Kwame Crashes the Underworld: Chapters 16–18

Autumn inhales, and her eyes open. Every orifice we can see—Autumn’s mouth, eyes, ears, and nose—is emanating a reddish light. It’s almost like someone just turned on a gigantic chandelier of bloodred light inside of her, and the light is spilling out wherever it can.

“Oh, this is good,” Autumn says in a raspy, scraping voice that sounds like the squeak of a cheap chair against a floor.

“An Obayifo,” Ama fills in.
I look at Ama. “What is that?”
“A vampiric spirit,” Ama explains. “I’ve told you stories of these creatures that hunt wayward children at night.”

“And you!” The Obayifo turns and points to Ama. “A Queen Mother who betrays the Council and goes against the abosom! How horrendously hypocritical.”

“I have access to all this body’s memories. And all its feelings,” the Obayifo says, before sliding its gaze to me. It takes out Autumn’s hearing aids. “My senses are enhanced, which means that your friend will never need hearing aids again. We can work together, in a relationship of symbiosis. She gets to cast aside her insecurities, her weaknesses—and I get to live once more.”

“I nip problems in the bud!” the Obayifo exclaims. “I’m an innovator! I think outside the box! Why wait until these children grow up to cause real harm when I can eliminate them before they do anything irreversible? I protect the world, you see, from bad-natured children who cause pain and anguish wherever they go. This way, the world can continue to live on and create beautiful, moving pieces of art.”

“Why must we always resort to brutish violence?” the Obayifo growls, raising Autumn’s sword. “Why must you all keep me from the joys of life?”

“I told you I have real power!” the Obayifo exclaims from the air. “We can use one another. We can leave this place together. It’s been centuries since I’ve had actual food, or lounged in the company of Renaissance men. It’s only death, disease, and deplorable behavior down here.”

“What—” The Obayifo clutches Autumn’s chest. “What was tha—ahh!”
The Obayifo blinks out of the air once more and plummets to the ground. Ama and I rush over. Autumn’s body is writhing on the ground now, turning over repeatedly.

“What—” The Obayifo clutches Autumn’s chest. “What was tha—ahh!”
The Obayifo blinks out of the air once more and plummets to the ground. Ama and I rush over. Autumn’s body is writhing on the ground now, turning over repeatedly.

The Obayifo: “You imbecile! You are damning yourself to a lifetime of judgment!”
Autumn: “It’s better than a lifetime without autonomy. My body is my own —and I don’t need to change anything about it. Now get…out…of…my…BODY!”

The Obayifo: “You imbecile! You are damning yourself to a lifetime of judgment!”
Autumn: “It’s better than a lifetime without autonomy. My body is my own —and I don’t need to change anything about it. Now get…out…of…my…BODY!”

Ama steps toward me. “We need to end this.”
“How?” I ask. “It’s turned back into a firefly now.”
“Yes, but it can possess any one of us whenever it wants to,” Ama says. “What if it goes and possesses you? A Shard of Asase Yaa? It could wreak havoc.”

All my attention, however, is quickly commandeered by Autumn when she shudders on the ground. Goose bumps rage across her body. Sweat breaks out on her brow, the kind that’s probably clammy and cold. Her nosebleeds have slowed up, but her veins are way too visible.
“Come on,” I plead, praying to whatever god will listen. “Come on, wake up!”
Autumn gives a sharp inhale and opens her eyes.

Asase turns to the other figure—a tall, slender individual with skin so dark and rich that it looks like polished onyx. Silvery patterns decorate his skin, matching his discerning silver eyes. He stands a head taller than the woman, but he regards her with a familial deference.
Nansi.

“Why…” I seethe through tears. “Why does it have to be this way? Why does it hurt so badly? Why do I have to feel so much?”
Asase’s forehead crinkles, as if I asked her why humans breathe. “Emotion is the cornerstone of humanity, my child. It’s not something that can be avoided. Even my power is drawn from raw emotion. You’ve seen that, haven’t you?”

“Take heart, Kwame Powell. And remember—use what you have at your disposal. Use the Earth. Use your grief. Use your roots. These are all part of you. They are sources of strength for you.”
She gives me a galvanizing smile.
“You can save this world. I believe in you.”

Autumn slips her hand into mine and says, “Who cares? Isn’t this better than being stuck in the Eloko?”
“Yes,” I answer again without any inhibitions. It’s like I’m not even allowed to think about my answer—I’m just saying how I feel with pure, unfiltered honesty.

That distant voice again: “Kwame! Wake up!”
Wake up. I blink. “What about the other Shards? Are they saved? Is the world okay?”
Autumn’s face falls. “You’re going to choose the world over your comfort? Is that what’s really on your mind, when you have everything you could possibly want, right here? You’re going to sabotage it?”

The disembodied voice returns. It sounds a little clearer now. “Kwame! Come on!”
“I can’t do this.” I back away from Autumn. “I have to save them. You all are my family, but in a way…the other Shards are my family too. We all have a piece of Asase in us. We’re all related to Queen Mothers. And we’re all in this together.”

Ama stands in front of us and folds her arms. The heat of the fire is slapping me in the face, and the embers are leaping from the ground. “Cast aside the minutiae of this conflict for a moment. Before the effects of this garden burn away entirely, answer me this. Do you care for each other? Are you willing to put yourself in harm’s way to save the other?”

“What…?” I ask through chuckles. “You’re saying that our friendship is this beautiful thing that’ll help us out of here?”
Autumn joins in the laughter. “What, like, ‘the real treasure was the friends we made along the way’ trope?”
“Keep laughing,” Ama says. “But soon, you shall see.”

I go deeper. What is the strongest emotion that I’m feeling right now?
Fear. Fear of what?
Fear of losing Ama again. Fear of losing Autumn. Fear of opening up the floodgate that is my grief.
“AH!” I cry out, releasing my fear into the ground.

Then we’re spit out of the earth and onto a hard surface. We’re in a corridor with walls made of old stone. The material is littered with cracks, but the cracks are filled with gold that reflects the light from my akrafena.
There’s no breeze down here—just stagnant humidity, pressing down on us. The ceiling above us is tightly packed dirt. Behind us, the corridor stretches out into darkness and silence.

I’m now in a gigantic room that’s as big as the Cape Fear Pier. The floor is designed in concentric circles. Veins of emerald-green light spread from the walls, like tributaries, into the center of the room. At a closer glance, I recognize that it’s the same Adinkra symbol Ama used to save me on the Oceans of Epo—that flower petal symbol with the open center.