Ring Shout(39)

“Never doubt stubborn old folk,” Sadie says to my unspoken question.

My brother smiles. “You done good, Bruh Rabbit. Now let us handle this.”

He leaves a ghostly kiss on my cheek, before leaving to join the gathering spirits. They clustered around Nana Jean and the Shouters, reaching out to touch the old woman with ghostly fingers.

Sadie sits down beside me, grinning. “You gon’ like this!”

Time comes rushing back. The rain, the cries, the battle. The Ku Kluxes all set to close in when a deep moan goes up. Nana Jean. Her voice seem to call to them and they whip about. She moans again and the ghost people around her take it up: a deep vibrating hum that pushes out through the air, parting the rain before it. Then that Gullah woman lifts her head to the heavens and cries out the song of a Shout.

Nana Jean’s voice like thunder, a sound to shake your soul, moving to the beating heart of the world. The ghost people answer, and the Shouters start clapping, as the Stick Man pounds the mountain like a drum. The ghost people start to circling round the Gullah woman: a backward clock of feet sliding and shuffling, but never crossing. Nana Jean sings a song about the end times and it’s like I can see her words taking shape. Signs etched on leaves as rocks cry out. A fiery horse without a rider burning tracks in a valley. Angels taller than hills perched on a spinning chariot wheel. The Gullah woman keeps crying out, and the ghost people give answer, the Shout moving faster in that ring.

The hairs on the back of my neck raise up as Nana Jean’s Shout sends out more magic than I ever seen. My sword shakes in my hand as the spirits drawn to the blade rush to the circle, joining the Shout. Even those slaving chiefs and kings come, seeking their redemption. Together with the ghost people they whirl faster and faster about Nana Jean, becoming a blinding blur in the night. The Ku Kluxes screech in rage, hurling themselves at the spinning light, trying to reach Nana Jean and the Shouters, but it burns them up straight to ash. That light ain’t nothing they can stop. It ain’t nothing they can endure. This the Truth I know. And no Lie can stand against it.

Some Ku Kluxes got sense enough to realize the danger, and turn to flee. But that light is a cyclone now, spinning out to catch them. From inside that brilliance, I hear the Gullah woman singing, taunting the Ku Kluxes who running, telling them there’s no hiding place. The ghost people give answer, their voices a power to tremble the earth, as Ku Kluxes burn, the light cleansing their evil from the mountain. The Shout keeps going, whirling into the night. Like Judgment Day.

When there’s not a Ku Klux left standing, the Shout vanishes. The ghost people gone with it, my brother too, their magic lingering in the air like lightning. All that’s left is Nana Jean, spent from wielding so much magic, Uncle Will and the Shouters supporting her.

Sadie whoops. “Told you you’d like it!”

I shake my head in wonder. I ain’t ever doubting that old Gullah woman again.

“Well, time for me to go too,” Sadie says, standing.

My mouth opens, not knowing what to say. So I settle for the truth. “I miss you.”

Sadie grins. “You betta. Y’all remember to do something big for me like I asked.” She looks down. “What wrong with Cordy?”

I turn to where Chef still unmoving. “She got hit.”

Sadie leans in. “There’s a trick to this.” And slaps Chef’s face. But her fingers go right through. Frowning, she tries again, this time making a loud smack, and Chef bolts up with a start. Sadie laughs like it’s the funniest joke in the world.

“My grandpappy was right.” She winks. “We do get them back.” Two wings unfurl from her behind her: beautiful gold feathers with streaks of black. She spreads them wide, lifting and shooting into the air like an arrow, gone.

“Guessing I missed a few things?” Chef asks, both of us staring up at the sky.

Someone groans. I look to find Michael George, coming awake. He opens eyes that are bright and brown and beautiful, blinking at me in confusion.

“Maryse?”

I kiss him so strong it leaves him startled. Only answer I got for now.

“It stopped raining,” Chef notes.

I pull away from Michael George, looking around. She right. No more storm. Clouds clearing up so you can even see stars. On the mountaintop, no fires or Ku Kluxes left, but still Klans. Lots milling about, like ducks what got hit on the head. More on hands and knees, retching their guts out. Hope they spit up some of their own hate too.

Chef calls to our people, who locate the kidnapped colored folk amid the wrecked platform. At some point, Emma finds that projector and blows it to bits with her shotgun. The night goes pitch-black but at least we don’t have to see that damned movie no more. When we got everybody, we set out. This time Nana Jean and the Shouters lead, and we follow Uncle Will’s voice calling, “Adam in the Garden!” as the Basers answer, “Picking up leaves!”

Chef can walk some, but Michael George still weak. So I got to support them both. We ain’t gone a ways before I notice a woman. Only Klans not stumbling around or retching. She kneeling in her robes, hugging a little boy close. Her eyes meet mine, bright and feverish. I recognize their faces. From Butcher Clyde’s. Must not have eaten no meat. Seems my interruption that day saved them a bellyache, and worse.

“Monsters!” she stammers to me. “They was monsters! I seen them! I seen them!”