Zahrah the Windseeker by Nnedi Okorafor-Mbachu Read Free Book Online Page A

cultivate it as he pleased. To this day, no one has been able to repeat the floral miracle. The building is one of a kind. Well-known authors from all over Ooni often give their readings at the Glass House of Knowledge, the name Cana gave his library masterpiece. Once, I even got to meet the author of the Cosmic Chukwu Crusader Series there! And tourists still travel to Kirki just to see the library. It's one of the most beautiful places rn the world during sunset.
    But because the library looked as if it were made entirely of glass, it made me
very
aware of how high up I was at all times. Especially on the fifth floor. The ceilings of all the floors were very, very high. Many say that Cana made them this way so that women wearing dresses and skirts wouldn't have to worry about people looking up from the floor below. In all my years of going to the library, I had never gone past the fourth floor. It was simply too high. If I needed a book from the fifth floor, I asked one of the librarians to get it.
    "Just relax," Dari said. "Don't think about it until you have to. What are the chances, anyway?"
    We browsed through the catalog on the computer and found books about birds, the history of the Ooni Palace, a field guide to the flies of Ginen, but nothing about human beings who could levitate at will or even fly. Nothing even close. We sat at a study table and slouched in our seats, exhausted from typing and thinking. This was when it popped into Dari's head.
    "Ah, I've got it!" he exclaimed. "Why didn't we think of this before?!"
    We had been looking up
facts.
But what if what we sought wasn't believed to
be
a fact? What if people thought it was only a myth or legend?
    Still, Dari's inspiration proved far less fruitful than we expected. Only one book popped up which dealt with the myth of dadalocks. It was called
Ooni Fashion Magazine's Best of the Year.
Dari frowned. "What could this have to do with the dada myth?"
    I shrugged, scribbling down the call number. I froze when I saw where the book was located. Dari laughed.
    "Oh come now. We are
not
calling the librarian! You're a big girl. It's about time you got over your fear of heights, anyway."
    I didn't agree with him, but I didn't say so. I knew my fear was childish and embarrassing, but that didn't change the fact that I was afraid. Instead of begging Dari to just get the librarian, I followed him up the stairs.
    I did anything but get over it. By the time we stepped onto the fifth floor, I was sweating rivers, my legs were shaking, and my heart felt as if it were ready to jump out of my chest. The walls, the floors, the stairs, were all transparent. Only in the bathrooms were the walls and floors opaque.
    Once I started moving, I was determined to make it. The sooner I made it up there, the sooner I could pretend I was on the ground by not looking down. And I was curious about what information we could find. All Papa Grip really told me about being dada was that I would grow up wise. Because of all the mystery around my hair, I, too, was sure that my strange ability was connected to my being dada. If there was more to it, I wanted to know.
    When we were between the rows of books, I wiped the sweat from my brow and relaxed a tiny bit, making sure not to look at the transparent floor. There were a couple of hours of sunlight left, and it lit up the entire library. The dusty books stacked on the bookcases, however, were not transparent, and Dari and I stood in their shadow. The cluster of computers was in the center of the floor, surrounded by several desks where people did homework, read books, or whispered softly. It was very quiet. So quiet that I could hear people's footsteps perfectly.
    "You OK?" Dari asked, looking at me with a smirk.
    "Why'd you make me do this?" I grumbled, wiping a tear away and sniffing.
    "It's good for you. You won't die, Zahrah," said Dari.
    I only "humphed."
    "OK, the call number is HR2763, page fourteen," he said, turning to the bookshelves.
    We