The Night Masquerade (Binti, #3)(31)

Mwinyi held his breath, his eyes closed as he waited a little longer. He saw them with his feet. Then he heard other voices and he sank to the ground, his head in his hands. Binti should have lived to see this. How ecstatic she would have been to know that every single one of her family members was alive and well.

*

Dele had lain on his belly, reached down, and one by one pulled them out. Mother, father, sisters, brothers, nieces, nephews, cousins, and even a few family friends. They ran about, jumped and sang and danced with joy. They didn’t care that their skin and hair were nearly free of otjize. They kneeled and prayed to the Seven. Sobbing and hugging. Binti’s father was the only one who could speak through his joy. He explained to Mwinyi about how they’d all fled into the large cellar and when the Root had been attacked and set aflame, something had made it react as one of the family. It enclosed and protected. And inside the Root, there had not only been supplies that they could eat, but pods of water that grew from the walls of the cellar.

“The Root is true Himba,” Binti’s father said.

Then he asked, “Where is Binti?”

*

The sun shone bright now and the war happening over Khoushland and in space just outside of the Earth’s atmosphere felt more and more distant. It was not the Himba’s war, and so for the time being, they were not concerned. News spread fast about Binti and her family’s survival through word of mouth. And now that they were out of the protective cellar, they could reach people with their astrolabes, too. Soon a large crowd had gathered at the Root, yes, now it was the Root, again. They brought joyous jars of otjize and baskets of food. Home or no home, the Root had been burned, but its foundation was alive and well and strong, as were those who’d lived in it.

Most feared Okwu, but Binti’s father stayed at its side well into the day, forcing people to look at and speak to it when they came to wish Binti’s father their condolences. Binti’s mother stayed with Binti at the place where Binti had fallen. She’d placed a red blanket of mourning over Binti’s body, as she hummed to herself and rocked back and forth to keep from tearing her hair out.

Over and over, Mwinyi told Binti’s family and those who came about what Binti had tried to do and what she died for. Mwinyi watched their faces; all of them looked upon him as if he were a wild man who had something they wanted—especially Binti’s older siblings. Still, Mwinyi told of Binti’s bravery and the betrayal of the council and answered their questions because they needed to know.

When the Himba Council arrived at the Root, Mwinyi walked away, heading to Binti’s mother. Okwu joined him.

“I don’t want to hear any of what they have to say,” Mwinyi said.

“We should leave,” Okwu said.

“Soon. First, let’s talk to her.” Mwinyi pointed at Binti’s mother. She was cradling Binti’s head in her lap and humming. The tips of her long otjize-rolled locks dragged on the ground, collecting sand. Even covered with old otjize, the bright sun couldn’t have been good for her skin. Sweat rolled down her face, dropping into an otjize-red damp spot in the sand beneath her.

“Mma Binti,” Mwinyi said, sitting before her. When he glanced at Binti’s face, every muscle in his body tensed up. When he spoke, his voice quivered. “I’m sorry.”

“She didn’t know,” her mother said. “She didn’t know her family was alive. She must have felt … homeless.”

Mwinyi glanced at Okwu, who floated over. “She loved you all,” it said. “She fought for you.”

Binti’s mother looked at Okwu, then nodded. “My husband … he was too afraid to see me do it. He thought I was delirious with panic.” She frowned and then continued. “When everything was burning above, I was the one who woke the Root,” she said. She held up her hand and gracefully made a waving motion. “Everything I see fits together, even all this. I see both sides of the equation, the path that leads to the death of my brightest daughter.” She closed her eyes and when a minute passed and she still had not opened them, Mwinyi was about to get up. Her eyes suddenly flew open and she was looking intensely at Mwinyi.

“Are … are you alright, Mma Binti?”

“No,” she whispered. After a pause, she said, “You have eyes like hers.”

“I’m a harmonizer,” he said.

She nodded, vaguely, looking down at Binti. “You know, those equations that Binti and her father work to create current, I can see just by opening my eyes. Binti got some of this, but she has trained it toward current. I have no training, I just see it. At the door, the center of the cellar, then the wall, that was where the spot was. While everyone cowered in the center, moving from the walls where the heat and smoke were coming through, I went to the place directly across from the door. Across the diameter. I could see the line. Do you know plants can do math? They measure what they need to survive and thrive. The Root has survived long.

“The Root had a spot. I could wake it, if I gave from my own life force. We all have current running through us, that’s why we are alive.” She held up her right hand. The palm was an angry red and covered with crusty blisters. Mwinyi gasped, reaching for her, but she pulled her hand away. “That’s how the Root knew to protect its people.” She pressed her hand to her chest. “But once it closed, it would not open. You saved us too, Mwinyi.”