Heroes Assemble!

I Accept Your Challenge

It was as though the entire nation – people, animals, even nature itself – was celebrating the day. Great barges full of dancing and singing Wakandans floated down the river, their voices echoing back at them from the canyon walls. Above them, birds winged through the clear blue sky while animals – antelopes, gazelles, zebra and elephants lined the water's edge. Harry was sure that he'd even seen a family of panthers crouched along the top of one section of the canyon wall watching them pass.

It was impossible not to get caught up in the atmosphere. Even Tony and Steve were jigging slightly, albeit somewhat awkwardly, assisted as they were by Pepper and Nat, just as Daisy had grabbed Harry's hands and was dancing with him, her hips moving side to side, her feet stepping in time to the beat of the great drums and her smile as wide as Harry'd ever seen it.

This was truly an experience that Harry'd never had before, not even during his years travelling the world. Getting to watch, to participate in, the crowning of a King was almost surreal.

Finally, the barges docked and the Wakandan people danced their way off and into a cave system, never for a second losing their song or rhythm. The caves were nearly pitch black, lit only by shafts of light that shone down through holes in the rock, giving them just enough light to see their way.

The six outsiders followed Shuri and Ramonda as each of the five tribes separated into different tunnels. They found themselves standing on the edge of a small rock clearing halfway up the canyon. Above them, the cliffs rose at least another thirty metres and was quickly being filled by the tribes of Wakanda. In front of them was a shallow basin full of water that Harry guessed was ankle deep, judging by the man, the shaman standing in the centre of it. Beyond the basin was the canyon and a drop of fifty metres to the river below.

Still, the tribes continued their song and dance of celebration, the tempo and volume increasing as a Wakandan jet rose out of the canyon before pivoting and settling so that, when the rear ramp opened, its passenger could walk straight from the craft into the basin.

And then he appeared. Prince T'Challa, looking every inch the Wakandan warrior from times past, at least, that's what Harry thought he looked like. He was dressed only in a basic loincloth and his chest, shoulders and back had been painted to resemble black, grey and white fur. In his hands, he carried a shield, a short spear through its strap, its head and shaft sticking out from behind it.

T'Challa walked slowly across the basin towards the robed shaman standing in the centre of it, looking up at the people as they continued their song and dance, their voices and dance reaching a powerful crescendo. Behind him, the jet sped away leaving the area looking much as it would have done for every ceremony like it since Wakanda was first formed.

Suddenly, the Wakandan people stilled, their song and dance ended. Harry could feel the anticipation in the very air.

"I, Zuri, son of Badu, give to you, Prince T'Challa, the Black Panther," the shaman called, his voice reaching high to all those there.

At once, T'Challa drew a sword that Harry hadn't realised that he carried from behind his shield, held sword and shield up, crossed them and knelt before the people.

Holding out a bowl for all to see, Zuri turned to T'Challa.

"The Prince will now have the strength of the Black Panther stripped away," he said.

Harry looked across to Steve as T'Challa drank from the bowl and was visibly affected, even slipping backwards slightly, as though he was struggling to keep himself from falling completely into the water. Steve, Harry could see, was thinking the same thing that he was: T'Challa was a mutate, with extra powers – including, at the very least, strength – that could be given and taken away. This was obviously something well-known by the Wakandans, judging by the fact that none were surprised, and indeed were now performing a ritual, bobbing type of dance.