Excerpt from Yonder by Jabari Asim, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

For a brief spell I became Greene's pet. One astounding little nigga, he called me, although I stood as high as his shoulder and would soon surpass him. I received double rations until at last I became accustomed to Placid Hall, his home among his three farms. Having married well, he had easily assumed the life of a gentleman farmer. With his two neighboring plantations, Two Forks and Pleasant Grove, he controlled ten thousand acres. Placid Hall was his experimental farm, he called it, where he conducted studies of Stolen behavior. Seldom without his pocket watch and book of notes, he was bent upon producing a study so far-reaching and persuasive that his name would be known all over the world.

I have often wondered what force sent that horse galloping into my path. Though I place no stock in kindly Creators or magic words, I can't help but question how that simple beast found me and sent my life spinning in a new direction. Had it not encountered me in that dusty lane, I might never have met Greene. Had I not labored under Greene's oppression, I likely would never have fallen for sweet Margaret and found Cato as a brother. But that was yet to come. At the time it was not the horse but the young ones we found in the pen who weighed heavily upon me, and there they would remain, those wretched children, for most of the ten years that followed.

Cato

I could say that my story begins at Mulberry Grove, the farm where I was born into bondage. I could say that it took a dramatic turn after I came to Placid Hall and became friends with William and the rest of our hearty band. I suppose both of those are true and would suffice in a pinch, but I'd rather say that my story begins in the pages of a book.

In most instances, the lady of the plantation was usually much more to be feared than the Thief who supposedly ran the place. Mrs. Adelaide, the mistress at Mulberry Grove, was almost kindly and therefore an exception. She took a liking to me because I was one of the few Stolen children among her husband's captives who didn't look like him. For a spell, whether out of tenderness or moved by spite for him, she began to secretly teach me my letters. From a book called The Rules of Civility, she read to me, taking my hand and tracing the words as she recited them. In this manner, I gathered the alphabet in my memory, as well as many of the rules. Not long after, her husband worked his way into her good graces again and she lost interest in our reading sessions. Angry at her for abandoning me, I tore two pages from the book and hid them in my pallet. On false errands to the far reaches of the plantation, I'd read them to myself until I no longer needed the yellowed sheets to guide me. One day the sound of our Thief 's approaching horse startled me while I studied the pages in the trunk of a hollow tree. In a panic, I stuffed them into my mouth and swallowed them down.

When a man does all he can though it Succeeds not well, blame not him that did it.


Use no Reproachful Language against anyone; neither Curse nor Revile.


Labor to keep alive in your Breast that little Celestial Fire called Conscience.

In the years following my arrival at Placid Hall, I continued to recite the rules to calm myself, finding a comfort in the wonder and power of language that sustains me to this day. This fondness may at least partly explain my faith in my seven words. I said them without fail each morning, in addition to one more: Iris, the name of my beloved. Saying it was my promise to her that I would always reserve a place for her in my heart. Her name was still on my lips when I rose and left the cabin on the morning of the whispering ceremony.

It was just about sunrise. Two of my cabinmates, William and Milton, were already outside. The third, Little Zander, was last to wake but quickest to get going. He'd spring up like he'd been coiled to strike, only pretending to sleep. By the time he finished saying his seven, he was already wearing the grin that he kept on all day.

From YONDER: A Novel by Jabari Asim. Copyright © 2022 by Jabari Asim. Reprinted by permission of Simon & Schuster, Inc.