Ndu

The kitchen was as hot as a dragon’s maw. At least Adanne imagined it would be if dragons were real. Yet, Mama and the aunties moved around it with the efficiency of long practice.

Mama’s second wife, Auntie Chae-rin, was manning the chopping and prep station. Her knife moved at a nearly inhuman speed, yet she looked so calm it seemed like her eyes were closed. The sand-brown skin at the sides of her scalp, where her straight black hair was shaved short, gleamed with sweat, but she showed no other signs of feeling the heat. Mama’s first wife, Auntie Obiamaka – Oby for short – was at the stove, grilling and sautéing sides of lab-grown meat, blending pepper mixes, and deep frying like a many-armed goddess. She glowed a rich brown, and the fragrant smell of palm oil was a halo around her. Mama’s newest wife, Auntie Emmeline, was on steamer duty making sure the vats of yam, cous-cous and jollof rice cooked evenly. Her pale skin was ruddy from the heat, and she wore a kerchief around her head to keep her stringy brown hair out of the way.

Auntie Oby’s 17-year-old twins, Ezealugo and Chisimdi – Ezelu and Simdi – were brisk porters and cleaners, crisscrossing the enormous kitchen as if part of a complex dance. Kaine, Auntie Chae-rin’s eldest—Kai-kai, a name which he hated—was folded into a squat by the massive steamer. He was filling banana leaf packets with thick soupy plantain batter for the moi-moi. At 15, It was his first time as part of the formal crew and he took his job seriously, wrapping each pouch with the solemnity of a priest performing obeisance before an ancestral altar.

Above it all, Mama’s clear sweet voice kept everything moving along as she plated, sorted, and dished. It was kind but commanding—like Mama herself.

Ada wished she was part of the crew. She was only a few months younger than Kaine, but Mama and the aunties felt she was too distractible for the high-pressure environment of a job. Okay, yes, she may have let one or two pots of Market Day stew burn, but that didn’t mean anything. She could focus if she had to. They just needed to give her a chance.

“Adanne, are you here?” Mama’s gentle chiding cut into her thoughts, and she startled out of her ruminations.

“Yes, ma,” Ada straightened and answered with the traditional address that the family used for each other when on a job.

“Are you clear on what to look for?” Mama said in a tone that suggested this wasn’t the first time she’d asked the question.

Ada scrambled for her jotter and reviewed the instructions she had typed earlier before answering. She had gone mushroom hunting many times, but it was always wise to review the process when on a new job. New environments meant new factors to consider, and this time she wouldn’t be alone. Nnamdi – whom everyone called Nam-Nams, but he was five, so he didn’t mind—would be coming along.

Auntie Chae-rin’s youngest was a delicate, fine-boned boy with large brown eyes and skin the exact shade of butter bread when it had just emerged from the oven. He had the kind of calm manner that caused people to say that he was an elder of the family reborn. But looks could be deceiving—he was prone to outbursts of emotion and impulsivity that would forcefully remind the unsuspecting that he was indeed only five years old. He was currently perched on the edge of a worktable in a corner of the kitchen, watching the aunties work, but Ada could tell from his eager posture that it was only a matter of time before he would dart into the fray to try and “help.”

“Yes, ma. I’m clear,” she said.

“Then get moving. See what you can find for the salad course. This is the perfect climate for morels, but more likely you’ll only find oysters. Though, if you see any Birch Polypore, get them for Auntie Oby’s medicine cabinet. She said that she was low on supplies.”

Ada nodded and made a note in her jotter before tucking it into the bag at her hip. She plucked the foraging basket from where it lay by the kitchen door and strapped it to her back, then hefted Nam-Nams under the armpits and swung him off the table. Grasping her brother’s small hand in hers, she headed out into the forest beyond.

***

The temperate forests of Northeastern Turtle Island were a wonder in the springtime. Not warm enough yet for the blackflies and ticks, but no longer so cold that one had to bundle up in layer upon layer. The black earth was soggy after last night’s rain and water still dripped off the budding new leaves. A cool breeze ruffled the trees around them and swirled debris across the path they were on.

The family’s work as freelance caterers didn’t often take them this far north, as a lot of this territory was still under corporate ownership, not tribal stewardship. In fact, Auntie Emeline hadn’t wanted to take this job at all. She’d grown up in a corporate holding like this one and had a lot of trauma from her childhood. But Mama and the other aunties had shown her the proposal and even she couldn’t argue the numbers.

The managerial elite of a corporate holding were not rebodied very often. Having elected to upload their consciousnesses into virtual utopias, they only returned to their well-preserved bodies for special occasions such as company anniversaries or, in this case, to welcome a new member into their ranks. Promotions into the executive class were so rare that a massive celebration had been demanded to mark the event. And though the leadership of Magnus International Holdings did not allow “spores”—their derogatory term for members of the Igbo Diaspora—to live in their territory, apparently, they didn’t mind their food.

This was a once-in-a-lifetime occurrence and catering it was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. And so, here they were, cooking and plating ahead of the dinner where MagnusCorp’s newly decanted upper management would have their first in-person meal in a decade.

Ada remembered the day they’d arrived, nearly a month ago. After showing their papers to the guards at the entrance of the gated community, the family had driven their double-wide trailer home down the main street of the company town. Five security personnel on motorcycles had escorted them through the town, past the statue of Charles D. Ward, the settler-era trillionaire who’d founded the company, and the tattered flag of Old Canada flapping forlornly in the breeze.

She’d noted that all the houses were built in the same old-fashioned colonial style, with columned front porches and false shutters framing closed windows, and painted in the same shades of black, white and brown. She’d spotted a few shops, a hair salon and a barber’s, a school—apparently, this community still educated their children in a separate building away from their caregivers—and a church. The town was eerily quiet. There were no children playing in the streets, no music blasting from open windows or storefronts, and no one sitting on their stoops or gathered in easy conversation. The family had been directed to park on a cleared patch of land on the outskirts of the town. It was close enough to allow them to walk to the Executive Headquarters where the event would be taking place, but far enough from the rest of the settlement to ensure that there would be no accidental contact between them and the residents.

Their guide for the event was a pinched-faced white woman with auburn hair named Mrs. McNamara—no first name given. She wore a crisp black skirt suit that was too heavy for the warming weather and high-heeled shoes that left angry red welts on the backs of her feet. She ushered them through the company’s headquarters via the warren of service entrances and back hallways which were reserved for the corporation’s support staff. As she explained the terms of the job, she spoke in clipped, overly enunciated tones, like she was delivering orders to a child she didn’t consider particularly bright. Ada noted the tightness around Auntie Chae-rin’s mouth every time the woman talked. Eventually, Auntie Oby had reached out and grasped her co-wife’s hand, squeezing tightly until the other woman’s murderous look eased to a “throttle-you-in-your-sleep” expression.

From the moment the family had stepped out of their home, they’d been shadowed by a security detail, five heavily muscled white men wearing black button-down shirts and jeans, that had escorted them through the town. Their faces were hidden behind baseball caps and wraparound sunglasses, and their hands were never far from their holstered guns. Ada had never seen guns in real life. There was a cold, heavy menace about them that made her deeply uneasy. She had moved to Mama’s side and sought her hand, as she would when she was a small child. Her mother had given her a reassuring smile and hugged her close.

That night, the family remained inside their trailer home rather than going into the community to explore and connect, as they would normally do. The three-bedroom contraption normally felt too cramped, especially when everyone was excited for a new gig. But this time, the trailer felt more like a refuge than a restraint. The aunties were seated at the kitchen table gossiping over tea and a bowl of roasted chestnuts. The twins were curled up together on one of the bunk beds in their bedroom reading (Simdi a romance manhwa, Eze a history textbook) and snacking on pemmican. In the main room, Kaine and Nam-Nams were on a video call with their grandmother in Seoul, while Mama and Ada played Whot on the floor.

Mama and Ada loved all kinds of games. Mama was especially fond of board games where she could craft complex, long-term strategies, while Ada preferred card games that allowed her to think fast and improvise. Ada’s mind wasn’t on the game, though. She was still thinking of the guns, and the strangely eager energy of the men who’d possessed them.

“Mama, why are they so afraid of us?” The question slipped out before she realized she’d spoken.

Mama sighed and sat back, her cards dangling forgotten in her hand. “They are not afraid of us exactly; they are afraid of what we represent.”

“Which is?”

“Change,” she said simply. She continued in Igbo, “There is a saying: ‘No one is more afraid of theft than a thief.’ No one is more terrified of violent overthrow than those who have wielded violence to maintain the illusion of their superiority. We represent everything they believe they were entitled to and lost. They hope that by controlling us, they can control the inevitable future.”

“They should know better, though,” Auntie Oby said from the kitchenette. She did not speak often, but when she did, it was deep with wisdom. “You cannot stop the future any more than you can stop a river from flowing to the sea.”

“You can, if you dam it,” said Auntie Chae-rin in her clipped, practical way.

“Damming a river only leads to stagnation,” said Auntie Emmeline, her Québecois accent still strong after all these years. “That is what growing up in a holding was like, you know. It was like being trapped in stagnant water where nothing could grow. These places, inside them, they kill everything that is living and vibrant.”

“Ah, but after death comes regeneration,” said Auntie Oby. “Do not discount life; it always finds a way.”

“Isn’t that a line from a movie?” Auntie Chae-rin asked and Auntie Oby smiled mysteriously. Auntie Chae-rin threw a nut at her, which Auntie Oby caught expertly in her mouth, and the two of them dissolved into laughter. Auntie Emmeline rolled her eyes in mock exasperation.

Mama turned to Ada smiling, “Do not trouble yourself, little. We will only be here for a month. This job will be finished before you realize it.”

Ada nodded, but a thin sliver of dread had lodged into the space between her shoulder blades, and it was only growing heavier.

***

Now, Ada led Nam-Nams down the forest path. He followed dutifully beside her at first, holding her hand. But the lure of the outdoors soon proved too much. He shook off her hold and loped giddily down the path ahead of her. She called out to him to slow down, but it didn’t really matter. Apart from their security escort, an olive-skinned boy barely older than herself, there were no other people in sight. The only evidence that the area might be inhabited was the occasional drone which would whir past overhead, its camera light blinking like a navigational beacon. Ada wondered if the whole town was busy preparing for the dinner. No matter, she had copies of the family’s work permit and their IDs in her hip bag. She was prepared to answer any challenges to her right to be in this space.

A key part of the family’s contract with MagnusCorp was that all the ingredients for the dinner had to be free-range and locally sourced—either from the corporation’s farms, or from its privately-held forest lands. This act of honoring the land was part of the agreement between their branch of the Igbo Diaspora and the Indigenous stewards of Turtle Island who had welcomed them over 200 years ago. To that end, Mama and the aunties had been working with the corporation’s food service department for the last month to assemble their supplies. All except the mushrooms for the salad course, which had to be foraged on the day of the event because most mushrooms tasted best just after they’d been picked, and no one on the corporate staff had the expertise to do it.

The family had visited the corporation’s farms to get to know the pigs, cows, and chickens whose cells would be harvested to culture the lab-grown meat. They had toured the greenhouses where the vegetables and fruit they’d use were grown, and taken long walks through the forest lands to learn the lay of the land.

As they did everywhere they went, the family had made friends. Auntie Emeline taught dance classes, Auntie Chae-rin cooked massive group dinners, Auntie Oby offered free folk remedies for a variety of ailments, from headaches to menstrual cramps. And Mama told stories. Every night, as long as the weather held, she’d sit before a crowd in the middle of the clearing and share the tales of their people: The Girl Who Married a Hyena, The Tortoise and the Birds, The Wrestler Whose Back Never Touched the Ground. She’d lead the children through the call-and-response songs that punctuated every story. Soon, unwed mothers, shunned by the community, began to drop their little ones off with Ada while they went to work. The Orphans, a group of neglected teens who would normally wander aimlessly when not in school, began stopping by to hang out with Kaine and the twins. They understood that the mobile home at the edge of town was a place where they’d be welcome without question.

Ada knew that deep in the night, there were quieter bonds being formed. Women whose makeup hid their bruises during the day came to Mama and the Aunties to whisper about the wrongs they’d suffered. Girls who secretly bound their chests with bandages spoke of their dreams to cut their hair short and choose new names. Boys confessed that their true loves were other boys. By filling each of them with hope and strength, pride and courage, the family hoped they were sowing the seeds of future revolution.

Ada wasn’t sure how much of what they were doing would actually lead to lasting change in a place like this. She glanced at the young guard hovering just beyond her shoulder, but she could not read his expression behind his low-slung baseball cap and sunglasses. She knew his name was Simeon, that his mother was one of the women who came to them for salves for bruises and cuts that she hid from everyone else. Still, she made sure to keep herself between him and her baby brother.

As she walked, Ada looked for any gaps in the foliage which would suggest dead or dying trees and spied one up ahead. She called Nam-Nams over and instructed him on the ironclad rules of mushroom hunting: No touching, no rubbing, no sniffing – and absolutely no eating.

“Are we clear?” Ada asked, her voice a surprising echo of her Mama’s.

“Yes, Dada,” said Nam-Nams petulantly, using his nickname for her. It wasn’t his first forage, though it was their first time without Mama or one of the Aunties. Ada stuck her tongue out at her baby brother, and he giggled and did the same.

Grasping his hand, she ducked into the underbrush. Behind her, she could hear their escort bumbling along. For all his camouflage gear, it was clear he spent very little time in these forests. He moved like an awkward tank, trying to crash his way straight through the undergrowth instead of following the subtle pathways that wound between the trees and bushes. Ada ignored him, her eyes trained on the trunks and roots around her. By now, she was intimately familiar with the way the forest dipped and rose under her, how the mud squelched and sucked at her boots, and the green smell of post-winter decay as the land thawed all around her. Fall was the best time for mushroom hunting generally, but spring was the best time to find morels, especially in hardwood forests like this one. She kept close watch for their distinctive dark brown honeycomb shaped caps.

Ada was startled by a loud beep. It was her watch. It was time to head back. Mama had made sure to program alarms for everything Ada did on this job. Corporate citizens viewed time as a “resource”—something that could be wasted or hoarded, bought and sold, traded in exchange for things and a safe place to sleep, Mama had said. Ada couldn’t understand it. Time was something one experienced. Measuring it felt as useful as trying to weigh how much air one inhaled with every breath or counting how many lumens of sunlight fell on one’s skin. No wonder corpos always looked like they were about to urinate on themselves. But, as Auntie Chae-Rin liked to say: “it is respectful to take off your shoes when you are in someone else’s house.” If that was how the corpos did it, who was Ada to argue?

She checked the time. They had been foraging for hours, though it hadn’t felt that long. As Mama had predicted, they had found several clusters of oyster mushrooms, some young Dryad’s Saddles, and—to her delight—a massive cluster of black morels growing under a copse of fallen poplars. She’d showed Nam-Nams how to pick them: from their stems like a flower rather than from their spongy caps, and very carefully because they were hollow on the inside. To honor the tenets of the Honorable Harvest, they never picked the first mushrooms they saw, or the last. After each collection, they would whisper a prayer of thanks to the species that had fed them with their bodies and their lives.

Ada straightened to call to her brother and spied Simeon, their guard, dozing in the crooked roots of a nearby oak. Apparently, even her watch’s alarm had failed to wake him. She saw Nam-Nams squatting over something a few feet ahead of her and went over to him.

He was staring at the base of a large red alder tree whose bark had split open at the trunk and was decaying from the inside. A bulbous, jelly-like mass oozed from the split. It looked like a type of Witches’ Butter, but this was a bioluminescent blue-green, not bright yellow. And it glowed, its light reflecting like an underwater light show against their skin. It trembled and vibrated to an inner rhythm.

“Dada, listen,” said Nam-Nams, and she did. The fungus was emitting a low hum, just below her hearing. It reminded her of the whale songs she’d heard on their job in Inuvialuit territory last year. She closed her eyes. It seemed as if there was a language thrumming through the sound, and if she concentrated hard enough, she could understand it.

A rustle beside her caused her to open her eyes. Nam-Nams had reached out and scooped up a handful of the fungus. The piece had shirred off the main mass like a sentient jelly and coalesced into a glowing globe in his hand. The remaining mass on the tree rearranged itself, and within moments, appeared as if it had never been touched. Ada suppressed a horrified shriek as the globule in Nam-Nam’s hand dissolved, suffusing his hand with its unearthly glow. She grabbed for the waterskin strapped to her waist, hoping to wash the fungus off, but she was too, too slow. By the time she’d worked her shaking hands to free the bottle, the fungal glow had spread up his arm and soon, to every visible inch of his skin.

And then her baby brother began to float.

Ada did shriek this time and dropped the bottle to grab at him. He didn’t seem to hear her. He was drifting up into the air like a dandelion, his eyes closed in an expression of bliss, until Ada managed to catch his hand. At her touch, he opened his eyes, and his face transformed to terror.

“DADA!” he cried as he realized what was happening.

Ada pulled at his hand with both of hers, but it was like trying to hold down a massive hot air balloon. She wasn’t heavy enough. She saw, with horror, that Nam-Nam’s fungal glow was beginning to seep from his hand into hers, like dye being absorbed by a dry cloth. But she refused to let go. She could feel the ground begin to drop away beneath her.

Suddenly, Simeon was beside her, one arm around her waist, a fistful of Nam-Nams’ jacket in his other hand. His hat and glasses had fallen off and she could see that his hair was a mop of black curls, and his eyes were a warm honey brown.

“I got you,” he breathed. Together, they hauled Nam-Nams towards them, pulling hand over hand until he was safely in Ada’s arms. The little boy clung to her neck, sobbing, and Ada could feel the floating mass of him still threatening to lift them both back into the air, but Simeon’s weight anchored them both firmly to the ground.

Ada felt the rumble of their vehicles long before she heard the thundering of their boots, felt their steps jolting through her like tiny electric shocks before they burst into the clearing. The men in black combat fatigues, their guns already drawn, surrounded them and began screaming contradictory commands: “Don’t move!” “Get down!” “Stand up!” “Hands behind your heads!” “Hands in the air!”

Ada ignored them all. Instead, she focused on holding on to her little brother. She forced herself to breathe slow and deep, feeling his weight gradually settling back into him, his body no longer fighting to float away. Until, finally, he was fully with her, and they were breathing in synchronous rhythm – an island of calm in the middle of a tumultuous ocean.

Suddenly, someone pulled her baby brother out of her arms. Someone else rammed the butt of a rifle into her face and Ada felt a sharp stab of pain at her temple just before the world went black.

***

When Ada woke up, she was lying on the black polished marble of a ballroom floor, the stone cold against her cheek. She sat up gingerly, every movement sending a wave of pain to her head. The side of her face felt swollen, and she tasted blood in her mouth. She laboured painfully to her feet.

The room was lavishly decorated in shades of white and silver. Massive silver globes hung from the ceiling amid enormous chandeliers of sparkling crystal. Several intricately carved ice sculptures dotted the room. The walls were covered in black wallpaper and holographic images of falling snow were projected onto them. It felt like being trapped inside a snow globe.

A crowd of waitstaff dressed in starched white suits stood in front of her, watching with anxious expressions on their faces. A band of jazz musicians also stood expectantly at one end of the room; they’d clearly stopped playing mid-tune. Even Mrs. McNamara, whose face seemed to only have two expressions—both disapproving—seemed stiff and anxious. Just beyond her, stood Ada’s family, still dressed in their kitchen whites. She and Mama shared a quick look, and her mother gave her a small smile. But she didn’t spot Nam-Nams among them and her heart dropped to her stomach.

That was when Ada realized that there were men with guns all over the room, and that one of them, an olive-skinned man with hazel brown eyes, stood over her. The cold muzzle of his pistol was pointed right at her head.

“She’s up!” said a cheery voice from behind her.

Ada turned and saw a group of people sitting at a long table in the middle of the room. Almost all of them were men, their faces oddly expressionless, and all of them were white. The person who had spoken was a heavily-muscled white man who sat at the centre of the table. He had a mannequin’s improbably thick brown hair and glossily smooth skin. His teeth were so white that they looked like dentures. Unlike the other guests who were wearing dress suits and evening gowns, he wore a faded black t-shirt that strained at his thick neck and biceps. Ada couldn’t help but wonder if he’d tailored the outfit that way on purpose. Surely, Jonas Magnusson, the CEO of MagnusCorp could afford a well-fitting shirt.

“Glad you could join us, Sleeping Beauty,” Jonas said. A chorus of polite, mirthless laughter followed the jibe. “Now, on to business.”

At a wave of his hand, the armed men began to herd the waitstaff and the musicians out of the room. However, the man with the gun pointed at Ada’s face hardly moved. Soon, only she and her family were left standing before the table.

Jonas began talking even before the room had fully cleared out, as if once out of his line of sight, the other people in the room ceased to exist.

“I’ve been informed that you are in possession of corporate property,” he said. “You should be aware, that is a breach of your contract.”

The family erupted into a chorus of outrage and angry denial, until Mama’s voice cut through the din:

“Mr. Magnusson, you are mistaken. Please return our children and release us,” she said. “We have nothing of yours.”

“My surveillance says otherwise.” Jonas gestured idly towards the open space in front of the table. A white man in a grey suit, whom Ada hadn’t noticed before, materialized out of the gloom beyond the table and placed a small holographic projector on the floor in front of them. It began to play and the patch of forest where Ada and Nam-Nams had found the unusual mushrooms materialized around them. In the video, her brother was already floating into the air and Ada and Simeon were working to pull him back to the ground. Nam-Nams’ skin glowed an unearthly blue and seeing the scene unfold on screen Ada could see that hers did too. She hadn’t realized it at the time.

“They tell me a mushroom did this. Is that true?” Jonas asked, adopting a languid pose. He leaned back, poising his chair on two feet.

“Yes,” Ada said.

“Then. Where. The. Fuck. Is it!?” Jonas screamed, leaping to his feet and knocking his chair over. The others at the table went as still as statues, staring into the middle distance as if what was happening in front of them wasn’t quite real. Only one man at the far end of the table, the newest hire, seemed startled by the CEO’s sudden turn. He too held himself still.

Ada flinched. She took a step back and collided with the solid bulk of the man with the gun behind her.

“I don’t understand,” she said. “It should be there.”

For a moment, Jonas’ expression spasmed into a rictus of rage and he looked like he was about to leap over the table. With visible effort, he wrestled the emotion down and straightened his jacket. He laughed brittlely and began circling the table, talking as he moved.

“My team has conducted an extensive search of the area. They found no sign of this so-called fungus.” Jonas came to stand before Ada. He was a full head and shoulders taller than her, and used it to loom menacingly over her. “The only obvious conclusion is: You have it.”

“I’ve told you—” Ada began.

Without warning, Jonas grabbed her by her shirt collar and lifted her up to his eyeline. The pressure of his hold cut into her windpipe, and she struggled to breathe. She batted at his arm to pry out of his grip, but it was like knocking against a rock. Distantly, she could hear her family shouting in protest.

“Tell me, little cub,” said Jonas, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Where is it? Where are my mushrooms?”

They don’t belong to you! Ada wanted to rage, but her throat felt too dry. Her heart thudded in her chest, and she couldn’t get enough air. Instead, she asked a question of her own.

“Where is my brother?” Her voice creaked with effort but was steadier than she’d expected.

Jonas stared at Ada for a moment with a calculated expression. His eyes were as soulless as a statue, as if no emotion had ever reached them. Then he dropped her like a discarded package. The impact of her body against the floor made her head scream with fresh agony.

“He’s safe,” said Jonas. Ada knew he was lying as soon as he spoke. He pivoted and walked back towards the long table. “Return the mushrooms to me and you’ll have him back. If not, you and your family will be charged with unauthorized appropriation of company property. And you’ll be dealt with accordingly.”

“You have twenty-four hours.”

The man with the gun to Ada’s head gripped her arm hard enough to bruise, hauled her to her feet, and hustled her out of the room.

***

They were back in the clearing. The sun was going down, plunging the world into the grey half-light of a spring evening. The air was cold with the promise of frost and ice. Ada shivered as she stood next to the large Red Alder tree where they’d first seen the mushroom. The split in the bark was still there, its insides still spongy with rot. Jonas was right; the mushrooms had disappeared. They hadn’t been picked—there were no stem structures left behind. They had simply vanished.

The man with the gun had marched her out of the ballroom where a team of five more armed men had joined them. They’d fitted her with a monitor, a thin plastic anklet that felt gummy against her skin, hustled her into the back of a van, and driven out to the forest. One man had stayed by the van to operate a drone which currently circled somewhere above the thick forest canopy, the rest circled her like wolves readying for the kill.

Ada knelt in the cold earth and touched a hand to the dead tree. She could feel echoes of the low hum she’d heard before. It sounded like it was coming from very far away. So much had happened since that morning, it felt like a lifetime ago. She wanted to cry. The hum grew louder. A voice without language that spoke to a place deep inside her. Her breathing slowed, as it had with her brother. Her eyes fluttered close. And she listened.

In the quiet she could hear life teeming in the soil under her feet, insects scurrying, worms and nematodes burrowing, roots drinking, the fungus itself murmuring and chattering happily across a vast network of nodes. The loam was a living matrix made richer by all that it contained. She was submerged in the vitality of it. Strange warmth radiated from the bark, creeping up her arm, then across her shoulder and chest. Her skin tingled, the way it did under the summer sun.

She opened her eyes. Her hand was drenched in the same fungal glow from earlier and she knew the rest of her glowing too. The armed men around her had gone utterly still. No, not still. They were moving, but slowly, like a holographic movie on the slowest speed setting. It wasn’t just them, even the myriad sounds of the forest had slowed to a low warbling. Time flowed like currents of water around her and she was a pipe directing its flow. She stood.

The man who held the gun to her head was still bent over, but the muzzle of his pistol now pointed at empty air. She plucked it out of his hand. It felt heavy and wrong in her grip. She could feel the components of the weapon—all that metal warped and fitted into place, the oil hardened to plastic, the minute particles of explosive gunpowder. She siphoned time from the weapon—from all the weapons around her: the surveillance drone overhead, the radio earpieces, the monitoring band on her leg—and smiled as she watched them degenerate into the dust of their most basic forms.

Then she turned and walked into the deepening dark.

***

The double wide trailer was still and quiet in the twilight gloom when she arrived. The world had begun to speed back up as she’d walked through the forest, but she could still feel the fungal hum beneath her feet. She’d taken off her shoes for a better connection to it and her toes were numb with cold. The first thing she noticed was that the front door was ajar, an incongruous slice of darkness against the trailer’s white vinyl siding. A motion-sensing camera had been mounted above the door, and Ada was sure that there was a drone monitoring the area around the mobile home, even though she couldn’t see one. Ada degenerated the camera as she’d done with the guns in the forest. Then, she sped up the current of time around her once again, swirling it about herself like a whirlpool, and stepped through the door.

For some reason, she wasn’t entirely surprised to see Nam-Nams perched on the couch in the main room, his mouth frozen around the straw of a juice cup. His bright red jacket was dirty and torn, but he seemed no worse for the wear. At first glance, he seemed to be alone, but Ada didn’t want to take any chances. The place had been trashed—drawers pulled out of their cabinets, cupboard doors flung open, and clothes, books and knickknacks strewn all over the floor. No doubt this was the work of Jonas’ men as they’d searched for the mushroom. She turned to check the other side of the room and came face to face with someone dressed in the pseudo-military garb of MagnusCorp’s security team standing by the front door. It took a moment to register who it was.

Simeon? Her control failed abruptly, and time fell back to its normal course around her. Simeon’s eyes went wide with shock as she seemed to materialize before him.

“Fucking hell!” he exclaimed.

“Dada!” Nam-Nams called at the same time. He broke into a cherubic smile and launched himself off the couch. Sailing like a windblown feather, he landed in Ada’s arms. As she held her baby brother close, a visceral wave of relief washed over her, and she burst into tears.

“Don’t cry, Dada. Don’t cry. Everything’s going to be okay, I promise.” He mopped her tears with the edge of his coat sleeve.

“Are you okay? What happened?” Ada asked as she put him down to take a good look at him.

“I’m okay; Simeon took me.”

Ada gave the older boy a wary glance, and he smiled sheepishly in response.

They sat back on the couch and Ada worked to piece their story together. Apparently, after she’d been knocked out and taken away, Simeon had volunteered to take Nam-Nams to the town’s detention facility.

“The commander didn’t like it, but he’s my dad and we’re short of personnel, so he didn’t really have a choice,” he explained. “I wanted to sneak him out the back service gate, but he didn’t want to go, did ya, buddy?” He directed the last part to Nam-Nams who was snuggling contentedly between them, thumb in his mouth. Dropping his voice, he continued:

“He said the mushrooms told him you were coming. So, I brought him back here to wait for you. I didn’t want to leave him on his own.”

“Thank you for taking care of him. I am very grateful. But why are you helping us?”

Simeon paused, his mouth working, before he answered. “Because if it hadn’t been for you guys, my mom would still be with my piece-of-shit dad. And he’d still be beating the crap out of her.”

Ada went quiet at that. She could not imagine living with such violence in one’s own home.

“They will punish you for this, won’t they?” She asked finally.

Simeon shrugged. “Fuck MagnusCorp. The only reason I joined the security unit was because my dad made me. Said it would make me a ‘real man.’ Whatever that means.”

Ada shook her head in sympathy. She didn’t understand the ways of patriarchy and wasn’t about to try.

“So, what’s next?” Simeon asked. “I mean you’ve got, like, superpowers now. Couldn’t you just go bust your family out?”

Ada sighed. “It’s not that simple.”

They could sneak out of Simeon’s secret exit and run. Jonas’ men had seized her jotter, but they were in the heart of Naskapi territory and it wouldn’t be hard to find a settlement nearby. But then what? A corporate holding had imprisoned Sovereign citizens—an act that would not be taken lightly, no matter the pretext. At best, a diplomatic council would be arranged and negotiations to secure her family’s release would begin. At worst, a cyberwar party would be raised to strike at the digital heart of the corporation, crippling its aging infrastructure. In either case, there was no telling what the fallout would be – all while her family languished in captivity. No, there had to be another way. Besides, she wasn’t alone. Not when the land and its guardians walked with her.

“Dada, can I get a snack? I’m hungry,” Nam-Nams said.

As he spoke, a strange idea bloomed in Ada’s mind.

“Sure,” she said, smiling. “I know just the place.”

***

The corridors in the Executive Wing were quiet as Ada and Nam-Nams made their way to the kitchens. Whether it was because of the disruptions of the day’s events or because she had once again sped up time around them, she could not say. They’d discovered that as long as they held hands, they could effectively share their powers. She manipulated time so they could dodge the search patrols they encountered, while he floated her up to the upper floors when they realized they couldn’t safely use the elevators.

At the massive swing doors that marked the entrance to the kitchen, Ada returned the flow of time around her to its normal speed. She scooted Nam-Nams behind her. Then, squaring her shoulders, they walked into the room.

What was left of the executive kitchen staff was huddled around the prep island and talking in low tones. This was the regular crew that Ada’s family had displaced for the occasion. They’d been pressed to act as waitstaff instead. They looked up sharply as Ada walked in. Their utter shock made Ada feel like ducking back out of the room and letting everyone pretend that they had actually seen a ghost.

Ada placed the foraging basket on the counter in their midst. Those closest to it recoiled. Even she had to admit that, under the harsh fluorescent lights of the kitchen, the fungus’ luminous blue-green globules weren’t at all appetizing. Though no longer attached to their host, they still glowed with an unearthly light and wobbled dangerously with every vibration.

“You just left. How did you…” Mrs. McNamara began but trailed off. She seemed too stunned to think coherently.

“Please let Mr. Magnusson know that I have his ‘property,’” said Ada. “I will plate and serve it shortly.”

The woman couldn’t seem to move fast enough. She scuttled from the room, her absurdly high heels clacking down the hall as she ran.

Ada settled Nam-Nams in a corner with a plate of jollof rice and fried plantains. Then, she turned to prep the mushrooms. The staff gave her a wide berth as she worked. She wiped each globe with a clean, non-fibrous towel to brush off any dirt, then stacked them on a wide serving platter in a neat pyramid. She considered cooking them. Most edible mushrooms were best when sautéed in a dry pan with a drizzle of butter and salt, but she thought better of it. She didn’t know if this species—she’d nicknamed it Ndu, after the Igbo word for power—would still be potent after being cooked. Besides, both she and Nam-Nams had absorbed the fungus without needing to ingest it at all. She would have to trust in its mycelial wisdom.

As she’d walked through the forest towards her trailer home, Ada had learned something crucial about the fungus. It possessed an unmistakable, if alien, intelligence. She couldn’t fully parse its logic, but its intent was clear. It was a connector organism, identifying what its host needed most and then rearranging the systems it found to provide that thing. The results were often unexpected but, the creature assured her, never malign. It had worked for a long time to adapt itself to this moment. Now, all it needed was the opportunity of exposure.

That, Ada could do.

The ballroom was in the same state as she’d left it. Though now, the (mostly) men of the Executive Team had relaxed into louche amusement. The jazz band was back and playing a pleasant medley in the background. Jonas had returned to the head of the table and was telling deeply offensive jokes at which the rest of the table laughed uproariously. From their loosened ties and flushed complexions, it was clear that they’d eaten and drank their way through most of the menu—soup, fish, entrée—as intended. They were now waiting on the salad course, and Ada was right on cue.

If Jonas was surprised by her unexpectedly early return, he didn’t show it. With a self-satisfied smirk on his face, he watched Ada enter the room pushing a dining cart laden with salad plates and the platter of mushrooms, Nam-Nams following behind. They came to a stop just in front of the high table. Jonas spoke something low and taunting to the man on his left. The man guffawed and tried to cover his mouth like a schoolboy who’d just heard his first dirty joke.

“It’s about time,” Jonas drawled. “I thought you’d never show.”

Ada knew it had only been a few hours since they’d last spoken to each other. “You gave me twenty-four hours, Mr. Magnusson.”

Jonas snorted at that. “We value time here, little cub. That’s how the men of Western Civilization got things done. But you spores wouldn’t understand that.”

Ada did not respond to that. She focused instead on scooping individual portions of mushroom with a melon baller and plating them onto an artfully arranged bed of fresh greens. She’d garnish each serving with carrot shavings then pass the finished plate to Nam-Nams who would take it to the table. She made sure the largest portion was reserved for Jonas, who was served first, as Mrs. McNamara had instructed.

The chatter died down as the team got its first good look at the mushrooms. They looked even less appealing in the artfully constructed winter light of the ballroom. No one moved to touch their food, waiting instead for Jonas to take the first taste.

“You have what you want now,” said Ada. “Please, release my family.”

“This isn’t over, little cub. You people stole my property. There’s a penalty for that.”

With that, he scooped a spoonful of the fungus and downed it. As if they’d been waiting for their cue, the others at the table began ravenously devouring their food. They ate like hungry dogs, as if afraid that someone would take away their plates.

Ada and Nam-Nams watched. And waited. He slipped his hand into hers and she felt the deep humming resonance of their connection. She didn’t need to look at him to know that he had a small smile on his face.

The glow started in Jonas first. Unlike Ada’s which had been a deep blue, his was a low purple that started at the base of his neck and spread outwards. He clutched at his throat as the colour climbed up towards his face and down under the collar of his too-tight shirt. It looked very much as if he was choking on something, but his breathing seemed clear. He stood, pushing himself away from the table, but fell to his knees. Jonas began tearing at his t-shirt, trying to claw it off him, while groaning and making small whimpering noises. The rest of the table watched, aghast, but not one of them made any attempt to help.

“Poison!” someone suddenly cried. “She poisoned us!”

There was a mad scramble as executives stood to get away or grab at Ada. One by one, however, they went down, just as the CEO had, in various states of distress. There were tears, screams, and writhing ululations of agony as the mushroom’s glow engulfed them. Each of them was experiencing the full weight of empathic connection to everything and everyone around them.

People who had never spared a thought for anyone else in well over a century were suddenly flooded with the emotional understanding of every wrong they’d ever committed—and all the suffering that had accompanied their every act of selfishness and greed. Forced to relive their pasts from the point of view of those they’d harmed, many collapsed and wept. Others ran screaming from the room. Some, mute with horror, simply curled into fetal balls and stared into the middle distance.

Looking around, Ada realized others were bearing witness to the mushroom’s effects. The jazz band was staring in slack amazement, while the executive kitchen staff had filed in and were watching impassively from the sidelines.

Something pulled at the hem of her pants. Startled, Ada looked down. It was Jonas. He was shirtless and kneeling at her feet. His eyes were red-rimmed with tears and snot dripped from the end of his nose. He looked like an overwrought toddler at the end of a meltdown. But his eyes were filled with a humanity that hadn’t been there before.

“I’m sorry…” he whispered, his voice hoarse. “I’m so sorry, I—” He dissolved into tears before he could continue.

Ada opened her mouth to respond, but it was Nam-Nams who spoke. Reaching out, he patted Jonas’s head. “That’s okay, Mr. CEO man. I accept your apology.”

***

Summer dawned bright and feral, the day the family finally left the MagnusCorp compound. There had been a goodbye party the night before—with dancing that had lasted long into the night. Now, as they drove through the main streets to the town’s entrance, Ada noted all the ways the community she’d grown to love over the long summer had transformed in the last six months. There was no security escort, no trillionaire’s statue, no flags. Homes were brightly coloured and festooned with summer garlands, lawns grew wild, and an outdoor marketplace had sprung up in front of the town hall to facilitate trade with the nearby Indigenous communities.

As the trailer approached the gate, Ada peeked out of the window in the main room. She spotted Simeon and his mother standing near the old guardhouse. He was clutching a bouquet of flowers and a package wrapped in brown mushroom paper.

Her heart lurched pleasantly as she remembered their time together last night. They’d stolen away from the celebrations and found a quiet spot under a large maple. There, they’d talked and cuddled, and finally, shared their first kiss. Her face burned hot at the memory. He caught her gaze and waved shyly. She waved back.

“Oooo! Is that your boyfriend?” Ezelu crowed as she sidled up next to her.

“The boy that was eyeing her yesterday?” said Kaine from behind her.

“Yep, that’s him,” Simdi chimed in as she sandwiched Ada on her other side. “They were canoodling out by the trees.”

“We weren’t canoodling!” Ada protested.

“Don’t be embarrassed, baby sis, you’ve got good taste,” Ezelu said.

“He is cute,” Simdi agreed.

“Ada!” Mama’s voice blared out from the intercom. She was driving the trailer lead. “Come and say goodbye to your boyfriend. We are going soon.”

Ada wanted to die. With an indignant yelp, she slid out from between her elder siblings and fled the room.

Stepping out of the trailer, she knew her whole family was watching her. Her self-consciousness melted away as she approached the duo who were standing beneath the shade of a massive maple tree. Simeon’s mother looked happier than Ada had ever seen her. Simeon was dressed in a simple tunic and trousers; his mass of curly hair had grown long over the summer and now fell over his eyes. Nervous, he hurried over to her, his honey brown eyes catching in the sunlight.

“I just wanted to give you this. Before you left,” he said. He thrust out the package and the flowers. Ada took them, then flung her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly. He seemed surprised for a moment, but he returned the embrace with equal force. His body shook from the force of his tears, and she held him for a long time until, finally, he stilled.

Ada watched from the back window as the front gates of the compound fell further and further away. She didn’t open the gift in her lap. It didn’t matter what it was, really. What she’d gained from this job was far more valuable. She closed her eyes and listened for Ndu’s hum and smiled when she found it once more.