“Uwohali,” he whispers, leaning close to my ear, “that sound of thunder scared me! I thought I was about to see lightning shooting out of your belly button!”

He chuckles at his own joke. Then he hands me something wrapped in a cloth. “Your mother told me to give this to you before you starve to death.”

I unfold the cloth and find four biscuits, still warm. I lean forward in my seat and see my mother sitting not far from us next to Yugi’s mother. I had not noticed her till now. My mother motions toward her mouth.

Eat.

I eat those warm biscuits. As I do so, some of the anxiety I was feeling leaves me. But not all of it. I still do not know for sure how things will end this day. Will it be good or will it be bad? Will people truly listen and understand? What my father has made is such a powerful tool. It can bring our nation together as nothing else has ever done before. For all of our sakes—not just my family and my trusting friend Yugi, but all of our Tsalagi people—I hope that it will.

CHAPTER 24

The Test

Agili stands in front of the crowd, holding up his hands for silence.

I hold my breath. Will they pay attention to him? Some of the feelings against my father are so strong. But then one face turns to him and another and another. Gradually the low talking subsides. Soon it is as quiet as a forest grove after the wind stops whispering through the leaves.

“My friends and my neighbors,” Agili says, “it is good that you are here. I have called you to gather so that you all may see this with your own eyes and hear it with your own ears. That way the word of what happened here will not reach you as gossip. You will be able to judge for yourself the worth of what my cousin will show you.”

“Witchcraft,” says a cold voice from somewhere in the crowd. “I already know what that is!”

A chill goes down my back at those words. The low murmur of agreement that goes through part of the crowd makes me even more worried. But that murmur dies down as Agili raises both hands higher.

“My friends,” he says, his voice louder and firmer than before, “you know it is not the way of our people to judge something until we know what we are judging. So let us wait. Let us watch and listen.”

He looks around the crowd. No one else speaks.

“Good,” he says. Then he turns toward my father and motions with his chin for him to move forward.

My father does so, with Ahyokah by his side.