Chapter Sixteen
SIXTEEN
I DON’T KNOW WHERE I’M going but my legs pump anyway, carrying me over protruding roots and undergrowth.
The encroaching moon casts long, angular shadows like crooked fingers that dance under the dissipating storm clouds.
I turn on my phone’s flashlight as I stagger deeper into the forest. The rain has stopped, but the thicker the canopy gets, the harder it is to see.
Beneath me, the floor is littered with a soft bed of pine needles and moss that squelches beneath my feet as I stumble, eyes stinging and blurred, peeled wide open in search of the impossible.
I don’t know what that thing was drifting through the woods, but I don’t find it. Instead, as I venture farther, a tugging sensation guides me toward a burbling stream. When I reach the water’s edge, I sink to the ground.
Everything from the last week and a half swirls around me.
Every miserable, aching part of myself that misses Gigi.
Every terrified part that doesn’t understand this strange, recalcitrant power.
Every part that hates Malachi for what he did and every part that feels guilty for hating him even though his family is dead.
For hating him so much more than I hate Lucas.
It’s been building and building, and now it has boiled over. I lower my head into my hands and cry.
I need answers, but I’m not sure where to find them.
My mother wouldn’t be any help, that’s for sure.
I just met Daisy and Sam, and I’m not about to ruin these fragile new friendships by freaking them out with my weirdo magic.
My grandmother, the only person in the world who I know would believe me, is dead.
And the dream and her message have only left me with more questions than I can answer.
I collect a handful of smooth stones in my palm and hurl them into the water, a frustrated growl erupting from my chest. As the surface ripples, I realize that I know exactly what to do.
There’s one final message from Gigi that I have yet to hear. And I’m not sure I want to. I’m not sure I can stomach it. After this there will be nothing new from her, no more guidance, no one to hold my hand through this, no one to confide in who will understand me as deeply as she did.
The dream was not enough. Any amount of time with her would never be enough.
I didn’t realize how much of myself I crafted around knowing she would always be there.
How am I supposed to figure any of this out without her?
In a way, so much of life feels meaningless when she’s not here to experience it with me.
Every choice I make feels arbitrary when she’s not here to validate it.
I almost feel stupid for even thinking this letter might have the exact answers I’ve uprooted my whole life in search of, and yet here I am, still clinging on to this impossible hope.
Because after shocking Sam like that… I don’t think I have a choice. I’m clearly not in control of whatever this is.
Sucking in a shaking breath, I tilt my head back and notice a break in the canopy where the trees part for the stream. The stars around the perfectly round moon glimmer, a billion iridescent pinpricks of light, so much brighter here than in the city.
Gigi used to say the stars hold many answers. That they’re the spirits of our foremothers watching over us. She used to say that the stars were all we needed when looking for guidance, and I’ve tried to listen, I really have.
Open your mind to new possibilities, Cancer. There’s an entire world out there waiting for you to take action. Don’t shy away from new opportunities or friendships, connection is how you feed your inner self.
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I’ve begrudgingly read my horoscope daily for years now, and any connection to my actual life has always felt like a coincidence.
But Gigi didn’t read her horoscope. She read her tea leaves.
She gave moon offerings. She whispered into her plants and collected stones from the Pick ’N’ Mix.
She lit candles behind closed doors, and whenever I came to her with questions, she promised me “one day, one day,” and pointed to the night sky.
But when I look at the night sky, I see all the ways in which I’ve failed. Failed to connect to my ancestors. Failed to save my grandmother. Failed to understand who and what I am.
Taking in slow, labored breaths through my nose and blowing them out past trembling lips, I pull the crinkled, folded pages from my pocket and tuck my knees under my chin.
Resting my phone across them, I point the flashlight down to her slanted, cursive writing and carefully reveal the words she’s left for me.
Around me, the music of the forest fades away.
Dear Bug,
I’ve had sixteen years to think of what I would say when I could tell you all about who you are and where you come from, but the timing of it all wasn’t up to me—you know that.
Now that you’re finally turning sixteen, things are about to change, and this can’t wait any longer, your mama be damned… bless her heart.
I fear that what I have to tell you is complicated, and you might not take to it too good, so that’s why I figured I’d start the conversation here in this letter, so you can have time to process. And when you’re ready, we’ll talk it all through.
Though I don’t know what to expect, the first pangs of anger heat the inside of my chest as I read.
There is no time to process, no time to talk it all through.
There is no world where my Gigi will return to me and explain herself.
For a moment I consider folding the pages back up and continuing to avoid whatever it is she has to say.
But now that I’ve started reading, I can’t seem to stop.
I suppose this might all go a bit easier if I start at the beginning. If I tell you the way my mama told me. The way her mother and her mother before her have all told those of us that finally come of age…
Long ago, in a tribe tucked into the low-lying forests of West Africa, there was a woman called the Mother.
The Mother was descended from a long line of powerful women. The other Mothers.
But this Mother, she was the one who changed everything.
When the Mother was a baby, the Mother before her would nurse her under the night sky. She would whisper to the infant Mother and tell her of the day she would come into her power. The day that would bring forth her knowing.
The knowing was a gift, so old they did not know where it came from. But they were thankful, so they looked upon this day with great anticipation.
However, when the Mother was a mother, she did not look upon the ascension of her daughter with great anticipation, but with fear.
For you see, when the Mother was a mother, her tribe was no longer content to starve beneath the shade of the baobab. She knew that if she wanted her daughter to flourish and her tribe to survive the ascension, she would have to make an unforgivable choice.
While our people were strong of their own accord, built to withstand the harsh labor of a self-sufficient society, the Mothers’ powers did not simply lie in their bodies, but in their minds.
They ruled as leaders of our community. They were our guides, our prophets, our star readers.
And the stars were our Gods.
They were our entire world. They were how we told time, managed our crops, decided when to have our babies. The stars divided us up, they doled out our fate, and when danger was on the horizon, they led us to our salvation.
In accordance with the stars, we were split into twelve seasons.
Each season played a part in creating harmony among our people.
Until our land grew barren and our children ill. Until our numbers dwindled, and famine threatened our extinction.
Until the stars whispered to the Mother and showed her how to save us.
They told her of a sacrifice that could imbue us with a magnificent power.
But it was a sacrifice all the same.
So our people made a decision, the hardest one they’d ever make. Because the universe is a giving thing—if only you’re willing to give in return.
The women gathered in the dead of night, when the guiding star was most bright, and exchanged something invaluable for the chance to wield an impossible power.
The power that now flows through your veins.
I’m sure you must feel it, though I suppose I haven’t ever felt it myself…
Her handwriting has grown shaky—or maybe that’s just the tremble in my own hands blurring the words between them.
And I know you must be overwhelmed, though you’re used to my stories by now.
I’ve always made it a habit to tell them, can’t you remember?
The stories of the stars that become us.
These stories will help you now more than you’d think.
And if you feel lost, it’s okay, I’m right here with you, always. We’ll figure it out together.
I knew from the moment I laid eyes on you that you were magic. And now that magic will be the very thing to save us from the rot. It grows from the shadows. Slithers through the cracks in the mountain. Infects the land.
If we do not stop it, it will poison us all.
Listen, I don’t want to scare you before we get a chance to talk, but I cannot help but emphasize how different your life will be now. The universe has tasked you with a great responsibility, one that will not come without sacrifice of your own.
All right now, I think that’s enough of my blabbering.
Happy sixteenth birthday, my little firefly baby!
All my love,
Gigi
I sit, stunned as the song of the forest comes back with a vengeance.
I’d thought for sure I’d cry again, but instead I find that my cheeks are dry even though my chest is heaving unsteadily, and my vision is dotted with something white hot and roaming.
Flopping back against the forest floor, I stare into the sky. Confusion and sorrow press angrily against my chest, cementing me to the earth.