Kwame Crashes the Underworld: Chapters 19–Epilogue

Nansi’s eyes fall onto me. He studies me, all of me, as if he’s an algorithm running diagnostics on a thousand different ways to kill me.

The Obayifo would be impressed. “In my experience, Shards take on some personality traits that were especially strong in Asase. Some were nurturing. Others, selfless. But you…you’re just stubborn.”
“Thanks.” I let sarcasm bleed through my words.

Ama’s eyes bulge. “You don’t have to do this, Nansi. Not all humans are the same.”
“Ah, but most of them are complacent,” Nansi posits. “Selfish. Standing by and focusing on their meager little lives while my mother’s livelihood was destroyed.”

Ama’s eyes bulge. “You don’t have to do this, Nansi. Not all humans are the same.”
“Ah, but most of them are complacent,” Nansi posits. “Selfish. Standing by and focusing on their meager little lives while my mother’s livelihood was destroyed.”

“Humans commit murder every day,” Nansi mutters, almost to himself. “When I first started on this quest, I tried to keep the greater purpose in mind. That this was about the salvation of the world. If I, one of the abosom, stand by and allow humans to continue killing one another and the Earth—wouldn’t that make me complicit?”

“You think Asase would’ve wanted this?” Autumn yells to Nansi. “Kidnapping kids?!”
Nansi moves in a blur and is suddenly looming over Autumn. The spiders on the web start moving toward Autumn, covering her legs entirely. She convulses under the arachnids.

I feel Nansi’s eyes turn toward me. I feel his sunsum intensify for a moment.
“How do you know that?” he asks.
“I saw it.” I give an empty swallow. “In a dream. I even talked to Asase myself.”
Nansi skitters over to me on the web. “And what did she tell you?”
“To be vulnerable,” I say. “To accept my grief, so I can access my true power. Maybe you should do the same.”

“He’s a legendary god,” Autumn deadpans. “And we’re a plucky group of one-time adventurers. You do the math.”
Autumn just confirmed my fears—this is hopeless. Nansi is too powerful to subdue, and too smart to outsmart.

“He’s a legendary god,” Autumn deadpans. “And we’re a plucky group of one-time adventurers. You do the math.”
Autumn just confirmed my fears—this is hopeless. Nansi is too powerful to subdue, and too smart to outsmart.

Nansi leans forward, his eyes full of malevolence. “Your magic’s not strong enough, Queen Mother.”

I feel something—an emotion I’ve been pushing down since the news—a deep sadness rearing its head over the scatterbrained mosaic that is my mind.
At first, I push it away, telling myself that it’s just a moment of weakness, but then Asase’s words return to me. Her words telling me to accept my grief rather than deny it.

The sheep, apparently, got hungry on the way and stopped for a snack. The dog passed the sheep and reached Nyame first—only to bungle the message. The dog said that the humans loved the death policy, and they wanted to keep dying. Nyame obliged and refused to change his mind even when the sheep tried to clarify what had happened.

“How are you liking your vacation to Asamando?”
Nyame breaks into a sarcastic chortle at his own joke.
I stare. Even though he looks like the guy from my dreams, he doesn’t act the same. I’m having trouble believing that this was the guy Asase chose as her lifetime partner.

Nyame grunts. “How ironic that I used to feel bad for you humans. Grappling with mortality and having to lose those you love before you eventually pass on yourself. And yet, most of you get the privilege of reuniting with the ones you lose in the afterlife.”

Nyame stands over me, a tower of rage and thunder. His eyes surge and spark with white-hot lightning. His sunsum flares, making me dizzy and nauseous with him so close. I feel vertigo overwhelm me, and I fall to the ground at Nyame’s feet.

“Father, I don’t see how this human can possibly understand the intricacies of—”
With one swing of Nyame’s open palm, Nansi’s mouth literally disappears from his face like the mouth from a Mr. Potato Head action figure.

“Go on. My question was not a rhetorical one.”
...I need to ditch all the pop-culture stuff and just be honest. To do what Asase told me and accept who I am—loudly.
“My grandmother is one of Asase’s blessed,” I say slowly. “And I’m her grandson...."

“Ama is one of the most giving people I know. She dedicated most of her life to helping people,” I say. “And Asase’s not too different. She wanted to protect the lineages of the Queen Mothers, and…and…”

The memory of Asase injects a sobering determination in me. I look down at my dashiki, still bright even in this dark room. My heart’s doing cartwheels, but I know what I need to do.
“With her last action, Asase Yaa did the same thing with me that she did with Ama—she chose me to represent her, to represent Ghana, and to save the Earth. She believes in me…she told me so herself. That’s how I can speak for Asase."

“Kwame Powell. You will work to save my wife’s creation. You will honor her by setting an example and leading humans into a better future.”
“But I’m just a kid.” I hardly feel equipped to enter eighth grade, much less become a planetary leader in sustainability.

“Asase believed that kids had the most potential, the most empathy, and the most innovative ideas.”

Nyame opens his hand, and the air curves. “Asase believed that kids had the most potential, the most empathy, and the most innovative ideas.”

Am I back? I dare to hope as I look around. I’m at a dock. Blue-brown water slogs underneath the pier. A few lampposts stick out from the perimeter of the dock, blinking in and out of power. Flies congregate by the bulbs, probably gossiping about the latest meal they had. The memorial for the enslaved lies in the distance, in a slab of concrete. A familiar briny breeze floats by, filling my nose with a salty scent.
We’re back—at the Cape Fear Pier.

Am I back? I dare to hope as I look around. I’m at a dock. Blue-brown water slogs underneath the pier. A few lampposts stick out from the perimeter of the dock, blinking in and out of power. Flies congregate by the bulbs, probably gossiping about the latest meal they had. The memorial for the enslaved lies in the distance, in a slab of concrete. A familiar briny breeze floats by, filling my nose with a salty scent.
We’re back—at the Cape Fear Pier.

I turn to see Amokye gone—a breeze twirls through the space she used to take up. I’m then slapped with what feels like a gigantic wall of sunsum—an aftershock of the undoubtedly massive amount of power that Amokye holds. I wonder if she left it there just to mess with me, as if to say, Put some respect on my name.