Page 112 of Ashes of Gold
“If you’re not going to be Queen, then who will?” she presses. “Who would be better?”
“I don’t know, but…” Pressure builds in my head as my thoughts trail off. I hop up and Rojala startles.
Her eyes follow me. Stick to me with admiration—or maybe expectation. Or some muddled mix of the two. “Well, Queen or not, wherever you end up, I’d like to go there too.”
I sigh. Her words pierce through the brick of panic to the soft center underneath. I pick a red berry from a flower on a bush. It’s stubbornly attached to thick petals, but I work it off. I remember these from the Ancestors’ vision before my magic came to me, when I stood on their burial ground and felt them the first time. It feels like a lifetime ago. Then, the berries were everywhere. The little boy in the vision knew them well. I mash the berry between my fingers.
“Kaeli berries,” Rojala says, joining my side, plucking one into her mouth. “If they’re too ripe, they’re really tart. Gotta pick them just right.”
The forest is a fragment of what it used to be. Red used to dot these woods like a Christmas tree. So much destruction. So much death. So much pressure. And this girl sees the fix… the Ancestors see the fixin me? This wasn’t the plan. This was the opposite of the plan.
I smooth my hands on my pants, but the berry’s juice lingers, like a stain, a mark, a memory of my first encounter with the Ancestors that I’m forced to remember. I rub harder but it doesn’t go away.
“Jela…”
“Please. Just stop.”
Her eyes pinch, like she’s discovered a blemish on a perfect portrait. I stare back but it’s more than Rojala I see. It’s buried bodies and forgotten bones; it’s the weight of injustice packed down under the earth, buried under generations of unresolved anger and fear. It’s my father’s death. My mother, bleeding out on the carpet. It’s Yiyo burning.
How can I be who they want me to be if this is all I see?
Rojala stares at me in such wonder, hope dangling in her eyes, willing me to say something that pieces her world back together—something to make the entire life she’s lived underground with meek provisions, the family she’s lost, the pain she’s suffered on this journey alone, the hope ballooning in her chestright now…believable. But I don’t have those words. I don’t have comfort to give her. Or myself. I’m lost. Confused. Scared. And when I feel that way, there’s only one thing that ever helps. Just the thought of it makes my next breath come easier.
“I owe you some corn bread, don’t I?”
She smiles and I glance over my shoulder.
“You trust me?”
She nods and I wrap my hand in hers, mutter a transport spell to East Row just as someone’s hand clamps my shoulder. My magic pulls at us, the world spins, and we’re gone.
Ms. Leola’s is busy as usual on a Sunday. Cooking starts before the sun comes up. The kitchen smells like heaven, notes of buttery, salty something permeating the air. Julius’s hand is still on my shoulder.
“You scared the shit out of me, grabbing me like that!” My heart pounds. I wrap an arm around Rojala to ground myself and exhale.She’s looking around wide-eyed, her jaw hanging open.
“You running through the forest, you had me buggin’. I had to catch your ass!” Lines wrinkle his brow. “And what are we doing here, anyway?”
“Rue, baby, that you?” Ms. Leola says, the door creaking open. “Oh my god!” She pulls me in a bear hug. I hug around her frail body, thin but iron strong. She holds my face and kisses my cheek. “I’m just…” She clutches her chest and turns to Jue. “And Julius.” She kisses him. “You didn’t say you was going for a long time. Where have y’all been? I been worried sick over here ’bout you, boy. Get on here and get something to eat.” Her eyes fall to Rojala, her pale skin even grayer in the midday sun. “And what’s yo name, baby?”
She looks at me and I nod. “Rojala.”
“Ma’am,” I say.
“Rojala, ma’am,” she repeats.
“Well, we got plenty to eat and you look like you could use a bite or two. Come on now.” The door slaps shut behind us, and Tasha about knocks me over. She has two cats, one in each arm. I flash Julius a look. She’s a cat lady now, apparently. My sister.
“You’re back!”
“Uh, not exactly,” Julius says, and I elbow him. “Fam, it’s a mf-ing war brewing cross the globe. What is you doing?”
He squeezes my hand then taps his watch.
I sit at the table and survey the collards, macaroni and cheese, candied yams, and smothered oxtails on the plate Ms. Leola just handed me. I exhale the tiniest breath and settle in the chair, scents of home washing over me.
Rojala, the shock scrubbed from her face, pokes a finger inthe orange mush on her plate and sticks a finger in her mouth. “Mmmmmm.” Her eyes widen, creasing around the corners. “Oh, that’s good.”
Ms. Leola sets a wedge of sweet potato pie in front of me and sits in a chair. Her head rests on her hands. I shove food in my mouth to avoid answering the questions lingering in her eyes. The note of garlic in the collards hits just right and the season on ’em is spot-on. Not too salty with just a dash of heat. I gulp down more as Julius takes a measured bite, his eyes darting from me to Ms. Leola.
