Imani moves closer, holding the orb out like it’s something sacred. “A Sunstone Sphere,” she replies softly. “I saw it in one of my visions. If you look close, you’ll see all the happy memories you’ve had with us. Take it, Ma. It’s yours.”
Ma’s trembling hands reach out, and the moment her fingers touch the sphere, it glows brighter. A soft, melodic hum fills the room with warmth. Ma’s face softens, her anguish fading into wonder as she stares into the sphere’s light. “I see Christmas morning,” she whispers, her voice trembling with emotion. “You guys were small… opening gifts in matching pajamas. It’s beautiful.”
The dark clouds on the ceiling lighten, revealing scattered stars.
“Only the best for you, Ma,” Imani says with a sly smile. Her bracelets jingle as she adjusts her dress. “You deserve all the light in the world.” She leans in, pressing a kiss to Ma’s cheek. “Don’t worry about Malcolm. The ancestors aren’t taking him tonight.”
Ma hugs the orb tight; her tear-filled eyes glitter with hope. “You’re sure?” she asks.
“Positive,” Imani replies. “I’ve seen it.”
The bluebirds in the room resume their flight, the holographic savannah walls shimmering with daylight. The room feels alive again. Ma sighs, and the tension in her shoulders relaxes. A faint, ghostly smile flickers across her lips.
The knot in my chest loosens, and for the first time in hours, I’m happy—grateful that Imani knew how to bring Ma some peace.
She slinks over, her bracelets jingling, as she gives me a knowing look. Her dark lipstick curves into a smirk. “What happened this time?” she asks,her voice full of mischief. “Wait, I know. Bruised visions. Flaming lions. And bad decisions, right? Malcolm, you got our ancestors rolling their eyes again.”
“Not now, Imani,” I snap, wincing. “My arm hurts.”
Her expression softens. “I know that too. I had a vision. And I saw Mama unraveling. That’s why I came with something to help her.” She gestures to the fire pit. “All right, Charles,” she says, her voice light and airy, “patch up our family hero so he can go make some more questionable decisions.”
Charles groans but moves by the fire pit. Imani settles into a nearby chair, crossing her legs. The blue glow of the fire reflects in her gold-lined eyes as the orb in Ma’s hands hums softly.
Ma wipes her tears and smiles as bluebirds circle above her. The focus has shifted from Ma’s “delicate” mental health to Jayla, and finally, to getting me better. I don’t mind everybody worrying about Ma first. We all carry our traumas and scars from the Tether and an ugly past. So I know invisible wounds can be the deepest.
I glance at my bloody bandage, and it seems less important than Ma’s pain because my cuts can heal. In the center of the room, sapphire flames dance from a crackling fire pit forming the stern faces of our ancestors. An old woman made of swirling blue flame glares at me. Her nose is pointy like a bird’s beak, her hair an afro of rolling sapphire fire. Her full lips are a line carved in her fiery, judgmental face. Her silent disapproval weighs heavy on my spirit. Do the ancestors know I can’t stop thinking of Emma despite the war our families have killed and died in? Do they hate me for it?
The rest of my living relatives settle into chairs. I whisper to Charles, “I gotta heal quick. I have… plans. Let’s get started.”
Charles glares at me, his brow furrowed. “Plans? The only things you need to plan are ways to win the Tether. Jayla is right! You have to take this seriously, Malcolm. This family needs you. Ma can’t survive losing another child. And the rest of us can’t survive without her.”
I wince, the truth in his words just as harsh as the pain I’m in. “I’ll be careful,” I promise. “And I’ll owe you a favor for this.”
His mouth opens like he’s gonna lecture me, but my arm burns toomuch to listen anymore. “Heal it,” I snap. “Please.” The last thing I want right now is for him to say something that makes Ma upset again.
“All right, all right,” he says, raising his palms in mock surrender. “Lie down.”
Charles snatches gold and satin pillows off a big onyx armchair and makes a pallet on the bearskin rug for me. My family watches quietly as I collapse on it with an achy grunt, relieved he’ll finally heal me. He chants, asking the ancestors to magnify his power. The magical fire pit crackles, and sapphire flames roll as high as the ceiling. I try not to wince as his dancing hands accidentally bump my arm.
Charles carefully unwraps my bandages, his frown growing deeper with every layer he removes. He sighs at the trickling blood and deep slashes, with white meat bulging from inside my brown arm. “Damn, Jayla really did a number on you,” he mutters. “You’re lucky I can fix this.”
“Thanks, man,” I reply. I’m so grateful for the help that I don’t tease him about the ugly-ass button-up shirt he’s wearing. “I owe you.”
“Damn right you do.” He chuckles, but his eyes are serious. “Pay me back by staying focused and doing what you’re supposed to. Hold still,” he warns. “This will sting.”
Charles begins chanting again, first to the spirits of the ancestors looking over us in the blue flames. He asks them to increase his power. The sapphire flames flare, turning the sweat on Charles’s forehead into azure bubbles in the glow of the fire. Flames wave out and lick his chest. Unfortunately, his ugly orange-and-white shirt doesn’t burn up, but his hands beam brightly like a snowball of sapphire light. Pain stabs through my arm.
Charles starts a healing chant. His skin glows sky blue, and a matching light beams from his fingers as they move in circles over my arm. Warmth radiates through me, melting the pain away. Strength returns to my arm. The golden roses surrounding the fire pit lean toward me, puffing clouds of glittery pollen, coating the dark curves of my arm muscles as if helping the healing. Tiny giraffes and zebras lying on stone tables turn their heads, their eyes filled with childlike curiosity as they look at us.
Charles chants louder. My brother’s face is a mask of ruby agony. His eyes get puffy, and veins bulge, pushing against the skin in his neck like redropes. Even his dreadlocks lose their shine. His lips sneer, his voice is raw, and his breath comes out in ragged pants. A crimson trickle of blood oozes from his nose as my blood curls back inside the healing gashes. My jagged flesh fuses together. Red, angry skin gets smoother and less bloated and returns to its normal brown.
I start to feel better as Charles grunts and gasps. “Stop,” I whisper.
“No. It’s not fully healed yet,” he replies.
I close my eyes. Sometimes protecting what you love means sacrificing yourself. I’m this family’s protector. Ma’s last male warrior. The scent of wildflowers and rain mingles with the bitter smell of duty. I can take what is left of the pain to prevent my brother from hurting himself to heal me. I try not to wince as I sit up, the weight of the sacrifices that we all make for love and family pressing heavy on my chest.
“I said stop.”
