Page 44 of Bound By Fury

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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.