MARVEL's Black Panther--The Junior Novel Read online

  Copyright

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  © 2018 MARVEL

  Cover design by Ching N. Chan.

  Hachette Book Group supports the right to free expression and the value of copyright. The purpose of copyright is to encourage writers and artists to produce the creative works that enrich our culture.

  The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book without permission is a theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like permission to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), please contact [email protected]. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

  Little, Brown and Company

  Hachette Book Group

  1290 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10104

  Visit us at LBYR.com

  marvelkids.com

  First Edition: January 2018

  Little, Brown and Company is a division of Hachette Book Group, Inc. The Little, Brown name and logo are trademarks of Hachette Book Group, Inc.

  The publisher is not responsible for websites (or their content) that are not owned by the publisher.

  Library of Congress Control Number 2017954745

  ISBNs: 978-0-316-41320-6 (paperback), 978-0-316-41797-6 (Scholastic ed.), 978-0-316-41318-3 (ebook)

  E3-20171204-JV-PC

  Contents

  COVER

  TITLE PAGE

  COPYRIGHT

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  BLACK PANTHER: AFTERMATH

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  EPILOGUE

  PHOTOS

  The catacombs that lay beneath the Royal Palace in Wakanda were twisty and winding. An easy place for someone to get lost, and for eight-year-old Prince T’Challa and his constant companion, the daring Nakia, the perfect place to race.

  “You can’t catch me, Nakia!” T’Challa laughed as he darted and wove through the hidden nooks and crannies, as familiar to him as the interior of the palace in which he’d spent his childhood thus far.

  Nakia dove into a side alcove, flipped over a pile of crumbled rocks, and emerged back on the main path in front of T’Challa.

  “Who says I’m trying to catch you? This is a race, no?” She flashed a sly grin. The chase was on. Running at breakneck speed, both children were unfazed by the outcroppings and pitfalls that surrounded them, instead using them to their advantage to regain the lead over the other.

  Light pouring through a large opening ahead indicated that the finish line was in sight. T’Challa and Nakia sprinted toward it. T’Challa ran up the side of the wall and somersaulted over Nakia at the last second, landing just in front of her and reaching the edge of the catacombs and the source of the bright light.

  “One day you will freeze up, and I will race past you,” Nakia said hotly.

  T’Challa stood proudly. “The prince of Wakanda never freezes.”

  “Stop where you are,” boomed a commanding voice from below. Both children went instantly quiet and stood as still as stones. “Come down from there and enter,” the voice ordered.

  T’Challa winced. They’d been discovered by the last person he’d hoped to see. “Yes, Baba,” he replied as he and Nakia climbed down from the outcropping to face his father below.

  King T’Chaka’s feet were planted in the middle of a grand chamber. He was statuesque and regal as always, even when dealing with his mischievous son. “This is the Hall of Kings, my child. A place of honor and respect.”

  “Yes, Baba,” T’Challa replied humbly.

  “There are miles of jungle around us for you and Nakia to race through. Use those. When you enter here, you enter holy land. One day, I will join our ancestors here, and you will come pay your respects as I do, seeking guidance in their whispers.” T’Chaka placed his hand on his son’s shoulder.

  “I understand, Baba.” T’Challa couldn’t imagine a time when his father would not be king, but his young mind comprehended the gravity of the lesson he was being taught.

  T’Chaka nodded and smiled, appeased by his son’s response. “I have business that calls me from here, but I will leave you alone for a moment to pay your respects to the kings of Wakanda that have come before me, my son.”

  T’Chaka led Nakia out of the Hall of Kings, leaving T’Challa alone.

  PRESENT DAY

  A now-grown T’Challa could still hear the footfalls of his and Nakia’s impromptu races, still feel the graze of his father’s hand on his shoulder, as he looked down upon the newest casket in the Hall of Kings.

  “You were right, Father. This hall is one of respect. I only wish I could have brought you home safely from Vienna, as was my responsibility.”

  T’Challa’s hand brushed the casket, his voice catching as a wave of regret washed over him.

  From the entry, a guard cleared his throat. “My prince, the Royal Talon Fighter awaits,” he said.

  Looking back at his father’s casket once more, T’Challa closed his eyes and paused in silence. “Thank you for your guidance and that of our ancestors,” he said after a moment. “I will strive to be worthy of being not just your son but your successor as well.”

  Bending to place a brief kiss on the casket, T’Challa turned and followed the guard, leaving his father to his eternal rest in the center of the Hall of Kings.

  CHIBOK, NIGERIA

  The six trucks in the military convoy wove through the rough terrain of the jungle road like a serpent. In each car, an armed militant sat on the passenger side, weapon pointed outward, scouring the wilderness for any signs of trouble.

  Had they looked up and been able to see the camouflaged ship hovering above them, they may have stood a chance.

  Inside the Royal Talon Fighter, T’Challa was dressed in his Black Panther gear save for his helmet, which he held in one hand. The pilot, Okoye, was the head of the Dora Milaje, the elite group of warrior women who helped guard Wakanda and were sworn to protect the Royal Family. Okoye was also a lifelong friend of T’Challa’s, having witnessed the young boy become the man he was today.

  “Have you spoken to her at all since she left?” Okoye asked.

  “She said she wanted space,” T’Challa replied.

  Okoye raised an eyebrow. “For two years?”

  T’Challa sighed. “It was foolish, I know.”

  Okoye walked over to the table composed of black sand-ground vibranium that stood sentry in the center of the RTF. She and T’Challa watched as the sand began to move and reshape itself, forming a model of the convoy below that rose up and out of the table.

  “Six vehicles, each with armed guards in the cabs and the trailers,” she reported. “The prisoners are in the middle two trucks. She is most likely in one of these two.”

  “Understood.” T’Challa studied the model for a moment longer, paying close attention to the surrounding areas. He then put on his helmet and moved to the center of the RTF. Okoye handed him six round objects, f
reestanding Kimoyo beads.

  “Just don’t freeze when you see her,” she said, a slight smile crossing her face.

  Black Panther took the Kimoyo beads and signaled he was ready. “I never freeze,” he said coolly, even as his heart rate increased at the thought that he would see her again, at last.

  Okoye nodded, returned to the pilot’s chair, and opened a closed fist. With that gesture, the platform beneath Black Panther opened, and he dropped noiselessly from the RTF. Flipping in midair, Black Panther descended through the clouds, graceful as a dancer, with the agility of the sleek leopard that was his mantle’s namesake. As he dove, he hurled the beads at the six vehicles. The beads morphed into discs as they made their way to their targets, each one silently attaching to the side of a truck.

  Black Panther landed in the brush near the open road and paused. The discs emitted a rippling effect across each of the trucks, and the vehicles simultaneously stopped dead in their tracks.

  The drivers of the trucks promptly exited the vehicles, their faces perplexed and annoyed by the disturbance. Their guards looked around anxiously. A slight whimper of fear came from the back of one of the middle trucks that Okoye had mentioned. A guard walked to the back of that truck and yelled at whoever was inside to be quiet.

  Black Panther peered at the middle truck. Nearly a dozen women were clustered in the back; the moonlight reflected off their terrified faces. Accompanying them were two armed guards, one a boy barely older than twelve. He was clearly trying to seem brave.

  One of the women in the back of the truck was dressed in the garb of the other Chibok women, but she was not one of them. It was Nakia.

  The alert and anxious drivers, coupled with the fact that all six vehicles had stopped at once let her know he was nearby. Which meant it was almost time to act.

  Outside, the militants grew increasingly nervous, sensing that some sort of impending threat was making its presence known. From his vantage point in the foliage nearby, Black Panther waited, biding his time until all the militants gathered together.

  “There!” shouted one of the drivers, pointing to the brush that was swaying back and forth alongside the road. Two guards cautiously approached the edge of the road, where they could hear rustling. They raised their weapons, readying to fire. Instead, two wild dogs ran onto the road. The guards relaxed and looked back toward the leader of the convoy.

  Before they could receive new orders, Black Panther leaped from the trees above, knocking both men out.

  “Fire!” the militant leader ordered his men.

  Inside the truck, Nakia realized it was time to make her move. She swiftly lunged at the older of the two guards, rendering him unconscious. She turned on the boy guard. He looked frightened, barely tall enough to fit his uniform. Nakia rapidly disarmed him, and the boy fled the vehicle. She looked out the back of the truck and then turned to the other women and signaled that they should get ready to run.

  Outside, the militants fired at Black Panther as he tore through their ranks, but the bullets dropped harmlessly to the ground upon impact with his vibranium-laced suit. One by one, the militants fell as Black Panther flipped, dodged, punched, and clawed his way through the group. Using his surroundings to his advantage, he leaped into the trees only to reappear moments later on the other side of the road, constantly keeping his opponents guessing at his next move until it was too late.

  Black Panther turned and suddenly found himself face-to-face with the twelve-year-old militant from Nakia’s truck. Black Panther raised one arm, claws out, ready to strike, when a familiar voice called out.

  “No! Stop! Let him be,” Nakia shouted to Black Panther as she began to lead the women from the vehicle.

  Suddenly, they heard one of the women scream. A guard was holding her hostage and began yelling at Black Panther. “Demon! I know your stories! The Cat Demon, keeper of souls. You won’t have mine!”

  Panther crouched, snarling. “Know my stories? Then know my name. I am no Cat Demon. I am Black Panther.”

  He was about to leap at the man when Okoye suddenly appeared, sliced the man’s gun in half with her spear, and then delivered a roundhouse kick that sent him flying.

  Looking to Black Panther, she said with a wink, “You froze.”

  Black Panther rolled his eyes and turned to the boy who stood quivering before them. When he turned to Nakia, his heart caught in his throat at the sight of her. For her part, Nakia tried to hide the look of relief that crossed her face as she gazed upon the man she had not seen in two years. There was an awkward moment of silence, neither sure what to say after so much time and distance apart.

  Refocusing on the mission at hand, Black Panther gestured to the boy. “What am I to do with this one?” he asked Nakia.

  “These women were all kidnapped from their village. Look at him. They obviously kidnapped him as well and have been forcing him to do their bidding. He’s hardly old enough to be held accountable, and I imagine the best thing for him would be a reunion with his family.” She looked at the boy and said something to him in his mother tongue. He fervently nodded in agreement and ran over to the women Okoye was helping down from the trucks.

  “As you wish, Nakia. Now it is time to return to Wakanda,” Black Panther told her.

  Nakia was furious. “This is my assignment: freeing these women and others like them. I’ve been doing this work for two years, and now you swoop in and order me home?”

  Removing his mask, T’Challa put his hand on her shoulder, softening his tone. “Nakia, the king, my father… he was killed in an attack in the outside world.” Nakia started, visibly shocked by the news. “We tried to reach you before the burial, but you were too deeply embedded in this mission. We couldn’t get to you in time.”

  Nakia drew in a shuddering breath. Her family had always been close with the Royal Family, King T’Chaka like a second father alongside her own. “I’m so sorry, T’Challa. Shuri and Ramonda… how are they?” Nakia asked at length, putting a comforting hand on his arm.

  “My sister and mother are strong,” Black Panther answered. “The ceremony is at Warrior Falls tomorrow, and the River Tribe Elder requests your presence.” He halted a moment before adding, “I wish to have you there as well.”

  Nakia nodded before breaking away from him and heading back toward the women and Okoye, addressing the huddled group in a Nigerian language. “You are free to go. We will make sure no more men like these come for your village again.”

  Okoye spoke, also in the women’s native language. “There is no need to fear. We have cleared a path back to your village and will watch over you from our plane to guarantee your safe return. Go in peace, my sisters.”

  As the women and the boy headed into the jungle, Black Panther, Okoye, and Nakia headed to the Royal Talon Fighter. Once inside, T’Challa and Nakia found themselves seated next to each other. The prince opened his mouth to say something, anything, but he couldn’t find the words to express his feelings at the moment. Fortunately for him, within moments Nakia turned away and curled up, her body language suggesting sleep. T’Challa sighed but said nothing, facing the window to stare unseeing into the inky night. He supposed that whatever they had to say to each other could wait until they touched down in Wakanda.

  Facing away from T’Challa, Nakia’s wide-open eyes belied her sleeplike position as she searched her heart for the best way to open a long-overdue conversation with her old friend. She, like the prince, was at a loss. As Okoye piloted the RTF into the air, Nakia forced her eyes to close, unaware that T’Challa was watching her, hoping she would speak first.

  Amid the silence, the trio took off into the night.

  Hundreds of miles later, Nakia had finally fallen asleep—her first decent rest in nearly two years of being undercover. T’Challa’s mind was torn between what he knew lay before him in his duties as a member of the Royal Family and the woman who was peacefully resting next to him.

  “Sister Nakia, my prince.” Okoye’s voice cut through t
he silence. “We are home.”

  The RTF hovered above a luscious rain forest for a moment before plunging straight down at rapid-fire speed. As they passed the tree line, the forest—a hologram projected across thousands of miles of land—vanished, revealing the nation of Wakanda below. Skyscrapers and buildings were built into the natural jungle landscape, with an intricate, high-tech rail system winding through the streets. The plane headed toward the nation’s capital, the bustling Golden City, which harmoniously blended technology with the nature surrounding it.

  The RTF made its way to the most opulent building of the Golden City, the Royal Palace. Rising high above all other buildings, the palace encapsulated the meaning of Golden City, shimmering even in moonlight as the jewels and gold plating that adorned its exterior caught the lights of the city, making the palace seemingly glow, standing out like a beacon of pride for all the citizens. The RTF landed on the airstrip, which cropped out from an upper level of the majestic dwelling. As the doors opened and T’Challa exited the plane, he was pleased to see his eighteen-year-old younger sister, Shuri, and Ramonda, the Queen Mother, awaiting their arrival, flanked by members of the Dora Milaje.

  “Mother, as you can see, there was no cause for alarm. We are all back in one piece,” T’Challa said, kissing Ramonda on both cheeks. “Little sister, you have torn yourself away from your lab to greet me? This is a pleasant surprise,” he greeted Shuri, who gave him a hug.

  “So? Did he freeze?” she whispered audibly to Okoye as she embraced her brother.

  “Like an antelope in headlights,” Okoye replied with a slight grin.

  “I knew he would,” Shuri crowed triumphantly.

  T’Challa rolled his eyes at his younger sister. “I didn’t freeze,” he grumbled, the reply coming out surlier than intended.

  Shuri grinned. “Enough about you, brother. I’m here on business—more accurately, for the Kimoyo beads. How did they work? I have some upgrades that could make them better.” Shuri was a whirlwind of energy, her complex mind constantly thinking and reworking existing things to create something entirely new. Despite her young age, she was an important and valued member of the highly regarded Wakandan Design Group, responsible for creating some of the nation’s most advanced technologies.