The Colonization
The exams to enter the Dora Milaje consisted of five tasks.
- Swim against the tide for thirty miles in the Wakandan rivers.
- Run back thirty miles on the beach when the sun was highest.
- Sneak through the Border Tribe grasses while evading discovery.
- Guard the vibranium caves on a freezing night to catch “intruders” (fellow Dora simulating an attack).
- Fight in a tournament involving multiple rounds against senior warriors while showcasing different fighting styles and weapons usage.
All of this had to be done sequentially in twenty-four hours, with no food, water, or sleep.
But everyone knew these exams were just a formality.
The true tests were given during years of training. The worst part wasn’t even the physical aspect. Mental fortitude was considered far more important. Accordingly, the Dora had an effective strategy to test for it.
You were taken to your breaking point. You were broken. You were remade. After that, you were broken and remade again.
And again. And again. And again…
Okoye had lost count of the number of times she had been pushed past her breaking point. But it didn’t matter, because today… today, she was coming home after passing the final exams with flying colors. She was finally a Dora, one of the most elite and revered of all the Wakandan warriors.
Being a Dora was practically in her blood. Her mother had been one. In fact, she had given birth to Okoye on a battlefield and immediately gone back to fighting alongside King T’Chaka, while a panicked bystander held the bloody wailing mess of a newborn. Unfortunately, due to the less-than-sterile conditions, her mother picked up a primitive infection that killed her just before she could return to Wakanda’s superior medical facilities.
Before her mother’s funeral had even been planned, her father had dumped Okoye on her grandmother’s doorstep before re-marrying someone young and rich. And that was the last she had seen of him.
Her grandmother raised Okoye surrounded by her mother’s weapons. During her spare time, she practiced with her mother’s old spear, even though it was several times too big for her. Bullies soon realized she didn’t hesitate to tackle people three times her size and fight like a vicious black-footed cat.
It was no surprise that as soon as she was of age, she dropped out of the regular schooling system and went straight to the Dora Milaje academy. She had only taken one day off from training, and that was when her grandmother passed.
Being a Dora was the only thing she had ever known. And so it was the only thing she had ever wanted.
But as she stood in front of the porch of her dingy apartment, basking in the quiet while her fellow Dora initiates were celebrating over large feasts and cacophonous music and boisterous relatives, she felt curiously… unsatisfied.
Perhaps she wouldn’t be satisfied until she was the General of the Dora, surpassing her mother. But even that was easily within reach; she was already the top-ranking initiate. The senior warriors had all been muttering about speedy promotions coming her way.
So if that wasn’t it… then what in Bast’s name was she yearning for?
She was still staring at her front door, lost in thought, when Aneka appeared. The young girl waltzed in like she owned the place.
“Aneka,” Okoye sighed, trailing after the little demon. She slumped onto the only chair in the house. It tilted alarmingly; the fourth leg was shorter than the others. She would get around to fixing it… one of these days.
“Shouldn’t you be on the practice grounds?” she asked.
Aneka stuck her tongue out. “I still have years left till the exams, big sister!” she said. Undeterred by the lack of furniture, she hopped up onto the tiny dining table and swung her legs. “Don’t be a- a party pooper.”
Okoye rolled her eyes. One of the schoolteachers had the bright idea to leave the Wakandan children, young princess Shuri, and the internet together unsupervised. The end result was a baffling vomit of phrases they had learned from colonizers. Okoye wasn’t like the elders, clucking about disrespect of tradition- I’m not old, Aneka, just too old for idiocy- but the incident still caused her headaches.
“Brat, enough with the nonsense,” she said. “Why are you here?”
“I thought we should celebrate!” Aneka said.
She stuck out a misshapen, gift-wrapped object. Okoye eyed it like it was bomb.
“Are you trying to poison me again?” she demanded.
Aneka huffed. “Hey! That stew was made with love! And Youtube!”
“I don’t want any tube,” Okoye said flatly. “Now go study.”
“I will, I will - just open it, please?”
For a second, Okoye fantasized about punting Aneka out the window and taking a warm bath in peace. But faced with a toothy smile and disgusting cheeriness, she sighed and reached out to grab her present-
Only to jerk back as needles pricked her fingers.
“Ow! Brat, you are trying to kill me again!”
“No, no!” Aneka protested, wide-eyed. “It’s- oh let me unwrap it. I just thought - you don’t have any decorations because you’re lazy-”
“A warrior’s living space is meant to be functional, not decorative-”
“And you barely have friends over, no pets either-”
“I am one of the most elite soldiers in the nation, I don’t have time for-”
“And I thought - what’s the most low maintenance living being? A cactus! Now you won’t be so lonely when I’m not here!” Aneka flashed a million watt smile, clearly expecting applause.
Okoye stared at her, and then at the menacing looking object. Her eyes were itching oddly. It was… probably dust. Because Dora Milaje certainly didn’t do something as insane as shed tears over a succulent.
“Well,” she said finally. “That plant’s definitely a better conversationalist than you, brat.”
Aneka crossed her arms. “Bah, I know you love it. I’m going to leave it on the porch, so it can stay in the sunlight. You better water it once a week. Make sure to give it lots of love, too.”
“I’ll care for it like it was one of my own,” Okoye deadpanned.
Aneka beamed. “Great!” She hugged Okoye tightly. Okoye fought back a grimace (bruised ribs) and gingerly patted her on the back. The girl waved brightly and ran off like a flash of lightning.
In the quiet, Okoye’s prior line of thinking came rushing back to bite at her. Something was missing. So she hastily cast around for something to distract her.
She laid down the new spear she had been gifted. Even though it was sparkling clean, she began to polish it anyway. As she worked, she speculated what she could do with the extra money from her higher wages (one of the perks of becoming a Dora). She should replace her dilapidated chairs and dining table. Get rid of her lumpy bed. Get some proper utensils that weren’t scratched up. Maybe even get a bigger place than this cramped studio… but her mother had purchased it right after joining the Dora for herself and her grandmother. Okoye wasn’t soft enough to be sentimental, but something rubbed her wrong about selling it.
Shaking away the morose thoughts, she finished cleaning her weapons and armor, and then moved to inspect her tragically scarce fridge. Was it safe to eat two-week old salmon? Aneka would probably yell at her to go grocery shopping. She binned the old food and got ready to leave.
She paused as she examined the cactus on her porch. Did it need fertilizer?
It was a cactus. It was supposed to be low maintenance. And anyway, she was one of the top tactical minds of her generation.
It would be fine.
A week later, Okoye was standing at her porch, staring at the shriveled corpse of her plant. Its arms, which had once reached towards the sky, sagged. Even the thorns looked dull.
“You’re supposed to water plants, you know,” calls an amused voice. “Not intimidate them into submission.”
Okoye goes from glaring at traitorous plant to glaring to the mouthy intruder.
She’s seen him before, she realizes. The new initiates to the border tribe often spar with the Dora Milaje. She’s pretty sure she’s beaten him up a few times.
Noticing her perusal, he clicks his teeth and gives her a tight-lipped smile. It is odd. His lips curl, but the expression doesn’t reach his eyes, which are deep-set and half-lidded. But they are also large, glittering and amused as if he knows a secret she doesn’t.
“Are you lost?” she asks stiffly.
He ignores the question. “How does the best Dora of Wakanda fail to keep a cactus alive?”
She narrows her eyes. “Who are you to judge my gardening skills?”
“W’Kabi,” he says pleasantly. If he’s offended by her hostile tone, he doesn’t show it. “It’s lovely to meet you again. You knocked me over a few times. ”
“I think it was more than a few times,” she mutters.
His elephant ears seem to catch that, and he smiles again. “Ah, so you remember me.”
She rolls her eyes. “I remember all the warriors. Do not flatter yourself.” And she steps past him because she has no time for this nonsense.
A few more days pass. Okoye put the incident out of her mind.
And then one day, she is dragging herself home from training when Aneka calls out to her. Guiltily, she spins around, apologies tripping over her tongue-
“You kept it alive!” Aneka says, dancing around her. “I really thought you were going to kill it after a few days…”
She pointed at the porch. To Okoye’s astonishment, the cactus was flourishing, even showing off an extra leaf and glossy green coat. Like it had eaten a heart-shaped herb and been blessed in the Ancestral Plane.
Unless the goddess Bast has decided to take up gardening and mess with her, she has her suspicions of who performed this miracle. She clears her throat.
“Yes, well, run along,” she says. “Don’t let me tell the Queen Mother that our newest recruit is ditching class.”
“But class is so boring, they don’t even let us fight yet,” Aneka groans, but she scrambles away obediently.
Okoye runs into her mystery gardener a few days later.
Well. Perhaps it was more accurate to say she ran him over.
He was lying on the ground, panting, as she loomed over him with her spear held to his throat.
“Yield,” she snarls.
His smile is tight-lipped, the expression not reaching his half-lidded eyes. Blood runs down his chin.
“You strike me as a woman who has never been satisfied,” he says.
Her eyebrows nearly fly off her head. “Did you suffer a concussion? What nonsense are you babbling about?”
“You're like me. I'm never satisfied either.”
Lightning bolts through her veins.
“I don’t know what you mean. You forget yourself,” she says, but begrudgingly holds out her hand to help him up. He had put up a half-decent fight.
“Have you ever seen the borders?” he asks, out of the blue.
She blinks, surprised by the sudden change in topic. “No.”
“Come with me. I’ll show you.”
She should say no and go back to polishing her weaponry in her empty apartment, just like every other night. Not riding off into the distance with strange, idiotic, (most likely) concussed men.
"Lead on," she says.
W’Kabi wisely doesn’t offer to help her mount his rhino, and as he climbs on behind her, doesn’t rest his arms at her waist either. Whether it was fear or respect, she was mollified he wasn’t an idiot.
“I promise I won’t bite,” she says wryly. “You can hold on.”
“I’m touched you care about me,” he says over her shoulder. His hands feel heavy and hot, even through her armor, and she forces herself not to look back.
“Someone needs to guard the borders when the Dora are on missions,” she says gruffly, and ignores his huffed laugh.
They ride on in silence. Soon, the shimmering skyscrapers and bustling streets give way to desert plains and flat grasses. A mountain range comes into view.
The edge of Wakanda.
She tenses as they approach the edge of her world. They dismount. W’Kabi gently guides his rhino to graze and comes to stand alongside her. For a few long moments, they gaze at the shimmers of the vibranium-powered invisibility shield that hides them from the greedy colonizers.
“My mother died out there, in battle,” she says suddenly.
He glances at her. There was no pity in his gaze, just understanding. “My parents also died on a mission. Here, at the borders.”
Her eyes widen. “The bombing- by the colonizer who stole vibranium from us-”
His lips thin. “A security oversight. It won’t happen again. Not with both of us as Wakanda’s sword and shield.”
He sounds so fierce, so unlike his usual easygoing self, that it startled a response out of her.
“You are like me,” she marvels.
The expression on his face is something she hadn’t ever seen before. She doesn’t think there is even a word to describe it.
“So we finally find something we can see eye to eye on,” he teases.
She scoffs. “How many woman have slapped you over your terrible flirting?”
He grins at her shamelessly. “Ah, so you noticed I was flirting.”
She grimaces. “It was… hard to miss.” And novel. The few men that had braved her hostile aura would have been run off by now. “You are as… persistent as that cactus Aneka gave me.”
“And you are just as prickly.”
“Excuse me?”
“I said you are just as fierce.”
“Right.”
They grin at each other. And then… just continue to hold eye contact. Surrounded by the harsh beauty of the arid plains, with the backdrop of the setting sun, it was a moment suspended in amber. Almost in slow motion, W’Kabi’s eyes drop to her mouth, and he inclines his head closer.
Okoye imagines this is what it must be like to stare into a jaguar’s eyes. She feels a burst of adrenaline, an electric current pulsing through the air. Fully reacting on impulse, she-
Punches him.
He rears back, clutching his nose - was that blood? Had she really just punched him? Curse her soldier reflexes-
“Oh Bast- my sincerest apologies, are you alright? Do you have a med kit, or-”
But W’Kabi just bends over, hands braced against his knees, and laughs. It is a booming laugh that reverberates through his muscled belly and strong chest. When he finally glances up at her, he is still smiling. The expression finally reaches his eyes, which crinkle into upside down slits. She just stands there, staring at his stupidly handsome face, holding her bruising fist.
She wonders if for the first time, she found something achingly close to the promise of satisfaction.
…
Years later, it was this memory that came to mind when she was staring down the shaft of her spear at her husband, blinking back angry tears as a civil war raged around them.
“You would kill me, my love?” he asked calmly.
“For Wakanda? Without question,” she replied, her voice far too raw.
While she had been satisfied, even happy, W’Kabi had been plotting (for how long?) to destroy the security of their shared life by helping the false King N’Jadaka- no, that colonizer Erik Kilmonger- burn the world down and parade through cities of ash.
She was a fool to think he could ever be satisfied with her.
…
Present Day
The Talokanil never seem to be satisfied.
At first, they busy themselves looting and destroying the Wakandan homes, gleefully stealing away valuables. But their efforts seem to be stymied by one key aspect of their physiology.
They seem to be able to spend only a few hours on land comfortably, due to the lack of a running water source. So they force the Wakandans to work at a breakneck pace to build artificial canals in the capital. No few civilians faint from hunger and exhaustion, only to get beaten and thrown back into makeshift barracks they now live in.
After a month, the Golden City is scarred with waterways, like its veins have been ripped open. This allows the boorish Talokan soldiers to comfortably walk around the capital city and take whatever they want, whenever they want it.
From there, it was incredibly easy for them to divide the capital and conquer. The Talokans split up the Wakandans into different partitions of the city, such that no two warriors (especially Dora Milaje) can interact, in order to reduce the likelihood of a coordinated rebellion. They even offer rewards for civilians to take on certain roles or reveal if any prisoners are planning to rebel. A few desperate Wakandans take up the offer, begging for mercy or extra rations for their families. As a result, everyone eyes each other in distrust. Who is friend, and who is foe?
But there are a few chinks in their seemingly impenetrable armor.
The Talokans do not know all of the warriors who were not in active combat, and so even in Okoye’s partition (which should supposedly not have anyone but civilians) she is able to brush by a few War Dogs who had stayed in the city to protect the civilians during the ambush of Talokan.
And, due to a rapidly approaching winter (thank Bast) they will not be able to irrigate the desert plains or mountain lands until the spring comes. Which means some of the Mining Tribe and Jabari tribe must still be out there, hidden.
Lastly, and most importantly, the Talokanil prefer to sleep underwater. As a result, the Wakandans are left with a scant guard at night. It is clear even Namor’s forces, although outnumbering the Wakandan army, are stretched thin in order to command both their home and the new territory.
So, in conclusion, there appear to be some weaknesses that could be exploited.
Okoye puts up a strong front as she digs trenches and nurses sick civilians or hugs sobbing children, but even she feels the hopelessness creep as she wonders how they will escape this nightmare.
The Queen Mother would be horrified at the desecration of their home, the abduction of their royal daughter. Okoye deserves nothing short of exile alongside her traitorous husband, because she did this. She was not strong enough to protect the royal family or her beloved home, and look where it got them.
No. She cannot succumb to this weakness again. She will die before accepting defeat. She forces herself to catch a few hours of sleep, just as dawn breaks.
In the morning, as she drags herself to her work station, she sees a group of Talokan soldiers harassing a civilian girl who cowers as they poke her with a sphere.
Okoye clenches her fists. The girl cries out as she is pushed to the ground by one of the soldiers, who reaches out-
And gets punched in the face by Okoye.
The soldiers yell and roughly grab at her, leaving the girl alone. Someone quickly whisks the girl into the crowds as Okoye grabs the attention of the soldiers. Realizing they are dealing with a Dora, the soldiers pull their weapons out and encircle her. Weakened by hunger and lack of sleep, she is unable to fend them off. The butt of a spear knocks into her temple, temporarily blinding her with pain.
It takes a few moments for her vision to come back, but when it does, she finds herself kneeling on the floor, her arms twisted behind her back and in handcuffs. Four Talokan soldiers hold spears poised inches away from her face. She sneers at them in disgust.
The soldiers glance back as someone calls to them in Talokan, and then they stand at attention. To her displeasure, Attuma himself has come by to see the commotion.
“My, my,” he chides, with his malicious shark grin. His silver armor glints as he towers over her, forcing her to crane her neck upwards to glare at him. “What a feisty one.” He leans his head down and licks his lips. “I cannot wait for your spirit to be broken.”
She curls her lip. “As if we would bow before dogs like you.”
The Talokans tense, but Attuma just smirks. Okoye has a bad feeling about this.
“Take her to the holding area at Section 1-A,” he says. “She has a visitor, isn’t that nice?” The Talokan guards cackle as they drag her away. Attuma himself walks alongside her, humming quietly like they are having a stroll at the park. A few minutes later, she is shoved unceremoniously by him inside someone’s stolen home. The back of her neck prickles dangerously.
There is someone in the tent.
She turns slowly. When she faces the person, it feels like a vibranium dagger is impaled in her chest.
It is him.
Harder at the edges, worn at the seems- but oh, it is him. The same tight-lipped smile and half-lidded eyes.
“Hello my love,” W’Kabi says. “Did you miss me?”
…
Aneka perks up as she hears a few of the guards heard towards the northern plaza, drawn in by some commotion. Her own section is located on what used to be the bustling market roads, but is now a graveyard of smashed signs and rotting fruits. She flexes the bleeding scabs on her hands and nods sharply to a War Dog standing ten meters away.
It is time.
The War Dog springs away toward the plaza, and cries, “Wakanda forever!” Several others take up the chant as the Talokan guards cry out in alarm and rush forward with batons and spears towards the agitators.
Amidst the commotion, it is all too easy for Aneka to slip away.
As she runs along the tiny crooked paths in the residential area, she is careful to stick to the homes that have been picked clean with all the furniture smashed (and hence have no reason to contain any Talokanil). She can almost imagine a second of footsteps running alongside her. A deep, throaty laugh. The other half of her soul.
Bast, she misses her wife Ayo so fiercely that her chest aches with want. But she pushes the emotions away, tries to focus- something Okoye always tells her to do.
When Aneka finally reaches the palace, she waits for the guard change before slipping inside a secret path known only to a few of the royal palace staff and Shuri’s former playmates (Aneka almost smiles at the memory of hiding from their strict teachers, alongside their mischievous princess). The path links to the servant quarters, which in turn split off into a honeycomb of doors that are spread through the palace so she can sneak around virtually unseen. She picks up a couple discarded gadgets the princess had stashed in case she had gotten bored hiding- they were old, but hopefully still worked.
Eventually, she made her way to the ground level. It is here the Talokanil have built makeshift prison cells, hastily converting small rooms they found and punching small flaps into the doors to provide space to deliver meals. The guards are preparing to ship the prisoners to the more secluded and secure Talokanil prison in a few days, or so she had received a coded message from one of the Dora. Hopefully it is not a trap…
She turns the corner and comes to a sudden stop.
In front of her is one of the Wakandan civilian girls the Talokanil have recruited to serve them. The girl stares at her with wide eyes, clutching a large platter full of fresh seaweed, water chestnuts, lotus seeds- and other vibrant, succulent fruit Aneka hasn’t even heard of. Her stomach gives a weak grumble.
“Uh- hello,” Aneka says, flashing a winning smile at the girl. “I’m here to.. to rescue a prisoner. Ayo. That is, my beautiful wife. Could you please point the way to her, if you know it?”
The girl looks at her warily, assessing for a second, and then says, in a shaking voice, “Go straight into the hallway, take the first door. You will come to a fork. Then turn- turn left. Keep going for a few minutes and you will find her there.”
“Thank you!” Ayo says, crossing her arms in an X, before sprinting off.
When she reaches the first door that the girl mentions, she weighs her options. Ayo might be the more level-headed between the two of them, but Aneka is better at parsing out human emotions.
“The girl said turn left,” she mutters. She looks longingly at the hallway on the left, and thinks, stay strong Ayo - I’m coming for you.
And then she turns right and sprints as fast as she can. She has to avoid a couple more guards and cameras, but finally, she reaches a door guarded by two Talokanil. And then she waits.
A guard rushes into the room and gesticulates wildly, speaking urgently in Mayan. One of the guards rushes out of the room with him, likely going to Ayo’s cell to set up an ambush.
Aneka, making note of a camera on the ceiling, slips into the blind spots in the room to sneak behind the remaining Talokanil. She strikes the gills around the guard’s neck, sending him stunned and sputtering to the floor. She hits him hard with his spear until he goes down. The sound won’t have carried beyond the room, but the camera will certainly have picked up the attack.
“Hey,” she calls to the cell in front of her. “We have a minute before we’re swarmed with guards. Do you think you can get out of the cell with this stuff?”
Opening the flap on the door, she pushes through gadgets, ripped wires, and a slender piece of vibranium (her wedding necklace) under the door.
“Hell yeah,” Riri says, her voice stunned and muffled. Juding from the odd clanks and beeps, the young American inventor quickly gets to work on the lock on her side of the door. Aneka grabs a key from the guard’s pocket and unlocks the manual lock from the outside. Examining another lock (this one electronic) she proceeds to smash it with the Talokanil sphere she’d also looted from the guard.
The door swings open. In front of her stands Riri, thinner and bruised, but grinning and alive. “Aneka! Dude, am I glad to see-”
Aneka grabs her and starts running, righting the girl as she sputters and stumbles.
“Quickly!” Aneka hisses, picking up faint stomping noises. The guards had realized something was wrong.
“Where- where are we going?” Riri gasps. “I mean, thanks for the rescue, not that I’m complaining or anything. Seriously nice job on the whole Han Solo prison break thing- though I don’t think I really vibe with Princess Leia, there’s, like, no golden bikini, thank god-”
Aneka stuffs her unceremoniously into a secret entrance which will take them to the outskirts of the palace, where she can hide until nightfall. When the Talokanil go to sleep (or loosen their guards due to exhaustion, whichever comes first) Aneka can smuggle the inventor out of the Golden City.
“-also gentle with the goods, by the way, those guys got a lot of shots in yesterday when I was a bit slow in building a vibranium detector-”
Aneka stops suddenly, ice in her veins. “You did what?!”
“No, no I built them, like, a total fake version of a detector, it won’t even beep near a paper clip, I swear,” Riri says quickly, holding her hands up. “In fact I left a little surprise for them when they try to use it.”
“…Oh,” Aneka says, and her eyes dart through the corridor. She wants to ask what the surprise is, but she is out of time. She has to assume the Talokanil will interrogate the servant and perhaps even Ayo about the palace break-in. The secret tunnels will likely be found, and in all likelihood, compromised. She grimaces as she accepts, with a sinking stomach, she will have to find another way to rescue Ayo.
If Ayo even makes it through the week-
No. She would make it. Aneka forces herself to focus.
“Once we go outside, a Wakandan will provide us with new clothes to wear and cover our heads. The guards will likely be on high alert for the next 12-24 hours. After the patrols die down, we’ll take a path that will lead us out of the city.”
“Where are we going?” Riri says, huffing as she sprints to catch up.
“To the heart of Wakanda,” Aneka says mysteriously.
“…say what?”
Aneka huffs. No one appreciates the artistry showmanship anymore.
“The vibranium caves between the desert and mountains.”
“Wicked. Oh wait. Do you have a cellphone? I really need to call my mom… and, uh, do you know a way to say "escaped prison" without saying "escaped prison" because I don't want to freak her out...”
…
Okoye eyes W’Kabi warily, grateful for the table separating them. After she had moved out of their marital home and back into her dingy apartment, there were many days where she lay cold and alone in bed, thinking she would give up nearly anything to see him again. But not like this. The old hurt bubbles up, strong and acidic in her chest, along with a snaking sensation of horror.
“Tell me,” she says, voice quivering, “Tell me you did not join forces with these- these barbarians, just so you could get your revenge”
“I’m hurt,” Attuma says, feigning a contrite tone. It is anything but. “Isn’t it rude, to call us barbarians, though it was your **kind who spilled first blood in order to protect a meddling outsider? And here I thought Wakandans were supposed to be intelligent. W’Kabi here seems to be the only one; after all, it was he who gave us the translation software needed to understand your language. Rather invaluable, as it turned out.”
White hot fury burns through her. W’Kabi sold out their language? Then it is thanks to him their speech is policed so heavily, and they are unable to make even the most basic of plans to rebel.
Attuma smirks, drinking in her pained expression.
Okoye bares her teeth at him, pushing away the shocking revelation. “If I recall correctly, it was you who tried to kill a civilian girl who may not be Wakandan, but does share our ancestors. That makes her ours. By the right of conquest, you provoked us first.”
Attuma is still grinning. “We’ll dispose of her soon enough. It looks like for all your boasting, you Wakandans are soft and weak. Perhaps it was because you refused to take your true place in the world. Instead you hid and let the surface dwellers rule over you.”
“Weak?” Okoye snarls. “Perhaps that is why you drag me around in chains. Afraid that in a fair fight, that I’ll beat you again? That is the action of a coward.”
That hits a nerve.
“Why you-” He grabs her roughly by the neck and lifts her. She scrabbles around ineffectually, unable to breathe, her vision whiting out-
“Enough.”
Attuma abruptly drops Okoye to the floor. She coughs, dragging in ragged breaths. It feels like there is glass is in her throat.
“Keep this one in check,” Attuma says in disgust to W’Kabi. “She’s a mouthy one.” He stares at her coldly. “I’ll spare you now since I keep my promises to my allies. But make no mistake.” His mouth twists into a malicious grin. “Once you have run out of usefulness, I will take pleasure in being the one to break you. And let’s see who’s spitting false boasts then.”
She glares at him as he storms out of the tent. She hears W’Kabi’s quick footsteps as he approaches her, feels the heat of his body through the woven blankets he wears. She refuses to look at him.
“Are you alright?” he mutters. He does not touch her.
“Fine,” she spits out, and drags herself up to standing position using the table as support. She rubs at her sore throat. “Why did you bother to stop him? I’d rather die than be part of whatever heinous scheme you’re going to propose to me.”
W’Kabi slowly stands and walks back to his former spot, on the opposite side of the table. His back is to her, but Okoye doesn’t think his face would reveal any clues about his thoughts. After all, she never saw through his mask for the entirety of their marriage, did she?
“Consider carefully,” he says. His eyes, once filled with emotion, seem oddly empty and tired. “The Talokanil are powerful. They will attack the surface world, and combined with the vibranium sources, technology, and manpower of Wakanda, they will be a force to be reckoned with.”
“I don’t need to think about it,” she spits out. “If Wakanda dies, I will die protecting her, fighting till my last breath.” She clenches her fist. “So again, I ask: why are you here?”
“I am obligated to give you the chance to make another choice,” he says evenly. “You are my wife.”
She scoffs. “In another life, perhaps. In this one, it would be kind to call us strangers.”
She takes no pleasure in the spark of pain that crosses his eyes, as briefly as a shooting star.
“Even so,” he says. He glances at the flimsy tent flap, barely giving them a modicum of privacy, and then idly traces shapes on the surface of the table. “Think about my offer. Join the Talokanil, and we will be granted clemency.”
“And leave the rest of my countrymen to be led to slaughter, like blind sheep? Get out of my sight.”
W’Kabi sighs and moves towards the entrance. As he does, he walks past a sign, one that Okoye had completely disregarded due to the surprise of seeing her former lover.
Wakanda forever, it says in messy Xhosha slang. Her heart constricts; it has been a while since she has seen the words. The Talokanil had wiped away any written word that could be considered the slightest bit nationalistic or seditious.
Attuma walks in suddenly, seemingly in a hurry. “Your ten minutes are up,” he snaps at W’Kabi. He glances at Okoye, then at the sign she had been looking at, and then back at her, raising an eyebrow. “If you are done staring at a toddler’s squiggles, then return to your section. I am needed elsewhere.”
A niggling feeling grows at the back of Okoye’s head as she is brusquely dragged out of the tent by a distracted Attuma. Apparently there is some sort of commotion; the guards are running around in a frenzy. Attuma doesn’t even stop to hurl insults at her before rushing away.
The Talokanil are on high alert for the rest of the day, barking orders tensely and doing a search-and-frisk on many of the civilians. They do not say why, but the answer is glaringly obvious.
Someone escaped.
None of the War Dogs in her section seems to know who it was. She puts the question aside and turns to something that has been bothering her ever since she left the tent. She runs the scene from earlier again in her head.
Attuma, glancing at the “Wakanda forever” sign and dismissing it, like he couldn’t read it…
The Talokanil have been destroying out all traces of their official language. The thing is - no one writes the formal term “Wakanda forever” in slang; it is written proudly in their official script, which is also used all books and speeches.
The unofficial language had developed from thousands of years of mixing foreign or popular terms, as well as out of pure laziness. As a result, it had deviated quite far from the official script. In fact, it was practically considered another language. It is used for anything mundane, from shopping lists to cafe menus…
For the first time in ages, Okoye feels hope. She must have found a limitation of the Talokanil technology. They cannot decipher the unofficial language.
She tears off a piece of cloth and then bites her thumb, letting the blood flow freely.
And then she writes.