, I don't think that I

was very successful.

"This ends," the hook-nosed man growled, stepping forward

and slicing his air spear toward me with deadly intent. I took

a deep breath, steadied myself, no clue what I was going to

do. Viola crept forward in the corner of my vision. The black

spear closed.

And stopped in a golden blur, the arm that wielded it

gripped in a dark fist. The spear dissipated into a dusty

breeze, the glass within clattering to the floor and the wind

breaking against a far wall. The hook-nosed guy turned, the

expression on his face turning from fury to disbelief. I'm




sure that my expression was the same. All the heat and energy

that I had built up within my body dissipated into the cracks

of the floor. The hook-nosed guy's face turned into an ugly

mask as he glared into Mr. Soloo's eyes.

"Unbelievable," the hook-nosed guy muttered. "Soridas

Soloo--"

"Goodbye, Rashid," Mr. Soloo said, smashing his fist into

the side of the hook-nosed guy--Rashid's--face. The only

sounds that escaped Rashid were a peep, a meaty smack, then

multiple crashes as he smashed through the wall next to the

door, bounced twice, dented the floor, and smashed through the

far hallway wall, tumbling to the yard two stories below.

Mr. Soloo turned to face me. Yellow-gold-green light

sparkled around his body, his dark skin exposed through tears

in his clothes. His tie had all but disappeared, and his eyes

were slitted, like a cat's. Even his ears looked pointed.

"I'm sorry, Gideon," Mr. Soloo said. I gasped. He never

referred to me by my first name. "I got too caught up in

trying to maintain a normal day in class to notice the scent

of Rashid re-forming. I can't believe that your mother hasn't

told you what was going on here? Well, I know, and I'll tell

you everything very soon. For now, though, will you get

everyone out of the class and onto the field in front of the

school?"




"S-Sure," I stammered, thinking about Ma. What did she

have to do with this?

"Great. If everything goes well, I'll see you outside."

And with two large, four-legged leaps that should not

have been possible for a man wearing loafers, he bounded

through the crumbling holes in the walls, out of the classroom

and dropped into the yard below.




CHAPTER FOUR

Untitled Document

"Get everyone out of the classroom," I mumbled, staring

at the huge holes in the walls and doors of my first period

history classroom. Holes that my teacher had punched a

maniacal, wind-spear wielding zombie through, after said

zombie had blasted him into a corner. I'd exploded that same

zombie from a normal-looking man into a pile of black dust

using only my voice on my way downstairs to get a muffin just

before class. Today was shaping up to be an extremely

ridiculous day. I turned from the holes, ran back to my desk

and scooped up my backpack. I realized that I had a death-grip

on the gem that had magically appeared in my life after

showing up from the gullet of a purple, man-faced ostrich in

my wild dream the night before. It definitely had something to

do with the weirdness. I stuffed it in my pocket, and ran to




the front of the classroom.

"Okay folks, let's get out of here," I said with as much

cheer as I could muster. My voice still shook, just a bit,

around the edges. Nobody moved. "Hey! Hey!" I waved my hands

in the air. Icy fear gripped most of my classmates. They held

on to the metal legs of their desks as if they were afraid the

seats would run off. Only one person wasn't paralyzed with

shock: Viola. She was trembling like a leaf in a breeze, her

dark brown forehead covered lightly with sweat. Viola's eyes

locked on me. I danced over a pile of debris, reached her,

pulled her to standing by her arm. I could feel the warmth of

her skin beneath her lavender sweater.

"Come on, you guys!" I pulled Viola toward what used to

be the door to our classroom. "Let's get out of here before

the school falls down!"

My classmates crept from beneath their desks, moving as

slowly as hardened honey. I ran to each desk, pulling on arms,

hands, and shoulders. They were afraid. I thought to use the

power of the gem to convince them to leave their desks, but I

couldn't feel any heat through my backpack. Viola joined me,

moving desks away and pulling on hands and arms.

"Okay, you guys," I started. "I know you all are

scared. I'm scared too, and I have no idea what's going on.

All I know is that it's not safe in here. We need to go






empty halls in a school with people in classrooms and empty

halls in a school where you know that you're the last and only

person around. Each sound that we made echoed off of the

hollow walls. I fought down a ball of fear, ran around to the

front of the group.

"There are stairs coming up soon. Let's not panic, or

else we'll hurt each other. Be careful."

I ushered my classmates into the stairwell, then stood

aside as the group passed. It occurred to me that I hadn't

done a head count. What if I'd left someone behind? I caught

Viola as she started down the stairs.

"Hey, I gotta go back. Will you make sure everyone gets

out okay?"

"Why are you going back?" She asked. I saw a glint of her

old defiance in her eyes.

"Have to make sure I didn't leave anyone," I replied,

turning. Before I could run off, I felt her hand on my

shoulder, pulling me back.

"What are you going to do, dig them out with your

fingers?" she asked. "Anyway, I did a head count. Everyone's

present. We're good, we just need to focus on getting out.

Besides, Mr. Soloo asked you to get everyone out of the

school, not me."

I turned, stared at her, tried not to show how impressed




I was by her keeping cool under pressure. Before a line of

drool could escape my lips, I replied. "You're right.. Thanks,

Viola. Still, I couldn't have gotten everyone out without

you."

She nodded, began to trot down the stairs. I counted the

rhythm of her bouncing curls.

"You know, I didn't think you'd help me," I said as we

started down the next flight of stairs. "I always got this air

of Gideon-hatred from you."

We ducked as a loud grinding crack ripped through the

school somewhere above our heads. I grabbed Viola's hand, led

her down two steps at a time.

"Why'd you think I didn't like you?"

"Well, you never talked to me...and you always look at me

like I stink or something."

"You do stink. But it's because you're a dude. All dudes

stink."

I fought the urge to sniff my armpits. "So why didn't you

talk to me, then?"

She was quiet for a moment. Then: "Because you're the

competition."

"The what?"

"My dad's an engineer. My mom's a doctor. My older

brother is at Morehouse studying computer engineering. My




younger sister is an all-state chess champion. You see what I

mean?"

"Yeah, I see. My ma is pretty sold on the idea of me

being a scientist," I replied. That had to suck. Everyone was

the competition. "I'm not very competitive."

"I can tell. You're still the competition, though,

whether you're trying or not."

We reached the bottom of the stairs, and turned out into

the long hallway that led to the main entrance. A case of

trophies adorned with various sports figures stood watch, the

only sets of eyes in the school. With the exception of myself

and Viola, my classmates moved silently. There was an

occasional sob or sniffle, but the only consistent sound in

the hallway was feet on checkered floor.

"Most of the school looks undamaged," Viola noticed.

"That's because only our class got attacked," I muttered.

I wanted to tell Viola about everything, about meeting the guy

on the steps, about him trying to kill me--or worse--, about

my blowing him to smithereens, about him coming back to

life...but I couldn't tell her and not sound crazy.

"You know, this is gonna sound weird...but it looked like

he was after you, Gideon," Viola turned her brown eyes to me.

They were slanted kind of inward toward her nose, like fox

eyes. "And it looks like you knew it, the way you tried to




stand him down. Something fishy is going on."

I shrugged. "Viola, you have more of an idea about any of

that than I do. Seriously."

We reached the giant iron and wood doors that led out

into the courtyard. It seemed like years ago that Mister

Mendoza had dropped Manny and I off in front of the school. My

brain palpitated. Manny! I wondered if he'd gotten out in

time. My classmates surged against the door like a wave,

forcing it open. At the exact moment that I stepped out of the

door, the gem sprang to life, and an enormous explosion

bellowed on the other side of the school. My classmates broke

and ran toward the football field, where the other groups of

students were gathered. The gem whispered in my head, but I

didn't need its urging to know what was going on around the

other side of the wall.

Mr. Soloo was in trouble. The gem in my pocket burned

against my leg, pulsing in the direction of the explosion.

Help Soridas Soloo, it whispered in that weird language that

it spoke. I agreed with it.

Viola had hung back, waiting on me to snap back to

reality. When I finally did, I smiled at her. "You know I'm

not the competition, right?"

"I do now."

"Thanks for your help. I really couldn't have done it




without you."

"You sound like you're leaving," she said, narrowing her

eyes.

"I have to go help...a friend. I think he's in trouble.

"A likely story." She rubbed her arms through her

sweater. "I'm going to the football field, where it's safe. I

hope you make it there safe too."

With that, Viola turned and ran, her glossy curls

floating behind her. Once she was far enough away, I turned

and headed toward the explosion, praying that my history

teacher hadn't been killed by a zombie.

*****

In all the Role-Playing Games that I enjoyed, I chose to

be a rogue-class character. There's something about stealth,

sneaking around and taking stock of your surroundings, being

able to make a plan before attacking and systematically

dismantling your foes. Ninjas were efficient, and stealthy,

and they rarely lost a fight. This was the reason I used to

hype myself up while I snuck around to the side of the school

that Mr. Soloo and Rashid the zombie were on. I think the real

reason why I crept through the lush, ankle high grass was that

I was scared to death. No, change that. I know that was the

reason.




I rounded the corner and ducked behind a set of monkey

bars, watching Mr. Soloo and Rashid. Mr. Soloo looked to be in

bad shape. His dark skin looked as if he'd been doused in

water. His shirt hung tattered from his shoulders, and his

trousers were all burned off at the knee. He was crouched in a

battle stance, knees bent and arms spread wide. A faint golden

aura burned around him. The zombie wasn't much better off.

He'd lost an arm at the elbow, and chunk of his side was

missing. Black dust wafted from the hole in his torso, and

green energy crackled around his remaining limbs. Both of them

looked tired, like they had just run a marathon. Mr. Soloo

spat on the ground and stood tall.

"It's over, Rashid. You're out of tricks, and I've gotten

tired of playing with you. Time to give it up. What are you

even doing here? I thought you died back in the early ninteen-

hundreds."

Early nineteen-hundreds?

"My feseya has summoned me to do his bidding," Rashid

rasped. His voice sounded like sandpaper on concrete, but his

accent was the same. "It is not my place to question his

orders, only to carry them out."

"I'm not gonna let you get close to Gideon ever again. I

promise you that."

"And how do you propose to stop me?" Rashid cupped his




hand to his cracked black lips, and spoke a word into it.

Despite being more than a hundred feet away, I heard the word

he spoke clearly. What's more, I knew what it meant.

Trouble.

Three orbs of green fire floated off Rashid's remaining

fingers, twirled into the air, then burrowed into the ground.

The earth shook for a moment. Then, almost instantly, a group

of rotted skeletal figures dug their way from beneath the

grass, pulling themselves up with dried fingers and bony arms.

I felt like an extra in a horror movie, only this was real.

"You disrespect the bodies of the dead here, Rashid."

"I am the dead, fool! The bodies, the nyama of the dead

are mine to command, Soridas. You know as well as I what my

initial calling was. The dead do my bidding just as I do my

master's."

The skeletons had gotten free of the soil. One was

dressed in the faded blue uniform of a Union soldier from the

civil war era, complete with his long musket and bayonet.

Another, with barely a scrap on skin on its old bones, wore

the grave soil-stained leathers of a Native American, probably

a long-dead Chickasaw. Yet another was dressed in a moldy

brown party dress, her skin a leathery greenish gray. All of

them had the same green fire where their eyes should have

been. More clawed their way out of the ground, a stream of




death. Mr Soloo glanced around at the walking dead with

contempt, and spat on the ground next to the nearest zombie.

"Tell me, Rashid, why are you here? Who is your feseya?

Are you looking for me? You've found me now, let's take this

away from the children."

Rashid laughed, a sticky wet gurgle that reminded me of

rot. "Don't flatter yourself, Leopard Knight! Your turning up

in the same area as Ausir's son is a welcome development, but

no more that a minor inconvenience, the bite of a mosquito. I

will take Ausir's child to my feseya, then come back and

settle my score with you personally."

I crept away from the monkey bars, staying low in the

grass. As I got closer, I could see Mr. Soloo's face more

clearly. It looked like he was holding something in--something

that bubbled out and showed in the way he snarled, in the fire

behind his eyes. I went down in a squatting crouch, and then,

Mr. Soloo turned and looked directly at me, just for a split

second. He returned his gaze to Rashid and his squad of dead

people. Rashid threw his hands in the air, black dust

streaming from his joints.

"Faa a le!" he yelled.

Kill him.

Rashid's zombies weren't the same kind of zombies that

were in the movies, all slow and stupid. These zombies were




predators. Mr. Soloo was outnumbered at least ten to one. The

zombies broke off at an insane speed, weaving a complex

pattern around my history teacher. In response to their

attack, Mr. Soloo crouched, drew his arms in to his sides. The

gem flashed images into my brain, portaits of a young man,

bearded, his brown skin glistening as he ground herbs and

chanted against a raging fire. Green, white, and black smoke

surrounded him. I realized--I was seeing images of a young

Rashid. I started to run to Mr. Soloo, to help, even though I

didn't know what I could do. The gem shot a white-hot lance of

heat into the small of my back, paralyzing me. I could only

watch Mr. Soloo defend himself from the zombies as I slumped

down into the grass.

Turns out, Mr. Soloo didn't need my help. The first two

zombies tore past him, swinging back around to attack him from

behind as the Union soldier leveled his bayonet in a forward

charge. I began to work out complex responses to their attack

pattern. Mr. Soloo could leap right, between a gap in the

zombie's attack, force them to change tactics. He could also,

if he was fast enough, dodge the bayonet attack at the last

second, turn the attack against the attacker...then I wondered

exactly how I could come up with tactics to a ten-on-one

fight. I'd only been in two fights in my life, and neither of

them involved tactics.




Mr. Soloo did neither. When the bayonet zombie was only a

few inches away, my teacher shot forward in a blaze of gold,

grabbing the muzzle of the rifle. With a twitch of his

shoulders, he flung the attacking zombie into those that were

flanking, sending them tumbling into a ball of bones. He then

flung the musket like a spear, piercing all three of the

zombies. They disappeared in a puff of black dust.

The rest of the zombies didn't stand a chance. Mr. Soloo

worked through their assault with what looked like minimal

effort. A quick elbow reduced a skeleton to dust. Another was

broken to bits as it was heaved bodily through the air. Black

dust and shards of bone rained through the air, as Mr. Soloo's

fists and feet reduced the zombies to undead mulch. The zombie

in the dress was last, sizzling into the breeze as Mr. Soloo

planted a hard back kick in the center of its chest. The

zombie snarled as it dissipated, its green eyes winking out of

existence.

Mr. Soloo stopped to quickly gather himself after

dispatching the zombies. Almost immediately, however, the

world turned topsy turvy, rapidly expanding and contracting

like we were inside of a heart. The gem released its heat,

sending the energy flowing into my tingling limbs. Mr. Soloo

wavered on his feet, and Rashid strode forward, surrounded by

spears of greenish-black flame.




"It's over, Soridas," he snarled, throwing his arm

forward. The spears of flame shot out, burying themselves deep

into Mr. Soloo's chest. He writhed and screamed as the flames

lifted him into the air. I could see the pain in his face. His

eyes screwed shut, and and he clenched his teeth so hard that

it looked like they would pop out of his mouth. Rashid cackled

as he approached Mr. Soloo's limp, suspended form. The zombie

cupped my teacher's face in his skeletal palm, and whispered

something in his ear. I heard it as clearly as if he had

yelled it.

The child of Ausir is next.

The heat broke in me, the power of my anger fueling the

fire in my limbs and suffusing me with energy. I rose to my

feet, aware of the power that pulsed from my body.

"Put him down, Rashid," I commanded.

He turned to look at me. The bones in his neck ground

against each other like boulders. "So, it would seem that

Ausir's son shares at least one quality with his

father...foolhardiness." He let go of Mr. Soloo's face,

advanced on me like a slow fog.

"What do you want with me?" my voice cracked. Again. I

hate my life, sometimes.

"Oh, child. It isn't for me to decide what is done with

you. That's the sole property of my feseya. However, I am




trying to decide whether he'd find you useful with no legs or

arms. You know, to replace the ones that you took from me."

"Gideon...go..." Mr. Soloo struggled from behind us.

"I'm not leaving you," I replied. Voice was a bit

stronger. Better. The gem's heat in my limbs was reassuring.

"So touching," Rashid rasped, folding his hands under his

face and batting his fiery green eyes in an eerie display of

mockery. "Foolhardy. If you come with me nicely, I promise not

to sever your limbs too roughly."

He stepped forward, full of green-edged menace. The

familiar flame rushed through my body. I couldn't let this

whacko hurt anyone else. So much damage. My friends. An image

of Viola popped into my mind.

"Acaaba won't save you this time, child. I will part it

like a sword parts the wind."

He was right. I knew it. The gem knew it. Another word

grew in my brain, unbidden. Perfect. I smiled. Seeing my

smile, Rashid screeched his fury into the afternoon air. He

threw his long body at me, spindly fingers crooked into claws.

More solid spears of flame bloomed around him, screamed

through the air toward me. Mr. Soloo moaned out his despair. I

wanted to comfort him, to let him know that it would be

alright. It didn't matter. He'd see. The word was there. Deep

breath. Speak clearly. Use your diaphragm. All those things I






but smile.

Then everything went dark.




CHAPTER FIVE

Untitled Document

I was moving, that was the first sensation. Like before,

my vision was cloudy at first, but cleared gradually to reveal

that I was not only moving, but following someone. We were

moving through a city of trees without making a sound. Muted

sunlight dappled the leaf-covered ground. I could feel the

soil squishing beneath my feet as I unconsciously sought out

the softest places to step. My companion picked through the

forest with a practiced ease, disappearing for entire minutes

before I realized that he was only a few paces in front of me.

He was shirtless, covered only by a pair of leather short

trousers, a belt that held various pouches and knives, and he

wore a quiver of arrows slung across his hip. The way he moved

was like...like a predator stalking its prey. Dangerous and

graceful. He stopped, suddenly, held up his hand.




I stopped as well, crouched low.

"There's something strange in the air," he murmured. "It

smells so familiar, but I've never scented anything of it's

like."

His voice brought with it a flooding of memories. The two

of us as young boys outside of our village, arrows nocked,

shooting holes in the ears of antelope, the tall grasses of

the field caressing our shins. Us again as young men,

stumbling headlong through a maze of great sandstone ruins,

bearing bags of gold idols on our backs and group of bikolo

goblins on our heels. I rolled the shoulders that didn't feel

like my shoulders.

"In which direction does the scent originate?"

My companion turned to look at me. His eyes were narrow,

resolute. His tuft of beard glistened with sweat and oil.

"It's everywhere," he replied.

I widened eyes that weren't mine. Smiled a smile that

felt like it should've be mine, but wasn't. "We can't tell

them that it's everywhere, now can we?"

My companion smiled back, cunning in his eyes. "It

wouldn't be lying, would it?"

I reached out, clapped my companion on the shoulder. "No,

but it wouldn't be effective either. And if there's anyone

that can find what we're looking for, it's you. No need to




lie, eh?"

He grasped my hand. "You honor me, my friend. Truly."

I pointed ahead of us in the direction that we'd been

heading.

"Come, Markel. Let us continue on."

Then everything ended, abruptly, like a flip of a switch.

I awoke to a group of adults standing around me,

discussing me like I wasn't in the room. Adults tend to do

that a lot, and I think they know how annoying it is. I

cracked an eye open. The ceiling was patterned in light blue

and yellow tiles. Everything smelled like hand sanitizer and

feet. Medical monitoring equipment loomed over me. How'd I

gotten to the hospital? Mr Piner's voice broke through the

haze that floated around my brain. I closed my eyes again and

lay still.

"--He had a rock in his pocket," the assistant principal

said. "He said it was for...geological sensitivity training'?

That has something to do with this. I knew he was lying! I'm

betting that Cochran--"

"My son has a name, Mister Piner. His name is Gideon." Uh

oh. They'd called ma. Crap. How was I gonna explain this one?

"I'm betting--"

"No, Mister Piner. Acknowledge my son's name. It is




Gideon. Say it with me."

"I don't have to stand for this!" Piner was probably as

red as a side of beef.

"Stand, sit, fly, I don't care. But you won't act as if

my son is a hoodlum, and you will not disrespect him. Do you

understand me?"

"Okay, people, let's calm down," That was the principal

of MIC, Katherine Heffwetter. This must have been a big deal

situation for her to come out of her office. I imagined her

huge bob of orange hair quivering in an attempt to settle Ma

and Mr. Piner and keep things calm.

"I'm calm," Ma said. "Just a little peaked because my son

is laying here hurt. Still, I won't brook any disrespect of my

son."

Mr. Piner inhaled a sharp breath, but Principal

Heffwetter interrupted him. "I understand, Ms. Cochran. We

really are investigating to see exactly what the cause of all

of this is, but I assure you--" and here, her voice got really

sharp. I imagined her glaring at Mr. Piner, "--we do not blame

Gideon."

"Any word on what happened to the history instructor?" Ma

asked. "What was his name?"

I tried not to grimace. Before he leapt out of the hole

in the wall of our classroom that he punched Rashid through,




Mr. Soloo had referenced my mother. So, why was she acting

like she didn't know him?

"Mr. Soloo. Soridas Soloo," Piner volunteered.

"Yes, any word on him?"

"No," Principal Heffwetter sighed. "He's disappeared.

We've heard some...disturbing reports from students regarding

his behavior during the incident. I'm just not sure that we

can trust these reports. They're so...outlandish."

Ma snorted. "I'll say. Zombie wizards? Glowing

teachers...I'm just glad my son is okay."

"We are too, Ms. Cochran." They all were quiet for a

moment. "If you'll excuse us, there are other students and

families for us to visit."

"No problem. I'll go talk to the desk staff about

discharging him. Thank you for your concern, Principal

Heffwetter."

"No need for thanks. It's my job. Come on, Mr. Piner."

Then the door clicked shut. Ma walked around and sat on

the bed.

"There's no need for you to continue to play like you're

asleep, Gideon. You must've forgotten who I am. I've seen you

fake sleep in order to read comic books under your blanket

when you thought me gone. Come on, son."

The jig was up. I pushed the scratchy hospital blanket




off my chest. "Hey, ma."

My mother brushed a stray dreadlock from her eye, and

stared at me. I could see worry in her eyes. Worry...and

something else. Fear?

"How are you, baby?"

"I'm good. I feel like I just lost an argument with a

bear, but I'm okay."

She reached out to touch my face, reconsidered, touched

my face anyway. "I'm glad you're okay. That girl--what was her

name--Viola? Yes, Viola told me that you got everyone out

okay. MIC is thinking about holding a special ceremony for

you. That jerk Piner almost crapped his pants...but what were

you doing on the other side of the building, anyway?"

This was it. Now or never.

"Ma, I have to ask you something. Promise you'll give me

a straight answer?"

She tilted her head, studying my face. "It depends on the

question."

"No Ma," I screwed my eyes shut and shook my head. Too

quickly, the motion made me nauseous. I fought through the

sensation and kept talking. "I need you to answer this one for

me no matter what. And I need the truth. Come on, promise."

I stuck my hand out. "Promise, Ma."

I'd never seen my mother so reluctant to touch me. She




held herself for a moment, rubbing her arms and staring at my

hand like I'd forgotten to wash it after playing in a pigsty.

I felt anger welling up inside of me, but I fought it down.

Finally, after a few tense moments, she reached out and

grasped my hand, squeezed it with her unreal strength.

"Ask away," She said.

I took a deep breath. "So, to start, everything my

classmates said was true. There was a zombie wizard. His name

was Rashid."

Ma tightened her lips at the mention of Rashid's name,

made a vague motion in the air. "Don't say his name aloud."

"Why not?"

"Because he'll know where you are. He's not dead. Just

inconvenienced. You destroyed his physical body twice in one

day. It's going to take some time for his to generate a new

one."

"Ma, I so wouldn't believe you had I not seen him do the

exact same thing earlier in the day."

"Earlier in the day?"

"Rashid...he and I met before everything went down.

Before class. On the stairs."

Ma frowned, looking past me, out of the window. It was a

while before she spoke again.

"Yes. I also know Soridas. We've been friends for a long






"Actually, no. He seems pretty smart to me. He's

really...intense."

"He must have picked up a few lessons while he was here

in the Americas. When about your age, he was studying under

your father. All he could think about was kicking ass and

taking names."

I laughed, because Ma never cursed and it sounded funny

when she did, and also because the vision of a teenaged Mr.

Soloo was insane...then her words struck me like a

thunderbolt.

"Mr. Soloo knew my father...studied under him? Studied

what?"

Ma sighed. "Gideon, there's a lot you need to know, and I

don't think we should talk about it here, anymore. It's not

safe. You really don't know who--or what--is watching. Lets

get you checked out, and head home. Then I can tell you

everything.

*****

On the ride home from the hospital, the only voice in the

car was that of the reporter on the radio. Ma liked local news

talk, and the reporter's dry voice droned on in the small

interior of Ma's car.

"In local news, a prominent Memphis area private school




was the object of a terrorist attack this morning, with

several explosions wracking the campus. Eyewitnesses are being

interviewed by the police at the moment. Fortunately, students

suffered only minor injuries. However, there is still no word

on one missing instructor. More details at ten..."

"They're hushing up the situation," Ma mumbled. "I wonder

how long that will last. Poor kids. No one will believe them

anyway."

"You believed me," I offered.

"That's because I already know what you were dealing

with. I've seen Rashid before. And I'm sure we'll see him

again before this is all over."

"He's not dead."

"Oh, yes. He's dead. His first death was easy, probably.

The subsequent deaths, though...those are a little harder to

make stick."

I shook my head. This was insane. The view outside of the

car window was a blur of green yards, blue sky, and flashes of

color from the houses that we passed. So much that I wanted Ma

to tell me, but I had no idea how to ask.

"Oh, by the way," Ma said, rambling her purse with her

free hand while she steered the car. To her credit, she didn't

swerve at all. "The nurses found this in your pants pocket."

I turned away from the window, saw she was holding the




gem in one hand. It wasn't pulsing anymore, just sitting

between her fingers, a flat green stone. Any words I could've

produced to explain caught in my throat. After a couple of

deep breaths, Ma noticed that I couldn't get it together.

"Do you know what this is? Where this comes from?"

"No, I don't know what it is, but I know that it just

appeared this morning in my room...after the dream I had. It

was just on the floor."

"I think you need to tell me about your dream, Gideon."

So I did. I told her about the wasteland, about the

purple bird with the shifting face, the solid water, and the

voice. I tried to recall the words that the voice screamed at

me, but found that I couldn't, I was drawing a blank.

"It's what I feared," Ma said, gripping the steering

wheel so tightly that I could hear the leather squeaking

against her hands. "That wasn't just a bad dream. Someone was

contacting you, trying to find out who you are. And they

succeeded. I never thought he'd be here...We have to get out

of this city..."

"Get out of the city?" I exclaimed. "But we just got

here, I thought that this was the place, that you'd found

what--who you were looking for! What about Mr. Soloo?"

"He's gone into hiding. We don't have time to find him,

if the situation is as crazy as I think it is. We've got to




distance ourselves from...anyone here who might be out to get

us."

I knew when Ma wasn't telling the truth. My ears burned.

"Ma. You said you'd tell me everything. I'm not a kid anymore.

Tell me."

"We still aren't safe," she replied, making a hard right

turn and glancing into the rearview mirror. "I've placed wards

around the house. No one will be able to hear us there. Or

sense us. We'll be safe."

Silence filled the car again, and I resumed staring out

of the window, watching the city fly by, wondering what

exactly was out there that wanted me dead. Whatever it was,

this faceless thing, had the power to have things like Rashid

do it's bidding...and it could get into my head. What could I

do against that? I actually was just a kid. Eventually, the

neighborhoods and stores along the streets began to look

familiar. Ma made another right, then a quick left. Our

apartment whizzed by across the street. She was going around

our house.

"Ma--?"

"Something's off." She shook her head and her dreadlocks

rustled slightly. "I can't feel my wards. I'm going to check,

and not through the front. Around back would be safer."

I? "You can't be serious about going alone, Ma."




She whirled on me as she whipped into a parking space in

the alley behind our house. "Don't you see, Gideon? This isn't

a game. You're in danger. I'm not who he wants. He would've

gotten me already. He wants you. And I won't let him have

you."

"Who, Ma?"

She climbed out of the car, went around back to the

trunk. I leapt out too, grabbing the gem and slamming the

door.

"Get back in there, Gideon. I'll come get you when it's

safe--"

"No way, Ma! No way! What kind of man would I be to let

you go in there alone...and besides, I faced down Rashid by

myself--twice! Whatever's in there, I'm sure I can handle it

better than you."

She smirked, briefly. "Any other time, I'd bet you dinner

on that. But now is not the time--"

"I'm not letting you go in there alone, Ma. You can't

stop me. Whatever's in there, we're handling it together, like

we always do...like we've always had to do, since Adam left."

At the mention of my father's name, the gem came to life

for the first time since I'd blown Rashid away. It glowed

sadly in my hand. Ma looked at me, looked at the gem, and

sighed.




"...Okay. You've got the gem. It'll help, I'm sure. But

if anything goes wrong, you're getting out of there. Here--,"

she rummaged in her pockets and pulled out a wad of cash.

"Keep this on you. If anything happens, you have got to run."

"No, I don't--"

"You're not listening. Anything up there can take me down

is going to make short work of you. You run. Got it?" She'd

put on her official tone. At this point, I couldn't do

anything but agree.

"Got it," I said, folding the money into my wallet.

"Good." She turned back to the trunk, rummaged for a

second, pulled out a long, stick-like object wrapped in bright

yellow cloth. "Come on, then. Let's get it."

Normally, people entered our tiny apartment complex

through the front courtyard, which was decorated nicely with

flowers and trees and bushes to sucker people into moving

here. Some people, however, preferred to use the back

entrances to their apartments, because there was more parking

in the back, and no one could see you come in. That's what we

were going for. Ma held up her...whatever it was that she had

to keep me from going up the stairs to our back door before

her. When she started up, she didn't make a sound. I'm not

exaggerating. Not one sound. It was like she was a shadow with

dreadlocks.




I tried my best to do what she did, stepping lightly on

the creaky iron and concrete stairs, but I could still hear

the scuff of my shoes against the stone. Ma's dreadlocks were

a golden bush down her back. She had rolled up her sleeves,

and held her stick-thing as tightly as she could. The cords of

her arms stood out. She spent a lot of time working in our

backyard garden, lifting bags of compost and yanking weeds out

of the ground, so I wasn't surprised to see her muscle. What I

was surprised to see was the determination that set her

shoulders, and the ease with which she crept up on our back

door.

When we got to the top of the steps, she turned to me and

put one finger over her lips. She pulled out her key, stuck it

in the door a centimeter at a time. Still no sound. When the

door popped open, she knelt down and unwrapped the thing she

had been carrying. A wooden shaft was revealed first, thick

and polished to be deep, deep brown. Then, as she moved up, I

caught sight of a blade, double edged, and colored as black as

my hair, stretching halfway down the blade, almost like a

sword. Ma's glare shut me up before I could even get a breath

to ask her where she'd gotten a spear with a two-foot long

blade. Feeling like I should be prepared, too, I held the gem

out in front of me.

Ma pushed the door slightly, letting it slide open on




it's own. As soon as she put one foot across the threshold, a

rustling noise carried back to us from the direction of the

living room. Ma gripped the spear tighter, and stepped

forward. That's when we heard the voice.

"It's okay, Sembe, Gideon. I've been waiting on you both

for a while. Come on in."

Ma turned back at me, pleaded with her eyes for me to go

back downstairs. I shook my head. I meant it when I said that

we would face this together. She exhaled a deep breath and

stood up to her full height (which wasn't very tall). Stealth

time was over. We walked through the kitchen to the living

room. We had a visitor.

He was dressed impeccably in a black suit that fit snugly

on his broad shoulders. He sat with his legs crossed, and he

swung one shiny shoe back and forth nonchalantly.

"It's so nice to see you again, Sembe," he smiled, using

Ma's first name more casually than I liked. His voice reminded

me of a lion's growl, a low rumble. His eyes were narrow, and

they glittered with some unknown emotion. His smile was dark

and it sent shivers down my spine, like looking into the mouth

of a crocodile. Even the way he sat, relaxed and tensed all at

once, swinging his leg and smiling like an old man, put me on

edge. Judging by the way ma gripped her spear, she was on edge

too. The visitor waved his hand across the room. "Join me.




Have a seat."

"How did you find us?"

"Sembe, your manners are terrible. What were we taught?

You're supposed to fellowship with me, offer me a drink, a

bite to eat before we talk business. Even if I am your enemy."

"Tch! This isn't The First Lands anymore, Markel.

Everyone knows what you've done. I'll kill you if I have to, I

swear." Metal clanked as she leveled the spear at his chest.

If he was worried, his smile sure didn't show it. I could feel

his eyes moving in his head as he shifted to look at me.

"Hello, Gideon. Your mother seems to have built some

animosity toward me, and it's not totally unwarranted. It's a

shame that Sembe never told you about me."

"...What am I supposed to know?" I managed. I tried to

hold his gaze. Something in his eyes told me that he was

enjoying my struggle.

He raised an eyebrow, glanced at my mother. "Oh, you told

him nothing, huh? That's rich." He started to lean forward,

but Ma jabbed the spear at him. I guess the spear was an

effective deterrent; he raised his hands in peace and settled

back on the couch. His eyes found mine again.

"Well, Gideon, here's the truth of it. You see...Adam,

your father--I'm sure you remember him--was my brother. Don't

look so shocked! Yes, you guessed right. That makes me your




uncle. Now, come give me a hug, embrace me as family."

He stood, spreading his arms wide. And thats when

everything got crazy.




CHAPTER SIX

Untitled Document

The next few moments flashed by so quickly, in a blur of

movement and violence. Markel stood up, advanced on me with

his arms wide. Ma, seeing this, grunted and tried to run him

through with her spear. I yelled at her, at him, at

everything, but my voice didn't seem to be working like it did

with Rashid. Markel, in a movement smoother than his suit,

turned and pushed the blade of the spear down, away from him.

Ma moved with him, rounding with his deflection, and bashed

him in the skull with the shaft of the weapon. The force of

the blow was so intense that I could feel the crack of it in

my teeth. He stumbled--just a little--then leapt forward with

a kick that sent Ma tumbling over our end chairs and into her

new bookcase. Books and pottery clattered to the floor as she

slammed into it. And the whole time, I yelled, the gem blazing




in my hand. And then Markel turned to me, dusting his hands

and tsk-ing like someone that was about to lecture a child.

"Such bad manners. Now, where was I? Oh, the hug." He

smiled again, but this time it was more of a snarl.

"Back off," I squeaked. I couldn't summon any of that

awesomeness that had helped me out earlier, at the school.

"Why so belligerent? Come, Gideon. I can tell you

everything that your mother refuses to." He cupped his hand

around his mouth, dropped his voice to a whisper. "I know

where your father is."

The words struck me like a locomotive. I took a step

back, unable to even form words. Finally, I gasped, "Where?"

Ma exploded from the rubble of the bookshelf, swinging

the blade of the spear in a deadly pattern. Markel leapt away

from her, and for the first time I could truly see the hatred

in his eyes.

"I don't know how you found us, Markel, but I swear on

all of my ancestors--by the First Mother Walima-Ala herself--

that you will regret finding this place!"

Markel settled into an easy lean against the windowsill.

"Oh? You and that frogsticker, eh? Sembe, Sembe...you know

you've never been better than me. And besides, I only came to

talk. If I'd wanted to kill you, I would've done so before you

even had a chance to get into the house."




"Your mistake," Ma growled. "Gideon, get out of here!"

"I'm not going anywhere!" The gem pulsed agreement.

"I agree with Gideon," Markel teased. "He should

stay...we have so much to talk about."

"Gideon, this man is a murderer, a thief, and a liar.

Nothing he says is any good, or worth trusting. You have to

go. Now!"

"No. Together, remember?" I could feel the tears in my

throat, and my skin felt like it was on fire. Ma glanced back.

Markel yawned, and rose from the windowsill.

"This is all so wonderful, the struggle of the pack, and

all. But I have business with both of you, and if you won't

sit down and talk amicably, I'll have to force you to come

with me." Markel's eyes began to flash, first black, then

green, then white. He looked bigger, more imposing as he

stretched to his full height. He seemed to be steaming. Ma

took a step back, keeping the spear pointed at his chest.

"Adam! I know you're in there! If you have any sense at

all, you'll help me save your son! Don't worry about me! Just

go!"

Adam? My father? Where? He was long gone. "We're not

going anywhere, Ma."

"Yes, you both are," Markel rumbled. I couldn't move from

where I was standing, watching Markel double in size. Sparks




skittered off of his black suit, scorching the wooden floor.

Then, suddenly, I felt a tug on my arm. Something, someone

yanked me, then pushed me with the force of an eighteen

wheeler hitting a brick wall going a hundred miles an hour. As

I flew through the air, I could hear my mother's voice, as

clear as rain on a spring day:

"Trust no one! Find Soridas!"

My arms, legs, whole body tingled with heat, and the

world seemed to have turned green. I made contact with

something, it resisted for a split second, and then I was

free-falling. As abruptly as my fall began, it stopped. I felt

the pinch of the pavement beneath my arms and legs. Sunlight

streamed into my eyes as I looked up to take stock of where I

was--just in time to see the part of building that used to be

our apartment explode in a flash of brilliant white light.

I pulled a yell from some deep place within me, some

place that I didn't know I had, that was rooted to the essence

of who I was. I couldn't even fight the tears anymore. I just

let them fall.

A crowd slowly built around me. I could feel them,

murmuring and pointing around me as I struggled to my feet.

Everything that I loved was in that house, burning. Where was

Ma? Where was Markel? Was he really my Uncle? So many

questions, and all the answers were in my burning house. I




took a step forward. Despite falling from two stories up and

landing on the concrete, I only had a bit of soreness in my

arms and legs. That, and the wooziness. I took another step.

Nearly fell. The third step, then the fourth step were better,

steadier. I looked up, headed toward the stairs that led to

our apartment. Sirens wailed in the distance; someone had

called the fire department. Or the cops. It didn't matter. The

stairs were so close, now, but between my sore legs and my

hazy vision, I was having a hard time making it there.

Something dropped onto my shoulder. I glanced back. It was a

hand, someone pulling me back. I tried to leap away like I had

seen Markel do when Ma charged him with her spear. Instead of

sliding away gracefully, I stumbled and landed butt-first on

the ground. Dark shapes swam in my vision.

"Get back," I warned, waving the gem. "Get away from me.

Gotta get to Ma. Get...back."

"He's got a rock," I hear someone murmur, a woman's

voice. More voices: "Is he hurt?" "He lived there, didn't he?"

"So horrible!" "Where's his mother?"

A pair of strong hands gripped my shoulders, pulled me

into a sitting position.

"Hey! Gideon! Hey dude, wake up!"

This voice was familiar. One of the only people in the

neighborhood that Ma actually spoke to. I forced my eyes open.




"Hey man, there we go, that's it." He prodded me gently

back to consciousness. What was his name?

"Oh. Wassup, Ben?" Ben. The cartoonist that lived in the

house across the street. Ma liked him, as much as she could

really like anyone. He had that daughter, with the blue bows

in her hair. Once, he let Manny and I look at his drawings,

creepy old men with lined faces and lantern-jawed anti-heroes.

I vaguely remembered liking them. I latched on to that memory,

pulled myself along it hand over hand until the world made

sense again. When my vision cleared, there was Ben, with his

goatee and glasses, and wearing the brown flat cap that he

apparently never took off.

"Great, great. You're awake. Great." Ben fixed his blue-

gray eyes on me. "Man, what happened up there? Where's your

mom?"

I waved at the burning apartment. "She's up there--"

Then, with a deafening blast and a searing wave of

glowing heat, the apartment exploded. Something streaked out

of the wreckage, blasting through the sky like a meteor...only

it was going the wrong direction. Markel. It had to be. And

Ma. If Markel was gone, then was Ma--? I tried to stand again,

but felt Ben's hands on my arm, holding me. When I glared at

him, he just shook his head.

"Look, the cops and the firefighters are here," someone




yelled, relieved. I couldn't share that relief. The

authorities whirled onto the scene with a fanfare of applause

and a multitude of flashing lights. They swarmed the parking

lot, the police whipping their sleek cars up the curb and into

the grass. Deep blue-uniformed officers and paramedics climbed

out of the vehicles and methodically went to work, some moving

the public away from the scene, others wading into groups of

people and checking for medical issues, and still others

wrapping orange hazard tape around poles and fenceposts. The

firefighters trooped through the crowd, cracking open a fire

hydrant and dousing the smoldering remains of my home...and my

mother. A stocky police officer stepped in front of the

watching crowd. I was glad, it gave them something to feast on

besides my misfortune. The police officer didn't have a neck,

his buzz-cut topped head just sat on his shoulders like he was

made of play dough. He spoke quietly to a few people, taking

notes and nodding, then fixed his eyes on me and bulled

through the crowd in my direction. I felt Ben's light touch on

my shoulder. Instinctively, I pushed the gem into my pocket.

No need for more drama.

"Hey dude, I'm sorry about your mom...I wish there was

something that I could do for you."

"It's fine," I shook my head. I was lying. It wasn't fine

at all.




"What are you going to do, now? Where are you going to

go?"

"I don't know," I shrugged. "I don't have any family that

I know of."

The stocky policeman stopped in front of me, poked out

his chest, and worked his jaw like he was chewing on a tough

piece of gristle. "You're Gideon Cochran?"

"Yes."

"I'm Captain Archie Devlin." He looked me up and down,

then motioned for me to follow him. "You seem to be in pretty

good condition for someone whose home just got blown to bits.

Come on, let's get you checked out by the paramedics. I

understand that you...lost a relative in the accident?"

I didn't trust myself to speak when answering that

question. Instead, I nodded.

"Okay. According to our records, you don't have any known

relatives other than a father that's allegedly been missing

for twelve years. Because you don't have anywhere to go, and

no one to go to, we're going to have to house you until we

figure out what to do. Sound good?"

"I don't really have a choice, do I?"

Capt. Devlin stopped and looked at me, pulling his lips

in and frowning. "Now, you really don't, at that. As far as we

can tell, you all had a serious gas leak in the house. The




folk who can get in there are find your mother are working on

it, son. You need to get some medical attention, and after

that...well, we'll talk about that when we get that far, eh?"

I was handed off to a paramedic, an Asian woman with

spiky short hair. She sat me down in the back of the

ambulance, and had me lift my arms, take off my shirt, and

breathe deeply in and out. She poked and prodded all over for

a while, strapping different testing equipment to me. After a

few minutes, she nodded and took off the equipment.

"Other than some fatigue and a little bruising, you're

good to go. I'm gonna get Devlin. You stay put until we get

back, okay?"

I nodded, and she disappeared into the mob of uniforms

and bystanders. When she came back, she had Captain Devlin in

tow, along with a older brown woman with in a blue pantsuit.

She wore bright red glasses, and her afro was going white. She

looked like she could be someone's grandmother. As they got

closer, she smiled a little smile at me. Devlin ran his hands

through what little bit of hair he had left.

"Son, this is Miranda Albritton with the city's

Department of Children's Services. She's going to get you set

up, take care of you in lieu of the accident. You guys get

comfortable--" A loud screech filled the air. Devlin took off

in the direction of it, yelling. "Hey! Hey! We don't pull




those tool off of trees, people! Be more careful!"

The woman--Ms. Albritton--followed him with her eyes for

a minute, then turned and looked at me, her face flashing an

unreadable expression. "Hello, Gideon. I've heard so much

about you. Captain Devlin filled me in on what happened here,

and let me just say that I'm so sorry for your loss."

"Thanks," I murmured. "What's done is done, though."

She helped me down from the ambulance, and motioned for

me to walk with her. "We are going to get you taken care of,

Gideon. The next few weeks are going to be very busy, and

probably very difficult, but we'll get through them. Together.

Okay?"

I kept walking. I had nothing to say, so why say

anything? Miranda glanced at me, looking concerned, and so

much like a grandmother that I almost felt ashamed. She led me

through the crowd to her car, a old-style white thing with

green government license plates and a gold and black standard

printed on the doors. I looked inside before opening the door.

Pamphlets and flyers advertising fundraisers littered the

passenger seat floor, and a pair of extra shoes the color of

mud lay across the back seat.

"Sorry," she shrugged. "I live in this thing. Just clear

all of that stuff off the seat for me, will you?"

I opened the door, knelt, and swept the flyers and papers




up off the floor. They were advertisements for a program:

Displaced Juvenile Employment Services. Pictures of children

happily performing tasks smiled at me from the front of the

flyer. Below the pictures was her contact information at the

Children's Services Bureau. I dropped the flyers in the

backseat, climbed into the car, and turned to look at my

smoldering apartment. I'd have given anything to be able to

leave Ms. Albritton sitting on the curb and run up to my

apartment. I'd even take my Ma's cooking at this point. But it

was too late. She was gone.

Muru, haa. Ou, Le satamou, the gem said softly. Weakly.

I couldn't believe my brain. Gone, it had said, Gone,

yes. But not dead.

How did it know? I still hadn't figured out how the gem

was able to speak with me, how I could understand the weird

language that is spoke, or even what it was. But if what it

had just said was true...

"Buckle up!" Ms. Albritton said. She started the car and

drove off, weaving between pedestrians, bystanders, and

emergency vehicles with ease. After a while, she explained to

me the process, told me about forms that I'd have to fill out,

when the police would be in to question me about the fire, and

that I'd probably have to go in and identify a body. I

couldn't suppress the tiny spark of hope that popped in my




mind. The gem said she wasn't dead. So maybe there wasn't a

body to identify. My mind began to wander. How could she have

survived? And if she did, where was she? The explosion of our

apartment replayed in my head. The meteor-light that shot out

of the rubble. Was it actually Markel? And if so, was she with

him? I decided to investigate, after everything settled down.

I was so lost in thought that I didn't notice that Ms.

Albritton had turned off the main road and taken us down an

unlit side street. I looked out the window, barely able to

make out anything except the skeletons of abandoned houses.

The lights of skyscrapers beaded the night sky off in the

distance. We were headed parallel to them. According to the

fliers that I had seen, the place where they were housing me

was supposed to be downtown, among those skyscrapers. My

stomach sank to my ankles.

"Where are we going, Ms. Albritton?"

She turned to me, smiling again. Her teeth shone eerily

in the dark. Whispers of green flame danced around her eyes,

slightly. Had I blinked, I wouldn't have seen it.

"I've taken us down a shortcut, Gideon," she explained.

"Going through the center of town would have attracted too

much attention. This way is faster, and safer."

Attention? "Safe from what? This seems like the most

unsafe part of town in the city."




"Don't worry, Gideon. We'll be there shortly. You'll

see."

Between her voice and the way she hunched over in the

drivers' seat, she reminded me of a witch from a fairy tale.

Somewhere in the distance, I heard Rashid's slimy laugh.

Everything felt wrong. She turned the car down yet another

side street, heading deeper into the darkness, deeper into the

maze of abandoned buildings. Dread tingled in my fingers.

Wherever she was taking me, if she reached there, I wouldn't

be safe. I wouldn't be able to find Ma. Before I realized what

was happening, my hand shot out, grabbing the steering wheel

and wrenching it sharply toward me. Loud whirring screeches

tore through the air as Ms. Albritton mashed on the gas pedal,

sending the car fishtailing. Pain shot across my shoulders and

back as I was thrown across the dashboard, smashing into Ms.

Albritton's surprisingly hard body. For a terrifying moment,

we lay smushed together as the car teetered on two wheels,

nearly flipping on its side. When the car righted itself, both

of us grunted with the force of it.

"You stupid, stupid child! You could have killed us!" Ms.

Albritton heaved like she had just run three miles without

stopping to rest. I wondered for a minute whether I had made

the right decision, whether my gut had led me down the wrong

path. Then, green flashed behind her eyes again. I went for




the door.

"No!" Ms. Albritton screeched, her afro standing on end.

She grabbed my shirt, her nails digging into the fabric like

talons. "You are ours! My feseya will reward the one that

delivers you!"

"Your what?" I struggled against her steel grip, trying

to push the door open but my fingers slipped off her old-timey

plastic door handles. Now I was starting to heave. She tried

to pull me closer, one hand on my shirt and the other an iron

cuff on my wrist. Her eyes glowed green behind her red-framed

glasses. My fingers found the handle, and I popped the door

open. Fresh air rushed into the car, cooling my sweaty neck.

The night smelled like burning tires. I pulled against Ms.

Albritton, reluctant to kick away in case she really was an

old lady. As strong as her grip was, though, I doubted it.

Then, suddenly, she wrenched me close, dragged me across

the seat and back into the car. Her strength was unbelievable.

She smelled like moth balls and elderly people cologne.

"You will submit!" She screamed, drops of her spit flying

against my face. Her eyes were aflame with green energy. The

more she pulled, the more I was convinced that it was time to

go. I braced myself against the dashboard and the seat, and

pulled with all of my might.

"Yaaaaaa!" The yell was involuntary, fear and anger and




desperation coming from my guts and exploding out of my mouth.

Ms. Albritton--no, Miranda. She'd lost all of my respect when

she tried to kidnap me. Miranda was trying to abduct me, keep

me from my mother. I wasn't having it. The plastic and metal

of the car creaked as I pulled Miranda across the seat so hard

that we both shot out of the open door, rolling across the

dirt and grass that the car had fishtailed into.

The darkness swam above our head, almost like we were

underwater. The only light was the soft yellow of the

headlights, two beams in the dark gray night. Miranda's hands

scrabbled against me, pulling at my pants and my shirt, trying

to force me to the ground. She was still freakishly strong. I

felt her arms hook around my midsection, and she flipped me

over on my back, pinning one of my arms to the ground. Using

the other arm as leverage, I wedged my foot in her chest and

kicked. Miranda flew threw the air like a basketball, not

stopping until she crunched against the car. She fell off the

dented metal and collapsed limply to the ground. I rolled to

my feet, horrifed. Now, not only had I lost my mother, I'd

killed a not so innocent old lady. I mean, she had tried to

kidnap me, but she didn't deserve to die. Maybe hurt a little

bit, but definitely not killed.

I crept over to her, careful in case she decided to leap

up and snatch me in a bear hug. She lay on a heap on the




ground, breathing softly like she was asleep. That meant she

wasn't dead. And if I wanted to stay alive, I needed to get as

far away from her as I could. I snuck away from the car,

shaking as if the police were headed right for where I was

standing.

The night was muggy, like someone was holding a warm, wet

towel just above the sky. The further I got away from the car,

the less light there was. Luckily, I had the faint glow of the

city skyline to guide my way. I made a beeline for downtown,

hoping that I could get my bearings. Once there, I'd head

toward Manny's house, and tell him everything that

happened...and hope that he believed me.




CHAPTER SEVEN

Untitled Document

This time, I was aware that I was dreaming. Flames

guttered sadly against haphazardly arranged blocks of stone

and mortar. The sky seemed ablaze as well, showing a deep red

against the shadow of the surrounding treetops. I stood up,

taking stock of the carnage that surrounded me. Bodies of my

party--leather and chainmail clad fighting men--shone black

against the darkness, their bodies slick with blood. Dust and

bones crunched underfoot as I made my way to the nearest body,

a leather-capped soldier lying prone against a cluster of

rock. She coughed softly, black blood oozing from her lips. I

knelt in front of her, lifting her head from where it had

slumped against her chest.

"What happened?"

She smiled weakly. "We did our best, sir...we tried--"




coughs wracked her body "--but how do you kill a beast whose

body cannot be pierced by the good steel of a spear?"

Something shrieked nearby, a bonesplitting scream that

could have been man or beast. Suddenly, I remembered, at least

partly. A flash of silver, teeth like swords, glimmering

feathers, the face of a woman, a beautiful woman with sharp

teeth and a wicked smile. So many fighters had died. I uttered

a prayer for each of them, dimly aware that any being who

would have answered that prayer had long since stopped

listening.

"We are close, aren't we sir?" I had nearly forgotten the

soldier was there. I reached up, removed her leather cap.

Tightly braided coils lay plastered against her skull by a mix

of blood and sweat. The smell of death swam around her,

blackening the air.

"We are close. Very close," I said, not even attempting

to force a smile.

"You'd think--you'd think we were adventurers from a

tale, facing things of legend...who'd have thought that--that

the Mioga was a real thing?"

The Mioga. Claws and teeth and hatred. I eyed the deep

pattern of wounds that pulsed blood out of the soldier's

torso. She didn't have long.

"Where's Markel? Did we lose him in the Mioga's opening




attack?"

"Right before the Mioga struck...he slipped into the

shadows. He said that he was going to hunt--"

The Mioga exploded from the rubble, a gigantic silver

monstrosity, all scales and feathers and claws. Shards of rock

rained from the sky as it wheeled in the air. I leapt away

from the dying--most likely dead--soldier, snatched up her

spear and ran in the opposite direction. I could feel the

monster, it's hatred and hunger, closing in. It shrieked

behind me, seeing its victory close at hand. A jumble of

stones rose before me, and I ducked into them, seeking some

safety from the thing's seeking claws.

Then one of our party--the scholar, I believe, emerged

from the stones, chanting and waving her arms. The sky

rumbled, seemingly with anger. As I made it to cover, I heard

the roar of the wind rushing past the makeshift shelter,

punctuated with a frustrated shriek.

Had the scholar done what a full fist of warriors could

not? I pushed my way back through the jumbled forest of stone,

sticking my head cautiously out of a small opening.

And there the scholar stood. The Mioga balanced on its

silver talons, right in front of the scholar. Were they

engaged in a--a staring match? I gripped my spear, preparing

to strike the beast down. As I moved to exit the stone




shelter, I felt the warmth of a hand on my arm.

"I don't think you should do that."

In a flash, I whipped the spear around, pinning the man

to the hard earth.

"Markel?"

"Could you let me up, please?"

I moved my spear. "Why did you stop me?"

He crept to the opening, watching them intently. "I've

seen this before, two wolves from rival packs standing,

seemingly frozen. They're not fighting. They're bargaining."

Bargaining? Then, the ruffling of feathers, the beat of

wings against air. I joined Markel at the opening, where we

saw the scholar waving, calling us out of hiding.

I nudged Markel. "I told you that the scholar would prove

herself useful."

He grimaced, and we exited the safety of the shelter.

I pushed myself off of the cracked tile floor, pushing my

arms out of my shirt from where I had tucked them in against

the morning chill. Gray-toned sunlight peeked through the

grimy windows of the abandoned kitchen that I had found to

hole myself up in. A lonely toaster peeked from beneath fallen

wooden beams and a thick layer of dirt. I resisted the urge to

check the rusty yellow refrigerator for food. What time was




it? I'd apparently lost my trusty iPod in the struggle with

Miranda the fire-eyed demon, so I had no way to tell.

Thankfully, I hadn't lost the wad of cash that my mom had

given me before she...left. All I knew was that it was early

morning, judging by the color of the sky and the temperature.

It was time to get moving. And once I got moving, it was time

to get food. My stomach and back had been having a lengthy

conversation since the night before, and I'd seen at least one

$20 in the wad. I could definitely eat for $20 bucks.

The entire night before, I had run, as fast and as far as

I could away from the scene of Miran-demon's (fitting name,

huh?) attempt to kidnap me. Turns out, that was pretty fast,

and pretty far. I didn't know how I had all of a sudden been

able to run for thirty minutes straight, much less been able

to pull and defend myself against demon-women twice my size.

But I was thankful. Still, even thirty minutes of sprinting

didn't put me much closer to my goal of downtown, where I

could get lost among the big buildings and find my way to

Manny's house. Running through the creepy, dark, neighborhoods

full of creaking houses and trees in the middle of the night

was scarier than I'd like to admit, but eventually I found a

little blue house that had been abandoned by whoever lived

there previously. Whicle checking each room in the house to

see if it was safe, I felt like I was going to swallow my




heart and then throw the thing up. But it was abandoned, and

safe. I slept like I had been awake for three months straight.

And now it was daylight, or very close. That meant I was

visible, and somehow, that seemed like the wrong move. Markel

obviously had people in many different places, so I needed to

maximize my time as a free man, before his next move proved

successful. I'd had the devil's own luck, between escaping

Rashid, Markel himself, and the demon bureaucrat, but I knew

it wouldn't last. Maybe another round of sprinting would get

me closer to where I wanted to be. And I definitely needed to

eat, if my stomach's growling was any indication. Quick and

quiet was my motto, and I took off.

After climbing through the window of the abandoned house,

I trotted down the empty morning street, sticking to the

heavily-treed sidewalks and leaping over trash cans and things

that would have forced me into the street. Every so often a

dog burst out barking, but that only made me run faster. Even

though the houses were a blur as I ran, I could tell that this

was a nice, sleepy kind of neighborhood. People had plastic

flowers and ornaments on their lawns, and swings on their

porches. I could just make out the colors of the houses in the

morning light--many of them were yellow or orange or green.

I'd been lucky, there were few people who woke up early to go

to work or got home from work in the dark morning. I hoped




that to the few people that did see me, I looked like a normal

person out for a morning jog.

I followed the streets as they wound and twist between

neighborhoods, making a beeline straight toward downtown.

Every minute that passed, the sun rose higher and higher in

the sky, but I kept running. Sleepy neighborhoods and brightly

colored houses gave way to low, squat office buildings,

multiple gas stations, and a whole lot of bail bond places.

The skyscrapers grew taller and taller, and I felt victorious,

almost. Finally, I felt like there was a bomb about to explode

in my lungs, and I had to stop to catch my breath. Sweat

dripped from my chin and my shirt was glued to my back. I

probably looked like a runaway...which I kind of was. The

skyscrapers that marked downtown were so close. I had stopped

in the middle of a developing industrial area. Everything was

gray and brown iron and dust and hazard signs. A bright green

street sign above my head read "E.H. Crump Blvd." I had no

idea where I was, but I recognized the direction that I came

from, and there was no way I was going back there.

The streets were still pretty dead, despite the sky being

fully lighted. Here and there, I glimpsed people in their

cars, headed to work with dead looks on their faces. A

homeless guy on the steps of an abandoned building threw his

blankets off and yawned loudly as I ran by. Grafitti was




sprayed on every other building, six-pointed stars and

combinations of letters that made no sense to me. I smelled

breakfast as I got further downtown; I imagined that I could

see its scent on the air. The scent was strongest right as I

passed a small diner pushing right against the edge of the

sidewalk. CK's Coffee Shop glared at me from a red billboard

at the front of the diner. My stomach was yelling at me, and

we both agreed that it was finally time to stop.

Inside, the diner was everything that I'd ever expected a

diner to be from seeing them on TV. The air was literally

brown. A thin sheen of grease laid across the seats, the

tables, and the bar. But the smell of pork and eggs and coffee

and pancakes more than made up for how grimy it looked. The

only light in the place came from the huge windows in front of

the place, and they were greasy too. The bell on the door

ding-a-linged as I walked in and slid into a booth, grateful

for air conditioning. An old man in a trucker hat sat in a far

corner, drinking a mug of coffee and reading the newspaper. He

didn't even look up to see who had come in. The waitress

pushed her way from behind the bar and walked over to me, the

front of her blue apron splattered with pancake batter. I was

so hungry I'd have taken that for an appetizer.

"You lost, baby?" she asked. She had skin the color of

pencil lead and one gold tooth glittered in the front of her




mouth. She sounded like what I'd think someone's grandmother

would sound like during slavery.

"I'm fine," I shook my head.

"Okay, well then here's a menu. You want anythang to

drank? Some orange juice or some milk?"

I needed something that would keep me going. "Coffee," I

said. "I'll take a coffee."

She narrowed her eyes at me, like she was trying to

figure out how much she could get for me if she sold me on

eBay. "You sure you old enough to be drankin' coffee?"

"Yes ma'am," I forced a smile. "I've been drinking coffee

since I was a little boy." It wasn't entirely a lie. I

remember my father letting me have a sip of his very strong

black coffee when I was three. It tasted like a thundercloud.

I also remembered Ma being extremely mad at him because I

didn't stop running around and yelling for two or three hours.

The memory brought to the surface the fact that I didn't have

any parents anymore. My smile faded.

The waitress must have sensed the change in my mood. She

just nodded and said, "Be right back. Take ya time with that

menu."

I nodded and smiled. The food was surprisingly cheap. A

burger was only five bucks. I knew I had at least that much,

and checking my pockets in these unfamiliar surroundings may




not have been the best look. A cup of coffee and a plate of

assorted sugars and cream appeared in front of me.

"You ready to order?"

"Yes, I am. I'd like a hamburger, please."

"How you want it cooked?"

Like a hamburger? "Well done."

"Salad or hash browns?"

Hash browns would slow me down with all the grease. "A

salad."

"Dressing?"

I felt like I was being interrogated. "No dressing. Just

salad."

"Alrighty then." She scooped the menu up from the table.

The steaming mug of coffee glared at me, like it was mocking

my situation. Cream or sugar or both? Last I remembered, my

father drank his black, with no sweetness or anything. I took

a sip of the black coffee, swallowed, and immediately launched

into a coughing fit. It tasted as bad as it did before. The

scent of frying meat filled the restaurant, and I looked up to

see the waitress staring at me out of the corner of her eye.

Was she with Markel, too? I had no idea. So far, I reasoned,

he had lots of people in his employ. Ma's last words rang in

my head.

Trust no one!






old, and mostly my color. Old ladies with their hair wrapped,

shirtless guys striding down the street smoking cigarettes,

the mechanic or technician in their blue khaki uniforms with

their names stitched in cursive across the breast, all walking

with packed lunches or thermoses filled with mystery liquids.

Every so often, someone stepped into the restaurant for a cup

of coffee or a quick sandwich. Mostly, though, the people, and

their work clothes, kept on moving in their separate

directions, occasionally stopping to greet one another with

handshakes or wide smiles.

The thing that was frequent in this part of town:

homeless people. We had a few homeless where we lived, but Ma

was really vigilant about straddling the line between living

around a bunch of culturally similar people and living

somewhere that was secure. They existed in between everyone

else, and they were known, and tolerated, and even helped in

some instances. I stopped watching the window for a second,

and focused on my salad. When I looked up again, a different

kind of homeless person was standing there, its face pressed

against the restaurant window while the people behind it

hurried by, like they had seen an army of ghosts on that warm

morning.

It had skin the color of dead wood: ashen and beige,

exposed in places by its torn t-shirt and faded jeans that




were cut off at the knees. Two curved teeth stuck out from its

bottom lip, like a wild boar, but it had the tight jaws and

high nose of a gorilla. It was built like a gorilla too, with

long, muscular arms and a thick chest. But that wasn't the

weirdest thing. The creature at the window only had one eye,

one bright red eye in the middle of its head, under its heavy

brow. It stared at me out of that one burning red eye, and I

could sense all of the hatred and hunger that ever existed in

the dark parts of the world.

The first thing I wondered was how a Eloko Demon had

found its way to the southeastern part of the United States.

The second thing I wondered was how I knew what a Eloko

Demon was.

When our eyes met, it pulled its thick lips back over his

ridiculously sharp and pointed teeth. Was it smiling, or

snarling?

The Eloko Demon threw his arms wide, opened its mouth in

the most horrifying soundless roar, and leapt through the

restaurant window.

It came through the window claws-first. They were thick

and black, and looked as if they were made for gripping and

tearing flesh. Chunks of glass and plastic blasted through the

broken window, clattering against the booths and the counters.

A long, horrified wail came from behind the counter, and I




heard the old man in the corner curse and scramble away. All

of the noises of the people in the diner were drowned out as

the demon stood up to its full height and roared, the claws on

its toes gouging long grooves in the table. The demon's breath

smelled like meat gone bad and terrible sickness. It was so

ugly, and evil looking, that I didn't even have time to think.

I snatched up the aluminum napkin dispenser and smashed the

thing into the side of the demon's head. it flopped over one

of the booth seats and into a nearby table. That was all the

break that I needed; I made for the door, leaving behind a

whole salad and two bites of hamburger. I yelled what I hoped

was an apology as I slipped and slid along the floor in my

effort to escape.

I'd pay the diner back later, if it survived.

A table flew by my head, splitting into pieces against

the far wall. I was already gone, moving so quick that when I

tried to turn the corner to get out of the door, I slid and

hit the wall. The Eloko demon's claws screeched against the

floor behind me, and I heard the crash of its heavy body

smashing into the counter in its desire to catch me. I had to

go. Someone was coming in the door to check on the diner, I'm

sure I stepped on one of his major organs as I ran him over. I

couldn't look back to see if he survived the Eloko demon

running over him, not when I was its target.




It was like everyone in the city had woken up and decided

to walk down the street at that exact time. As I blasted into

the street, I ran headfirst into a wall of people.

"Excuse me," I snarled, pushing past an old man and

ducking under a tall woman's arm as she cursed at me.

"Watch where you goin' boy!"

Cars whooshed by now, the drivers intent on reaching

their destinations. Strangely enough, there were no screams,

no shouts of "Demon!" or "Monster!" or anything like that. Was

I the only one that could see it? I chanced a glance back,

then wished I hadn't. The demon had bowled through most of the

morning crowd, but they looked only indignant, and not in

mortal terror from being knocked down by an ancient flesh-

eating creature. Turning my eyes forward, I noticed another

group of people standing in the way, talking and laughing and

drinking coffee. The demon's hate and hunger burned the air

close behind. There was no other way. I bolted into the busy

street--

And was almost immediately pancaked by a guy in a black

SUV who was talking on a cell phone and didn't notice the kid

that ran out in front of his car. His screeching tires filled

the space between my face and his bumper with bitter-smelling

smoke. But I didn't stop running. I wove, dodged, and coaxed

cars to stop to let me across the enormous three-lane street.




Judging from the loud screech and crash behind me, the Demon

didn't have as much luck in getting the cars to halt.

The other side of the street was just as crowded. I

stopped myself from cursing, and ducked into a nearby

passageway between two buildings.

The temperature immediately cooled as I moved into the

narrow alley. But that was the only good thing. Remember when

I said that my luck couldn't last forever? I trotted down to

the end of the alley...right into a too-high-to-jump-over

brick wall that connected the back of the two buildings into

each other and fenced off the rest of the alley. My only way

out was blocked.

And just then, the Eloko Demon's hunched, muscular form

filled the mouth of the alley. I could hear its heaving

breath, but the hot smell of its torn brown flesh incited

blood-boiling anger in me. The gem, which hadn't stirred since

the day before, began to get warm.

The demon threw its head back and roared to the sky in

triumph. And I had no idea what to do.






feeling the gem's heat in my hand and knowing that it wouldn't

be enough to save me from the demon.

My luck had completely run out. Any luck I'd built up

over the years was gone too. Staring into the demon's mouth

was like looking into an undersea cave filled with dangerous

spikes. I took a deep breath, summoning up the courage and

energy to do--well, I don't know what--when three black

daggers sprouted from the demon's head. It grasped the sides

of its head and howled, a scream that sounded entirely too

human.

"Dang, man!" A voice above me squealed in disappointment.

"Almost got him dead center. You see that, Bina?"

I risked looking above me to see where the voice was

coming from, when a girl dropped down beside me without making

a sound. She was dressed all in black: black cargo pants,

black boots, black jacket. Even her hair was jet black, and

pulled back in a really tight ponytail. She looked over at me.

Her skin was the color of milk chocolate, and her eyes were

slanted like a fox's.

"Good job, Kid. Way to herd him into this alley. No one

will see us work, now. We'll handle it from here." She nudged

me out of the way and strode toward the howling beast.

Kid?

"Dario, hit him with a thousand stings. Maleka, cover the




opening of the alley and wait for my signal."

Another thump shook the ground as one more person dropped

from the sky. I wondered where they were all falling from.

"You got it Bina," the one that had just fallen (who I

assume was Maleka) replied. She was huge, bigger than any

grown man I'd ever seen, with muscled arms and...horns where

her eyebrows should have been. She was dressed in all black

too, but where Bina was skater-chic, Maleka looked like she

was dressed for a morning jog. An under-armor t-shirt bulged

against her muscular torso, cut short at the arms to reveal

overlapping gray-green scales speckling her limbs. Strangely

enough, she wore her thick hair in an afro that she pulled

back in a puff that floated behind her head like a nappy black

cloud.

Who were these people?

Just then, the air split in a high-pitched whine, a whine

that was like the buzzing of a mosquito near my ear, only in

my soul.

A whirlwind of razor sharp daggers buzzed around the

demon, agonizing it like stinging insects. It waved its arms

like crazy trying to drive them off, but the daggers swarmed

its body, slicing bloodless cuts in its already torn flesh.

But the sight of that isn't what bothered me. The whine, the

pained scream...it sounded so...




So human.

Bina ran up to the Eloko demon, swinging her arms and

legs in a blur nearly as fast as the swarming daggers. Maleka

herded the crying demon away from the mouth of the alley,

where pedestrians tucked their heads into their chests and

hurried past.

"It's taking too long, folks!" Maleka roared. Her voice

was as rough as I imagined her scales to be. A sharp fanged

smile split her face as she broke into a slow jog toward the

demon. Bina apparently caught Maleka's plan, and somersaulted

out of the way. The blades looked like they were letting up a

bit, some of them even disappeared in small puffs of purple

smoke. The remaining daggers ushered the demon toward the

charging...whatever she was.

Maleka, her shoulders dipped low, collided with the demon

with a thick-sounding crash, and I was knocked nearly off my

feet by the force of them. The demon flew back toward the high

wall like a bullet, and when it struck the bricks it exploded

into a cloud of vomit-colored powder.

"That's the end of that," Maleka growled, dusting off her

hands like she had just done some heavy lifting. "I don't know

even know why you let twinkle-toes up there come with us."

"His daggers are the only thing that can incapacitate an

Eloko without having to move into close quarters combat. Not




everyone is as durable as you, Maleka."

The third member of the group dropped to the ground. If

Maleka was a sight because of her scales, this guy was a sight

because of his fashion sense. He was insanely tall and slim,

and wore his hair cut in a hightop fade, with the hightop part

colored bright red. Like Bina and Maleka, he was dressed in

black, but his was a black sleeveless vest with a tanktop

underneath, very tight black jeans, and black sneakers that I

had wanted but Ma had refused to buy me because they were too

expensive. Black leather fingerless gloves covered his hands,

and he wore a black and white striped scarf around his neck.

"The scarlet blunder's decided to join us landlubbers on

solid ground, huh?" Maleka growled.

"I wish you'd shut that yellow mouth of yours. Lookin'

like you been eating on highlighters over there, shorty."

Bina smiled, but it was so small I found myself doubting

that I had ever seen it.

"Shut up, Dario, you punk."

"I love how eloquent you get when I prove myself your

intellectual superior, dear heart. It's inspiring."

"Okay, you two okay," Bina said, softly. "We don't want

the Kid thinking you guys might actually get along."

Maleka reached out, grabbed Dario, and put him in a rough

headlock.




"Watch my hair, girl!" He squealed.

"Dario and I are cool people," Maleka growled. "We just

play around like this. Besides, he knows I can beat him in a

fight."

"Yo' breath would beat me before I even got close," Dario

said, sliding out of the headlock and leaping away from

Maleka's half-hearted slap. I'm sure that slap could have

destroyed a mid-sized car.

I liked that they could joke with each other like they

did. If I wasn't exhausted and hungry and trying not to

grieve, I probably would have joined in..or maybe just laughed

a little. Instead, I settled into what I hoped was a fighting

stance and said:

"Who are you guys--girls--whatever? How do I know you're

not in league with whoever sent the Eloko demon after me?"

Bina narrowed her eyes at me when I named the demon.

"Check out Colin Powell here!" Dario exclaimed. "You got

a good speaking voice, kinfolk! Work that King's english!"

"That's enough, Dario," Bina muttered. "Gideon. I know

you're tired, and hungry, and grieving--"

She was perceptive.

"--We were sent by a friend. Soridas Soloo."

I took a step back. "Mr. Soloo...? But I haven't--no one

has seen him in at least two days. Where is he? And how do I




know you are who you say you are?"

Bina sighed. "If we had wanted to kill you, why would we

have destroyed the demon? And if you felt like we were here to

kill you, why didn't you run as soon as we showed up?"

I doubt I would have made it past Maleka, but I held my

tongue.

"That doesn't answer my question! How do I know that Mr.

Soloo sent you?"

"...Soridas figured that you would react like this.

Fearing this instance, he told me to ask you if you had gotten

a chance to get yourself a muffin yet?"

The question hit me like a brick wall. I'd told Mr. Soloo

that all I'd wanted was a muffin. I'd never gotten that

muffin.

"Okay...Okay. I believe you."

"Good. I need you to come with us," Bina said, turning to

walk out of the alley. I took a few quick steps to catch up to

her.

"Where are we going?"

"Well, Kid," Dario said, throwing one of his long arms

around my shoulders, "we're going to see Soridas. He sent us

personally to pick you up. We've been all over the dang city

searching for you, man."

We got to the end of the alley, and stopped. Bina turned.






dark water balloon. He stomped out into the street, right in

our direction, and suddenly my stomach started to hurt. Maleka

nudged me with her spiny elbow and almost knocked me into the

street.

"Cool it, Kid. Don't say anything."

The officer stormed up on the group of us, the distrust

visible in his thick, greasy lips and his washed out blue eyes

underneath his heavy forehead. "Alright," he growled, "I need

to see some ID's."

I felt my heart slamming against my ribcage. Last night,

I didn't care about school, or jail, or anything. Ma was gone

and I had no other concern but to get her back. But having

found myself here, faced with something real, and yet things

that I could not dream of before today--crocodile women and

boys who can control daggers with their minds--I was scared

and ready to snitch. I guess Bina saw through me, because she

buried two of her extremely sharp fingers in my back. The pain

zapped me back to the reality of my situation.

Trust no one.

Find Soridas.

Maleka stepped forward, all of her muscle surging against

her shirt. "How dare you," she growled in a low voice. "Do I

look like a teenager?"

I watched for some sort of reaction from him, being that




he was talking to a girl who looked like she was part

crocodile, but he only wore that same hard frown above his

eyes. At Maleka's challenge, the officer's concrete gaze

cracked a little bit, but he bounced back. "You--you don't,

but I still need to see some ID. You're a group of--kids, and

it's ten AM on a school day. That's a red flag."

"I'll have you know that I am the foster parent of these

children, and I am a proponent of home schooling. These

children have never set foot in a public school!"

"I still need to--"

"I think that I will need your badge number, officer.

This is harassment, plain and simple. I don't pay taxes in

this city to be harassed by you people!"

At the mention of the chain of command, the officer's

frown shattered into a million pieces. He swept his eyes over

all of us, gave Maleka one more questioning look, then backed

off, hands raised.

"Look, not trying to cause trouble for you folks. We've

had several incidents of class cutting lately, and I'm just

trying to do my job."

"And you're not the most trusted officer in this area,

are you? Take too many liberties with your title, perhaps? I

think I'd feel really comfortable with your badge number. Just

in case we run into each other again."




The officer turned beet red, but he dug around in the

multitude of pouches and buckles on his belt until he pulled

out a glossy business card. He thrust it at Maleka with a

snarl.

"Much obliged, Officer," Maleka replied with a salute.

The truancy officer ground his teeth, but turned and stalked

away.

Dario stifled a giggle. "Showed him."

Maleka responded by flexing one of her massive arms. "And

I didn't even have to smash him."

"Not with your muscles, at least. But he looks pretty

smashed!"

"That's enough you two," Bina interrupted, hands on hips.

"We have to get to the car. Remember our mission."

"The car?" I asked.

"Duhhhh. How do you think we get around, Kid?" Dario

snaked his neck at me, looking for all the world like a living

road flare. "We can't fly, you know. Well--none of us here

can, anyway."

We moved unbothered through the emptying streets,

startled only once by a trio of ambulances that whooshed in

the direction of the Eloko demon's body.

"Are you sure you took care of the demon?" I asked

Maleka. "We wouldn't want anyone to get hurt."




Maleka shrugged. "I exploded the thing into dust. That's

all they are, basically. A little dust, a little blood, a

little magic. But I don't know everything about them--"

"They cannot reform," Bina said. "Once dissembled, the

Nyama holding them together is released into the atmosphere.

Without a mchawa--a person skilled in manipulation of nyama--

the demon will remain the dust and debris that it was formed

of."

She wasn't looking at me while explaining. It was like

she was lost in a world far away from ours. Despite that, she

never missed a step in explaining or in walking along the

dirty, cracked streets.

The shopping areas were gone now, having given way to a

long row of houses, with overgrown lawns. Litter dotted the

street in piles, complete with broken down cars as additional

decoration. A bunch of teddy bears were attached to a pole

nearby, making it look like a festive tree. Even I knew what

that meant. The shrine served as a symbol to the kind of place

we had found ourselves in. Life was hard, fast, and often

short. Ma had told me stories of her tough childhood, with her

parents--my grandparents--leaving her alone early, her having

to run from place to place to survive...she'd done her best to

make sure we didn't have to live like that.

Being here, faced with this, having to think of Ma--I




shook it off. Bina held up her hand for a halt, and we stood

sweating in front of a rusty yellow box-shaped car. The

vehicle was covered in grit and dirt, and the front hubcap was

on vacation. Bina walked around to the drivers' side door and

yanked on it. It rattled open with a loud creak and a

sprinkling of dust.

"Shotgun!" Maleka yelled, grasping on the passenger's

side door. The old metal shrieked sharply, and I we all

glanced at the door. I had to do a double-take at what I saw

reflected in the window: a tall woman with yellow-brown skin

that was as smooth as pudding, with a giant mass of black hair

pulled back into a high ball in the same style as Maleka's

hair. Her reflection was completely different. I looked at her

standing in front of me with fangs and crocodile scales. Then

back at the reflection. Then back at her...

"Hey, uh--"

"That's what everyone else sees," Maleka said before I

could get the words out of my mouth. "Those who haven't

manifested their nyama potential, or who have manifested but

don't have full control of it." She looked at me sideways,

like a curious puppy. "Come to think of it, that's what you

should be seeing. You should have seen it from jump. I wonder

why you didn't?"

"The ugly messed up your charm," Dario said, leaping into




the backseat before Maleka could swat at him. I slid in beside

him. Maleka climbed into the front passenger's seat, and

hooked her arm over the headrest in order to turn and look at

me.

"No, there's something else at play here. I just can't

figure out what. You're different somehow."

"Coming from you guys, I can't really imagine what could

I could be that is more different," I muttered. Maleka raised

an eyebrow and turned around. Seat leather groaned as Dario

shifted in his seat. A silence fell over the car, punctuated

only by Bina turning over the key and the old car rumbling to

life. Had I said something wrong?

Then I felt Dario's bony arm across my shoulders, pulling

me into a rough hug.

"Well, he's got a point, y'all!"

"True," Bina grunted as she muscled the car into gear.

The car was slow to pick up speed, and noisy, and didn't have

air conditioning or a CD player, but it was ten times better

than running through the city on foot, even with my newfound

ability to run for hours.

"So," I asked, wary of that hesitating silence again, but

remembering that when I'd asked this question before, there

was no answer, "Where are you taking me?"

"To Soridas," Bina replied, her face as tight as her grip




on the steering wheel. "I thought we already disclosed that to

you."

"But where is Mr. Soloo--Soridas?"

"He is where he is," she replied. "Just sit back and

enjoy the ride, if you can."

And so I tried. I wasn't really much for conversation

anyway. We'd left the neighborhood that the car had been

parked in far behind, but I still couldn't get the image of

the pole full of teddy bears out of my mind. Who's child had

died? And how? I'd have given myself up gladly in order to

have my Ma back where she belonged.

The gem buzzed in my pocket. It felt...reassuring, like

it believed in the three folks that had saved me, and happy

that it--that it was going to be reunited with Soridas.

Soridas kebaaya kafuno, the gem whispered to me.

Soridas. Old friend.

The four of us rumbled through the city, but we didn't

pass through any more residential areas. It was like we were

driving through the desert, with asphalt in place of sand and

the occasional house standing up like a cactus. The only thing

that was the same was the oppressive heat, especially in that

yellow car with no air conditioning. Most of the buildings

that we passed looked like factories, with tall fences and

rusty steel walls. I was almost overcome with sleepiness,




especially after surviving three attacks from things I'd never

seen before in less that twenty-four hours, but I forced

myself to stay awake.

We eventually left all the factories behind, and went

over a rise into an area that looked kind of like a woodland,

with tall trees and high grass that was desperately in need of

a cutting. The black road cut a thin strip through the hills

and grass, the heat from the day making the asphalt appear to

warp and shimmer. Hot, stale air roared through the open

windows. No one talked...it was too hot to try.

Bina steered the car one handed along the new stretch of

road. She looked like she had something really serious on her

mind, but then again, I hadn't seen her do much of anything

but scowl since she'd rescued me from the Eloko demon. Despite

her hard eyes, and tight mouth, I found myself unable to stop

looking at her. My eyes wouldn't obey my brain; I couldn't

even blink.

"We don't take kindly to staring where I'm from, Kid,"

Bina said, breaking my trance. I focused on my shoe leather

for a little while.

Everyone in the car but me was braced for impact when

Bina threw the car into a hard turn onto a patch of gravel

driveway that suddenly opened between the trees. Bina slowed

the speed, and both Maleka and Dario sat up in their seats. I




couldn't see anything but trees, trees, and more trees,

blocking out the sunlight with green and, in front of us, them

giving way to the gravel road that was barely wide enough for

the car to get through.

Then the trees stopped. They didn't gradually fade away,

they just stopped, and the tires stopped crunching gravel and

purred on concrete. We were headed into a huge steep

compound--the remnants of a factory, or many factories, all

connected by steel and glass catwalks and tunnels. Flat, gray

buildings with tin roofs were accompanied by tall iron spires

that were topped by what looked like...buckets. A thick

concrete wall encircled the complex, which was at least as

large as my school, MIC--maybe even larger. Bina guided the

care toward the only opening in the brick. Atop the wall, two

sentries decked out in black khakis, t-shirts, and combat

boots drew back strings on really huge, wooden bows. The

arrows they had pulled looked like spears, and their muscles

bulged from holding the gigantic arrows still. With their

matching bald heads, dark glasses, and attire, they could have

been twins. Even their bows looked the same.

Bina stopped the car, leaned out of the open window. "We

have returned, bearing Soridas' requested one. May we pass,

brethren?"

The two exchanged a look.




"You may pass," Sentry 1 said. The two relaxed their

arrows.

"Could those guys really have stopped a car with arrows,"

I wondered. "Even huge arrows like that?"

"Ahmad and Jamal?" Maleka said, turning as the car

lurched forward. "Oh, yeah, I wouldn't screw with them."

"Their manifestation is that they can intertwine their

nyama in an inanimate object, and then discharge it with a

thought," Dario added, sounding sort of afraid.

"What does that mean?"

"If they had gotten just one of those arrows lodged in

the car...two seconds later we would've been no more than a

stain on the asphalt," Bina said.

"They'd still be picking up pieces of us two years from

now," Dario said, reaching across me to nudge Maleka. For

once, she didn't respond. She just bit her lip and turned her

head to look out of the window. Dario glanced at me, raised

his eyebrows, and shrugged.

The car jerked as Bina forced it to stop and wrenched it

over into a space that looked like it had been carved out of

the nearby concrete building especially for the car to fit

into. Bina and Maleka climbed out of the car without speaking.

I glanced at Dario, and he shook his head hopelessly. I pushed

the door open. Dario led me around the back of the car.




Bina was standing at the front of the car waiting for me,

but for once, I wasn't only thinking of her. Standing there,

near the front of the car, wearing a loose-fitting , pale

orange linen shirt and a pair of pants made of the same

material, was Mr. Soloo. He spread his arms wide, his black

skin shining against the soft color of his clothes.

"Mister Cochran," he said, smiling like he was happy to

be greeting a long lost friend, "I'm glad you finally decided

to join us. Come in, come in. Have a bite, sit a spell. I'll

answer any questions that you hav--"

I couldn't hear the rest of what Mr. Soloo's greeting. My

whole world shut off all at once, like someone cutting the

power to a television. Darkness, and sleep, came hard and

fast.




CHAPTER NINE

Untitled Document

I knew that someone had taken the gem from me

because my sleep was dreamless. Not being able to feel the

soft, pulsing heat of it was surprisingly frightening to me.

The green stone and I had been inseparable for the past few

days, and I knew that it was tied to whatever it was that I

had found myself in. I also knew that it would, in its own

crazy way, show me what my next move would be.

But it was gone. And without it, I didn't know what to

do. I knew who had taken it, though. The culprit's first name

began with "B" and rhymed with "Bina".

The other thing that tipped me off that she had not only

taken my gem, but had gone through my stuff? She was sitting

in whatever room that I had been carried to, obviously

watching me sleep so that she could report when I woke up.




I'm not even sure that where Mr. Soloo had his people

carry me after I'd fallen out could be really described as a

room. It was more like a concrete and steel box, large enough

for me to stretch both of my arms out wide, but not more than

that. One lonely cot hugged the wall farthest from the door;

this is where I had slept. There was only one window, right

above the head of the cot, but it only looked into another

room. At least the other room had windows, though.

I pushed myself up off the bed and yawned. Bina sat

across from me on a metal school, again wearing all black,

with her straight black hair pulled back into a ponytail. I

scooted up to the bed and sat forward--That's when I noticed

that Bina didn't just take my gem, she'd taken all my clothes

too, and put me in some kind of weird loincloth-tunic mashup.

All my scratched and cuts had been washed and dressed too,

which would have required someone to look over my entire body

with a whole lot of care. I turned my head and coughed so that

she wouldn't notice my face flushing at the thought of her

seeing my unclothed naked body while she undressed and

redressed me.

"Good, you're awake," she said, like she was reading the

instructions on math homework. "Soloo instructed me to bring

you to him as soon as you woke up."

She went to the thick steel door and pulled it open with




barely any effort. The morning sun from the other room played

on the dark strands of her hair, making her look like she had

a halo.

"Where is everyone," I asked. "Where are my clothes? And

the rest of my things?"

Bina waved me out of the door before answering.

"In the mornings, we meet in the common room of this

section and break our nightly fast together. That is where you

will find everyone. And your clothes were tattered and dirty

beyond repair. We had to burn them."

We exited the room, and came out into a long, open

corridor between rows of the same kind of concrete and steel

building. Bina walked off without a word, and I followed in

her wake.

"Did you guys find...anything else in my clothes and

stuff?"

"I do not know what was found," she replied. "Soloo did

not allow any of us to touch your clothes. He undressed you

and tended to your wounds himself."

"Oh." That wasn't much better. "Why do you call Mr.

Soloo, just 'Soloo'?"

Bina finally broke her stride to look at me. "Why should

I not call him that. It is what he is."

We walked the rest of the way to the common area in




silence.

I can tell you what I wasn't expecting when we got to the

common room, and that was seeing Mr. Soloo seated on a

concrete floor in the middle of a huge room with four steel

posts and no walls, surrounded by at least a hundred and fifty

black kids of varying ages, hunched over and eating what

looked like oatmeal and eggs from little wooden dishes that

were a cross between plates and bowls, laughing and talking

with the ones closest to him. As soon as we crossed into the

room, Bina disappeared. I didn't have time to look for her

before Mr. Soloo had found his way through the crowd, and

slapped me hard on my shoulder. He looked at me very

carefully, as if he was afraid that I would shatter into a

million tiny pieces.

"Gideon. I'm glad that you have woken up. You haven't

eaten. Do you want some breakfast?"

My stomach gurgled in response, before I could even shut

it up. I wasn't in the mood for anything that looked like eggs

and oatmeal, but I hadn't had a complete meal in days.

"What's on the menu?" I asked.

"Farofi or Ógí, and we have Nambo cake to go along with.

Coffee, Tea, or Milo for drink." He placed his hand on my back

and led me forward. "Come, sit with me. I'd like you to meet

everyone.




"Friends," Mr. Soloo said, his voice rising, "This is a

very dear friend of mine. His name is Gideon, and I've spent a

lot of time looking for him. I hope that he will stay with us,

but until he decides, I want you all to welcome him into our

suwo, our home. Sunda?"

A dark-skinned young woman with her hair cut into a short

topknot popped up from a group of kids seated nearby, and

trotted over to us.

"Yes, Soloo? What can I do for you?"

"Not for me, Sunda. For my friend. Will you show Gideon

where to get his food, please?"

"Yes, Soloo." She said, bowing. Then, she turned to me,

her big brown eyes full of wonder and rainbows. "Follow me

please, Gideon."

As we walked through the crowd, I took the chance to

glance at some of the kids, when I wasn't avoiding their

stares. I spotted Dario, who wiggled his fingers at me and

winked, and Maleka, who only smiled as she handed out more

bowls to a group of younger kids. Bina sat in a makeshift nest

high above the floor, and I imagined that she never stopped

scanning the crowd. One young man sat far away from everyone,

and as I passed nearby his raised his eyes to regard me. His

stare was so sharp that it could have cut me if he had wanted

it to. I frowned, nodded, and looked away.




"That's Zambri," Sunda said. "He's been her a while, but

that doesn't make him any less weird. He's Soloo's second in

command. You'll meet the rest of us soon, I'm sure. Where are

you from, Gideon?"

"I'm from here."

"This city? Really? I only just got here when a retrieval

squad came to get me. I'm from Toronto."

Retrieval squad? Then it clicked. "Canada? Wow. Yeah, I'm

from here." I followed Sunda into a large back room. "Can you

tell me what this place is?"

"No, I'm sorry. Soloo has forbidden us to speak to you

about anything before he does. You're tall. Did you know

that?"

"I was...slightly aware, yes."

We finally made it to a kitchen area, where a we caught a

skinny boy and a tall girl with a poofy afro the size of the

world's largest pumpkin pushed up in the corner between two

huge cast iron vats full of steaming porridge, kissing each

other like they knew the world would be ending tomorrow. The

brick walls were covered with cabinets and cupboards that

might have served as soundproofing, which is probably why we

didn't hear them slurping on each other from down the hall.

Out of respect for their activities I turned my head, but

Sunda rushed right in, jabbing her hands very precisely




between the bodies of the two.

"Ariele! Jason! You two can't be serious."

Jason at least had the nerve to be ashamed. He studied

the floor like it was his best friend, and did his best to try

to blend in with one of the pots, which was hard because he

was the same color as the beige porridge that everyone was

eating. Ariele just wiped her mouth and smirked.

"What's up, Sunda?"

"You're supposed to be handling breakfast, Jason! And

you--" her finger shot out at Ariele with such fury that I

fully expected a bolt of lightning to blast out and burn the

two of them to ashes--"Ariele, you are supposed to be

recycling the leftovers and handling the dishes... and making

sure that Jason stays on task, not slurping on his face!"

"Can't help it that he's cute," Ariele said, shrugging.

Jason's ears flushed red. Sunda made a sound that can only be

described as a cross between a cough and a disgruntled snort.

Then she jumped, as if she'd remembered why we'd come into the

kitchen in the first place.

"This is Gideon," she said, pulling me forward.

"Hi," I greeted them. Jason nodded his head in the

universal gesture of, "What's up." Ariele stepped forward,

looking directly into my eyes.

"You're different," She said, frowning. She flicked hair




out of her face, and walked off.

"What's her deal?" I asked.

"Ariele's a wing thief." Jason said, coming out from the

pot's shadow. "She's the freest of free spirits, because she's

used to flying. You're the first person that she's ever called

'different'. Congratulations."

I didn't feel like I'd won a prize or anything.

"Move out of the way," Sunda snapped, physically pushing

Jason aside. She grabbed a huge wooden ladle from behind the

pot with one hand, while--get this--stretching her arm across

the room to grab one of the wooden plate/bowl combinations

that everyone was eating out of from a cupboard built into the

far wall. Sunda shoved the bowl into Jason's hands, then

gripped the ladle and stood in front of the two huge vats.

"Farófi or Ógí?, She asked.

"Ummm...Ógí?"

"Great." She dipped the ladle into a vat.

"So, was that stretching thing you did...was that your--"

I tried to remember the word I'd heard "--your manifestation?"

I asked Sunda.

"Yep. I'm malleable. Except when I don't want to be."

"Which is pretty often," Jason said.

Without turning to look at him, she kicked him in his

backside. Jason stepped forward just enough to catch the glob




of stiff Ógí that she dropped into his bowl. Some of the

porridge plopped out, splashing across his t-shirt. He made a

disgusted sound, but didn't move the bowl an inch. After

stirring the huge vat, Sunda grabbed the bowl from Jason,

shoved it at me, and stretched again to grab a reddish colored

biscuit from a nearby basket.

"Nambo cake," she explained, flipping the biscuit into my

dish. "Now let's go. Soloo is expecting you."

When we got back to the huge common area, everyone except

Mr. Soloo and about five or six people had gone away. It was

strange to see the place empty after it had previously been so

full of life. The low hum of conversation from Mr. Soloo and

his group of people drifted across the empty space. I thought

I heard someone say my name, and I stopped cold. It took a

gentle push from Sunda to get me going again. She moved around

beside me, and stared up at me with her wide brown eyes.

"I know that it's scary, having everything you know being

taken from you and just being dropped into a new situation.

But look at it like this: You've moved off the path, and now

you're beginning a brand new trail. It's gonna be hard, sure,

because you're constantly thinking about what you lost...but

eventually, you get used to where your trail takes you...to

your new surroundings."

Her words were so profound that I had to stop and stare




at her for a moment. My admiration must have been very

obvious, because she kind of smiled and shrugged and hid her

face. Between being attacked and chased and rescued, I hadn't

really had a chance to just sit and think about the weight of

what'd happened. My entire world had been running on fumes,

and I was in danger of shutting down. But Sunda's words had

propped me up, just a little.

"Thank you, Sunda. That's actually exactly how I feel. I

hadn't had time to even think about it, and you got me read on

the first try."

"What can I say? I'm talented. Plus, you'll find that a

lot of us share that same story. Now hurry on, Soloo's not

going to wait much longer. I have to get going. Good luck!"

And she ran away, leaving me alone.

Mr. Soloo was still standing around, though a couple of

members of his congregation had vanished. I saw Bina, and

Maleka, their backs to me. Mr. Soloo was in the middle of a

speech--I recognized it from seeing him make the same wide arm

movements and sharp pointing gestures in front of class. Mid-

speech, he caught me standing and watching him speak. At least

I could say that I noticed that he was genuinely happy to see

me; a broad white smile spread across his face.

"Gideon! Join us!" He said, waving me over. I never

realized how empty an empty room was until that moment. Maleka




smiled a small smile at me, with her fangs tiny points below

her lip. Bina didn't move a muscle, not even to look at me.

The guy that Sunda had called Zambri stood up a little

straighter and narrowed his eyes. A huge dude with a small

goatee stared at me as I walked slowly toward the group. While

he stared, he absently lifted a slab of metal to his mouth and

took a big bite out of it. He saw me staring and grinned. Mr.

Soloo spread muscly arms wide, I almost expected him to pick

me up and squeeze me.

"Gideon. I've been waiting on you to wake up. I'm glad

you made it. It's good to see you."

As nervous as I was, I hadn't forgotten what happened

outside of MIC, with Rashid. "Where did you disappear to?"

"I had to make myself scarce. There would be too many

questions, too much probing into my life. I couldn't have that

happen. As far as this city is concerned, Soridas Soloo is

either dead or a missing person."

"But why? And what is this? And where are we?" I felt

like all of the walls in the world were falling down on top of

me.

Mr. Soloo made an absent gesture, and everyone who was

standing around, including me, snapped to attention. "That is

why I called you to me, Gideon. I am going to answer your

questions. You all, Gideon is coming with me. He is a very




special guest. I expect you all to remember what you've been

taught, and treat him as such."

Each of them murmured some sort of assent. Maleka slapped

me on the back with her trademark disregard for my internal

organs.

"You are all dismissed to your tasks for the day. Bina,

await my summons, please."

Bina nodded and led the group away. Zambri turned his

head slightly, and I could feel him glaring at me out of the

corners of his eyes. I shook my head, and exhaled a big

breath.

"I was wondering how long you were going to hold that

breath."

"What's his deal, Mr. Soloo?"

"One," Mr. Soloo said, holding up a finger, "Here, I'm

just Soloo. Two, he has the same problem a lot of these

children have. Unlucky enough to be born to the wrong parents

during a terrible time on this world."

"Alright, Soloo. Enough games." He raised an eyebrow.

"Tell me what's going on here."

"I will overlook your tone, and write it off as a

combination of stress and hysteria. I know that you are owed

some answers, Gideon. And, since...since there is no one here

that knows the whole story, the task falls to me. I wish that






And here it was. Here's what I was dreading. I knew it

was coming, and so did my body. Rage and depression welled in

my stomach, causing sharp pains in my gut. I hissed my hurt

and grabbed my middle.

"Oh! Are you okay, Gideon?"

"I'm fine. I'm good." Soloo, either out of fear or

concern, had reached out and gripped my shoulder. I shrugged

it off. A flash of purple buzzed in the corner of my vision.

"I said I'm good. That's just--the experience is really fresh,

you know?"

"I know," Soloo said, shoulders drooping a little. "I

know very well."

I recounted everything that happened after our

little...party outside of MIC. Hospitalization, Principal

Heffwetter's and Mr. Piner's encounter with my mother. The

uncomfortable drive home. Our visitor at the top of the

stairs. My mother saving me, and her subsequent disappearance.

I guess the experience was pretty painful, still, but just

telling a familiar face about what I had gone through the past

few hours dulled the sting a little bit. As I finished my

story, Soloo stared at me with what looked like admiration,

and pity.

"I am so sorry, Gideon. We had no way to know that Markel

would make his move so quickly. I'd thought that he'd given up




direct assaults long ago, but then again, you are a special

case."

"Why? Why am I special? The girl--what was her name?

Ariele, yeah...Ariele said the same thing. No, wait. She said

that I was 'different'. I feel normal, I look normal, all

things considered."

"You are anything but normal, my friend. Let me ask you,

do you remember What happened between Rashid and myself?

Outside of school?"

I definitely remembered. Rashid raising zombies from the

ground, Mr. Soloo, whoops, Soloo taking out all of them in the

amount of time that it would take me to eat a potato chip. I

definitely remembered.

"Yeah," I said. "You went full Rambo on some zombies.

That wasn't the weirdest part of my day, honestly."

"So, the way I moved, the things you saw Rashid do. Would

you consider those normal?"

"Not in the slightest."

"Because they are not. Gideon, you are more that just a

young man. You have the distinct luxury of being born to two

of the most powerful...people in the history of this planet.

Your mother is Sembe ata Ausir ata Fatu n'in Adama, one of the

most fearsome military generals of the last millenium."

I was drawing a blank. Military General? My mom was a




woman who made me crafts out of wood from her garden and

couldn't cook anything more complicated than ramen. Of course,

there was the matter of the spear that she kept in her trunk.

And Ma was born in 1967--that was nowhere near a thousand

years old.

"I know that this is hard to swallow, but it is truth.

Every word. You know your father as Adam. That is the name

that he took while living life as a civilian in these states.

In truth, your father is named Ausir, the Spear of the

Morning, the Great Slayer of Lions, The Spiller of the Blood

Oceans. Your father, Ausir, has been the physical embodiment

of War on this planet for the past four thousand years--that

is, until he disappeared."

If I drew a blank on what Soloo was saying about Ma, I

straight up collapsed in my mind at what he was saying about

my dad. Four thousand years? And if he was so special, why had

he dipped out on Ma and I?

"You probably feel that your father abandoned you while

you were a small child, but this is not the case. No, not at

all." Soloo paused a moment. The steely expression that he

normally wore cracked a little bit, only slightly.

"Your father loved you and Sembe more than anything on

this earth. He left you those years ago because he had to

steel himself for what was probably the most devastating war




that he would ever fight. Your father had to go to war with

his own blood brother."

I coughed. "When Markel was in our house, he kept

referring to himself as my uncle. That's what he meant?

"Yes, that is what he meant. But that is not all,

Gideon."

"What next," I said, more sharply that I meant,

"Bigfoot's my great aunt? The Loch Ness Monster brought my mom

and dad fruitcake every Christmas?"

"Hardly," Soloo said, waving my sarcasm away like it was

an annoying fly. "The fact of the matter is, I'm one hundred

percent sure that your mother didn't perish at Markel's hands.

Yes, that's right, Gideon. Your mother is still alive."

I really hit the floor then.




CHAPTER TEN

Untitled Document

"Your mother is still alive, Gideon. And if the

Great Ones' will be done, we will find her soon."

If I hadn't been scared of breaking my finger

against Soloo's muscly chest, I'd have poked him in it.

"That's a pretty bad joke, Soloo. How could you possibly know

about whether my mother is still alive?"

"The same way that you have, Gideon. Why were you

constantly moving? Why didn't you break down? Because you

know, deep in your own heart, that your mother is still alive,

that she's still fighting, because you know how much of a

fighter she is. Don't you?"

I could only nod.

"And you can feel her, you can feel a...a warmth that

tells you that she is still alive, that pulls on you ever so




slightly, and lets you know that you shouldn't abandon hope

yet."

"...How do you know?"

"The pull of nyama," he tapped his head, then his chest,

"you feel it here and here, especially when emotional response

is tied to someone that you're connected to...It's why you--

why I--haven't given up on your father after all these years.

Everything meaningful to us--and some things that are not--are

connected in this way. They're still out there. I can feel

them. You can too. "

I could. So help me, I could, and I did. I believed

Soloo. I believed him because he believed himself, and because

I'd learned to trust him long before this. He'd helped me out

when no one else would.

"And you say you'll help me find my Ma? How? We can't

just rely on a feeling."

"Well, I studied under Markel for a long time. The art of

hunting, of tracking, of finding things that we wish found is

something that I am very good at. The information and

technology of this age only assists in this."

"But Markel took her. Are you better at finding things

than Markel is at hiding them?"

"Alone, no. But with all of you here? I think I have a

fair chance, at that."




Steel, iron, and glass buildings swept out into the

midmorning. This wall-less room was stark, but had an air of

familiarity, of homeliness. I almost felt like I should just

sit on the floor and watch the day roll past. Hot breezes

swept into the room, carrying the scents of oil and people and

plants. I stepped toward one of the open areas.

"What is all this? Who are all these people? Who are you,

really?"

Soloo sighed. "I am what I've always been: A teacher. An

ally. The details of anything past that are perhaps best left

for another day. We've had enough emotional turmoil and the

sun is steadily marching, marching. Suffice it to say that I

am very old, very strong, and very rich because of the first

two."

Had to love his humility. "But...you can tell me how? I

mean, am I just to assume that I've suddenly fallen in with a

gang of immortal vampires or something?"

Soloo made a weird whistling sucking noise with his

teeth. "What you say, huh? Vampires? Nobody here is the blame

for vampires. But no. We--that would be myself, your mother,

your father, Markel, and precious few other--are Imaniya--in

this language, that means, 'those with faith'. We found what

had determined itself to be locked away, and we were rewarded

for it...with immortality and other things. Some of us call




this a curse, to live forever and watch the world around us

burn and crumble. Me, I say let's douse the world. But ah, I

am old and still holding on to ideals." His eyes sparkled.

"Come, let me give you your gem back. I suspect you'd been

wondering what happened to it."

"Yeah, Bina said you took it off my when you undressed

me."

"But I didn't undress you. Bina did."

I think that I blushed every color in the visible

spectrum right then. Soloo fell into laughter, a big belly

laugh that made him stream tears. When he was done, he wiped

his eyes and huffed a big breath.

"You've got to stop being so serious, Gideon. Relax!

We're family, you and I! Now, follow me. Before I give you

your gem back, we've gotta take the grand tour."

"Sure thing."

I fell in alongside Soloo as he led me out of the wall-

less room. What looked like a run of the mill rusty abandoned

factory on the outside was more like a beehive on the inside.

Soloo had built a community of kids who ran different sectors

of the place with real efficiency. We walked along the gray

brick paths between medium sized units that housed various

workshops: a smithy, a place where disused metal, scrap, and

trash was crushed and buried, even a huge generator room that




clicked and whirred and hummed and served to keep the huge

hideaway off the grid, at least partially.

"I'm from a time well before this one," Soloo said as he

led me through the units and introduced me to the kids that

ran them, "a time where all you had was your family unit, your

tribe. The tribe handled everything internally: food

production, security, government, religion. In recent years,

beyond the control of myself, or anyone like me, that model

has changed. Some for the better...some for the worse."

"We are nearly self sufficient, in the fashion of a true

boma from my youth. Men live in one area, women in another."

A freestanding series of glass and plastic structures

glittered in the morning sun. Shadowy forms, obscured by the

light, moved through blocky, globby shapes that stuck up from

the ground. Between each structure, large pens housed

strangely comforting rows of cabbage, greens, green beans, and

other leafy vegetables. The smell of burning wood from the

smithy mixed with the scent of earth and plants. Sunda waved

at me from one of the patches of beans, a huge smile on her

face.

"So," I asked, "is this...Boma...I mean, I was thinking

earlier, this place is entirely self sufficient, right?"

"Not entirely. We only grow what can be farmed

successfully in this climate and soil. We still have to leave




the compound to procure certain supplies, like meat and tools

for repairs."

"Still, it's pretty awesome to think that there was a

group of people just living in an abandoned factory in one of

the poorest parts of the city. How do you stay hidden? Has

anyone ever just stumbled in and then lost their mind because,

oh hey--here's a mostly self sufficient community hidden in an

abandoned maze of metal?"

Soloo chuckled, turning to me. "We have our ways. Ah, we

are here."

We had stopped in front of a heavy wooden door. It was a

pretty normal looking by all accounts, except it had D.

Brinner stenciled across the front. Still, any notion that it

was a normal door was pretty much squashed by the fact that I

could sense the magic surrounding it, thick and heavy like a

winter fog. I glanced at Soloo.

"A small precaution," He explained. For a split second,

he glowed gold, and I knew the fear of the gazelle chased by a

pride of hungry lions, of the mouse being dive-bombed by the

hawk. Soloo flashed ten feet tall, then back. The door clicked

open. "Here we are."

Inside was a disappointingly normal office, with a wooden

desk, a rolling chair, and an empty coat rack with a long

wooden walking stick tipped over next to it. A small trophy




case against the wall held an assortment of items: a miniature

cane, several small wooden carvings, and a central statue

covered by red ropes, more red-clothed miniature figurines,

and the pelt of a leopard. And there, right next to the

shrine, was my gem. As soon as I made eye contact with it, it

began to glow with a soft brilliance.

"Well," Soloo said, "It looks like someone is happy to

see you."

I'd be lying if I tried to say that I wasn't happy to see

the gem, too. There must have been something wrong with me, to

make the kind of strange connection to a rock that I had

gotten from a dream, but at that moment, I couldn't think of

anything but how much I'd missed its reassuring weight in my

pocket. Soloo strode over to the cabinet, opened the glass

doors, and handed me the gem.

"So, where'd you come across something like that?" Soloo

prodded. "I haven't seen one of those in a few centuries."

"It came to me in a dream," I replied, holding the gem

gently in both hands. Soloo raised an eyebrow, then shrugged.

"Everything happens for a reason. And, now is the time

when the old ways are needed most. I never intended on keeping

your artifact this long. Usually, niyo-iwe--ah, soul gems--are

keyed to a specific person, and keeping them away from that

person proves disastrous to both the person and the gem."




I could've written a book on that.

"The nyama signature coming from it feels very

familiar...I can't place it, but I feel like I should be able

to. Ah, well." He rounded the desk and flopped into the chair

behind it, spinning around once before steadying himself and

locking his golden eyes on mine.

"Here's the short of it: Markel, my former master and my

former friend, has been killing or kidnapping those of us like

him. Your mother is only the latest victim in a series of

Markel's crimes against us. I also believe that he's directly

behind the disappearance of your father. I don't know what his

game is yet, but I do know that he's up to something big, and

all of these smaller events are connected." Soloo steepled his

hands. "Gideon, if you'd have us, I'd like to officially

welcome you to the Imaniya Kanandi. We are a group that works

directly in opposition to Markel's plans by creating

safehouses for imaniya and the children of imaniya...but,

since I'm the only one of the original group of imaniya left,

I guess we're really just working for the children of the

original imaniya who've been killed or captured. The thing is,

Markel's going after those second generation folk too. You,

Bina, and a few others are some of the only second generation

left. The rest here are third generation."

"Wait, Soloo, wait. You've been throwing a lot of stuff




at me. Imaniya. You told me what the word means, but you still

have not told what you are, and how you live forever, and--and

how you can do kung fu and glow gold."

"Well, the telling of that story would take the better

part of the year. And besides--" he gestured at the gem, "--I

don't want to interfere with what's already going on. Just

know that, long ago, your mother, your father, Markel, and I,

along with another group of companions did the impossible and

found what scholars argued didn't exist...and that changed our

lives forever."

"But--" and then the gem flared up, burning my hands. I

decided to abandon that line of questioning. "So, do I have

any options? I mean, I could go back out into the world and

try to find my Ma, right?"

"You could."

"And what would be the chances of my success?"

"With no direction, no training, no help? Slim to none."

"So I pretty much have to stay here with you guys if I

want to find my Ma."

"No, Gideon. I'd never try to force you to do anything.

But, my respect for your mother, and love for your father,

would make it difficult for me to let you willingly put

yourself into danger. You're being hunted. You are the second

generation only child of two of the most powerful imaniya to




ever exist. Markel wants you very badly."

"For what it's worth, I'd like to talk to him for a

minute, too."

Soloo grinned. "I see Adam's restraint wasn't lost on

you. For a minute, I thought you'd only gotten Sembe's

stubbornness. I swear, that woman's father was an elephant."

For a second, I had a vision of granddad elephant reading

me a story from a rocking chair in front of a fire. What was

crazy is how scared I got when I realized that granddad

elephant was a possibility.

"Hopefully we'll both get a chance to talk to him. But,

if you do stay with us, I promise to give you the training and

skills to not only defend yourself against whatever Markel

sends against you, but to actually go on the offensive when

it's time."

"I'd like that. I'd really like that. Okay, Soloo. I'm

in. I'll stay, but only until we find my Ma. We'll decide how

much further along we'll go after that."

"That's fair." Soloo stood up and extended his hand. I

took it and tried to match his grip. "Welcome to Imaniya

Kanandi, Gideon. We fight to make this place safe for us, and

live within the principles that the Great Ones have set for

our kind."

"Thanks. So, what happens now?"




"Well, our retrieval squads got quite a few children

besides you, so we're going to have a welcome tonight. Then

tomorrow, we'll start your training...hopefully you won't hate

all of us at the end of this."

I pretended that the big lump forming in my stomach was

excitement, and not fear.

Over the next hour, Soloo and I went around the boma

compound solidifying my training schedules and showing me

where I'd be going. It was cool that I got to choose what I

wanted to do, and I picked out planting, tracking (there was a

lot of forest behind the compound to work in), and scrivening.

Soloo nodded at what I picked, like he'd known what I was

gonna choose all along. Additionally, everyone had to do two

hours of combat training every day. One hour of armed training

in the morning before breakfast, and an hour of unarmed

training after lunch. We also had free time available to mix

and mingle, an hour of reflective meditation time, and group

time in the evenings where Soloo would do the same kinds of

housekeeping and teaching stuff that he did as a history

teacher at MIC. In fact, working out my schedule in the boma

compound felt a lot like working out a schedule for high

school. I wondered how much of this was intentional on Soloo's

part.

My tour ended a little abruptly with Soloo and I standing




in front of the room that I'd woke up in earlier that day. The

sun was dipping behind the horizon, and the sky was a bunch of

crazy shades of red and orange.

"Inside, you'll find an appropriate change of clothes.

There is a shower in the next building over. Our welcome

ceremony starts right after sundown. After you change, come to

the common area...it's the place where we had breakfast this

morning."

"I got you."

"I can smell the worry on you, boy. Stop it. Everything

will be fine. Now get dressed. I think that you'll like our

welcome." Soloo smiled, and turned away from me, leaving me

staring at his broad back.

The door slid open silently as I pushed on it, and closed

just as quiet. Someone had taken care to put an electric lamp

in the room, and it pulsed a small ball of light into the

darkening cube. A pair of light trousers and tunic not unlike

the ones that Soloo had worn lay across the bed, only these

were bright green instead of pale orange. Judging by the small

square of red-orange light showing through the window, I

didn't have much time to get ready. A quick sniff of my

armpits and clothes confirmed that I didn't have too much funk

on me; just a little bit from the day, along with the smell of

soil and grass and metal-smoke. All in all, I enjoyed the




scent, so I pulled off the loaner clothes that Soloo had given

me and slid into the new tunic and trousers.

If there was a way to show you what falling into a cloud

was like, I'd have to give you a set of those clothes first.

They looked like they'd be a bit plastic-y and uncomfortable,

but they were some of the softest things that I'd ever worn.

As I twirled around in glee, my foot brushed something under

the bed. I knelt and spotted a pair of white slipper-looking

footies under the bed. Those felt like clouds too.

Night time was falling over the city, and the compound,

like a heavy blue blanket. When I opened the door to leave, I

was shocked by how different the place seemed at night. Little

lanterns and sconces had been hung at intervals throughout the

buildings, making the factory look like a reflection of the

sky The scent of food and the sounds of drums and laughter

floated to my ears on the night breeze. I caught myself

tapping my foot to the beat of the drums, and stopped.

"Yo! Look who it is!" Dario called out from behind me as

he draped his arm around my shoulders. His hightop was golden

orange tonight. "What up new kid, are you ready?"

I wasn't. "What's this welcome ceremony gonna be like?"

"You know, we're gonna stick out our butts and our

tongues, and yell at the moon. At the end, we throw you in a

pot with chicken broth and--ow!"




Maleka had come out of nowhere and pinched Dario's free

arm. "Stop being an idiot, Dario. Wow, Gideon, you look

great!" She winked and smiled at me, and despite the fact that

she had yellow eyes and fangs, I blushed.

"Thanks. Maybe you can answer my question, since Dario

obviously can't"

"Oh, so it's like that?" Dario teased.

"Pay the idiot no mind. It really is just a welcome

ceremony." We started walking. Maleka's claws clicked against

the floor. "We swear you in to the Imaniya Kanandi with a

song, then a dance that honors the Great Ones, and then we all

eat together. There's music and dancing and fun. And through

it all, we're honoring your decision to join up with us. I

remember at mine, Nathan and Soloo wrestled, and Soloo threw

Nathan across the room. It was great."

"And you give a speech, too," Dario volunteered.

"Please tell me he's lying," I said.

"Nope," Maleka replied. "Soloo didn't tell you? You have

to speak the words of friendship and accept our welcome. It's

tradition."

Of course Soloo didn't tell me. He didn't tell me on

purpose. I didn't know whether to love or hate the man.

We had gotten close enough for be to be able to

distinguish individual drum patterns. There was a big, loud




talking drum that someone with strong arms had to be on, in

order to match the big drum's enormous boom. Running around

between the legs of the big boomer was the little quick

tapping drum, that someone had to be using a stick on in order

to keep up with its zippy energy. Then there were the

standards, I'd say they were infantry, if the drums were an

army. They were a constant underlying rhythm, woody and

stubborn, supporting the rest of the drums and giving them

room to do their shining. Various stringed instruments lent

their twang to the melee, and someone was even playing a

trumpet in tune to the rest of the music.

Between the smell of spiced meat and the knocking of the

drums that was buzzing through my limbs, I was starting to

care less and less about a speech. Then we walked back into

the common area and that thought just went completely away.

The room was PACKED. I don't know whether half of the

people around there had hidden away during breakfast, or

whether the dim orange lantern lighting in the room made it

look more full than it actually was, but either way there were

lots of people. Every eye was locked onto the pack of drummers

that sat in the front. Three of them, male, shirtlessly

glistened red-black in the light. The two women that rounded

them out wore loose shifts that exposed their stomachs, and

wooden beads around their heads, wrists, and ankles. The two




guys on the long gourd guitar things wore long, loose robes

that tied over one shoulder, and the kid on the trumpet wore a

neat little button down shirt, a skirt, and ballet slippers.

All in all, it was the best music I'd ever heard.

Maleka and Dario waved goodbye as they left me, and Soloo

approached in their wake, all smiles and dark skin.

"I'm glad you decided to come, I thought that you

wouldn't!" I could barely hear him over the drums.

"Yeah," I replied, "I wanted to see what all of this

would be about."

"It's all for you guys, the ones who've decided to join

us! Come on, we've prepared a special place for you."

Soloo led me through the semicircular rows of the people

seated on the ground, most of them looking to be teens my age.

Some of them smiled, some nodded grimly, and others stared up

into my eyes with no emotion or concern. I saw Zambri huddled

away, exchanging whispers with Bina, who looked at me like I

was a barnacle underneath her boot as I passed. I raised a

hand in greeting. She raised an eyebrow, and turned her face

away from me.

"Watch your step," Soloo commanded, right before I would

have smashed my foot against the edge of a stage that had been

raised in the middle of the floor. Either it was a recent

addition, or my memory had gotten worse. The drummers and




musicians were beating and pounding and twanging right by me,

their music penetrating every ounce of my being and making me

forget the epic dismissal that I had just gotten from Bina.

There were three short stools on the stage, each of them

with long, flat tops and intricate designs cut into the wood:

peacocks and long, stylized faces. Along the front edge of the

stage was a gourd, a wooden platter filled with what looked

like earth and vegetables, and several small multicolored

shrine figurines like the one that I'd seen in Soloo's office.

Soloo gestured that I sit on one of the short stools, so I

did, and I planted my feet firmly against the floor so that I

wouldn't lose my balance and tip over backwards. This close to

the musicians, I felt like I could run a marathon or slay a

huge beast in an epic battle. Two other kids balanced on the

stools next to me on the stage: a skittish looking, dark

brown boy and a girl with an athletic build who wore

sweatpants and stylish tennis shoes. I nodded at both of them,

and they returned the greeting. The crowd of kids and teens in

front of me looked like a sea of different shades of brown,

and for some reason, I wanted to smile. These were my people.

Had I been looking for them all along?

"Friends," Soloo began, raising his hand. The music

creaked to a halt, and all the murmuring stopped. Suddenly, I

could feel the weight of all the eyes on me. Soloo picked up a




gourd next to his feet, and began to talk, settling into his

old teaching rhythm. "We've gathered today, alike in spirit

and intent. It is only through the blessing of the Great Ones

that we've made it this far, and to them we give thanks and

glory."

"A blessing to the Great Ones," the crowd replied

heartily. Everyone gathered up small cups and held them high.

Soloo did the same with his gourd, poured a stream of the

clear liquid onto the contents of the platter, then took a

long drink. Everyone else in the crowd took a sip along with

him. He then passed the gourd to the boy, who put his lips to

the gourd and took a sip. As the he swallowed the liquid, he

made a face like he had just drank cough medicine. The girl

took the gourd from him, examined it, then held it above her

lips and let the liquid fall into her open mouth.

As the gourd came to me, I could smell the faint scent of

peaches, and something harsher. I put the gourd to my lips,

took a sip, and fought the urge to cough as liquid fire

streamed down my throat. All the while I could feel Soloo's

eyes on me. I finished the drink, then handed the gourd back

to Soloo, who wore a big grin. Against the warmth spreading

through my limbs and blurring my vision, I could see smiled

peppered among the people in the crowd. The music exploded

back into life, and several people leapt up, dancing and




celebrating in time with the chorus of drums and strings.

"To the new three, who have seen fit to place their faith

in the smallest of us and the largest of us!" Soloo exclaimed

over the music. "May none of us ever fail them!"

The crowd erupted in celebration. I allowed myself a

small smile, but I didn't fail to notice the solemn look that

settled across Soloo's face.




CHAPTER ELEVEN

Untitled Document

Training started hard and fast the next morning.

Sunda popped up at my door before the sun rose, and refused to

leave until I showered and put on the clothes she'd brought

for me: a loose cotton shift and short trousers of a similar

material. Thankfully, she didn't opt to follow me into the

shower. She tossed me an apple and a flat, still-warm cake of

bread, and then led me out into the new day. We chatted a bit

as she led me to early combat training, which took place in

one of the outer compound buildings. The morning was clear and

crisp, the sky colored a light bluish gray from the sun

peeking over the horizon. Sunda talked a lot about herself,

and about the life she'd left behind in Canada. As she dropped

me at the combat training area, she patted me on my arm.

"This will probably be much harder than anything you've




done lately," She murmured. "Are you ready?"

"Do I have a choice?"

"You always have a choice, Gideon. It's just a matter of

making the right one," she said, grimly. Then bubbly Sunda

popped back up. "Have fun!"

And she scampered off into the morning, leaving me

standing in front of the doorless entryway to the building.

I was surprised by a few things when I stepped in. The

first was that the floor in the building was outfitted with

the kind of plastic mat that you see in a gymnasium or martial

arts dojo, and the walls were lined with racks filled with

different weapons: short swords, long swords, spears with

little blades and big blades, daggers, clubs, bows, and other

instruments of pain. The second was that there was only one

other person in the building with me. The third thing was that

the person in the building with me was Bina. She stood in the

middle of the floor, wearing her trademark black, jogging gear

outfit. Her legs were spread loosely, her feet were shoulder

width apart, and her arms hung at her sides. She

looked...ready.

"Good morning, Kid."

"Hi, Bina."

"Are you surprised? You seem surprised."

"No, I'm not surprised at all."




"The way your mouth was hanging open tells me otherwise."

Was that a joke?

"Welcome to armed combat training." She began to pace the

floor, the plastic creaking under her feet. The way she

stalked the area reminded me a lot of Soloo when he stalked

the class during his lectures. "This is an applied learning

class, meaning that we'll be starting at your level and going

from there. We will also be choosing a weapon for you to

become proficient with. Do you have any weapons experience?"

"Does razor-sharp wit count?"

"No."

"Then, um, no. No weapon experience."

"Have you ever seen a weapon used before?"

A flashback of a long, cold, iron blade. Of my mother

swinging the weapon with immense skill. "Yeah. I saw my mother

use a spear once."

"Can you show me the spear like the one she used?"

I walked over to the wall that held the rack of spears,

testing the mat under the floor with my feet. There were a few

spears as long as I was tall, some with broad, flat blades and

others with thin, longer blades. Some of them had intricate

designs carved into the wooden shafts. Some were stained

different colors: dark brown, bleached white, red. All were

beautiful. I spied the short, long bladed spear that Ma had




used, and pointed to it. "Here. This is the kind she used."

"Good. Pick it up."

I did, and immediately wanted to drop it.

"What's wrong?" Bina asked, raising an eyebrow. "It can't

be too heavy for you, now."

"No...it's not that."

A tingling on my neck caused me to turn, and when I did,

Bina was in my face, wearing a scowl that could grill a steak.

"It's time to get over it, Kid. Mulling about like a

wounded kitten won't bring your mother back to you. Neither

will making inane promises about what you intend to do to make

things like they used to be. You think you're the only one

that lost something? Someone? Negative." She poked me in the

chest and her finger felt like the tip of the spear that I

still held. "Look around you. Everyone here has lost someone

dear to them. And they don't--we don't have anywhere else to

go...only the hope that maybe we can restore some sense of

normalcy. But the only way that we can do that is to make it

happen, and that's by being prepared. By working, by training,

and by making sure that nothing else can catch us off guard,

that way when our opportunity comes...we can grab it."

She turned away from me, the floor squeaking against her

feet. "Your feelings, your lack of direction will be a

hindrance if you let it. I advise nurturing those feelings




into motivation, into a cold flame. And then, when the flame

burns cold enough, direct it at those who wronged you."

I stared at the spear. "Something about turning myself

into a cold weapon of mass destruction doesn't seem that

appealing to me."

"You're already a weapon, Kid. The sooner you realize

that, the easier of a time you'll have with me. Now, you have

to choose something to fight with."

The rest of the session was spent trying to find some

sort of weapon for me to defend myself with, if the need

arose. I was particularly anti-spear, which irritated Bina. I

didn't like the feel of any of the short or long steel swords

that hung from the racks. My strength was too untrained to

handle bows; I snapped three bowstrings before Bina tired of

restringing them. The session ended with me weaponless and

Bina frustrated to the core, waving me out of the room and

into Sunda's waiting hands-on-hips pose.

"Whew. Looks like you pissed her completely off," Sunda

said, whistling.

"And I was trying so hard to be cooperative."

"I bet. Well, at any rate, it's never too hard to piss

Bina off. I think that's pretty much her only setting."

We shared a laugh and made out way through the compound,

headed in the direction of the plastic-covered loophouses that




I'd seen earlier. A thought bit me, and I stopped, but Sunda

kept walking, her multicolored skirts swishing.

"Did Soloo rope you into being my babysitter-slash-tour

guide, or did you ask to be?"

She stopped, adjusted her bag. The sun gleamed off her

deep brown skin. She turned to me, and smiled a little nervous

smile. I suddenly noticed the tiny gap in her teeth, and how

well it fit on her face.

"He asked me to, at first. But it's turning out to be a

better job than I'd imagined, so I'm keeping it...I guess."

I nodded, and resumed walking. Sunda dropped me off at

the fields and loophouses, and zipped off to whatever duties

that Soloo had placed on her shoulders, but not before

sneaking a glance back at me to see if I was watching her. I

was.

Gardening training was taught by a tall, light-skinned

guy with red dreadlocks named Walter. Walter had freckles on

his nose and he seemed to be really...sleepy the whole time.

"It's cool if you call me Walt," he'd said, and began a

lot of his answers to our questions with "no worries". It was

in gardening training that I began to realize the true genius

of Soloo's "family compound". The place really was almost

entirely self-sufficient. Long rows of waxy yam leaves

fluttered in the mid-morning breeze. There were green beans




and greens, carrots, plots of peanuts and tomato vines that

crawled up bright green gates. There were also plenty of

raised pots of pungent and spicy-spelling herbs, and stalks of

multicolored flowers.

And no one knew more about this stuff than Walt. He

walked us through the properties of every plant, lovingly

caressing them, showing us how to care for them and their

uses.

"This is Violet Asy," Walt said, picking a purple flower

with a yellow center off of a tall stalk. He paused for a

second, just staring over the top of our heads with glassy

eyes. I looked at the others, a mix of about twenty teens that

I hadn't seen around before. One of the girls held up her

wrist like she was wearing a watch, and tapped it, then held

it up to her ear. Someone in the back coughed loudly, and Walt

snapped back to attention. "Oh. Yeah. This is Violet Asy.

Anyone care to guess what it's used for?"

"Attention defecit disorder," One of the boys muttered,

and everyone tried to hide their laughs behind their hands.

"Ha, ha," Walt monotoned. "No, seriously. Can anyone

guess?" He picked one of the petals off and popped it in his

mouth.

"Is that safe?" the girl with the wristwatch said, making

a disgusted face.




"Oh, very. Here, have a taste." Walt poked the flower at

her, and she recoiled like he was handing her a dirty sock.

"Nah, I'm good," the girl said.

"Anyone? Anyone?"

I raised my hand before I knew what I was doing. "I'll

try it."

"Good man," Walt said, smiling, and picked off a petal,

which he handed to me. The petal felt a little bit like

fragile paper, and it had little veins of white shot through.

It smelled kind of pungent, but fruity. I stuck it into my

mouth slowly, kind of scared. Walt looked like he ate a lot of

these plants all the time, but what if I hadn't built an

immunity to them like he had? As the petal touched my tongue,

I bit down on it, but didn't get a chance to really chew

because most of it dissolved in my mouth. Violet Asy tasted

kind of like licorice that had taken a couple of turns in a

lawnmower; not a terrible flavor, but definitely not a

delicacy. As I swallowed, a tingly wave of warmth washed over

me. I held my hands out in front of my face, not really

knowing what side effects to expect. Still, I wanted to be

ready for them. The rest of the class stared at me too, their

eyes bugged wide, watching my skin and my face.

"So," Walt said. "Whaddaya think?"

"Tastes weird, like licorice and lawn trimmings."




"You get used to it. Any idea what it's used for?"

"Not in the slightest."

"How did it make you feel?" Walt asked, flipping one of

his dreadlocks away from his nose.

"Kind of...warm. And a little hyper too."

"Violet Asy is like nature's red bull. It gives you

energy, and cleanses your nyama. It's good stuff in small

doses. Take too much, though, and the whites of your eyes,

tongue, and fingernails will turn purple."

The class started to chatter about how they wouldn't be

taking any of that anytime soon.

"Attention, folks! Attention! Now, I want you all to

break off into groups of two. Find a plant, study it, and

tomorrow, I want you all to do a presentation on the physical

properties of it: its size, its physical characteristics,

scent...and if you can handle it, how it tastes. Go ahead and

break off into groups now."

Most of the people in the class already knew each other,

and many of the groups formed up quickly. I looked around at

the couples, starting to resign myself to being in a group

with a lazy kid when I felt a tap on my shoulder.

I didn't recognize him at first, but he looked like he

was ready to run away as I turned to face him. Then, his

expression dawned on me. He was on stage with me the day




before, amidst the drums and drinks and people.

"Hey man," I said.

"Hey," he replied. "Gideon, right?"

"Yeah. I don't remember your name, though."

"Because I never gave it. I don't think you would have

been able to hear me over the drums anyway," he said with a

small chuckle, and offered his hand. "It's Vance. Vance

Robertson."

His handshake was a bit too limp for my liking, but he

seemed in need of a friend. And honestly, so was I. "Vance.

Good to meet you. So....you wanna work on this project

together?"

"Playing with flowers?" he shrugged. "Sure, why not?"

Row upon row of various plants loomed before us, each

section filled with greens, yellows, reds, and a whole museum

of different scents. It was actually sort of overwhelming.

"How are we supposed to choose just one plant?" Vance

grumbled. "There have to be hundreds here."

"Well, let's just take a look around. There's bound to be

something here that we can choose."

Two or three of the groups of plants smelled like rotting

meat. We avoided those. Purple Asy had already been done.

There were tons of vegetables to study, but who wanted to do a

presentation on vegetables?




"Looks like all of the good flowers have been taken,"

Vance remarked as we stepped around a pair of girls picking at

the leaves of a tall yellow flower.

"Let's keep looking."

"Do you have any experience with gardening?"

"Actually...yeah." I bit my lip. "My ma kept a garden at

our house before...before I came here."

"Ah. Understand. Before I got here, my family lived in a

high rise. The only thing I have a bunch of experience with is

elevators. I'm slightly less experienced at stairs."

"Stairs make you level up faster," I said, staring at a

purple flower with thick, fuzzy petals.

"Ha! I know, right! But I've never been one for level

grinding. Hence, elevator."

I turned to look at him, eyebrows raised. "Vance, you're

alright with me."

He smiled and folded his arms over his chest.

"This flower looks familiar," I said, pointing to the

purple flower that I'd been examining. "My ma grew it in her

garden. Made tea with it too. It's called Bissap."

"Bissap, huh. Looks...gnarly."

"Yeah, it does, but when she made tea with it, it smelled

great." Memories of my childhood, waking up before the sun

because of the strong-sweet smell of tea was in the air






that it was because everyone ate lunch at different times. I

also assumed that I would be eating alone. Suddenly, I missed

Manny. I missed talking comic books and video games and I even

missed the food at MIC, even though it was just as bad as

public school food despite the fact that there were chefs to

make it.

There was no meat on the menu. There was, however, a very

well-spiced vegetable stew, with green beans and carrots and

rice and a few other vegetables that I didn't recognize. It

was delicious enough to make me kinda forget about MIC's

Documents

DRAFT the Nyama Eaters - The New Imaniya