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Authors: Ayize Jama-everett
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what I can give. I know why I called you, Taggert. What I donât know is why you answered.â
âBecause I said I would.â
Iâve met about twenty people like me. Three before I ran into Nordeen. My brother, Yasmine, and the kid from the Mog. Including Nordeen, thatâs sixteen or so Iâve met in the six years Iâve worked with the old man. Some of them have been old but young in their powers, others babies with the ability to dominate the world. Nordeenâs approach to them is as enigmatic as it is decisive, and in most cases I am his messenger. So when Yasmine says she thinks this whole mess involves people like us, I gain more confidence than Iâve had since I left Morocco. If itâs powers, Iâve probably got some experience with it.
When the boss figured out that I could hurt people, he began to use me as a smart gun. With a little practice I realized I didnât have to touch people to affect their bodies. All I needed was to be in range, to feel their heartbeats. My first kill using my power was in Agadir, a small costal city in Morocco. A supplier was threatening to break the distribution line. Nordeen sent me in first, to drink tea in the manâs café. When he was assured I was there, Nordeen made the call. The dealer made the mistake of underestimating the boss. I squeezed his heart with my mind until it collapsed into a bloodied clump of muscle and vein. When I felt no remorse, I knew a line had been crossed. So did the boss when I returned.
âNow you are ready for the serious work.â
âYouâre saying what I just did wasnât serious?â
âKilling one of them is as easy as swatting a fly. Taking out one of ours requires a steel of will and skill that Iâm beginning to suspect you might have.â
He sent me to India, just outside of Bangalore. He told me to find the most powerful one like us there, and to kill them. It turned out to be a six-year-old Jain boy who spoke to the dead and animated their bones for limited amounts of time. His power had made him insane, and his sole desire was to turn the entire town into a necropolis so heâd always have people in his mind to talk to.
âI canât do it,â I told Nordeen over a cell phone.
âAnd why not? Is the death dealer too much for you?â
âHeâs six years old.â
âWould you rather face him or me?â
I compromised and gave the kid an aneurysm. He couldnât speak, couldnât move, couldnât utilize his power, but he was still alive. It was the same thing I did to my brother, but with far more subtlety. Nordeen greeted me upon my return with a reluctant welcome. He knew the boy wasnât dead but accepted my compromise despite the potential threat against his will. I was banished from his sight for three months.
He sent me throughout the world to meet other people like us. Sometimes heâd just have me identify the person. Other times heâd tell me to bring gifts, books that held the smell of antiquity, or fruits I couldnât identify. All the ones who I met and spoke with knew of Nordeen. Some spoke of him in hushed tones, others dismissed me and gave dire warnings for âmy master.â From dropped sentences and silenced thoughts, I got that I was not the first of Nordeenâs emissaries. After a while I realized that the whole hash-dealing business was just a cover, a way of financing his true passion. Us.
After my exile, Nordeen took a trip with me. Johannesburg. An old woman whose skin looked like it was petrified and who kept roots and barks in multicolored glass jars suspended in the air had sent him an invitation in a dream. On the private plane ride down, I somehow felt that Nordeen had been injured and healed . . . by someone else. I kept that knowledge to myself, as he seemed anxious for the first time in my experience.
The elder woman laughed when she saw me. âOld man, do you carry your
âBecause I said I would.â
Iâve met about twenty people like me. Three before I ran into Nordeen. My brother, Yasmine, and the kid from the Mog. Including Nordeen, thatâs sixteen or so Iâve met in the six years Iâve worked with the old man. Some of them have been old but young in their powers, others babies with the ability to dominate the world. Nordeenâs approach to them is as enigmatic as it is decisive, and in most cases I am his messenger. So when Yasmine says she thinks this whole mess involves people like us, I gain more confidence than Iâve had since I left Morocco. If itâs powers, Iâve probably got some experience with it.
When the boss figured out that I could hurt people, he began to use me as a smart gun. With a little practice I realized I didnât have to touch people to affect their bodies. All I needed was to be in range, to feel their heartbeats. My first kill using my power was in Agadir, a small costal city in Morocco. A supplier was threatening to break the distribution line. Nordeen sent me in first, to drink tea in the manâs café. When he was assured I was there, Nordeen made the call. The dealer made the mistake of underestimating the boss. I squeezed his heart with my mind until it collapsed into a bloodied clump of muscle and vein. When I felt no remorse, I knew a line had been crossed. So did the boss when I returned.
âNow you are ready for the serious work.â
âYouâre saying what I just did wasnât serious?â
âKilling one of them is as easy as swatting a fly. Taking out one of ours requires a steel of will and skill that Iâm beginning to suspect you might have.â
He sent me to India, just outside of Bangalore. He told me to find the most powerful one like us there, and to kill them. It turned out to be a six-year-old Jain boy who spoke to the dead and animated their bones for limited amounts of time. His power had made him insane, and his sole desire was to turn the entire town into a necropolis so heâd always have people in his mind to talk to.
âI canât do it,â I told Nordeen over a cell phone.
âAnd why not? Is the death dealer too much for you?â
âHeâs six years old.â
âWould you rather face him or me?â
I compromised and gave the kid an aneurysm. He couldnât speak, couldnât move, couldnât utilize his power, but he was still alive. It was the same thing I did to my brother, but with far more subtlety. Nordeen greeted me upon my return with a reluctant welcome. He knew the boy wasnât dead but accepted my compromise despite the potential threat against his will. I was banished from his sight for three months.
He sent me throughout the world to meet other people like us. Sometimes heâd just have me identify the person. Other times heâd tell me to bring gifts, books that held the smell of antiquity, or fruits I couldnât identify. All the ones who I met and spoke with knew of Nordeen. Some spoke of him in hushed tones, others dismissed me and gave dire warnings for âmy master.â From dropped sentences and silenced thoughts, I got that I was not the first of Nordeenâs emissaries. After a while I realized that the whole hash-dealing business was just a cover, a way of financing his true passion. Us.
After my exile, Nordeen took a trip with me. Johannesburg. An old woman whose skin looked like it was petrified and who kept roots and barks in multicolored glass jars suspended in the air had sent him an invitation in a dream. On the private plane ride down, I somehow felt that Nordeen had been injured and healed . . . by someone else. I kept that knowledge to myself, as he seemed anxious for the first time in my experience.
The elder woman laughed when she saw me. âOld man, do you carry your
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