Tennessee Forever

321-miles West, 3:55 p.m. EST — Public Courtyard, Shadowlawn Apartments, South Memphis, Tennessee

Diamonte opened his eyes and exhaled slowly, his breath steady and deliberate. Seated cross-legged in the heart of the garden, he gazed up at the pristine, cloudless sky. The towering apartment buildings surrounding him formed a protective barrier, shielding the space from the morning sun and wind. This cocoon of stillness invited complete inward focus. The lush greenery and bursts of vibrant flowers added to the serene atmosphere, wrapping the garden in a tranquil embrace.

Diamonte remained still, breathing deeply as he focused on the serenity surrounding him. The stillness was broken only by the faint rustling of fallen leaves. Just as his mind began to sink deeper into the calm of his meditation, the soft shuffle of footsteps interrupted his thoughts. He opened his eyes slowly to see a figure emerging from the entrance of the garden—a woman carrying a tray.

Mrs. Pearline "Mother Pearl" Vinsane, at seventy-three, was a striking figure. Her short, curly hair was a soft shade of gray, and though a few wrinkles creased her face, they only added to the warmth that radiated from her. She wore a loose-fitting floral dress in shades of lavender and deep purple, the hem brushing just above her worn leather sandals. A wide-brimmed straw hat rested on her head, shielding her face from the sun, and the faint scent of jasmine clung to her as she walked.

With a gentle smile, she approached Diamonte, setting the tray on a small table in front of him. The tray held a steaming cup of tea, the fragrant aroma of chamomile rising from the porcelain cup. Mrs. Vinsane placed it down carefully, her weathered hands moving with ease as though she'd done this a thousand times before.

"Don't mind me, child," she said softly, her voice rich with warmth and age. "You continue with your meditation. I'll leave the tea here, and when you're done, there'll be more where that came from. Just remember, don't rush through your peace."

Diamonte smiled and nodded, appreciating her presence more than words could convey. As she turned to walk back toward the building, he leaned back slightly, his gaze shifting to the tea tray behind him.

"How's your day, Mother Pearl?" Diamonte asked, his tone calm and respectful, never breaking from the serenity of the moment.

Her smile never wavered as she stopped in her tracks. "Oh, it's been a good day," she said, a soft chuckle escaping her lips, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. "The sun's shinin', birds chirpin', world spinnin' like it always does, you know? But…" Her voice trailed off, and for a moment, her gaze shifted downward. "I just can't… I can't wrap my head around what they're doin' to my grandson. Never seen a trial move so fast, and then to end it with a death sentence?" She shook her head slowly, voice thick with emotion. "Can you believe it? Ain't been no execution in Memphis in years, and now they wanna take my baby—my only one left. I tell ya…" her voice wavered, eyes welling with the fight to hold back tears, "I can barely sleep thinkin' 'bout it. Just layin' there all night, starin' up at that ceiling, wonderin' how they could've convinced that jury to believe all those lies they told 'bout him."

Diamonte shook his head slowly, unable to find the words or offer any answers that could ease her pain. He stood to his feet, his expression heavy with the weight of the moment.

After a long, heavy silence, she let out a soft sigh and shook her head. A faint, bittersweet smile crept back onto her face. "Ain't much I can do 'cept pray. Pray and wait."

"It's in God's hands now," he said, his voice steady but tinged with the weight of the situation.

"It always has been," she replied, the words heavy with wisdom. Then, without another word, she opened her arms and pulled Diamonte into a tight embrace.

Diamonte hugged her back, feeling the quiet grief that hung around her like a heavy fog.

Pulling away slowly, Mrs. Vinsane turned and began walking back toward her apartment, her cane tapping rhythmically against the concrete. Diamonte watched her retreating figure for a moment before his attention was drawn to the far edge of the courtyard.

There, standing in the distance, was the unmistakable silhouette of Big Spooky. The tall, broad figure loomed in the shadow of the building like a watchful guardian.

Big Spooky held up his thumb, signaling there was no rush, then he flashed five fingers in a slow, deliberate motion before disappearing around the corner. The signal was clear: five minutes until they had to make their next move.

Diamonte nodded once, acknowledging the message. With a final glance toward Mother Pearl's retreating figure, he sat down at the metal table in the center of the garden, his thoughts now spinning like the whirring of a clock.

Pouring himself a cup of the warm chamomile tea, Diamonte raised the cup to his lips, inhaling the fragrant aroma. As he gazed up at the sky, his eyes locked onto a single solitary cloud drifting lazily overhead, floating like an insignificant speck against the vastness of the blue. He stared at it for a long moment, his thoughts sharpening with quiet determination.

Whispering to himself, as if the words were meant only for his soul, Diamonte said softly, "It's in our hands now."

321-miles East, 6:46 p.m. EST — Ahyvnvtsi Pavilion, Pond of Tears and Gratitude, Elder Mountain, Tennessee

America shifted on the plush, low couch, trying to appear as composed as her mother, Ana, who sat upright beside her. The pavilion stretched elegantly around them, its white columns rising like sentinels into the open sky. Sheer white drapes cascaded gracefully from the structure's edges, swaying in the cool mountain breeze that carried the crisp scent of the nearby lake. The gentle rustle of the fabric created a hypnotic rhythm, harmonizing with the occasional chirp of distant birds and the gentle lapping of water beneath the pavilion.

America glanced at the women gathered in a wide semicircle across the pavilion's central floor. The leaders of the clans were seated in grand, hand-carved couches, their presence commanding yet serene. Beside each leader sat a younger woman—heirs, like herself—who mirrored their elders in dress and demeanor, though their faces betrayed nervous energy beneath practiced poise.

At the head of the semicircle, Chief Sky of the Hollow Clan leaned slightly forward, her silver-streaked black hair catching the light as she spoke in a calm, steady tone. Chief Sky's heir, Keyki, sat dutifully at her side, her chin lifted with youthful determination.

To Chief Sky's right sat Chief Osi Jistuli of the Nightshade Clan. Her copper-toned skin and sharp eyes gave her a fierce, almost regal air. Her hair, streaked with the first hints of gray, was braided tightly, and a woven headband adorned with beads rested across her brow. Her heir, Ouli, wore a similar headband, though hers was simpler, the beads glinting faintly in the sunlight. The Nightshade Clan was known for their skill as peacekeepers, and their presence always seemed to command quiet respect.

Next was Chief Halona Hokolesqua of the Lotus Clan. She was petite, but her presence was anything but small. Her flowing, deep-green shawl matched her striking green eyes, which seemed to take in every detail of the gathering. Her heir, Hialeah, sat beside her, her youthful confidence tempered by her mother's composed silence.

Across from Halona sat Chief Elueka Gunsa of the Silentsong Clan, whose white ceremonial dress shimmered like snow. Her short-cropped hair was adorned with silver rings, each representing a year of service to her people. At her side was her heir, Etenia, a quiet girl whose sharp gaze hinted at wisdom beyond her years.

Then there was Chief Nokose Tahoma of the Forsaken Ash Clan. Her tall frame and broad shoulders gave her an imposing air, but her easy smile softened her demeanor. Unlike the others, she had no heir at her side. The seat meant for her successor remained conspicuously empty, a silent reminder of the tragedy that had struck her clan years ago, leaving her with no child to carry on her legacy. Despite this, Nokose radiated strength, embodying the enduring spirit of her people.

Finally, to Ana's left, opposite Sky, sat Chief Tayen Ayatoya of the Tearstone Clan. Draped in a sleek, raven-black shawl, her dark eyes held an intensity that seemed to pierce through the haze of the pavilion. Her heir, Tala, bore a similar sharpness, though her features softened when she glanced toward America, offering a fleeting smile of camaraderie.

The air in the pavilion hummed with quiet anticipation, each woman's presence contributing to the gravity of the moment, as if the mountain itself bore witness to their gathering.

"We're starting to go a little over time on this topic," Ana said, noting the time in a large book labeled Council Minutes. "Now that we've wrapped up the discussion on old business, let's move on to new matters. I believe the Forsaken Ash Clan has submitted a proposal for the construction of an apple farm and brandy distillery, potentially spanning 500 to 600 acres of the Forsaken Bloodmoon Forest."

Ana paused and gestured toward Nokose, signaling her to begin. "Chief, the floor is yours."

Nokose stood slowly, her tall frame casting a commanding presence as she straightened her green shawl. She gave a nod of gratitude toward Ana before turning to face the gathering of leaders and their heirs.

"Thank you, Chief Anasazi," Nokose began, her voice steady but imbued with an undertone of both strength and humility. She paused, her sharp eyes sweeping over the group, measuring the weight of their gazes. "Esteemed leaders, and honored heirs, I bring forth a proposal that I believe will not only honor our traditions but also ensure our future prosperity."

She paused again, this time for effect, before continuing. "The Bloodmoon Forest, as you know, is rich with resources and beauty. But, like so much of our land, it is underutilized. I propose that we begin the construction of an apple farm, spanning 550 acres of this land, and an apple brandy distillery to accompany it."

A murmur rippled through the semicircle of women, some nodding thoughtfully while others exchanged looks of curiosity or concern.

She let the chatter stretch a moment longer before concluding, "I ask for your support, not only as leaders of your clans, but as stewards of our collective future. Together, we can turn this vision into reality."

With that, Nokose took a deep breath and stepped back slightly, her hands resting at her sides. The floor was now open for the council's response.

"I want to be clear: I'm against this plan," Chief Elueka declared, flipping through a color-coded printout of the apple brandy proposal. "500 acres is massive. Don't you think?"

"Yes, but—" Nokose started, only to be cut off by Chief Tayen.

"The sheer scale of this project is overwhelming," Tayen said, her voice steady. "Look at the buildings: 2 cold storage facilities, 1 to 2 distillation plants, 2 to 4 aging warehouses, plus bottling, processing, and administrative centers. To support all this, we'd need to clear between 25,000 and 500,000 trees. Have we ever approved something this destructive?"

"Well, no, but—" Nokose began, but Chief Halona interrupted.

"We have not," Halona confirmed. "And I fear this could have lasting consequences—not just for the Forsaken Ash, but for the lands of neighboring clans. The environmental toll could be immense."

"Yes, it's the largest project we've ever considered," Nokose countered. "But so was the Nektan resort project before it was approved."

"The resort project is big, but it didn't require massive deforestation." Chief Sky interjected. "Your proposed venture is industrial, and that changes everything. Beyond the environmental concerns, there's the financial risk. The Necta Clan funded their resort entirely on their own. Your clan, on the other hand, needs to borrow from the tribe, and you don't have enough collateral to cover the risk. We're in a precarious position here, considering both the size of the project and the potential environmental consequences."

"I understand your concerns, Chiefs," Nokose began, her voice calm yet resolute. "The scale of this project is substantial, and I do not dismiss the responsibility it carries. The trees are precious, and we will not clear them without care. For every tree cut, we will plant more, preserving the forest's vitality for generations to come."

Nokose paused, locking eyes with Chief Elueka before turning to Chief Sky. "As for the financial risk, I understand the hesitation. But we ask for your trust. We're not asking for charity; we're asking for an investment in a shared future. The Ash Clan will repay this loan, just as we have in the past. This is not a blind leap—it's a carefully calculated step toward the future of all our people."

With that, Nokose sat back down, her presence as unshakable as ever, leaving the council with no choice but to consider her words carefully.

Chief Anasazi remained seated, taking a steady breath as the room grew silent. "Let us not forget that the Bloodmoon Forest lies on forsaken land, and the Ash Clan, too, is a forsaken clan. This means they hold no power over these lands. Yet, out of the kindness of the tribe's heart, we have arranged for the Forsaken Ash Clan to repurchase this land in installments."

She paused, allowing her words to sink in. "This initiative appears to be the Ash clan's attempt to expedite the repurchase of their ancestral land. But in Chief Nokose's rush to settle their debts, she has chosen a project that fails to align with the ideals of our tribe."

Ana's gaze swept across the room, her eyes sharp and steadfast. "With more time and research, I am confident that the Forsaken Ash can present a proposal that is more refined—one that is less invasive and within their current financial means."

Nokose rose from her seat in a blur of green shawl and frustration, her face flushed with barely contained rage. She glared at Ana, her voice sharp enough to cut glass.

"This was just a damn waste of time!" Nokose snapped, her words echoing across the pavilion. "If you weren't gonna approve this, why even let me present it? Could've spared me the whole damn show and shut it down from the start!"

"No matter how outlandish a proposal may seem," Ana replied, her voice even, deliberate, "it is your right as a chief to present it to this council. I will never impede on that right. We are bound by our traditions, Chief Nokose."

Nokose let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head. "Traditions," she spat. "What good are traditions when we're sinkin' in debt? At the rate we're crawlin' along with your so-called 'sensible' plans, it'll take us 30, maybe 40 years to dig ourselves out! This plan—my plan—would've wiped that slate clean in five, seven years tops. Do you even understand what that means for us? Freedom. Pride. A future!"

Her voice cracked as she took a step closer to Ana. "But y'all don't want that, do you? Just admit it! This ain't about the land or the environment. It's about keepin' us under your thumb!"

Ana stood slowly, the soft rustle of her coat the only sound in the stillness of the pavilion. Her gaze fixed on Nokose. "I pray you believe me when I say I dream of the day the Ash Clan rises to its former glory," she said, her voice steady. "But I dream not just as the chief of the Nectas, but as the chief of the Atoned tribe. My duty goes beyond the borders of any single clan. I am responsible for the well-being of all—every root, every branch, every leaf that stretches across our shared lands. I won't risk the future of this tribe for a shortcut, no matter how shiny it looks."

The air thickened with tension as Nokose, with a sudden and deliberate motion, spat at Ana's feet. "You bitch!" she hissed.

A collective gasp rippled through the council. Some heirs quickly looked away, uncomfortable, while others remained frozen, eyes wide, unable to look away.

"Are you done, Noko?" Ana asked, her expression unreadable, as though the insult and spit had barely registered.

Despite her usual annoyance, America couldn't help but feel a flicker of admiration for her mother. Ana's calm authority and unwavering resolve commanded a quiet respect in the room. Yet, a part of America wished her mother would break—just once—and spit back, to show them all the fire that burned beneath her composed exterior.

America's thoughts shifted as her gaze moved to Chief Nokose. Her expression darkened in a way that sent a chill through the air. Her jaw tightened, lips pressed into a thin line of frustration. She shot a glance around the pavilion—brief but sharp—before turning toward the open space between the drapes.

From outside, Nokose's sharp whistle cut through the air, and moments later, a powerful Cherokee War Horse named Ahyoko, came galloping across the shallow water towards the pavilion. His muted, stormy grey coat gleamed as his hooves struck the water in rhythmic, thunderous beats.

Nokose stood rigid as Ahyoko slowed to a stop at her side. Without a word, she mounted with practiced ease, urging the stallion forward into a furious gallop toward the shoreline. As the horse raced, the sound of hooves on wet sand echoed, and America saw a small group of Ash clansmen waiting on horseback at the edge of the forest. Nokose gave them a brief glance before urging Ahyoko into even faster speed, disappearing into the distance in a spray of water.

Without missing a beat, Ana sat back down, her gaze focused, as her pen glided smoothly across the pages of her notebook. "Well, that settles all new matters for today," she said, her voice steady and measured. "Let us adjourn here and reconvene before the resort project begins." She paused, letting her words linger like the final note of a song. "May our paths be guided by clarity and wisdom, as the land beneath our feet and the spirits of our ancestors watch over us all."