March 21st
Wakanda
S’yan knew this wasn’t going to be an easy conversation. The headstrong girl hadn’t acknowledged any attempt he’d made to console her ego and get her to return to the compounds. As much as it wounded him to have to deliver the news, he’d hoped Shuri would at least soften enough to return to her father’s bedside. He knew she possessed an eager will and beneath that was genuine heart; surely her pride would not stand in the way of her showing that.
There was no doubt that Shuri had great skills that would fulfil the duties of becoming the Black Panther, but that position being open to her was always dependant on whether she could tame the tempestuous nature of her heart. A skill possessed that would be valued now more than ever. S’yan had seen the ritual when his brother had taken his vow, anyone unworthy would not survive the process. The doubts he had raised with King T’Chaka concerning T’Challa’s dedication had been dismissed at the moment of the words leaving his lips.
S’yan was an unshakable man, yet he was stood before his kin beginning to stumble through his words, perhaps if finally realising what he had been quietly denying. This kingdom was in very real danger.
-
The news of her brothers’ departure had been nothing other than more fuel to the fire of her daily exercise regime. However, upon hearing the condition of her father, it had felt as if grief had caught in the back of the throat. White noise blared through Shuri’s ears, it was as if she’d stood up too quickly, her head began to spin and her racing thoughts began to blur.
S’yan could not understand, had she heard him, was she even listening? All this girl had sought after was her father’s attention. T’Chaka had taken great care over her as he had all of the people of Wakanda. Why could the child show no remorse of her attitude and fulfil her familial obligations?
The deafening silence broke.
“Has he asked for me?”
“Child, he is in no state to...”
“Did he ask for me? When T’challa left, did he ask for me, did he say my name aloud after all this time?”
“Your place is at the palace both the king and you know this. We need T'Challa back, this needs to be fixed betweeen them.”
“If the king did not ask for me by name... after he realised I was the only one willing to be his heir, after all this, he couldn’t bear to ask for me? Why would I go to comfort an old man who forgets one from his own blood? Less, why should I grieve over the old king’s state if after T’Challa, he could not even spare a thought for the one child who wanted to serve. Grief is a distraction; I’ve come to learn family is an anchor keeping me from my cause.”
S’yan roared at the girl’s impudence.
“Foolish child, being ungrateful to your father is an unforgivable sin, but disrespecting your king, you know the law of Wakanda you’d be held accountable for your insolence. Of what right do you have to call yourself of noble blood if you reject your familial ties?”
“Familial ties are only imposed by those who feel they are owed for the existence of another or perhaps for those afraid of finding themselves alone. Do not try to paint your clouded beliefs in front of my eyes; I’m the only one who has expressed absolute clarity.”
The great healer had heard enough. Spitting on the ground, he turned to leave.
“Correct. You have been clear enough child. Your headstrong ways are what have always held you back, do you think if your father had bent his knee to your rages, your demands for audience, that he could be respected, less, that he could have then gone on to teach you the patience needed to rule? Child you mistake your fathers dismissal for lack of care. The place for you to rule was always there, beside your brother. Your pride, your brash nature, only pushed that place further away. Shame to you. I fear I have wasted time I could have spent with our king in his desperate hours."
Shuri’s glowering gaze was unmoving.
“If you believe your one true destiny is to become the Black Panther, you’ll need to realise, all you have cultivated is a spoilt, angry soul in your isolation. Not one that is deserving of such an honour.”
S’yan had noticed those words hit home in his niece as he watched her swallow her rebuttal. But he had no more time to coddle one who lacked the ability to rise above her egocentric ideals.
Shuri could feel heat rising in her chest, an acidic taste in the back of her throat, but she remained still. She would not move, nor would she give her uncle the satisfaction of seeing her paroxysm, if only further proving his accusations of her. She remained with arms straight to her side and waited until the trails of dust from her uncle’s jeep were settling along the horizon.
It took some time before Shuri broke gaze from the trail, feeling a wetness dripping down her clenched fists, a quick glance revealed that her nails had pierced through her callous palms. The silence dawned on her, how alone she was. But Shuri had to train, perhaps now more than ever Wakanda needed a loyal warrior to lead them. Her blood stuck to the red dusty rocks as she climbed once more.
