𝙍𝙀𝘽𝙊𝙍𝙉, the legendborn cycle (1)

chapter fifteen

The Arboretum is much bigger than they had realized. The herb garden sign says that it's home to more than hundred species and cultivars. "Mom would have loved this place." Bree comments and AZ nods.

"Oh for sure. I can imagine her hinting at every detail, scrutinizing every inch."

A black granite table sits in the middle of a quiet grotto, and underneath it leaks a steady stream of mage ame. It's thinner than the thick ribbons that had coiled around my arms in the shower and much, much lighter. Pale yellow instead of rich crimson. The table sits in the middle of a circle of dark brown and black soil and mulch. Underneath, bronze gurines reach their hands high to the thick granite tabletop as if holding its weight up in the air.

The gurines are staggered in rows that disappear under the slab, giving the impression that there are more bodies lifting the table than the eye could ever see. Steady wisps of aether stream between their arms and legs and waft over the damp earth like golden mist.

It was a sight as AZ skipped around curiosity filling in her. Pretty, pretty, pretty that's all she could think about while observing it.

"They put the table here for folks who want to read, study, or rest. And yet I find it difficult to sit here and do anything else but get sad." The voice comes from a hidden corner of the grotto.

A stunning Black woman with graying locs sits on a stone bench, a late lunch spread out on the empty space beside her. A brightly patterned shawl with alternating burgundy and yellow tassels lining its edges drapes her shoulders. Her eyes are the color of warm, rich earth, and her oval face is a deep brown. She peers at them from behind a set of bright yellow horn-rimmed glasses. You couldn't tell how old she is, of course, because Black women are magical like that. She could be forty or sixty, or some number in between.

AZ plants her feet back on the ground and arranges herself. Putting her hands behind her back like a diligent school girl.
"Um..hello...ma'am!" She greets mustering a weak enthusiastic voice.

"Are you -" Bree begins to ask.

"Dr. Patricia Hartwood." A wide smile spreads across her face. For some reason it eases the nervousness coming from the two cousins. "You must be Bree and AZ."

It felt looking into her that there was maybe a new piece of truth hidden in this woman's eyes. She looks back calmly, as if she knows exactly what was on their mind. Brees' eyes find the table again.

"Why does this make you sad?" She asks. Dr Hartwood nods. "Take a closer look." And they do as they both walk between two of the stone seats until they are less than a foot from the slab. When they crouch, mage ame billows into warm clouds around their ankles. AZ gasps in wonder. The gurines aren't identical, but they have several things in common: natural kinky hair. Broad, strong noses. Full lips.

Black folks. They're all Black folks. Black folks raising the round slab like hundreds of Atlases holding the world. Some of the men wear long shirts over pants. Others are bare-chested, their bronze muscles straining across stomachs and biceps. Women in skirts lift the impossibly heavy weight. Their feet are buried beneath the mud and mulch, and yet they push.

"This...what does this mean?" AZ asks almost breathlessly.

"The Unsung Founders Memorial. Carolina's way of acknowledging the enslaved and the servants who built this place," she says, her voice wavering between pride and disdain.

"We get this memorial, and it's something, I suppose. It was a class gift. Not unimportant. But how can I be at peace when I look down and see that they're still working? You know?" AZ understoond what she meant as she looked down at the piece before her in discontent. Hartwood was right. This type of knowledge is an expensive toll to pay. Can't forget the knowledge just because the price is high. And yet, sometimes you have to tuck the reminders away today in order to grow power against them tomorrow.