Day 1-Accidental Love Confession
Attuma hoisted himself from the pond, water streaming from his thick torso. His breath came in jagged, uneven gasps as he crawled on his hands and knees toward the hut. His large tan hands turned a muted blue, slapping and clawing at the sandy terrain, leaving a trail of desperate imprints behind him.
"Aj Kukulkan…" His voice trembled. Inhaling was painful and tight; exhaling was another battle. He yanked his mask off and flung it away as if it burned. Dizziness distorted his vision, the hut ahead blurring and closing in on him.
He felt like a fish out of water. Despite his large frame, Attuma felt small and vulnerable.
"Aj Kukulkan!" He gave one final roar, panic flaring in his eyes. He knew his god was in there, ignoring him. Damn him! Damn everything! Attuma balled his left fist and slammed it into the dirt, the pain in his chest unbearable. He lowered his head to the ground, breathing in frantic gasps.
He hated the unknown. Change. Disruption to his routine. It drove him mad, even as a youngster.
But what was wrong with him now? It was so foreign, so terrifying.
Inside the small hut, the air was thick with the overwhelming stench of painting mediums. A strong breeze blew through small openings, causing the fabric of the hut to flutter. It was hurricane season, a time of peace for the Talokanils but a torment for surface dwellers. Perfect downtime for securing their crops, but not for one particular feathered serpent.
Namor's fingers tightened around his paintbrush, frustration, and anger building within him. It was the third, maybe the fourth interruption today—he had lost count.
Keeping his back to the entryway, he remained still, hidden in the dimmest corner like a statue.
He heard Attuma's soft, pained voice from outside.
"I know you're in there, Kukulkan," Attuma wheezed, then fell silent.
Namor turned slowly, his irritation giving way to concern. As he approached, he detected no scent of blood but felt Attuma's heart racing unnaturally fast for their kind. Namor moved swiftly, almost knocking over a stool and vase.
Pushing aside the hut's flaps, he found Attuma lying face down. It seemed surreal to see the usually formidable giant so weak—except for memories of his childhood.
"Son, what ails you?" Namor's voice softened as he gently brushed Attuma's jet-black hair from his face and turned him onto his side. "Attuma..."
Namor spotted Attuma’s mask lying face up between the rocks. He stooped, a knot tightening in his chest as he surveyed the distance from where Attuma had been found to where the mask now rested. It was an uncommon sight, and the implications weighed heavily on him. For a fleeting moment, a pang of guilt pierced his heart as he realized his negligence, having never once checked on the well-being of his children.
Instead, like a wounded serpent, he retreated into the shadows of his hut to nurse his wounds.
Absentmindedly, his index finger traced the intricate designs of Attuma’s mask. What have I done? His eyes slid shut, thinking of it all—Attuma and Namora risking everything while he worked behind the scenes. His slip-up had even cost the life of a handmaiden.
The guilt weighed on him heavier, than the poncho he was wearing. If only he did not act too hastily.
Yet, like a drug, an addiction, he chased after the panther, knowing his subordinates would follow his every wish.
A crack jolted him from his thoughts. He peered down, eyeing the trail of blood running down from his palm and wrist. Turning over the mask, he found only the front panel had racked. He would make his son a new and more efficient one. He owed him that much. Namor continued to inspect the mask and caught a glimpse of his reflection.
Now, who was this man staring back at him? His hair was disheveled, more strands of grey than before, and his taper beard was filling in. He kissed his teeth, running an agitated palm through his short mane.
A faint wheeze filled the space, and he hid the fractured mask under the wing of his poncho.
“I will monitor him closely as he falls into a deeper slumber, Aj Kukulkan. With the help of the incense and the humidity, I can better observe him and will have an answer to your query.” The Shaman folded Attuma’s large hands one over the other and regarded the quiet King.
“I can only surmise it is stress-related. He has fought many wars before; however, the last one with the Wakandans was different. For all of you.” The elder Shaman swallowed hard when the king cut him a look.
“I—I didn’t mean to offend you, Aj Kukulkan.” He slid off the seat to the best of his ability and bowed his head. “I humbly ask for your forgiveness. Please accept my sincere regrets.”
“No. It’s…it has changed a lot of our mindsets. Please get on your feet, Ahau Ixim.” Namor waved his hand. “I will be back later, much later. Do what you must for the well-being of my child. I look forward to your findings then.”
“Yes, Aj Kukulkan.” Ixim watched as Namor secured the flap to the hut.
Ixim’s eyes fluttered open. He rubbed them and focused on the general, who was stirring slightly. He suspected that Attuma was caught in a nightmare and straightened his aching back, feeling a joint or two pop. The dimly lit hut cast shadows on their forms, and a bead of sweat ran down the wrinkles of Ixim’s face. It was going to be a long night–or was it dawn already? Time was tricky sitting in the room.
How could the sea king manage living like this?
He leaned closer to the sleeping general, listening intently to the murmurs that escaped his lips.
“Attuma?” he whispered. He watched Attuma turn slightly away, his perfectly arched brows wrinkled. Ixim’s slender fingers delicately reached for Attuma’s left wrist, which was resting over his right. The pulse beneath his touch quickened.
“Ok…Okoye…please…” There was a sense of sadness in his tone. Ixim quickly removed his hand as Attuma’s upper torso began to tremble.
“Easy now, General.” Observing this reaction to this name—or word, whatever it was—was haunting him. Attuma sucked in a sharp breath and gasped; his legs slightly jerked in the hammock. Ixim paused, torn between pacifying him and understanding the reason for his distress.
He could not protect himself if the general awakened in a fit of rage. Every twitch of Attuma’s muscles, every strained breath, overwhelmed him, but he needed to record it for the King’s sake.
“Come b…back! OKOYE!” Attuma's voice broke hoarsely, and his mouth moved in a silent plea. Ixim’s eyes darted over his body, committing the actions to memory. He was running after something—or someone. Interesting.
This Okoye…Ixim gnawed at his bottom lip, his mind churning, connecting the dots. Bless Chaac for his curious mind. We are getting somewhere. Ixim’s withered hand over Attuma’s right shoulder. He swallowed hard. Who and what is this Okoye? He needed to know who this was, yet he was afraid of the consequences.
“What does it matter to you?” Attuma bowed his head, fiddling with the thread of the blanket.
“You have mentioned the word more than once.” Ixim handed over a clay mug, and Attuma refused it. “I was curious to know what it means.”
“She is not an ‘IT!” Ixim was sure his heart skipped a beat or two, and he might have tinkled a little. Attuma’s glare was cold, like a shark’s, a warning to choose his words carefully. He parted his legs, planting one firmly on the ground. “Don’t you ever refer to HER as an ‘IT!” The elder nodded, fright evident in his light brown eyes.
Attuma scoffed, attempting to rise but his legs buckled, and he collapsed. He growls taking hold of the stool and throwing it across the room. He hated feeling weak.
“Yes—!,” Attuma caught himself and quickly looked away. His admission had come out so easily! His dark eyes darted back to the shaman. Though sweat collected across his forehead, it couldn't hide his vulnerability. He hated feeling small. Many scenarios played out in his mind on how this elder could meet his demise swiftly and quietly after learning his darkest secret. His eyes narrowed menacingly.
Ixim hid a knowing smirk. The boy is lovesick. He nods to himself. Ixim squats in front of Attuma meeting his hard gaze.
“Warrior.” Attuma corrects and gauges the distance and time it'll take if he needs to take the old man down if he keeps evading his personal space. It would have backfired on him anyway. Kukulkan heavily relies on the shaman. Maybe he will make it look like an accident—
“This warrior…” Ixim paused waiting for a correction. When none came, he moistened his lips. “She meant a great deal to you, did she not?”
Attuma’s silence spoke volumes.
“General,” Ixim crosses his legs. “My knowledge lies in the healing of the body, your heart ails you over the absence of this woman. I would like to know more about, the Warrior Okoye of the Upper domain.”
"The way she moved,” His gaze was distant as if he were seeing something far away. The hut was silent except for the soft crackle of the fire from the lamp and the occasional rustle of the wind against the fabric walls. “Was like a dance, so deadly and beautiful.”
He paused, his expression darkening as he saw in his mind's eye the flash of pain in Okoye’s eyes, a burning rage and sorrow.
“I am partly responsible for her pain and loss.” He bows his head, his mane hiding the anguish that overcame him.
“I can’t sleep. Every time I close my eyes, I see her face. The look of pain...the look of horror.”
“It’s unbearable and I can’t do anything about it.”
Ixim listened, his expression compassionate but troubled, “Guilt is a heavy burden, General. It can eat away at you if you let it.” His mind is akin back to the feathered serpent who had confided in him the same way.
“It is more than guilt!” Attuma's head snaps up, “It is a gnawing regret. It eating me up.” He points to his chest, “I was a part of the downfall of her Queen, and the suffering of her people. You don’t have to live with those images. I do!”
“I did not mean to—” Ixim places his hand over his heart.
Attuma waves him off dismissively.
“I do not care. I want to know how I atone for it all. How do I find peace when I was the harbinger of her—their pain?!”
“Aj Kukulkan summoned me with the presumption you were having an attack on the heart.”
“There is nothing physically wrong with your heart. You are a healthy man and a great warrior as well.” Ixim almost chuckled at Attuma’s curious expression. “What you are experiencing is not an ailment but of the soul.”
A mix of confusion and frustration was forming in his eyes.
“You are lovesick. It is nothing to be ashamed of. Even the strongest warriors are not immune to the matters of the heart. Not even your King.” Attuma's mouth parted, but he was left speechless. Ixim reached out and moved the blanket back on his shoulder. “I will take my leave now. I will have the handmaidens bring you sustenance.”
Ixim secured his cane and made his way over to the entryway. Attuma was settling back into the hammock when he spoke again, “Embrace it, and you will find your way.”
Above the caves and on the shores of the Caribbean Sea, two women faced each other, sadness evident in their eyes.
“Are you sure you’ll be alright? Wherever you will be?” The younger of the two brown eyes gloss over the older woman.
The eldest chuckled, “I will be alright sisi. You know I will.” She took a breath and looked toward the home just off the shore.
“It’s best I let you go now. A new journey awaits.”
“New journey?” The petite woman questioned, glancing over her shoulder. “Huh?” She turned to find the woman walking away.
“W-wait, what do you mean by that?!”
“That is for you to find out, panther!” She backpedals with a smile and shrugs.
“Oko–Bast, what did she mean by that?!” Her attention was torn away by a couple who greeted her as they walked by.
“Bonswa…” She was unsure if it was the right greeting.
“Shuri you’ve made it. Wamkelekile!”
The cry of the gate made Shuri spin around, tightening her grip on her backpack, and finding Nakia with her arms outstretched.
Shuri blinked the haze away and shook her head, stepping into the embrace.
“Overly stimulated. New environment and all, just taking everything in.”
“So many changes have happened in such a short time. It is understandable.” Nakia hugged her tightly. “Now you are here in beautiful Ayiti. You will enjoy yourself.” A ruffle of white protruding from the zipper of the bag caught her attention. “At least try to.”
“Yes, I will try to.” Shuri gave a small smile.
“Just give me a moment, I have a meal on the stove and I will be right with you.”
“No!” Shuri’s arm darted out and latched on to Nakia’s—a look of surprise plastered on both of their faces.“Sorry,” She loosened her grip.“I want to do this alone. Please understand, Nakia.”
“Alright,” She motioned with her left toward the shore, “Everything is set up for you.”
“Enkosi.” Shuri looked ahead.
With each step, her heart pounded and her stomach tied into knots; just like the day she saw her brother's casket for the first time…then her mother’s. A feeling that she wouldn’t wish on her worst enemy.
She was the walking dead, while her descendants lived in everlasting peace.
A peace out of this cruel unforgiving world.
She lit the match and watched the flames come alive.
Almost in a dance of mockery.
Oh, to be a flame so vibrant and unpredictable. Uncontainable.
For many years, she was contained, living a life set for her, living up to expectations.
Her family was gone, and everyone else was going their separate ways.
Adding another log, the flames intensified.
She threw the garment into the pit, watching the flames attack the threads. So greedy aren’t you? She closed her eyes; she did not want to see it. It was too final, but it needed to be done. In her mind's eye, she saw glimpses of her brother's warm smile. Then her mothers. Then her father's. Njadaka’s?
They all had charming smiles. It was a family thing.
Life is eternal, and love is immortal, and death is only a horizon, and a horizon is nothing save the limit of our sight.” - R.W. Raymond.
She felt a warmth overcome her. She never thought such words made so much to her, especially coming from an American text. On a whim, she needed information about the afterlife. With the introduction of a group of Talokanils stark contrast from her people yet with similar ideologies of life after death, she had a strong urge to dabble with American ideologies.
“Shuri.” Her eyes opened; the fabric was gone.
The sight alone made her throat tighten up again despite how strong the stench of the smoke was.
She glanced behind her, her sights fell on a little boy, who smiled back at her brightly as his yellow shirt.
“There is someone I would like for you to meet.”
“Achte figi,” the driver commented, enthralled by the female figure approaching from his rearview mirror.
“Bel kote ou soti? Ameriken?Ganyen?” His passenger leaned out the window, curiosity gleaming in his eyes.
Okoye should have known this was going to happen. Her feet were growing tired and she was initially thankful for the offer from who she thought was a thoughtful and respectful group of older gentlemen.
Okoye regarded him, quite entertained by his dedication.
“Ki laj ou genyen? Marye? Ale dousman.” The male passenger motioned for the driver to slow down.
For a fleeting moment, W’kabi’s treacherous smile came into focus, and she tensed. She puffed out her cheeks feeling her anger rising. The truck now matched her pace, and of the three men, the one closest to her was pushing the envelope more and more. His thick, and dusty brown locs were tied in a ponytail, and when he smiled, she saw that he was missing a pair of canines and a left incisor.
Okoye snorted and mumbled under her breath, keeping her posture relaxed but watching from the periphery for any sudden movements.
“Ki sa?” The man edged further out of the window, his breath and remnants of his meal that was buried in his beard enough to make Okoye want to hurl. She turned her head towards the sugar cane fields.
“Ban m zorey mwen.” Okoye waved him off, annoyed, it was too hot for this. Don’t they have other business to attend to?
They would have left her be if they did.
“Mon cheri…” His long, and crooked fingers reached and trailed down her left side.
“Hey! Gade tet ou!” Her spear readied, and she struck his hand. The truck came to a shrieking halt as the man howled and let out a string of curses. In a swift movement, the point came into contact with his sweaty neck near his Adam's apple. The driver's eyes widened, and pulled his passenger to him inspecting for a cut.
“Irvil!” He held the man’s head and shouted at Okoye, “Yon vyewo li ye wi!”
“Gate san!” came the shout from the bed of the truck. The man slammed his fist on the roof in anger, pointing at Okoye and mimicking the action of firing a gun. “Al bwa chat.”
“Ngokunjalo!” Okoye shot back, raising her spear defiantly. Eish! She watched as the truck sped off, the lone man in the bed keeping his eyes locked on her. His shirt billowed in the wind, snapping against the rush of air. He maintained his front towards her until the truck dipped down the hill and disappeared from sight.
Okoye took her time walking up the sandy path to her new residence.
Permanently? She wasn’t sure yet. The sounds of the wildlife just beyond the treeline welcomed her after such a long day. She wondered what other creatures, besides the birds, inhabited the lush forest.
Halfway up the incline, she paused, pressing her knuckles into her lower back and stretching. “Oh, Bast,” she murmured, feeling the tension ease slightly. Oh, to keep this up on a daily. She can just maintain her figure.
Parting with the princess was bittersweet and she hoped the new role of "Auntie" could be a light in her life after such tragedy. Gathering the rest of her strength. Okoye continued to climb the hill until the home came into view. She could handle solitude, but the commute was a doozy. Nakia knew her taste, and she couldn’t fault the woman for finding a spot that granted the former general absolute isolation.
Okoye pushed the wooden door open, the cool night air following her inside, and perhaps a mosquito or two. It was almost bedtime, and she went through doing her nightly routine on autopilot.
In the shower, she bowed her head allowing the water to stream down, as her thoughts created a storm of its own. She turned her back to the running water, and unbidden, a certain general's masked face appeared in her thoughts. Huh? She stared at the wall, entranced, almost as if she could see everything play out like a movie. It was so vivid.
The way he stalked around the perimeter as she engaged in combat with the Talokanil. His confident demeanor, just yearning yet patiently waiting for his turn. The way his inky dark eyes seemed to see right through her defenses.
She rocked on her feet and looked for the nearest wall to rest on. She shook her head abruptly trying to get rid of the image. Rid of the feeling that course through her. The room was spinning, she never felt this way for anyone. Not even W’Kabi made her have such a visceral reaction.
Why now, of all times, was she thinking of…him?
It was unsettling for her to react this way. He was a foreign being.
So was she. Sorta. And this feeling. She had prided herself on being alone, on being independent for so long.
So why does such a strange warmth bring her more comfort than her towel?
Okoye moved to the bed, the warm light from the candle casting gentle shadows across her beautiful features.
I have faced many battles, and overcome many obstacles…losses, many.
“But this is different.” Okoye let out a slow breath.
[I have detected a significant increase in your heart rate and a spike in brain activity. It appears you are experiencing strong emotional responses, Midnight Angel Okoye.] The Artificial Intelligence filled the quiet room.
Okoye eyes shot open and she peered down at her wrist,
“When did I put this on?! Griot, I didn't mean to—what have I done?”
[Shall I send these findings to the Black Panther for further analysis?]
“Bast, no!” Okoye abruptly stood, shouting at her wrist. “I wasn’t thinking, I spoke with the mind that no one heard a thing.”
[Understood Midnight Angel Okoye. Shall I encrypt this information?]
“Do what you must.” Her heart was pounding against the cavity of her chest.
[Understood, Midnight Angel. Lastly, should I mark this…Okoye’s thoughts of General Attuma for your records?]
If she was not thankful then, Okoye was surely thankful now to have been more than a mile or two from the rest of her neighbors. The scream she let out was blood-curdling and painful.
I feel more comfortable posting here, A03 is a bit difficult to use.
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