Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

A fisherman found him in the river.

Amadi stood ankle-deep in cold rushing water, pulling in his nets and counting the silvery fish, and wondered why he fell so short of his daily catch. One of his nets refused to follow his hands no matter how hard he pulled at it and after a minute he stopped. A snag, he thought. The net must've caught on something and torn, letting fish escape. Resigned to spending the evening mending it, he followed the net across the river until he saw something caught in the rocks.

It was a dead man.

He shouted and fell over, then scrambled on the slick riverbed and stumbled over to the body. He gathered his ripped net and dragged the man to shore. Amadi stared down at him, wondering at the lacerations on his body, the bruises mottling his skin, the deep dark wound in his side. His clothes had been torn to shreds, which told Amadi the man fell into the river far north where the waters frothed and roiled around sharp stone.

Where did this man come from? How did he get here? He wasn't Jabari; what little of his clothes remained weren't Jabari-made. Amadi looked northward where the river twisted and turned beyond his eyes up through Jabariland into Wakanda. This man was Wakandan, once.

Who was he? Amadi turned his cold arms over and observed the bruises and scrapes. This man fought hard to live. What a shame he did not. What a shame that he was found far from his home. He may be Wakandan but he should be buried in the land of his ancestors. Amadi's hand slid down clammy damp skin while he wondered how to lift dead weight into his cart and something fluttered under his fingers.

A pulse.

The dead man wasn't dead, but he will be without the healers to help. Amadi hurried to his cart to grab his spare cloak and threw it over the Wakandan. He looked up at the sky; late afternoon meant he still had time to return to the river and haul in the rest of his catch. Carefully—he wasn't young anymore as his friends liked to remind him—he lifted the Wakandan into the back of his wagon and hitched his buffalo.

Ekene, a young warrior who patrolled this particular road, stood watch at the head of the path to the riverbank. He and Amadi knew each other well, so when he saw Amadi returning from the river earlier than usual, he called out, "Hanuman did not grant you luck this day, aburo?"

Amadi waved to him. "No, he brought me something else. Come quick."

Frowning, Ekene walked around Amadi's buffalo to the back of the wagon, his knobkerrie held tightly in both hands. Amadi pushed aside his empty baskets and lifted the spare cloak.

"I found this man in the river—are you well? Ekene?"

Ekene had staggered back as if clubbed by some unseen foe. He quickly spun on the balls of his feet, wide eyes searching the mountainside, knobkerrie held before him. "The river? You found him in the river?"

"Yes, I did. You know this man? You know who he is?"

The warrior slammed his knobkerrie on the ground three times and hollered at the top of his lungs. In short order, other warriors appeared on the road, knobkerries and spears in hand. Amadi stepped back and watched, stupefied, as Ekene beckoned them to his wagon to show what he had found in his nets. Hushed whispers exploded and one turned away to relay a message through her bracer. Amadi didn't hear what the recipient said but the warriors all started whispering again.

"Revered aburo," Ekene said while the other warriors positioned themselves at his buffalo's head and around the wagon. "Forgive us but we must take this man to the Great Gorilla. I promise you that your beast and wagon will be returned tomorrow morning. You will be compensated for what you lost today."

"The Great Gorilla? Does he know this man?" the fisherman asked, increasingly bewildered by the escalation situation. "Ekene, what is happening?"

The young man simply shook his head and followed the others up the long road to their great mountain stronghold.

Cold. He is cold. He is sinking into the deep dark cold. Light shimmers above him. If he can just reach….

It is time for you to come home.

M'Baku, the Great Gorilla of the Jabari, was trying his best to listen to N'Gamo's report on the cost of repairing the damages left behind by the recent spate of floodings. It had become a seasonal occurrence in the last twenty years, but last year was the first time in M'Baku's memory that the number of flooded terraces and lost crops raised an alarm. Climate change, advisers told him, was the problem. The world was changing at a frustrating pace and they must act decisively to secure the people's future.

He still had to fight a yawn as N'Gamo continued to drone on about the details of their findings.

"Then do it," M'Baku said after N'Gamo finished. He looked at the three men and women with an arched eyebrow. "Why do you need my explicit permission to begin the repairs? Did you think I would question it?"

"Work has already begun," N'Gamo replied patiently and with some amusement after the advisers left the room. "But losing four entire fields of yam does not bode well for the next year."

"It concerns me as well," M'Baku said, frowning deeply. Enough was stored in the vaults deep in the mountains to last the tribe for at least five years, but opening them was a bad omen. He was not going to risk anything yet. "You said there was one other thing?"

"Yes, a report of an outsider's aircraft landing at the Wakandan border-"

Whispers exploded behind the doors to the throne room. M'Baku and N'Gamo shared a look and his closest adviser immediately left to see what was causing the furor. M'Baku sat back in his seat but straightened not even half a minute later when N'Gamo hurried back into the room, a deep furrow between his brow and his mouth a troubled line.

"What is it, N'Gamo?" M'Baku asked, rising to his feet and picking up the knobkerrie leaning against the throne's armrest.

"You should come see for yourself."

M'Baku followed N'Gamo and several of his guardsmen outside into the snow. Evening was rapidly turning into night and their breaths frosted in the air as they hurried over to a patrol standing around a buffalo and wagon.

M'Baku raised an eyebrow at N'Gamo. "What is this?"

N'Gamo waved to one of the warriors. The young man stepped forward and saluted M'Baku. "Great Gorilla. I am Ekene, son of Udo. Today I was stationed along the riverbank to watch over our fishermen. One of them discovered a man caught in his nets."

"A dead man?" M'Baku asked slowly. The river flowed south, meaning the corpse was very likely a Wakandan. A complication, but a minor one and they long had protocols for such unfortunate discoveries. "Surely you know how to handle such matters without my interference. Why am I needed?"

Ekene gestured to the wagon. "Because he is not just any man."

M'Baku followed N'Gamo and Ekene to the back of it. There was a body covered in a roughly woven cloak. He frowned at the men and women watching the body warily, as if a snake was hiding underneath waiting to strike, and slowly lifted the cloth.

He stared down at T'Challa, king of Wakanda, Damisa-Sarki.

The last time M'Baku saw the young king, he had his back to the Jabari to greet the members of the other four tribes that had come to his coronation. M'Baku and his men slunk away, pride bruised and, in M'Baku's case, bleeding. Before leaving Warrior Falls, he looked back one last time at the victorious panther. That man was alive, standing tall and proud before his people.

That man was now cold and still under the fisherman's cloak. Frost was forming on his short curly hair and beard. M'Baku lifted his hand, hesitated, and then pressed it against the dead king's neck. He could, if he wanted to, open his hand wide and crush the man's windpipe. But what was the point? T'Challa was dead.

Something fluttered weakly under his fingers, responding to much-needed warmth, and M'Baku withdrew his hand quickly.

"Is he dead?" N'Gamo asked.

M'Baku threw back the cloak and beheld the extent of the king's injuries. Even in moonlight, he could see the mottling, the bruises sluggishly bleeding under dark skin. They must've been made by the fierce cold river that battered him as it carried him deep into Jabariland. But here was a laceration, here was a cut, a gouge, bruises not made by blunt stone. Here was a deep stabbing wound that would have hobbled any man not imbued with the powers of the heart-shaped herb.

So, someone must've come forth to challenge King T'Challa for the throne. The challenger could not have been one of the other four tribes so who else of royal blood issued it? Who was strong enough and fast enough and skillful enough to defeat the young warrior king and throw him down Warrior Falls?

"No," M'Baku finally said, "but he will be. Summon N'Didi."

"You mean to save him?" N'Gamo asked. "The king of Wakanda?"

M'Baku was once caught in the panther's grasp, pinned down and choking in his embrace. Warrior Falls thundered in his ears and the other tribes chanted T'Challa's name but when the young king spoke, M'Baku heard his words as clearly as if they were spoken to him on a quiet snowy night.

"Yield! Your people need you!"

Better to bruise his pride than to die and leave the Jabari seat to his cousin. He would depart Warrior Falls alive and indebted to the king, knowing the debt would never be repaid. What were the odds of him repaying that life debt anyway?

"I owe him a great debt," he said quietly, turning away from the wagon while N'Didi and the other healers hurried out into the snow to tend to the fallen king. "I would see it be repaid."

N'Gamo watched one of the healers scan the panther king's body and frown deeply at the readings. "There is a chance he will never wake. And if he does, he is Wakandan and owes us nothing. Do not expect anything to change."

"Hanuman condemn me if I do not try," M'Baku said and turned away. "So we must."

It is so cold. He neither sinks nor rises. He is suspended in the dark, watching without seeing the glimmering light above him dim. The sun is going down.

It is time for you to come home.

M'Baku did not look behind him when someone entered his chambers. He did not rise from his seat at the edge of the observation deck where he sat meditating on the day's sudden and foreboding turn of events.

"Cousin," Ce'Athauna said reproachfully. "You'd waste our precious resources and time on a near-dead king? On Damisa-Sarki, who humiliated you before all?"

"He spared my life that day," M'Baku replied. "Who would I be if I did not attempt the same?"

"I spoke with N'Didi. The king… he is in a coma. He suffered worse than broken bones and she won't risk surgery. She says his heart will give out when it is already struggling. Without a miracle, he will never wake and what reason would Hanuman have to grant one to a child of Bast?"

He already knew the healers' efforts would be for naught. They could keep the panther king in a bed of snow, slowing his sluggish heart and the internal bleeding. But, N'Didi warned, there was nothing they could do. The trauma dealt to the former king was too great. All they could hope for was a painless passing.

And, N'Didi added, she felt a turmoil within the panther king, one deeper than any of his numerous injuries.

"A broken spirit cannot heal," she had told M'Baku while they looked down at the panther half-buried in snow. "A terrible way to die. He may not be Jabari but I pity him all the same."

Would it not be a kindness to let T'Challa slip away, to pass from this world with whatever peace can be granted to him? Imagine, a thought in his head mused, being the one now to decide whether or not the panther king dies.

"He is dying but not yet dead," M'Baku told Ce'Athauna. "I must know who was capable of defeating him when I could not. Find out who this usurper is, where they came from, how they intend to rule Wakanda. Tell me what happened to the royal family. We must return the body to them when the time comes."

His cousin said nothing. M'Baku did not have to ask what she thought about his orders. Asking for information on Wakanda's new king was expected, but seeking the whereabouts of the queen mother wasn't. M'Baku was not about to bury the panther king away from his home, however. The royal family deserved to bury him with his ancestors, no matter how M'Baku felt about him and all previous panther kings.

"I will do it," Ce'Athauna finally said. "Even he deserves to return home."

He breathed out slowly, glad that she understood why he was making the effort. He was Jabari and he intended to honor tradition even if it meant risking the attention of the new king.

"Make sure no one follows you," he told her before she left. "They must not know why you are there."

"Don't question me, cousin," Ce'Athauna replied coolly. "I know the risk you are taking. No one will know."

She left behind an unspoken question: why was she risking her life as well? Whoever deposed T'Challa did so brutally and with no mercy. It warned M'Baku to be vigilant, to pay attention to his new neighboring ruler. What was the new king capable of? Who could wound a man in both body and soul? What kind of threat will they pose to the Jabari?

M'Baku mulled over the questions long into the night while watching the pinpricks of golden light down below in the river valley. He went to bed with trepidation sinking in his chest like a stone and his dreams were filled with the thunder of rushing water and a spear piercing his side while T'Challa begged him to surrender.

Not everyone was told that the former king of Wakanda slept in the snow on the mountainside. M'Baku decided not to speak of it, concerned that if word spread the wrong people would hear and Wakanda would come knocking down the mountains.

"They will not appreciate being kept in the dark, Great Gorilla," N'Gamo informed him while they ate their morning meal. "His very presence here is a threat."

"He is a dying man, he cannot hurt us," M'Baku replied around a mouthful of akara.

N'Gamo rolled his eyes. "You know what I mean."

He did. Wakanda's new king would not appreciate the Jabari harboring the former one, even if T'Challa was hours away from joining his ancestors in the Djalia. Violence could come to Jabariland simply because one man owed another his life.

"Would you rather we throw him back into the river? Let him wash ashore somewhere in the DRC?" No matter what people believed about the Jabari, they were just as aware of the outside world and all the attention a dead king's body could bring. "As I said, let N'Didi and the others try what they can. She says there is no real chance he will recover, so let him die here and not elsewhere. It is the least we can do."

"What you can do," N'Gamo corrected and M'Baku did not bother to protest. "Very well. Have you thought about Yejide's suggestion for redirecting the floodwaters?"

The day crawled. If M'Baku looked at it objectively, his day was no different from the previous day, or the day before last. He had his meetings, his meals, his visits to the mountain grove and the fields of drowned yam. One could say the day was mundane, but he could not. He could not stop thinking about the Wakandan buried in snow. He could not stop thinking about what it meant to have Damisa-Sarki wash up on his shores and be brought to his doorstep by one of his fishermen.

"Are you well, Great Gorilla?" an elderly adviser asked.

It was evening and weak moonlight streamed into the throne room, illuminating the last meeting of the day. M'Baku blinked rapidly and then leaned forward in his seat, resting his elbows on his knees as he looked around at the others. "I apologize, Chinwe. It has been a long day and I have had much to think on."

"Then let us end the day now and resume tomorrow," Chinwe replied and rose to his feet. The others followed suit and saluted M'Baku before leaving the throne room.

N'Gamo did not leave. He looked at M'Baku reproachfully while tapping out a command on his bracer. "You are lucky I recorded the last meeting. Listen to it before you resume tomorrow or Chinwe will thrash you with his walking stick."

"No he won't," M'Baku said. "Don't worry yourself over this. I will manage. Have you heard anything new?"

N'Gamo shook his head while following M'Baku out of the throne room. "His vitals are weak. He clings to life but N'Didi does not know for how much longer. M'Baku, what will you do when he dies? You know he must return to his home."

"A reason why I sent Ce'Athauna to Birnin Zana last night," M'Baku said while they strode to the dining hall. "It was not only to gather information on the new king."

His adviser and friend had nothing to say. They ate their evening meal in silence and parted ways with N'Gamo reminding him to listen to the recording. M'Baku did so once he was sitting cross-legged on the observation deck, gazing down at the pitch-black of the river valley, the scattered village lights, and the snowy peaks surrounding them. He listened to the debate over the construction of a new farming village on land unaffected by the floods until a headache began to form behind his left eye.

"Enough," he muttered to himself and cut the audio.

He didn't power down his bracer yet; his fingers hovered over the glowing hair-thin circuits in the polished gray wood while he debated contacting N'Didi. He shouldn't bother her when she had patients in her care but the panther king was a security threat and he had to know what to expect in the next several hours.

Instead he powered it down and meditated on the rising moon, letting the day's burdens and worries wash over him and downriver out of Jabariland. An hour passed and then someone knocked on the door.

"Enter," he said without looking over his shoulders or opening his eyes. He knew the footsteps treading across the floor. "What is it? Another dead king at my doorstep?"

"You must come now, M'Baku," N'Gamo said, skipping titles and getting M'Baku's attention immediately. "I have never—in all my years, I have never—you must see for yourself."

M'Baku pulled on his thick fur cowl and grabbed his knobkerrie before following his friend down halls and across bridges. He knew where N'Gamo was going and wondered if he should have called on N'Didi after all. But if something did happen to the panther king, why didn't she call him first? Why send N'Gamo?

Guardsmen and healers stood clustered around the doorway to the private courtyard, whispering furiously and anxiously amongst themselves while peering outside. A terse bark alerted them to M'Baku's presence and they immediately pressed themselves against the walls and saluted him. N'Didi did not step back; the old woman bowed and then gestured out at the mountainside.

"Look," she said in a hushed, reverent tone. "Look who has come to pay their respects to Damisa-Sarki."

M'Baku peered outside. Great white shapes moved around the body of the Wakandan like ghosts, spectral ancestors come to usher the king home. They were not ghosts, however, but great white gorillas, Hanuman's own, and they had come to see the man who once wore Bast's mantle.

"What does this mean?" someone wondered.

It was a question no one could answer, not yet. M'Baku watched the white gorillas keep their own vigil over the dying king, wondering why Hanuman sent them here. What was his reason? Why was he so interested in T'Challa?

"They are merely curious," N'Gamo decided. "That is not unusual behavior-"

"This is no show of curiosity," N'Didi replied. "Hanuman knows what happened that brought the panther king here. He asks us to pay attention."

"The affairs of Wakanda are not the affairs of the Jabari," N'Gamo said. "It was only happenstance that he was caught in a fisherman's nets."

"And yet they are here, watching over Bast's chosen." N'Didi looked at M'Baku. "Great Gorilla, I do not pretend to understand the ways of Hanuman or of kings, but you cannot ignore the signs. You have broken enough traditions. Perhaps you are meant to break more."

"I am aware," he replied, barely keeping a scowl off his face.

His desire to engage directly with the Wakandan king did not sit well with his advisers but he had believed it was the right thing to do. Perhaps Hanuman felt the same way.

He caught movement out of the corner of his eye and turned his gaze back to the white gorillas. "They are leaving."

The great white shapes trundled away slowly in the deep snow. Everyone watched silently, breaths barely louder than whispers, until the last gorilla disappeared into the deep night. N'Didi gestured to the other healers to see if the gorillas disturbed the king's body. M'Baku watched for a moment longer and then turned away.

"Great Gorilla!"

"How is it that he cannot leave me alone even when he's dying?" he muttered to N'Gamo while stepping out into the cold.

N'Gamo laughed lowly while they approached the healers. They fussed over T'Challa while N'Didi watched. She turned when they approached and M'Baku noticed something clutched in her wiry hands. A faint light seemed to seep between her fingers.

"This was left behind," she said and revealed a plant in her calloused palms. "It was found near the king's head."

The plant looked like nothing M'Baku ever saw in his life, and he had traversed the length and breadth of Jabariland since he was a child. He had seen old detailed drawings of the heart-shaped herb that grew in the Necropolis gardens and gave the Black Panthers their power, but this was not the plant. It was hard to see in the moonlight but the leaves along the stem were very dark while the bell-shaped leaves at the tip were pale. The delicate petals nestled inside glimmered green.

"What is it?" he asked.

"A gift," N'Didi replied while N'Gamo said, "Whatever the white gorillas eat."

The revered white gorillas of Hanuman were a different breed, larger and stronger and with great intelligence in their gaze. They were gentle giants that tolerated the Jabari in their forests. As the eyes and ears of Hanuman, they did not behave like other gorillas and that would obviously extend to what they ate, but no one knew exactly what. No one had ever seen a white gorilla feast on such a plant.

"Do you think it was left here on purpose?" M'Baku looked at the healers holding vigil over the panther king. "Do you believe this to be Hanuman's doing?"

N'Gamo opened his mouth and the elder healer quickly said, "He is dying. All we can do is keep him comfortable."

M'Baku stared over her head into the dark where the white gorillas vanished. Despite what N'Gamo said, they did not wander up the mountainside to the stronghold often and they certainly did not come to stand over a Wakandan buried in snow. What they witnessed was no coincidence but Hanuman's intent. Hanuman was asking them—asking him to do something different.

"What have we to lose?" M'Baku slowly said. Perhaps Hanuman wanted him to repay his debt in this way. Perhaps his god needed T'Challa alive in order to show him something. There was only one way to learn. "Do what you must, N'Didi. If this is how I am to repay my debt, then so be it." He turned away. "Tell me if anything changes—for better or worse."

It is time for you to come home.

It is not so cold now. He can barely see the light. It is far beyond his reach and he is at peace with it. He is at peace with whatever awaits him in the dark.

He is ready to go home.

Where are you going?

That is not his baba's voice. It is deep and soundless, reverberating all around him.

Where are you going, little one?

He is going home. Laughter ripples through him. The light glints and glistens above him, entrancing, like sunlight dancing on clear waters.

You are not going home. It is not your time.

It is. He had done what he could, he had paid his father's price, he had-

Who are you, hm? Are you your baba? Or are you yourself?

What does it matter?

Little one. Foolish one. It is not your time.

The light is spreading. It gleams, golden and entrancing. He is starting to feel cold again, and he does not like it. Does not accept it.

Good. Return to where you belong, little one. I cannot mind my own until you do.

He tears his eyes away from the light once, just once, to see a great white shape lurking in the dark below him. It reaches out and shoves him up at the

He jolts upright with a gasp and a burst of warm air in his lungs, and then crumples over in pain. Every breath stabs him and everywhere throbs deep in his bones; how can being in his own skin hurt so much?

Cool hands pull and push at him, gentle yet firm, and a low voice speaks in an accent he can't place. "Breathe slowly. Ease yourself into it. Your body is still mending. Do not rush it."

He lets himself be lowered back down onto a smooth hard surface covered in thick cloth. Slow breaths ease the pain in his sides but he still feels the strain of lungs pressing against cracked ribs. They are—were—broken and healing slowly. He blinks, trying to focus his eyes, but can't make out more than a dim gray ceiling. He does not recognize it.

"Where am I?" he asks but all that comes out of his dry mouth is a hiss.

More hands slide under his head and tilt it up. Something presses to his lips. Lukewarm water laps against his tongue and he leans forward eagerly to drink.

"Slowly," the low voice snaps. "Do not make me repeat myself."

He does as told, letting water wash over his tongue and trickle down his throat. Every swallow is painful but he does not stop until the water is taken away.

"Now rest. You are still healing."

He lays his head back on a cushion and closes his eyes. He hears footsteps padding across a hard floor and the sounds echo. There is a murmuring somewhere, water pouring into a pool, that explains the dampness in the air.

"Where am I?" he asks again and this time what passes through his cracked lips are words.

The answer does not surprise him, somehow. "Do not concern yourself with it."

He mulls over the cadence in her words, turning it over and over in his foggy mind because he knows he heard it before. A recent encounter, he thinks, and then some of that fog rolls back. He has a name for the woman's origin. "You are Jabari."

She sighs. "As I said, do not concern yourself with where you are or who I am. Focus on yourself. Rest."

He needs to know how he came to be in Jabariland, who she is, how long it has been since… but exhaustion throbs in his aching bones and he stops fighting to stay awake. As he sinks into sleep, he hears the woman whisper, "Tell him Damisa…."

The last thing he remembers is deep soundless laughter.

T'Challa wakes slowly. He hears rippling water echoing off the walls. He hears his own shallow breaths. He feels a deep ache in his side that stings whenever he inhales too deeply. His bones throb. He feels the scratches and bruises mottling his knuckles when he curls his fingers over cloth-covered stone.

He hears swift footsteps padding across the room and a flurry of whispers he can't quite catch. The footsteps leave, fading in seconds, and he is alone. T'Challa opens his eyes.

He is underground. The walls were chiseled from stone and water beads in the grooves and cracks. Shallow shelves hold globes of bluish light, illuminating the chamber. Water flows into a small pool on the other side of the chamber, just large enough to fit a man. Half-empty vessels sit on the ledge, bowls and pitchers shaped by hand from clay, and his mouth is suddenly dry with thirst. He slowly eases himself up onto his elbows and every inch of it is a struggle. He gasps, eyes watering from the pain, and he grits his teeth as he sits up.

He looks down at his bare arms, eying the scratches and raised lines scoring his skin. His hands look worse. He feels worse.

He shouldn't feel at all. He should be dead. Erik—Killmonger—N'Jadaka threw him over the falls and-

T'Challa lifts the thick blanket covering him to find a gauze over the deep gouge in his side and fading bruises all over his chest and abdomen. Someone had dressed him in loose dull-colored trousers that Shuri would laugh at the same way she mocked his—he presses his chapped lips tightly, stifling a sudden choking sob. What happened to her? What happened to his mother? To Nakia? What happened to Okoye, Ayo, his council, his people?

He needs to go. He must return to Wakanda. He pulls himself to the edge of the stone slab he's sitting on and then he's nauseous, lightheaded, disoriented. His stomach churns. He leans over the side and dry heaves.

T'Challa looks up when he hears footsteps again. He wipes his mouth and sits up to face his savior. He will ask the Jabari woman for her name, for the day, where he is, how she found him, what is the quickest way back to Wakanda, and he will do so sitting up and giving her his full and undivided attention.

There are two silhouettes in the chiseled doorway. The first is an elderly woman clothed in furs and plain brown robes; the only adornment on her is a large polished bangle on her wrist, carved from gray wood. She scowls at the sight of him and immediately goes to the pool to draw water. The second silhouette is taller, broad-shouldered, and made imposing by a collar of fur.

Then he steps into the light and T'Challa's heart stutters to a stop. He doesn't have to ask the Jabari woman anything after all.

"Nothing to say?" M'Baku asks after a few thunderously silent seconds. "No show of gratitude, no thanks to Hanuman and N'Didi for saving your life?"

"I…." He looks between the Great Gorilla and the elderly woman placing a vessel on a small brazier. "Thank you. But... I should be dead."

"You should be, and yet here you are in the land of the Jabari," M'Baku says. "The first Damisa-Sarki to grace it with his presence in centuries."

Few people use the old name for the Black Panther nowadays and T'Challa shivers involuntarily when he hears it. "It was not intentional, I assure you," he says. He touches the gauze on his side and grimaces. "How did you… what happened? How did I get here?"

"A fisherman found you in his nets, scaring away his catch with your face," the young Jabari leader says. He starts pacing back and forth, eying T'Challa with mild amusement. "You were brought here and she healed your many, many wounds."

"Not completely," the elderly woman says. "There is not enough of the herb to see him through. The rest of his recovery must be done at a natural pace."

She is pouring a green liquid into the vessel. T'Challa leans forward, wondering. It is an unnatural color and despite the glow of the luminescent globes on the shelves, he swears it glimmers with its own light. "What sort of herb do you grow that resurrects a dead man, umakhulu?"

"Not dead. You were in a coma," she replies, arching a thin white eyebrow at him. "And this did not come from our gardens or from the forests in the valley. Hanuman-"

"N'Didi," M'Baku warns.

She waves him off while lighting the brazier. T'Challa glances around for a vent but though he feels a slight breeze in the chamber, he sees none.

"It was Hanuman's gift to you, Damisa-Sarki," she says while stirring the vessel's contents.

T'Challa considers the answer. He needs a better one because it sounds preposterous—what interest would Hanuman have in him?—and even M'Baku appears to agree. He is not about to argue with the woman who saved his life, however. "Then I thank Hanuman for granting me new life and you for treating me well."

"Smart boy," she mutters while watching the vessel for steam. "Smarter still if you stay where you are for the next several days."

He frowns. "I cannot. I must go-"

"Back to Wakanda, I assume. In your state?" M'Baku sits back on his heels, arms folded. "Why are you in such a hurry, panther king?"

M'Baku knows the rules of the challenge. He must suspect how T'Challa came to be in the river. He must suspect the meaning behind T'Challa not rapidly recovering from his wounds on his own, without help. Yet the Jabari leader stands before him, pressing him to speak, to reveal how he fell.

"You must know," T'Challa says slowly.

"I have a few ideas," M'Baku agrees, "but better to hear from you. You were there, after all. You would know the truth."

No. He does not know M'Baku well enough to entrust him with it. He has no power here and M'Baku can force an answer out of him, but he will say nothing. He cannot tell a stranger, a Jabari, about his father's crime. He cannot say why N'Jadaka came to Wakanda, or why he won the challenge when M'Baku did not.

"I fell in ritual combat for the throne," T'Challa chooses to say because it is a truth. "My challenger chose to dispose of me. Bast-" He sees N'Didi glower at him. "-or Hanuman only knows why I did not die when I should have."

M'Baku frowns deeply but remains silent, and he is grateful. His answer may be truthful but it is also clinical and gives away none of the doubts and sorrow that plagued him, blinded him, and nearly killed him. He himself is not ready to face them yet.

"Your sister and the queen mother," M'Baku says instead. "They are the reason why you wish to go back."

"Yes," T'Challa says more harshly than he means to. "I must know what became of them. I must know if they are…."

If they are dead. It is a possibility he cannot bear to comprehend. He lost his father just weeks ago and Zuri's death is still fresh, still raw. If N'Jadaka turned on Shuri and his mother, then Nakia would have tried to protect them but he cannot see her winning that fight. A vengeful man is a dangerous one, after all. And if N'Jadaka fell on them with the powers of the Black Panther, then T'Challa is the only one left.

"I have men searching for information," M'Baku says when T'Challa remains silent. He then adds, speaking each word delicately, "If I hear anything about your family, you will be informed immediately."

He is embarrassed that he did not expect such kindness from the Jabari leader. He smiles tiredly, gratefully at M'Baku. "Thank you."

N'Didi steps forward, holding a dripping wooden ladle. "He must rest, Great Gorilla. It is nearly dawn and you have your duties."

"I am aware." M'Baku holds his gaze for a few seconds more and then turns away. "Do not speak of this until I say so."

"Of course," she says.

Once he is gone, T'Challa lets his shoulders slump. He frowns at M'Baku's last words to her. "Does nobody else know I am here, umakhulu?"

"You are the former king. Do you believe your usurper will leave you alone if they know you are here? Better to hide you until you are ready to leave."

"And when will that be?" he asks. He watches the old woman return to the brazier to ladle a steaming liquid into a small stone bowl.

Her smile is tight, guarded, and his stomach sinks.

"Hanuman knows."

"He is hiding something," N'Gamo mused.

"Of course he is. I wouldn't expect anything less," M'Baku replied. They were alone in the throne room after the morning meeting and could talk freely about their unexpected guest for a few minutes. "He has no reason to share his secrets with me."

"My concern, Great Gorilla, is that his secrets will follow him here," N'Gamo said. "What if he knows something about the new king that could topple them? Do you think they will remain on their golden throne in the golden city and allow him to share that secret with us?"

M'Baku dragged a hand down his face. This dilemma plagued him all throughout the meeting, earning him no favor with Chinwe or the other advisers.

"I had hoped for a more complete answer," Chinwe had said at the end of the meeting, "given the restless night you must've had pondering something."

"Forgive my impudence, Chinwe," M'Baku replied while biting back a yawn. Curse the panther king; he had only been awake for four hours and was already causing trouble. "I will have a better answer for you tomorrow."

"If he refuses to speak," N'Gamo was saying, "then tell him he is a danger and a threat to the Jabari. Tell him you will force him out even if he is not yet whole."

M'Baku dropped his hand in his lap to level N'Gamo with a look. "Too far, N'Gamo."

"I speak only the truth," his adviser replied coolly. "Are we not the priority?"

M'Baku lived for his people and he would die for them if the situation called for it. However, he could not forget the moment he laid eyes on the panther king last night. T'Challa held himself proudly but his face was gaunt, sallow, exhausted. There was a small puddle of bile on the ground next to the stone bed and nothing the panther king did could contain his pain and grief. It was so plain in his eyes that M'Baku could not speak for several seconds.

"A broken spirit cannot heal."

M'Baku knew terrible things must've happened in the days leading up to the panther king's fall. What did Wakanda get itself into since the Jabari withdrew to their mountains? Did it have anything to do with vibranium-based technology, T'Challa's continuation of his father's efforts to globalize, fallout from King T'Chaka's death, or-

"N'Gamo," he said slowly, "that report you tried to give me on an outsider's aircraft at the Wakandan border. Tell me what became of it."

N'Gamo thought for a moment. "Members of the Border Tribe apprehended its pilot and brought him into Wakanda."

M'Baku raised an eyebrow at that. The Border Tribe took their duties far more seriously than the panther king did; what in Hanuman's name would convince them to allow an outsider in? He remembered an incident years and years ago that left thick black smoke streaming into the sky. He had wondered about it while he and his baba watched from the safety of the mountains; he learned later that an outsider breached Wakanda's defenses to steal cases of vibranium. It hadn't happened again—until now.

"When did this happen?" he asked.

"Two days ago. It arrived in the afternoon."

M'Baku nodded slowly while slotting it into its place in his internal timeline. "That fisherman found Damisa-Sarki in his nets that evening. A strange coincidence."

N'Gamo frowned. "You think they are related events?"

"The Border Tribe gave an outsider passage into Wakanda when they never allow anyone in. Now we harbor Damisa-Sarki within our walls. Perhaps his challenger was that pilot."

"The challenger must be of royal blood," N'Gamo pointed out. "While the Hatut Zeraze counts them among their ranks, what war dog returns home to challenge the king so soon after his coronation?"

Questions upon questions. They roiled in M'Baku's mind and something ached behind his left eye. This story had too many holes and Ce'Athauna had just left on her mission. It would be days before she had a story to tell him.

"I do not know, but he will," M'Baku said. "Perhaps I will ask him tonight, if N'Didi lets me."

He rose to his feet and then N'Gamo asked, "How long will he be here, M'Baku?"

"So quick to withdraw your hospitality, hm? What would Hanuman think?" He chuckled at N'Gamo's exasperated huff. "N'Didi claims he cannot leave until he is well and you know how she is about the people in her care."

"I know quite well." N'Gamo followed him out of the throne room. "But what does it matter? Do not deny the risk we are taking right now, the risk you are taking."

He thought about his advisers' disapproval of his distracted responses to their questions and suggestions, and about the mysterious new king that thought T'Challa's death would best establish their claim to the throne. Damisa-Sarki was trouble, something N'Gamo believed more strongly than M'Baku did, and yet M'Baku hesitated.

"I said I owe him a debt. He is awake now but still weak." He could still clearly see the panther king's haunted eyes in his mind. "Once he recovers fully, he will leave and you can sleep easier at night."

"I sleep as well as ever, Hanuman willing," N'Gamo replied. "It is you I worry about."

"Do not concern yourself with me," M'Baku said. His very early start to the day only occurred because the panther king woke from his coma. There was no reason for it to happen again. "I will make it up to Chinwe and Bosede."

"That is not what I meant," N'Gamo said and something about his voice made M'Baku stop in his tracks and turn around. "You know what they say about Damisa-Sarki. These panthers watch, speak, act from the shadows. They are never what they say they are. They say they will do something and instead do something else. You cannot trust whatever he says."

"Do you think I am not aware? Why else would I send Ce'Athauna to Wakanda?"

N'Gamo frowned. "Who was it that wanted to challenge the king? Who was it that decided to come down from the mountains to make Wakanda listen?"

"Better than to watch from afar and say nothing," M'Baku said. "Better than to be forgotten again."

N'Gamo said nothing and he was glad for the silence. It was too early in the day with not enough sleep to argue about this again. He needed time and rest to give these questions the attention they deserve.

When N'Gamo spoke again, they were near the mountain grove. "Did he say where he will go?"

M'Baku shrugged. "He spoke of returning to Wakanda."

"A foolish man," N'Gamo declared.

He agreed. T'Challa will probably die searching for his family but M'Baku certainly wasn't going to stop him. "Perhaps."

"Tell me about yourself, umakhulu," T'Challa says while watching N'Didi fret over a pot on the brazier.

The air smells faintly of ash and earthy herbs, and he tries not to grimace. Wakanda's modern medical advancements did not replace traditional medicines and practices, and he tasted more than his fair share of them growing up. His mother always said he was worse about it than Shuri when he was the elder of the two… he shakes his head, banishing the thought before it can overwhelm him. He is not yet ready to allow it and other terrible thoughts into his head.

"What do you want to know?" N'Didi snorts while stirring the pot. "How old I am? How long I have served the family of the Great Gorilla? What my thoughts are on your kind?"

"My kind?" T'Challa asks mildly though the words sting. Do the Jabari truly not see themselves as Wakandan? He can understand one's deep connection to their tribe and homeland, but being told to his face that the Jabari do not consider themselves a part of Wakanda hurts. He then recalls his first thoughts when the Jabari announced themselves at Warrior Falls and his face warms with shame.

N'Didi clicks her tongue. "Perhaps not the best choice of words. This is my eightieth year and I have been mending bones and bodies since I was twenty-five. I know the secrets in these herbs, these stalks and leaves and bulbs and roots and flowers. I know what cleanses your blood, what eases your stomach and mind, what numbs your pain, what stops your heart. This may seem crude to you but knowledge passed down from the ancestors-"

"I did not mean to insult you, umakhulu," T'Challa interrupts. "And it is not crude. All of our medical achievements and breakthroughs came from the discoveries of our ancestors. We did not wholly banish tradition."

N'Didi considers his words with a skeptical frown. "Hmph. You certainly know how to appease your elders." She ladles a steaming black liquid into a wooden bowl and presents it to him. "Drink this. You may have recovered from your fall but you are susceptible to sickness and other troublesome complications. It will also help you rest."

"You mean it will put me to sleep," T'Challa says warily. His nose keeps twitching at the stench.

"If you wish to leave this place on your own two feet, you will drink it and you will rest," N'Didi replies. "It is what your body and mind need most."

He accepts the brew with some reluctance. It still steams and he decides to let it cool. "Another question then, umakhulu. You say the herb that saved my life was a gift from Hanuman, not from your gardens. How did you come by it if you did not grow it?"

N'Didi hesitates while clearing the area around the brazier with its simmering medicine. "What do you know about the white gorillas of Jabariland?"

He knows precious little but he does not say so. "I know they are unlike other gorillas. They are larger, stronger, faster, smarter, and they are impervious to the cold and snow. I know they are sacred to you, that you see them as avatars of Hanuman."

She stares at him. "You know more than you let on, Damisa-Sarki. I am impressed."

T'Challa contemplates the dark liquid in the bowl in his hands. "Why do you call me that?"

"Is that not your name?" she asks. "Or have Wakandans forgotten it?"

"Not forgotten, just no longer used. The shamans still say it in rituals but it is a formality." He takes a tentative sip and his tongue curls at the overpowering bitter taste. "What do the white gorillas have to do with the herb?"

She doesn't answer immediately. Her lips are pressed tightly while she pours the rest of the medicine into a pot and covers it. He wonders if a Jabari secret is involved in his recovery.

"I do not know for certain." She speaks as though the admission hurts her. "While we encounter white gorillas in the mountains, they rarely come to this stronghold. Last night, they appeared at the courtyard and held vigil over you. They left after a half-hour. One of them dropped a plant near your head. It was… extraordinary, nothing we've seen before. The mountains still hold many secrets but this herb… the petals glowed."

Like the heart-shaped herb. His heart beats loudly at the implication. If such an herb grew in Jabariland and imparted similar enhancements, it could alter Wakanda and the Jabari’s uneasy coexistence. If it fell into the wrong hands, if the wrong man or woman took up M'Baku's mantle, then tensions could escalate into violence. Wakanda could collapse in on itself.

What were the odds that the Jabari discovered this plant a day after pulling him out of the river?

N'Didi sees his face and shakes her head vigorously. "It is not your Bast-gifted herb, Damisa-Sarki, panther king. It may have knitted your organs, arteries, veins, and bones back together, but it did not enhance your natural abilities. It did not encourage your body to heal itself."

He touches his side immediately, hand brushing lightly over the gauze covering the deep gouge where N'Jadaka stabbed him. It still cripples him with debilitating pain if he aggravates it, but it has already scabbed over. Many of his grievous injuries are mending just two days after his cousin and the river inflicted them on him.

"It is still an unusual and powerful plant," he says. "You should seek it out."

"I will not," she replies and he flinches at the steel in her voice. "It is a gift from Hanuman, given to us when it was most needed. I will not be greedy and scour the mountainside for more."

"It can stop internal bleeding. It mended my bones. It-"

"Is not ours to use as we please," she says. "I can accept that Hanuman granted it to us to save your life and your life only. He has his reasons and I will not question them."

"And what of the others? I do not believe it will satisfy M'Baku."

She gestures dismissively at the Great Gorilla's name. "His concerns are not my concerns. I am a healer first. It only matters that you recover while in my care. After that, you may do what you wish." She glares at the bowl in his hands. "You will not return to Wakanda so quickly unless you drink that, Damisa-Sarki."

He will not challenge the word of the elder healer. He slowly drains the bowl under her watchful eyes without flinching and hands it to her.

"You are certainly less troublesome than others," she remarks while rinsing the bowl. "This old woman is grateful for it. Now rest. You have been awake long enough and the medicine must do its work."

"I will," he says, "but I wish to be left alone."

"Very well," she says and then points to another bowl on the table. "When you wake, drink this. I will know if you didn't."

She leaves and T'Challa is alone in the chamber. He breathes deeply and then pulls himself to the edge of the stone slab. His body does not ache so terribly but his arms shake with the effort. He is breathless when he is at the edge of the slab and increasingly doubtful that his legs can bear his weight. Still, he tries. He sets his feet on the ground and then pauses to stare at the scrapes and scratches on his shins.

When he was the Panther, shallow wounds vanished within the hour. He isn't used to seeing them remain on his skin. He isn't used to remembering how far he fell.

Something heavy and cold sinks to the bottom of his stomach. No longer interested in testing his strength, T'Challa pulls back from the ledge and lies down on the stone bed. He stares at the light globes on the wall until he can no longer keep his eyes open.

M'Baku was in a foul mood when the day was over. Bosede called a meeting at the very last second to once again discuss the new construction project, and he was not amused. He knew what the adviser was really doing but he could not call them out without drawing attention to his poor behavior the past two weeks.

"I have the final say," he had declared at the end of the meeting. "Resources are few and I will not waste them on buildings that wash away from the next year's rains. Prove to me first that the new village can withstand the floodwaters."

He left for the dining hall under a dark cloud. He barely tasted his evening meal and heard none of the laughter and banter around him. His cousin's seat was empty and he wondered where in Wakanda Ce'Athauna was now. He wondered what she learned. He wondered if it would matter.

N'Gamo sat down across from him and dipped a ball of fufu into the half-eaten bowl of groundnut soup. "Did you not read my report, Great Gorilla-"

"Not tonight," M'Baku said curtly. "I will not ruin it any more than Bosede had."

"They only have our best interest at heart," N'Gamo replied. "They do not appreciate a leader who says nothing about the displaced villagers or our future."

"Who claims I say nothing?" M'Baku scowled at the floor. Did he not already have enough to worry about? "I need time and they will not give it."

"We will be short on the yam harvests this year," N'Gamo said mildly. "Again."

"Then show me what our plans are. Show me how we will protect our people and crops from the mountains." His appetite gone completely, he scrubbed his hands clean with water from a pitcher and rose to his feet. "Tell Bosede that."

Evening became night and he paced around his bedroom, unable to let go of the day's events. He could not sit and watch the river valley, could not meditate and let his stress slip away. If only he could summon his most outspoken adviser here and tell them the truth. But what kind of leader would buckle under the pressure of keeping a secret to protect his people?

N'Gamo was right. The panther king's presence endangered the Jabari by occupying M'Baku's mind, keeping him from paying attention to the concerns of his people. T'Challa was awake now and N'Didi promised he would recover on his own; M'Baku could cast him out and be done with it—but he could not. It did not seem right to abandon a man who lost everything even if he was Wakandan.

M'Baku's advisers were displeased when he chose to confront T'Challa on the day of the panther king's coronation. They would condemn M'Baku for harboring him after he lost his throne. They would say that Wakanda's matters were not theirs and that his obsession with Damisa-Sarki made him unfit to be the Great Gorilla. They would say so many things.

"We are a family that refuses to eat from the same bowl but must do so in order to live," his iya-nla once said while they watched the golden lights of Birnin Zana from the mountaintop. "What happens to one will happen to the other."

"They do not care about us, iya-nla. Why should we care about them?"

His grandmother cuffed him on the head. "Wakanda protects our lands. We protect Wakanda's old ways. They have forgotten, so it is up to us to remember. You must remind them when the time comes, little gorilla. Remind them that we are still here and we remember."

"We remember," he muttered. He threw on his fur cowl and left for the healing chambers.

The warriors stationed outside thumped their chests in salute when they saw him. He nodded and then loudly said, "Leave us."

He stepped inside to see the former king sitting up on his stone bed, staring at the pool of water on the other side of the chamber. His hair was unkempt, his beard desperately needed a trim, and his half-healed wounds did not make for a pretty sight, but he still managed to look dignified. Noble. How did he do it?

A tray sat next to T'Challa, the bowl of food barely touched. M'Baku could not blame his reluctance to eat gruel but if he did not eat, he would remain in Jabariland for longer than either of them wanted him to.

"You should eat that before N'Didi comes back," he said.

T'Challa started and whipped his head around to stare at M'Baku before looking down at the tray next to him. "Forgive me. I did not hear you."

"At all? I thought panthers had better hearing," M'Baku snorted incredulously. He went to one of the light globes on the wall to inspect its intensity. He felt eyes on his back and resisted the urge to scratch a sudden itch.

"I saw her pouring water in there," T'Challa said slowly. "You use bioluminescent microorganisms for light?"

"They are not harmed if that is what you ask." M'Baku turned back around. "So." He noticed Damisa-Sarki sit up straighter, chin held high despite the light tremor of exhaustion. "I heard an interesting report about an incident at your border two days ago."

There. Fear flickered in T'Challa's eyes and then the man's face emptied of emotion. He knew how to wear his mask well even without that ridiculous vibranium suit. "I did not know the Jabari were watching."

"You already forgot my little speech at your coronation? I am offended," M'Baku said glibly. "My men reported seeing members of the Border Tribe bringing an outsider into Wakanda."

"That did happen, yes," T'Challa replied. His voice was even but M'Baku heard a slight strain in his words.

"Where is the outsider now?"

"Still in Wakanda," Damisa-Sarki said. "He has not left and he never will."

"Now why is that?" M'Baku asked. He stepped closer to the stone bed. "Are you holding him prisoner because he saw too much? Or is it because he decided to challenge you for your throne and won?"

T'Challa did not answer right away. His lip trembled and so did his breaths, and M'Baku realized he was measuring them to control himself. When the former king spoke, his tone did not change but M'Baku saw and heard enough.

"That would require someone of royal blood, as you well know."

Ah. So the outsider was Wakandan royalty, and T'Challa knew it. "Who was it? One of your war dogs? Someone broke rank because they did not like you? How do you train the Hatut Zeraze to disobey their king-"

"Enough," T'Challa said and M'Baku fell silent despite himself. "I do not need to explain this to you, M'Baku. Leave it be."

M'Baku frowned, deeply annoyed with himself. He did not appreciate T'Challa seizing control of this conversation. "I will not. You are no king. I have no reason to listen to you."

He did not like the way T'Challa watched him, brown eyes searching his face for answers. They were far too warm and candid for a ruler's; how did anyone expect him to reign without question if his rivals and enemies could read his emotions so easily? M'Baku kept himself from shifting from foot to foot, but it was a near thing.

"I am a threat," T'Challa suddenly said, his voice lilting with revelation. "You fear harm will come to the Jabari because you saved my life."

"I owed a great debt," M'Baku replied because it was the truth. "What sort of man would I be if I did not repay it? But-" And the quirk of a smile forming on the former king's face faded. "-you are right. While you are here, we are in danger."

To his surprise, Damisa-Sarki did not protest or deny it. He simply nodded, solemn, accepting the fact because he knew what it meant to put the people before him. "Then it is for the best that I leave."

He immediately swung his legs over the side of the stone slab and set bare feet on the floor. M'Baku raised an eyebrow at the sight of the bruises and scrapes on the man's shins and knees. He also did not miss T'Challa's hesitation as he tested his footing.

"N'Didi did not say you were well enough for travel and already you are trying to run back to Wakanda," M'Baku remarked. "How far do you think you will go?"

"As far as I must."

He watched T'Challa stand on his own for a few seconds before those battered knees gave way. M'Baku sent Hanuman an exasperated prayer while lunging forward to catch him.

"N'Gamo was right," he muttered while helping him back onto the stone bed. It was disconcerting how frail the panther king felt in his arms when a week ago he struggled in T'Challa's iron grasp. "You are a foolish man."

"How long must I endure your insults?" T'Challa asked tiredly. "What king would tolerate them?"

"You are not a king now," M'Baku replied. This time T'Challa flinched at the words. "Be less of a fool and perhaps you can reclaim your mantle."

"Perhaps." T'Challa's voice was distant and his gaze empty. His hands curled in his lap as he turned his head away to stare at the light globes. "I am done for tonight, Great Gorilla."

M'Baku returned to his chambers, thoughts scattered like birds startled into flight. T'Challa may think he gave nothing away but his face and his actions spoke volumes. Whoever the new king was, T'Challa feared him and not just because of the manner in which he fell. M'Baku could not tell if it was a deeply personal matter or if the new king was a much bigger threat to Wakanda than T'Challa was.

A dangerous king with the power of the Black Panther was the last thing he needed to contend with. Was he not already occupied with trying to secure his people's future for the next hundred years while hiding an injured panther king in his mountains? He would ask why T'Challa allowed this man into Wakanda but those were now trivial details. What he needed to know was what the new panther king was capable of and what he would do to the Jabari if he learned who saved the deposed king.

"I am a threat. You fear harm will come to the Jabari because you saved my life."

"I have paid my debt," M'Baku told himself. He looked down at the river valley from the observation deck, gaze sweeping over the village lights. "Damisa-Sarki must go. Wakanda's matters are not our own."

His words rang hollow in his own ear.

Once, long ago, a Jabari hunter was caught in a fierce storm while crossing the mountains. Starving, freezing to death, he stumbled through snow and stone searching for shelter. Then he saw a large white shape ahead of him and hid behind some rocks. A great white gorilla stood in front of two dead trees, watching the storm. How did it get here? He watched it turn around and disappear. Curious, he crept forward to discover a cave entrance between the brittle trees.

Warm air blew out of the cave; desperate to escape the cold, he threw aside caution and went inside. He saw no gorilla but discovered the cave was a corridor into the heart of the mountains. Rather than wait near the entrance until the storm died down, the hunter followed the corridor to see where it and the white gorilla went. He had no torch but a substance coating the sides of the corridor glowed bright blue. When he touched the wall, the light clung to his fingers and lit his path as he went deeper and deeper into the mountains. Then the corridor opened up and he beheld a great underground lake filled with blind fish. The ceiling had caved in long ago and beams of cold light fell on the warm waters. The light fed life to the plants that grew here, including a dying tree on a tied island on the lake.

As the Jabari hunter drew closer, he saw the white gorilla sleeping at the base of the tree. Next to it were piles of fruits, edible shoots, and freshly caught fish. Unable to help himself, he dashed across the tombolo and fell on the food. All the while, the white gorilla slept. Once he was finished, the hunter fell into a great sleep. When he woke, there was more food piled on broad green leaves next to him but the white gorilla was gone. The Jabari hunter stayed at the roots of the dying tree for another day, until the skies cleared and he could return home. Before he left, he cleared away the refuse, buried seeds so that more plants may grow, fashioned himself a walking stick from a dead root, and thanked the absent white gorilla for saving his life.

As he returned home to his village, he saw a family of white gorillas perched on an outcrop across the gorge, watching him. They have been watching the Jabari ever since.

M'Baku used to ask his iya-nla if the mysterious white gorilla was actually Hanuman. She never gave him a straight answer, which flummoxed and frustrated him. He preferred the story of the warrior Mandla, who went into the forest to slay the dark leopard stalking his village and was helped in his heroic feat by a great white gorilla.

It was only when M'Baku was older and came across a white gorilla while hiking through a forest of Jabari trees that he truly understood the story. He never told anyone about his encounter with the massive, gentle creature but it marked him in such a way that his father and grandmother noticed. Gone was the brash, impulsive boy whose mouth and fists were too quick for his thoughts. Here was a young man, tempered and shaped by the land so that he knew when to be patient and when to be bold.

No white gorilla sat at the foot of the dead Jabari tree or walked along the shore of the underground lake. M'Baku still looked for signs that one had been here, just as he did every time he came to this sanctuary.

A shaman marked in white chalk and laden with polished wooden jewelry approached him. "Great Gorilla, we were told that you would come today. We prepared a fasting room-"

He had no time for ritual. "I am only here to meditate on a thought. I have not eaten. Let us begin."

The shaman snapped his mouth shut and retreated to inform the others waiting just outside the receiving room. M'Baku waited until he no longer heard their footsteps before shedding his fur cowl and bracers, and leaning his knobkerrie against the wall. He strode barefoot across cool grass and damp loam to the tombolo. The water on either side was clear as glass and he watched blind fish darting away from his vibrating footsteps.

In the centuries since the Jabari first discovered this lake, an altar was carved into the roots of the now-dead Jabari tree. A basket of dried sap sat on one side and a small brazier filled with embers sat on the other. He dropped a few amber lumps and two glowing embers into a censer with a pair of tongs, then sat down before the altar, closed his eyes, and breathed deeply.

It took a few minutes. Soon his head filled with the sap's rich scent and a voice chuckled soundlessly in his ear. M'Baku cracked an eye open and beheld a great white shape sitting within the roots of the dead tree. Between the gray wood grew strange green bell-shaped plants; within the leaves something glimmered with light. He thought about plucking out the petals to give to N'Didi but he could not move.

Why are you here, little gorilla?

"I have questions," M'Baku said without speaking.

About the child of Bast, Damisa-Sarki. You think I shouldn't have helped you pay your debt.

"His presence endangers us. You know what kind of person sits on the Wakandan throne."

Damisa-Sarki is the only one who can stop him.

"The Jabari have nothing to do with it. Wakanda has not cared about us and no king voluntarily set foot in our lands for centuries. Why bring him here? Why involve us in Wakandan matters?"

The great white shape came down slowly from its seat among the silvery brown roots. It prowled around M'Baku. When it spoke again, it was into his ear and it sounded like his iya-nla.

You made the choice, little gorilla. You did not stay in the mountains like your baba, like your iya-nla. You came down from the mountains because you could not stand to remain silent any longer. The Jabari must be heard.

M'Baku did not protest this. His decision to challenge T'Challa was not an easy one but it had to be done. Wakanda was going down a dangerous path and the Jabari were not about to sit by and let it happen. It was the unfortunate reality of an independent tribe living within the borders of a nation.

When Damisa-Sarki comes down from the mountains, follow him.

"We have nothing to gain from fighting his battles, from spilling our blood in his name. When it is over, he will turn his back to us. He will not care once he has his throne back."

Are you not the Great Gorilla? Are you not the pride of your people? Be their voice. Make Damisa-Sarki listen. The Jabari will not be forgotten again.

M'Baku startled awake, jerking his head up as clean air filled his lungs. He stared at the ashes in the censer and then up at the roots of the dead Jabari tree. No plants grew between them nor did the tree ever bear the weight of a great white gorilla.

The shamans waited for him in the receiving chamber. They offered him a pitcher of water to wash his face and slake his thirst. He then fastened on his fur cowl, put his bracers back on his forearms, and took up his knobkerrie.

"Did you find the answers you needed, Great Gorilla?" a shaman asked.

"I found enough," he said curtly and left.

His father is on the floor, bleeding from deep puncture wounds to his abdomen. His father is standing over him, donning the mantle of the Black Panther, and the vibranium claws drip blood. He is crying for his baba, begging him to wake, as the Black Panther draws back his hand and strikes.

He wakes up with a start, sweat on his brow, fingers curled, ready to claw out of his own skin. He stares blankly at the wall until he realizes the glow on the shallow shelves are globes of bluish light. Bioluminescence. M'Baku confirmed his suspicions before asking about the day N'Jadaka came home.

T'Challa curls into himself, each breath a gasping sob. He almost can't feel the stabbing in his sides, the aching in his muscles and bones. He almost can't feel how mortal he is, how vulnerable, how weak. How lonely he is, hidden away in a mountain far from Birnin Zana. Where is Shuri? Where is his mother? Where is Okoye? Nakia? Are they safe? Are they well? Are they still alive?

He can't stop thinking about his dream. He knows it is guilt made manifest, shaped by the vivid details N'Jadaka spit out in the throne room. He knows it isn't his fault, that he wasn't the one who killed N'Jobu and started N'Jadaka down this path of blood and vengeance, but the guilt sits at the back of his throat like bitter poison. It is poison, turning food and water to dust in his mouth, hindering his senses and judgment, making him stumble and fall under N'Jadaka's rage.

What could he have done differently? T'Challa searches and searches but he can't find an answer. He feels worse knowing he never would've known if not for that fateful encounter in Busan, if not for his suspicions leading him to a horrible truth Zuri kept hidden for over twenty years. The revelation that he is only the latest in a long line of kings that closed the door on people from Erik "Killmonger" Stevens' world, a world that cast aside and trampled on the disenfranchised and the lost, is unbearable.

I was wrong. He wishes Nakia was here. He needs to tell her he understands her now. We were all wrong. I should have listened to you.

It would not have stopped N'Jadaka from coming home but it would have been a start. At the very least, he would have been at peace with himself when he faced his cousin in the Citadel. Now N'Jadaka sits on the throne, turning his vengeful eyes outward, while he hides in Jabariland, too weak to leave the mountains and at the mercy of the unpredictable M'Baku.

The only thing T'Challa can do right now is regain his strength and hope to challenge N'Jadaka for the throne, and he won't do it lying on this stone slab all day and night. He rubs his face clean of dried tears and pulls himself to the edge. His knees shake as he shifts his weight onto them but this time they don't give out. It only takes a few steps to reach a stool next to the stone table in the chamber but he is breathing harshly and trembling by the time he sits down on it. His body aches and it feels like someone is stabbing his side with a red-hot branding iron.

He is not ready. It may be weeks before he is, weeks he cannot afford to lose. He bows his head and tries not to cry again.

He looks up when someone enters the chamber. N'Didi is carrying a tray of food. She stops in her tracks to stare at him and then frowns deeply while setting the tray on the table.

"And what good did that do, Damisa-Sarki?" she asks while marching over and inspecting his injuries. She probes his side and he flinches from her touch. "If you believe you only need another day, you are sorely mistaken. Hanuman's gift is not like Bast's heart-shaped herb. You should meditate on the reason why."

"I do not have time, umakhulu," he says tiredly.

"You panthers, always in a hurry," N'Didi says while setting a bowl and a cup of a bitter brown brew before him. "Perhaps Hanuman means for you to use this time to reflect on who and what you are."

"While Wakanda is… I cannot trust that my usurper will rule with her best interest in mind."

"I cannot comment on that. I am but an old woman tasked with keeping my patients alive," N'Didi remarks. "But I can offer this."

She sets something else from the tray in front of him. It is an old book with a cover made of polished wood. He stares at it and then at her.

"What is this?"

"A history of our relationship with the white gorillas of Hanuman," she says. "You need a way to pass the time while your body heals. What better than an opportunity to learn more about your forgotten tribe?"

"Forgot—you are not forgotten," he protests. At her hard stare, he amends with, "Overlooked, perhaps. And you are right. I should learn more about the Jabari while I am here."

"That is what I thought," she replies. "If you wish to test your strength, you may walk around this chamber."

"I need permission?"

N'Didi is unamused. "You may not leave it. I say this to protect your dignity, Damisa-Sarki, as I will not be the one picking you off the ground."

T'Challa sighs inwardly, remembering last night's incident with M'Baku. He does not want to repeat the experience. "I will accept that."

He will accept many things until he can leave the mountains and return to Wakanda.

Whatever N'Didi simmered in that bitter cup puts T'Challa into a dreamless sleep, which he suspects is intentional. When he wakes, he knows more time has passed than he likes. It doesn't hurt so much when breathing and his body only protests weakly when he sits up. His hand immediately goes to his side and tentatively touches the gauze; the wound still stings but less so. He drags a hand down his face and frowns at the length of his beard. He could use a trim but he doubts anyone would let him near a razor or even a sharp blade.

He hears a slight shifting of weight, an impatient huff, and sighs. "How long have you been watching?"

"Not very long," M'Baku admits while stepping through the doorway. He wears a deep frown but it softens as he stops in the middle of the chamber. "You look less dead today."

"Again with the insults," T'Challa mutters. "I assume it's night?"

"Perhaps."

It is night. He considers the passage of time. Three days must have passed since N'Jadaka came to Wakanda. What has he done since? How is he consolidating his power? Is he amassing all of Wakanda's vibranium weapons already? Is he convincing the rest of the Council to go along with his plans? T'Challa hates not knowing what is happening to his people. He glances at his scarred hands, wishing he had his kimoyo beads.

"Have you heard anything?" he asks. Why else is M'Baku here?

The Great Gorilla shakes his head and T'Challa's heart sinks. "I have heard nothing. Your family remains missing."

He hopes they are simply in hiding. He cannot bear to think of the alternative. "And Wakanda? Any news from the Golden City?"

"No." M'Baku's eyes narrow. "What are you looking for? What do you want to know?"

If Wakanda is burning. If Shuri and his mother are still alive. If Nakia is well. If Okoye still leads the Dora. If W'Kabi feels any shame. If his father ever regretted leaving N'Jadaka behind.

"I have upset you," M'Baku says.

T'Challa wipes his wet eyes and tries to regain his composure. He forces his clenched hands to relax. "You have done nothing wrong."

He starts at the sharp bark of laughter. M'Baku looks at him incredulously and his smile is all teeth. "What happened to you, panther king? Who was it that broke your body and spirit? Tell me so that I can congratulate them for doing what I couldn't."

Anger sparks bright and hot in T'Challa's chest, burns at the back of his throat and in his eyes. How dare he? "Do not mock me, M'Baku. You do not know what you speak of-"

"Then tell me plainly, T'Challa," M'Baku retorts. "Last I saw you, you were a proud and prideful panther, confident in your ways. Now look at you, hiding in my home, so full of self-pity it makes me sick. What brought you down so low, hm? Tell me."

Something happened today that agitated M'Baku. Why else is the man goading him on instead of simply asking? He leans forward, frowning, searching M'Baku's face. "What happened today?"

M'Baku raises an incredulous eyebrow. "Do not think you can turn this on me. My matters are my own."

"So are mine-"

"No. You are here because Hanuman brought you here. Why, I still don't know. But your presence here does not just inconvenience us. You are putting us in danger. Tell me who threw you from Warrior Falls. Tell me who I am to face if Wakanda comes to my mountains. Tell me who the new Panther is. You owe me that."

He does. He owes M'Baku an explanation, because he understands M'Baku's predicament completely. It's irresponsible and unfair to not warn the Jabari about N'Jadaka, who is a threat to all.

"His name is N'Jadaka, son of Prince N'Jobu," T'Challa finally—finally—says, and M'Baku immediately sobers. "My uncle was a war dog in America and his assignment… radicalized him. Convinced him that Wakanda could no longer stay quiet while the less fortunate in other parts of the world suffered. He knew my father would do nothing and decided to force Wakanda's hand by betraying our secrets to an arms dealer. My father found out and confronted him."

Revelation lights up in M'Baku's eyes. "The outsider at the border is your cousin."

"Yes," T'Challa says. It is still a strange thought. To spend all these years not knowing he had family across the Atlantic… he can't imagine how N'Jadaka felt knowing his extended family had abandoned him. "He had my grandfather's ring as proof. That is why the Border Tribe gave him passage into Wakanda. That is why he was able to challenge me for the throne."

M'Baku says nothing for longer than T'Challa is comfortable with. His hands curl back into fists as he waits for a reaction, swallowing back the acrid taste of anger, shock, and hurt. Zuri's admission runs amok in his mind.

"We had to maintain the lie."

And everyone paid the price.

"What sort of man is he, this N'Jadaka?" M'Baku asks sensibly.

"A violent one," T'Challa replies immediately. It is the only answer he can give, the one a fellow leader deserves. Wherever N'Jadaka went, death followed. "He hates everything I stand for because my father killed his and left him behind with no one and no way home. He hates everything Wakanda stands for because we abandoned him. He hates the world for seeing him as less than human. He's here to remake Wakanda in his image, and he has the vibranium weapons to do it. It is why I must go back."

Again, M'Baku takes time to answer. He strokes his chin while staring intently at a light globe to T'Challa's left. "He wants more than that. You share blood and he nearly killed you, and a part of you wishes he did. Why is that?"

He is having trouble breathing. "Why do you want to know?"

"I need to repeat myself?" M'Baku scowls. "You told me your cousin overthrew you to use your technology and bring war to Wakanda. But that anger started somewhere and it burned and burned for a very long time." He steps forward, never breaking eye contact. "What does he really want?"

"We had to maintain the lie."

"You said you watched us from afar for years," T'Challa says slowly. "Were we the only ones you kept an eye on? Did you also watch the world beyond your mountains?"

M'Baku frowns, confused. "We keep to ourselves. We only scare away those who wander into our lands by accident. We want nothing to do with their world."

"But what did your people see?" T'Challa asks. He knows what his father saw. He knows what the Hatut Zeraze saw. He knows why it drove his uncle to betray Wakanda. He knows why Nakia wants Wakanda to stop hiding from the world.

"I do not know much," M'Baku says, "besides never-ending war, the disparity between poverty and prosperity, people clinging to their dying ways and people abandoning it for the empty gratification of technology."

T'Challa would heave a sigh but restrains himself. "And did you think about doing something about it? Did you think about taking in refugees fleeing war and famine or sending-"

"Why are we talking about this?" M'Baku interrupts. "This has nothing to do with your cousin."

"It has everything to do with him," T'Challa retorts. "We, Wakandan and Jabari, chose to hide behind our shields and mountains to keep our secrets even while our neighbors suffered. We thought our greatest duty was to protect our people at all cost. We would do anything to maintain a lie instead of doing what is right."

M'Baku says nothing. He stands stone-faced, unmoving and unreadable, and T'Challa suddenly feels very tired. He looks away and stares at the light globes on the wall.

"My father killed his brother and abandoned my cousin to protect Wakanda. He chose his country over his blood, but N'Jadaka knew the truth. And that truth led him back to Wakanda." T'Challa draws in a deep, wet breath. He winces when it pulls something in his side. "He is full of hate because my father took everything from him. He will not rest until he takes everything from me. Wakanda, the world, that is all just collateral damage."

The silence from M'Baku is deafening. T'Challa does not look at him but he feels the man's outsized presence, the weight of his gaze. T'Challa can't breathe.

"N'Gamo was right," M'Baku suddenly says and T'Challa flinches. N'Gamo again; who is he and how important is he to the Great Gorilla? "You need to leave."

He wishes he didn't have to say this. "It does not matter. Once he is done with me, he will come for you."

"Me? I have done nothing wrong," the Great Gorilla replies incredulously. "I am not the one who wronged him."

"How dare you-"

"I do dare!" M'Baku retorts. "Hanuman decides that you must live and tells me it is time to come down from these mountains. My people questioned me because of you and I have kept silent. I have said nothing about you being here. Now I learn you bring danger to us all. What cruel joke is Hanuman playing? What have we done to deserve this?"

This entire, agonizing conversation has spun out of T'Challa's grasp. "I have nothing to do with your god."

"He decided your life was worth more than my tribe's. I cannot accept that. I will not. I will speak to N'Didi. You will be gone before N'Jadaka sniffs you out."

T'Challa is too tired, too hurt, to protest. He buries his face in his hands. "You have your warning."

He does not move until M'Baku is long gone. He drops his hands in his lap and stares at the tears glistening on them.

They are at Baba's door again, asking if he's seen you since that Day. He frowns at the five Border tribesmen and shakes his head. They persist for over a minute and then he orders them away. Your heart hurts but you know it is better this way. Better to know nothing than to be caught in a lie. You clench your hands when you see the sorrow on his face as he goes back inside the house.

You look up at the sky; it is almost time. Still, you linger in the alleyway, looking at your home for just a few more seconds. And then you turn and slip away.

It has been four days since he fell. Four days since the news was broadcast to everybody else. You watched and listened to the shock and confusion on their faces as they learn what became of the long-missing prince N'Jobu. The new king hides nothing. It is his weapon. You heard people talk amongst themselves, gossiping in the shadows, wondering how King T'Chaka could do such a thing to his own brother and nephew. How could he just abandon a Wakandan prince, his own family, his own people, his own flesh and blood?

Still, many distrust the new king. He can’t hide that he is an outsider. He doesn't speak like them, dress like them, think like them, act like them. He is only king because it is his birthright. He is only king because he is the son of N'Jobu, grandson of Chanda, victor over the former king T'Challa.

You keep your head down and your scarf snug around your head and shoulders. You make sure to obscure your face and turn to the market stalls whenever a group of Border tribesmen pass by. There are so many of them now, watching for signs of trouble and for the missing royal family. Their presence is unsettling and people complain to each other, to their elders, to Baba.

"Why are they here? Why are they armed? Are they looking for reason to hurt us? What is W'Kabi thinking? Can't you tell him how unhappy we are?"

You duck into a butcher's shop to avoid another group of Border tribesmen. You tell the distracted kanina behind the counter that you need five large strips of sun-dried goat meat. She doesn't look up once while wrapping the food and handing it to you. Her eyes are on her bead's video display as she takes your money. You tuck the bundle under your arm and go back out into the street. You look up at the sky again. You need to hurry.

The Amanzi Kwakhona Umlambo is nearby. You weave through the streets and alleyways, careful not to draw suspicion, until you reach the thick groves of trees between village and river. Unmarked paths wind through the woods down to the riverbank; you pick one and go, mindful of your footing on the soft earth. The air is thick and damp and you swat flies away while walking to the rendezvous point. You chose this hour because few people are on the riverbank but you take care to leave no trace of yourself behind. If you are caught, it will only be a matter of time before the princess, queen mother, and the CIA agent are found, too.

The Border tribesmen are not the only ones patrolling the various villages. You activate your modified kimoyo bead as you hurry, looking for the Dora Milaje's signatures. They are near the south end of the village, "assisting" the Border tribesmen and making it clear to the River people that the king is watching.

You come to the marshes near the widest part of the river. You shield your eyes from the sun while wading into the muddy waters, searching for danger. The fishermen and the cargo ships are on the other side of the river, chasing fish and moving crates. You hope they do not contain vibranium weapons.

You look down at your bead again and see a Dora leaving the village. She makes her way down to the river with all haste and no one follows her. You kneel in the mud, hiding amongst the reeds, until you hear a whistle. You follow it until you see Ayo standing in the shadow of the trees.

"Sister Ayo," you say, relieved.

Her smile is a glorious sight after three days and nights of running from familiar faces. You hold her tightly in your arms.

"Sister Nakia," she says softly, tersely, after you part. "Are you well? Are the queen mother and princess well?"

"They are tired but safe."

She does not ask where you hid them away because she cannot know. It is safer that way.

"How is Okoye?" You wish you did not part with her on such bitter terms, but she made her decision. "Is she well?"

Ayo sighs. "She is fine and doing her best but with W'Kabi there… it is inevitable." She looks across the Amanzi Kwakhona Umlambo. "Those are crates of vibranium tech. Weapons. Explosives. Tonight, the first dragonflyers leave. It will be in stages. Once the Hatut Zeraze have their shipments, war begins."

Your heart sinks. You are running out of time. "I need time."

"I don't know how to give it," Ayo replies. She does not ask what your plans are. Again, it is safer that way. "We serve the throne, no matter how we feel about the person who sits in it. You cannot ask me to sabotage the shipments."

"I'm not," you say. You never can, the same way you can never push Okoye to abandon her post. What did Okoye say about you? What can a spy do that a Dora cannot? "He must be forced to look elsewhere. Not out there at the rest of the world but within. I must bring Wakanda to a halt."

"And how will you accomplish that?"

What do you recall from your years of observation? What did other people do to disrupt countries, governments? What did N'Jadaka do before he went rogue?

"Do the people know what he is planning to do?" you ask.

"Few outside the Border Tribe, the Dora, the WDG, and the Council know it," she replies.

When was the last time the people disagreed with their king? What do they really know about the former American operative who is also N'Jobu's lost son? When you told T'Challa why you cannot be his queen, you were not the only one who felt the same about Wakanda's potential. You were not the first to express interest in helping the less fortunate rather than abuse Wakanda's economic and military might. Surely they will speak up if and when N'Jadaka decides to try conquest.

"The people must know the truth," you say decisively. "They will know and they will rise up. N'Jadaka will have no choice but to look inward. It will buy me time."

"You are putting the people in the line of fire!" Ayo exclaims. "I realize that war dogs are asked to do questionable things for the good of Wakanda, but this is—Nakia, you cannot."

"What choice do we have?" you ask. "If he succeeds, Wakanda will be forced onto the world stage before anyone is prepared for it. He is forcing us out of centuries of secrecy and he will do it violently. Should we say nothing? Should we allow our people to struggle, to suffer while Wakanda falls to foreign powers? I will not let it. Will you?"

She glowers at you, her mouth a thin line and the furrow between her brow deep. "W'Kabi hasn't exactly been generous lately. If he hears of this-"

"I will already be gone," you say. "I told you, I only need time."

"Are their lives worth whatever time you need?"

You think of your plan, your far-fetched plan hiding with the queen mother, Shuri, and Agent Ross. It is a shot in the dark, but you must take it. "I am trying to save Wakanda, Ayo. Please. Help me with this."

She stares at you with hard eyes, searching your face. After a moment, her shoulders slump and she nods once. "This could end poorly, but I will help. If you need time, then I will buy it. None of it will trace back to you." She takes you by the shoulder, a firm steady grip. "I hope this works."

"So do I," you say.

Ayo doesn't let you go. "There is one more thing. King N'Jadaka burned the gardens at Necropolis. He ordered the shamans at the other villages to do the same with the cultivars. He will be the last panther."

Not the last, you wish you could say but you do not. Instead you pretend to be heartbroken. Horrified. "Bast help us."

"I know," Ayo says and embraces you again. She does not let go for several long seconds. "I must go, Sister. Bast be with you."

You say the same and watch her leave, keeping to the shadows to shroud her bright red armor. Once she is out of sight, you continue south along the river. There is a cache wedged in between the roots of a large tree with enough food and water for the journey south to the mountains. You pull the bag out of the damp cold earth, brush it clean, and add the goat meat before continuing along the Amanzi Kwakhona Umlambo. There is a bend in the river and behind it a cove, a place where you used to play with T'Challa when you were little. Its entrance is masked by long tree roots bursting from the hill above it, making it impossible to see if one doesn't know where to look.

You look around before walking up the riverbank to it. You whistle in short bursts and someone cautiously pushes aside the tree roots to peer out. Agent Ross sighs in relief and beckons you inside. The queen mother and Shuri sit around a small fire; Shuri is curled up next to her mother, who is humming an old lullaby while cradling a woven bag holding the very last heart-shaped herb. Your heart breaks at the sight but there is no time for sorrow. You must outrace a war.

"Here," you say, pulling food and water out of the bag to pass around. "Eat and drink what you can. We must move in ten minutes."

"What did you learn?" Shuri asks while shredding a piece of goat meat with her fingers.

You tell them about the Border tribesmen, the unrest in the villages, and your meeting with Ayo. You tell them that Okoye is trying to prevent war but if the king wills it, she must obey him. You tell them you and Ayo have a plan to slow N'Jadaka down while you race south to Jabariland.

"I don't like this, Nakia," the queen mother says. Her voice is hoarse from exhaustion and grief, though she still holds her head high. "You cannot trust them."

"I don't trust them either, but we don't have a choice. We need an army."

"And they are still part of Wakanda," Shuri says while throwing pieces of meat into the fire. "What happens here will happen to them, too. Tell them everything Ayo told you. If that M'Baku can come down from the mountains to insult my work to my face, imagine what he'll do if he learns about N'Jadaka-"

"Don't say his name," the queen mother says. "I cannot bear to hear it. And don’t waste that."

"Sorry, Mother," Shuri says and quietly finishes her food.

You wonder why Shuri is suddenly defending the Jabari. She sees your confusion and shrugs. "I revisited my history and culture lessons. You always hear about them but to actually meet them… I know he's our only chance, even if he's wrong about everything."

You smile and so does she.

"Don't say that in front of him," the queen mother says mildly.

"I know, I know."

Once everyone has taken a few sips of water from their bottles, you tell Agent Ross to smother the fire and bury it. Shuri and the queen mother gather up the thick Border blankets and the heart-shaped herb, and follow you to the back of the cove. You light a kimoyo bead and search for a gap in the craggy mossy stone. There is a way out that follows a stream running under the hills above, and you follow it.

"How did you know about this place?" Shuri asks.

"T'Challa and I found it a long time ago," you say. You almost regret uttering his name when you hear grief-stricken silence. "We told nobody else about it."

After an eternity of near darkness and silence, you step out into the afternoon sun and miles of grassland.

"How long will it take to get there?" Shuri asks, staring at the distant purple mountains. "Three days? Four?"

"Three days if we are lucky," you say. "This stream will take us back to the river and then we follow it south to the mountains. There is a road that should take us to the Jabari stronghold."

With evening comes a cool damp wind from faraway Lake Kivu and everyone takes a blanket to wrap around their shoulders. Agent Ross falls in step next to you, readying himself to ask questions.

"Your father, he's the leader of a Wakandan tribe?"

"Yes. He leads the River Tribe."

He considers the information. "Then why doesn't your father overthrow the king?"

"The king has not done anything to make my father doubt him. He may be an outsider but he did everything right."

"But—but your father knows what's about to happen-"

"N'Jadaka is backed by the Border Tribe," Shuri says, pretending not to see her mother flinch. "W'Kabi turned on T'Challa so I wouldn’t trust him. When I see him, I'm going to-"

"Do not finish that thought," the queen mother says tiredly. "Nakia is right, Agent Ross. Unless the king does something truly terrible, her father will see no reason to challenge him."

Agent Ross presses his thin lips tightly while his brow scrunches up. He is dissatisfied with the answer. "That's a bit ridiculous, don't you think? You know he's putting Wakanda in danger. Does it really matter that he became king 'the right way' if you know he isn't the right man for the job?"

You can't help but laugh. He sounds earnest, sincere, like he really cares for Wakanda's well-being. You know better. You studied agencies like his. You know their secrets.

"Did I say something wrong?" he asks.

"I am just amused to hear that from a CIA agent," you say. "You think we don’t know what you people did during your Cold War?"

He grimaces and looks away. "Forget I said anything. You know better than I do."

Misguided as his questions are, they leave you wondering about Okoye. She knows N'Jadaka is dangerous to Wakanda, more dangerous than even M'Baku, yet she decided to remain in Birnin Zana. She would serve the throne even if the king was unfit to rule from it. You don't know how she stands it. Four days and now four nights, and Ayo confirmed that she is still there, still sitting at the Council staring across the floor at the man who killed her friend and king.

What will it take for her to turn on N'Jadaka? You wish she will never have to answer that question but that is a fool's hope. N'Jadaka is forcing everyone to question who they are and why, though you already had an answer when Okoye asked. It is the answer that led you out of Wakanda and away from T'Challa in the first place.

You loved him but he is not here, he cannot help you save Wakanda. You will save it, even if it means taking Wakanda's last hope into the heart of Jabariland.