Tristan Strong Keeps Punching by Kwame Mbalia

Author:Kwame Mbalia [Mbalia, Kwame]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Disney Book Group
Published: 2021-10-05T00:00:00+00:00

GODS CAN’T DIE.

Gods sure are heavy, though.

The streets were empty as I trudged down the hill to the tree where Old Familiar waited. Dim light from the not-quite-risen morning sun filtered through the spaces between buildings and under highway overpasses. The sapling I’d seen in the spirit memory was now a green giant in the middle of the city. Its branches stretched all the way across the street, and its roots had buckled several squares of sidewalk. I’d seen that back in Chicago, but now I actually stared at the phenomenon as I carried High John down toward the tree. Tendrils of roots peeked through cracks in the concrete. Imagine that. Surviving a devastating riot, and decades upon decades of the city changing and hardening around you, and still having the strength to break through the obstacles keeping you from growing.

Gods can’t die.

I hefted High John, checked to see if he was still breathing, and continued. If I could just get him to Old Familiar, maybe the bird could help. The shadow crow had carried Ayanna after she was injured by brand flies, transporting her to the Mmoatia of Alke, who had performed their healing magic. Had any of the whistling fairies made it over to this world? I wondered. Anansi would know. I struggled to keep High John balanced in a firefighter’s carry while I reached for the SBP, only for my hand to fall back to my side.

Right. The phone had been confiscated.

The burning in my chest started up again. The anger… it, it, it… it just boiled inside of me with nowhere to go. I heard the start of a drumbeat. I tried to take a deep breath, then a second. I needed to calm down, or else….

A whisper of air brushed past me. “Stop following me,” I said.

After a few seconds I stopped and turned around. The young man’s spirit—I’d started calling him Spirit John in my head—walked a few paces behind me, determination on his face. I couldn’t look at him. He reminded me too much of the god in my arms, and how I couldn’t control the adinkra powers anymore—they just came and went as they pleased. “Just stop following me,” I muttered again.

The spirit didn’t listen.

I looked down. Was High John moving? I thought he was. I tried to quicken my steps and finally reached the bottom of the hill. Just a few more feet, and then Old Familiar would know what to do.

Gods can’t die.

I knew a lot of the John tales. I could find some. Stories were power, and High John just needed a bit more. The adinkra weren’t enough. We could use Gum Baby’s phone to call Anansi and Mami Wata, and they’d help. Or I could go to the hospital. They had to have something that could bring a god back, right? Tylenol, maybe?

Gods can’t die.

Old Familiar stared at me with his head cocked as I approached. His beak, longer than my arm, gently touched High John’s chest, and the shadow crow ruffled his feathers in distress.

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