i see in your eyes the betrayal and the lies
Shuri ignored the eyes boring in her head as she reached for the dusty tome. The scholar, head librarian and T’Challa’s old tutor, Changamire, had been skeptical at first to see her but after two weeks, she was a familiar sight. His skeptical and scowling face had softened to a more grumpy visage every time he saw her once he realized that she was sincere about learning more of Wakandans Gods, the ancestors and history. It was Zuri’s apprentice, Zawavari, that watched her like a hawk. That acted as if she was going to burn down the library and then spit on its ashes.
Sure, it was out of character for her to be anywhere but her lab, the citadel or the Wakanda University where she wrote research papers, lectured as a professor and collaborated with select professors and students. However, a lot of it could be chalked up to her grief over her Baba’s death. Her stomach swooped uncomfortably at that thought and she felt her throat tightened as she tried to swallow down the agony, outrage and ambivalence she felt in regards to her Baba and his murder. He was collateral damage Zemo had told her brother. Just in the wrong place and wrong time. Just a fatality of a madman whose loss and motives, Shuri could now relate to on a disconcerting level. Sometimes, she wondered if she would go mad with grief. She had thought it would hurt less after the years since his passing but the hole in her heart at the absence of her Baba never lessened. It just became more bearable as time went on.
If the probing questions from her mother at the dinner table were anything to go by, she was sure he had reported her presence in the library to Zuri, who had passed on her interest to her mother. She had feigned some excuse of wanting to incorporate traditional stories and designs on some of the new weapons she was forging. Her mother’s raised eyebrow and doubtful expression told her that she wasn’t buying it. It was such a familiar expression that made Shuri’s heart ache. She had had to clench her fists under the table in order to not tackle her Umama in a hug every time she saw her or to break down sobbing. It was a blessing every day to see her mother alive and breathing. To hear her name called and even, to be scolded for pranking and riling up the elders. Satisfaction welled within her at how hard her mother fought to not laugh at her antics. Her face was full of disapproval but her eyes were so full of mirth.
Her right hand twinged in slight pain as she grabbed multiple books on the Orisha and Wakanda's history but she ignored it. Her hand for the most part had healed with the vibranium laced nano tech that helped stimulate tissue and bone regeneration. It had been two weeks since she had arrived in the past and she had established a somewhat normal rountine after giving herself a few days to settle in the past and regain adequate functionality in her right hand.
Every morning, Griot woke her up early so that she could join the Dora Milaje as they went through their morning training and sparring. On Tuesdays and Thursdays, she joined her mother for meditation and spear forms. Monday, Wednesday and Friday was a mix of gymnastics, hand to hand combat and daggers. Saturday and Sunday, she was often in the shooting range, flight simulations or conditioning her 18 year old body to be able to withstand long term combat through parkour and free running in the evening over Birin Zana aka the Golden City. In the darkness of night, she practice shifting to what she dubbed her “panther form”. She had managed to stay in it for almost an hour yesterday without getting overstimulated with her enhanced senses.
After her battle with Namor, she really need to up her combat training as she was severely outmatched. If it wasn’t for Riri blasting him into the dehydration chamber, the explosion and fighting on the dessert, Namor would have killed her in a snap. She gave a dark and bitter huff at that as her scar ached. It wouldn’t be the first time, she had died by some foreign enemy. The rest of her days were spent researching, designing, inventing and tapping (illegally) into the War Dogs network to accumulate enough information to plan out how she wanted to change the future.
Part of that plan was unfortunately having to research the Wakandan and Egyptian Gods in a dusty library that didn’t allow anyone to access it or studying it unless they were in the library itself. Her nose scrunched up in distaste and annoyance. If it was up to her, the library in Necropolis, the Wakandan City of the Dead, would be uploaded to Wakanda’s massive digital library archive. An archive that was accessible to all Wakandans. There were some more sensitive materials that were restricted to the public but it was so much more efficient then relying on a dusty and damp room right next to the catacombs, Hall of Kings and the Heart Shaped Herb garden.
Zawavari nervously cleared his throat and pleaded, “Princess, if you need any assistance, we would be more than happy to help you.”
“It’s alright Zawavari, I got it.” Shuri smiled politely back.
“I insist, Princess.” Zawavari said with clenched teeth, as his hands twitched towards the book.
Aneka cleared her throat, reminding Zawavari of her presence and Shuri had to hide a smirk at the startled and embarrassed look that crossed Zawavari’s face.
“Your offer of help is most gracious however, I am more than capable of finding what I need. Thank you.” Shuri dismissed him.
Aneka raised an eyebrow in Zawavari’s direction as if to say are you still here? Zawavari looked between the two of them before turning away in a huff and passing the few Wakandan Royal Guards that were a part of Shuri’s retinue whenever she left the Citadel. Shuri resisted the urge to stick out her tongue and make a face towards Zawavari. Aneka’s slight snicker alerted her to the fact she must have not hidden her petty triumph as well as she thought she did.
With a sigh, Shuri went to one of the tables and skimmed through the texts. Every citizen of Wakanda knew that the core pantheon of the country was the Orisha which was made up of 5 deities that were a mix of ancient Egyptian and African deities. Thoth, God of the Moon and Wisdom, Koukou, God of War, Mujaji, Goddess of Sustenance and Rain, Ptah, Creator God and Patrons of Craftsmen, Nyami, God of the Sky and Bast, Panther Goddess. Bast was the main goddess that Wakandans worshipped but throughout the five tribes, the other 4 deities were also worshipped. The Jabari tribe were the anomaly since beginning of Wakandan’s first king and warrior shaman, Bashenga, and instead they worshipped, Hanuman, the Gorilla God.
Wakandan spirituality was an aspect of everyday life for Wakandans as were the belief that the ancestors were with them despite their passing. Shuri used to believe in all the bedtime stories that Baba would share with her and T’Challa but she became disillusioned after everywhere she turned with her intentions to help Wakanda with technology and innovation were met with the disapproving and scornful eyes of her elders and people. Growing up, she was not ignorant to the whispers that surrounded her prodigy status and her brilliance.
Child who Scoffs at Tradition
She’ll destroy all our tradition and history.
Thank Bast, that T’Challa is heir. Can you imagine what would happen if Princess Shuri was Queen?
Irreverent Child.
Destroyer.
Upstart.
Heretic.
The very gifts that Bast and the ancestors had given her were derided as if tradition and doing things the way they were always done would allow Wakanda to survive as a nation. Science was more reliable than any deity. It was a lot more straightforward than the ancestors and Bast Shuri always thought. Bitterness coated her tongue. Their gods and ancestors hadn’t saved her Baba when he was murdered. Tradition and stubborness had allowed Kilmonger to turn Wakandan upside down and burn their precious heart shaped herb garden. It had indirectly killed her ubhuti and umama.
“Princess, are you alright?” Aneka shifted closer, an uneasy expression on her face.
At Aneka’s voice, Shuri startled. “Yes. Why do you ask?”
“Because you’ve been glaring at your book for the past few minutes as if you could set it on fire and you look like you’re about to tear the book in half.”
Glancing down at her hands, Shuri noticed that she had the book in a death grip and grimaced. At least she hadn’t shifted into her other form. That would have been hard to explain.
“Sorry. I got lost in thought.” Shuri said apologetically. Switching the subject, Shuri adopted a more playful tone as she reprimanded, “Aneka. I thought I told you to call me Shuri.”
Aneka eyes darted to the other Wakandan Royal Guards who returned a bored stare back and gave Shuri a slight smile.
“Sorry Prin-Shuri.”
“I won’t tattle to Okoye about you breaking protocol. Besides a little bird told me that the Dora Milaje’s best combat instructor wanted to experiment with new weapons and combat styles.” Shuri replied teasingly.
Aneka gave a huff at that but retorted back, “Don’t think I’ll go easy on you during morning training just because you give me new toys to try out”.
Shuri gave a wicked grin as she answered, “Wouldn’t dream of it”.
With a sigh, she went back to the passage she was reading.
Bast was the goddess of protection, pleasure, and the bringer of good health. Bast was the daughter of Ra, sister of Sekhmet, the wife of Ptah, and the mother of Mihos. 1. . .
When Ra found Sekhmet to be too unruly to be his champion, he replaced her with Bast. As Ra was forced to withdraw into the heavens, he bound Bast and Apophis together and sent them to the Duat so that she would eternally fight him, keeping Apophis from rising.2
. . .
Looking after the dead and the spirit world Bast not only guided the spirits to Duat she also was in charge of destroying the bodies of the deceased who escape from the judgment hall of Maat. She took care of the dead in Duat and also stopped the dead from escaping their judgment.3
. . .
Gods require some sort of link to the mortal realm, or else they may be banished back to the Duat. Avatars can be possessed in various degrees; some are completely controlled by the god and take on their favored appearance, while others are only influenced and maintain the host's appearance. The amount of control depends not only on the god but also on the will of the host.2
Wait a minute . Avatar. That was what Bast had said she wanted her to become. That passage had sparked a memory of when she had been looking into world affairs during her year of mourning for T’Challa. Reports came from War Dogs stationed in London and Ghiza of a 5’9” tan man transforming into ancient ceremonial armor and the name Khonshu being thrown around. Facial recognition pinged the man as Marc Spector along with the aliases of Steven Grant and Jake Lockley. If her hunch was correct, this Marc Spector may know more about what Bast wanted from her.
Satisfied with the research she had done so far, Shuri placed the tomes in their rightful places and gave a respectful nod and farewell to Changamire and was on her way to leave.
The sweet floral and earthy scent of the Heart Shaped Garden beckoned Shuri as she left the library. Her heart started to race and her fingers twitched with nervousness as she peeked into the garden. At the sight of the glowing herbs and peaceful atmosphere, Shuri gave a sigh of relief. She caught sight of Zuri’s rich purple cloak and her stomach twisted. Ambivalence and anger churned in her stomach at Zuri’s omission of N’Jadaka and what happened with Uncle N’Jobu. His lie of omission had cost him his life and they had almost lost T’Challa and Wakanda in a few months time.
She turned to walk away but her body became rigid as she stopped at the call of her name.
“Princess Shuri.”
She took a deep breath before schooling her face into her usual mask of mischief and cheer.
“Zuri.” She replied with a respectful nod of her head.
“Did you find the answers you seeked in the library?” Zuri asked sagely.
“Yes. It was very insightful.” Shuri replied. She ignored the way Zuri appraised her. A wary look shone in his eyes as if he could see that something was off. It set her teeth on edge but she forced herself to slip deeper into her old 18 year old self's mannerisms.
After his once over, his expression became somber and became a sight that she was familiar with after the death of family members. Pity mixed with sadness and awkwardness of a personal loss but Zuri actually knew and worked with her Baba. He was not only a War Dog but a pseudo uncle to T'Challa and her. N'Jadaka's hateful exclamation of Uncle James made her heart ache.
“I’m sorry princess for the loss of your father. He was a good man. A good father. A great king.”
“Yes, he was.”
Zuri’s stare was piercing and she couldn’t shake the feeling that he could sense Bast’s presence or that she didn’t belong.
The words slipped out of Zuri’s mouth almost involuntarily as he murmured, “You’ve changed”. Zuri hadn’t meant to voice that thought out loud but for some reason, he couldn’t shake that his divination was related to the Princess. Since that morning, murmurs had spread that the princess had become quieter, intensely focused and burning with some unknown intention. No longer was the girl locked away in her lab or at the university but seen throughout the training rooms, libraries and all over the Golden City. It made some of the elders nervous at what the child would stir up especially with such uncertain times.
11 Wakandans dead in Lagos, Nigeria.
His King and their ruler killed in an explosion like their countrymen and women a month later.
The current heir, protector and Black Panther currently outside of Wakanda in Vienna.
At his words, the princess’s face became closed off and her eyes lost their warmth. Her usual bright and playful eyes seemed somber and older.
“Doesn’t death change us all?” she replied. Before he could reply, Shuri asked, “Zuri, what happened to Uncle N’Jobu? I’ve never heard much about him. He ”
Shock and alarm flashed through Zuri at the question. The truth laid heavy on his tongue but he spits out the lie as calmly as he can, “Your Uncle N’Jobu had disappeared somewhere. He was last seen in 1992 during a War Dog Assignment in America.”
The princess twitched at the word "disappeared" as sweat trailed down his back. Her nod of acceptance relieved him. Her next question did not.
“What was he like?”
Guilt and shame churned in his stomach but Zuri answered, “Compassionate, daring and bold.” A smile tugged at his mouth at old memories. “Similar to you, he was ambitious and inflammatory. He often shook things up with the Elders and challenged your Baba.”
Something softened in the Princess expression and the atmosphere seems to shift to something graver. Something solemn. The silence is loaded with a question as the tension thickens.
“What’s the ancestral plane like?”
Surprise flickers through Zuri at the question. It wasn’t like the Princess to inquiry about the spiritual but he does his best to answer. Best for the princess not to uncover any truths that were best left alone. Some truths were to heavy to bear.
“It is believed to be the place where our people’s soul settle after death. Throughout our history, Black Panthers have ingested the herb and were able to commune with our ancestors. It is believed that the ancestral plane will show you who you need to see and help guide your rebirth as the Black Panther. It is said that you call down the ancestors and who you need the most. The ancestral plane is a reflection of your soul and experiences. Your inner wants and what you need to achieve your goals.” Zuri explained as his eyes wandered over the garden oasis. The room thrummed with centuries of tradition, power and spirituality.
Glancing back at the princess, he had was taken aback by her expression of sorrow, grief and aching reluctance. As if she had seen her fate and didn’t like what she saw.
With a contemplative yet sad look, the princess gave thanks and left with her retinue.
Zuri went about his duties as a shaman of the royal court. He could not shake off the feeling that something had shifted like the ripples of a stone dropped in the pond.