The Book of Phoenix by Nnedi Okorafor Page A

up. What happened at its very top? One would need a helicopter to find out.
    The groaning came again and all the sounds of the city—vehicles driving on roads, the breeze moving around the skyscrapers, the creak of crickets, the sound of people talking—it all stopped. There was only dead silence. The building across the street was dark and deserted but on the second floor, if I squinted hard, I could see a pigeon was frozen in midflight.
    â€œWha- ?” I startled myself. My voice felt as if it were coming from within and outside of me at the same time. “What is this?”
    The grassy ground beneath my feet vibrated and then domed the slightest bit. I stumbled forward and the ground here also domed, and I was forced forward again. The Backbone wanted me close. And it must have had a hell of a secret to tell me because it had stopped time so that it could do so. At least this was my theory. Amongst the thousands of books I had read in Tower 7, one included an African myth, or was it Arab, that spoke of a tree so old that it had learned to stop time. Hadn’t that tree been covered with spikes, too? My memory said it had. When I was mere feet from its lethal looking trunk, the bare ground before me began to churn.
    If it weren’t for the forceful sagacious presence of the tree, I’d have run. I touched the hump on my back and rubbed at it. It felt so achy. The ground before the tree was rich red soil, different from the rest, which was brown. Had the Big Eye done exactly that? Brought in special soil for it from somewhere after they’d soaked it in the special growth formula? The history of its official planting in the base of Tower 7, the exact nature of the experimental solution poured over it and subsequent care were all kept top secret. It was even omitted from the classified books and files they let me read about the history of Tower 7.
    â€œWhat is that?” I whispered as something began to push up beneath the churning soil. A tan powerful thin root whipped through. Then another, then another. Then a larger root must have pushed it from below, for the wooden box rose from the soil like a gift presented by a God, held up by a kneeling slave. It rose slowly, carefully, dare I say dramatically.
    It was for me. I’ve never questioned that.
    I picked it up and the tree groaned softly. Then I tensed, all my new flesh, muscles and sinews, tightening for the first time. My body flashed a brilliant green. I was blinded for a moment, though I kept my eyes open. It wasn’t hot, however, for my dress remained intact. I felt more gather in my chest. Then it burst from me, violently rustling The Backbone’s leaves and the twigs, leaf stems, vines, and flowers of all those plants that grew around the great tree. The Backbone shivered.
    The flap of pigeon wings behind me. I turned around and watched the pigeon finish flying to the next building. The sound of vehicles moving, vomiting plumes of exhaust. The sound of far off voices. The movement of the breeze around the concrete jungle.
    Then a different kind of rumbling began. There was enough light from the street and the buildings around the area to show me exactly what was happening. It was the building across the deserted street. Where the pigeon had landed. The building was called the Axis Building because according to satellite maps, it sat in the exact center of the city. The rumbling became a great roar and the concrete building started to collapse on itself. Crush, crash, beams buckled, buttresses splintered. The destruction plumed out dust, papers, and rubble. I stared in awe. I had been looking down at this building all my life. It stood right outside my window. It was one of the buildings the city designated to house a lush roof garden full of potted trees, bushes and flowers.
    I’d looked down on the false jungle and dreamed and hoped and never touched, smelled, stood within. I loved the sight of it from afar, but now I