Crown of Thunder

by Tochi Onyebuchi

  “Wait, what?” I look to Aliya, but there isn’t a trace of emotion on her face. “Sade, what’s going on? It’s me!”

  “Shut up, smuggler. Do not make me say it a second time.” Her daga is unsheathed and pointed right at my chest. She’s close enough that I can’t leap away. I can’t move in any direction without her slicing me open.

  “What are you doing?”

  “You’re coming with me.”

  I try to call out for Aliya, but before I can, I feel a bag cover my head. It’s pulled tight at my neck.

  Darkness.

  CHAPTER 6

  “SADE, IF YOU don’t undo these ropes, I swear by the Unnamed . . .” I shout as the bag comes off my head.

  I’ve been dragged into a large tent. There’s a desk with a mess of papers scattered on it. Books are coiled tight in their cylindirical shapes and piled up on one side. Boxes cover the floor. I blink as my eyes adjust to the dimly lit room. I can still hear the muffled noises of the camp outside. Aliya stands off to one side, arms crossed, and in front of me, leaning against the desk, is Sade, still in her fancy robe. Her eyes look tired, but she’s smiling like she’s happy to see me.

  “You’re just going to leave me tied up like this?” I say, raising my bound wrists above my head. Their smiles burst into laughter. “This is not funny-oh!” I settle down. I’ve barely spent any time with her, and already my accent has returned. “You haven’t tied up my feet, so I can still run.”

  Sade raises an eyebrow. “We can fix that.” She’s still smirking. Then she relents and comes before me and undoes the ropes.

  My wrists burn. “OK, will someone explain what’s going on? Sade, what is this?”

  “I had to pretend you were a smuggler. There’s a bounty for your capture. I had to pretend like I was arresting you,” Sade explains.

  “What?”

  “Karima wants your head,” Aliya butts in.

  “And she doesn’t care if it’s attached to your body or not,” Sade finishes.

  My stomach drops. “Wait, do they know?” I nod toward the tent flap. “If my face is all over, then they all must know they can collect.”

  “No. Most of the refugees don’t know about the bounty. It wasn’t announced until later.” Sade goes behind her desk and sits down. “After the arashi attack, Kosians fled the city en masse. And camps like these sprung up. Karima, when she took charge, sent me out here to monitor the camps and bring back criminals who were trying to undermine her rule. Rebels,” she adds ominously. She glances at Aliya, who doesn’t seem to notice. “There are many criminals trying to make quick and easy coin by smuggling people out west. So she sends people like me to restore order. Routes to the north have been closed. Her troops invaded there soon after closing off Kos. That’s when the armored inisisa appeared.”

  Aliya and I lock eyes. “It was a gamble bringing you here. The rebels are scattered. The left hand sometimes doesn’t know what the right hand is doing.”

  I start. She knew about this place? I want to ask if the other rebel Mages and aki know to come here, but I can’t tell if Sade is someone to count on just yet. Still too many questions.

  “Others have passed through here,” Sade says, and cuts her eyes at Aliya, as if to say, You should have known to trust me. She fiddles with her gauntlets. “Word travels. Often, it has to go through here.” She pauses. “I’m glad you’re both OK.”

  There are so many things I want to ask her. If she’s been at the Palace, then she can tell me if any of the others survived the attack. She can tell me what happened to Omar and Tolu and the aki who fought alongside me to try to save the city when Karima and the Mage Izu unleashed the inisisa. She can tell me what’s happened to Bo.

  “A lot happens here. As you can probably tell, I keep records. Karima’s big on keeping records. But it helps me assist individual refugees. Many people come here without families, and sometimes I can reunite them with their lost loved ones. It’s the least I can do.” She looks away. “Anyone who tries to leave is thrown into prison.”

  All of this makes me dizzy. So much to process. It’s still tough to believe. I thought I loved Princess Karima once. Well, Queen Karima now, I guess. It feels like it happened a lifetime ago, but I know that if I close my eyes, I can still feel her lips on mine. I was so close to being accepted by her, being a part of that life, living among rulers. I could have changed things. But then I remember the Karima who killed Izu and let the inisisa run free through Kos. The same Karima who threw her brother, King Kolade, in prison after telling all of Kos that he’d tried to have her murdered.

  “Taj, it’s not safe for you here,” Sade says.

  “Is it safe for me anywhere?” It comes out harsher than I mean it to.

  “If the rumor gets out that you’re here, it’ll spread like plague.” Sade turns away, as though remembering something. It is like a shadow has crossed her face. “They may be too frightened to try attacking you themselves. Some of the refugees come from faraway villages. There’ve been reports of aki rampaging through those villages, killing everyone, leaving almost no survivors. Nobody knows who they are or what they’re looking for, but everyone who escapes tells of the markings on their bodies.”

  “Sin-spots,” I whisper.

  Sade nods. “They’re looking for you, Taj. And the refugees—they speak of one aki in particular, whose body is covered in markings . . . the one with no mercy.”

  “Bo.” I know it as soon as his name leaves my mouth. “It’s Bo.” It has to be.

  “He is changed,” Sade says solemnly. For a moment, her eyes cloud over, and I wonder if she too is thinking of an earlier time, when we were all aki who watched out for one another, who cared for one another while sleeping in a cramped room in a shantytown and serving at the behest of Palace Mages. “You can’t stay here, Taj. It’s too dangerous.”

  “I know that.”

  “Not just for you. Karima will stop at nothing to get to you, even if that means razing a refugee camp to the ground.” Sade’s face tightens in a frown. Her light-brown eyes smolder. She really has changed, become older. I see it in the way she moves too. Like there’s a weight on her shoulders. She’s so far from the little aki I used to run through Kos with, the one I shared a room with along with a bunch of others in our old shanty house. “We have to get you out of here.”

  “Where would I go?”

  Aliya steps forward. “West.” She and Sade share a long look, like they’re speaking with their eyes or something. Not knowing what it is they’re planning makes me even more frustrated.

  “What route do the refugees use?” I ask.

  Sade turns and looks at some of the papers on her desk. Then she pulls one sheet out. A map. “Osimiri. It’s an obodo not far from here. Not a town, really. More like a . . . community. It’s on the river, and you should be able to find passage to the west from there.”

  “It’s a trading hub.” Aliya speaks up again, and it seems like she knows more about this than she’s letting on. I wonder how much she knows of the land outside Kos. And now I feel even smaller. There’s an entire world out there, and all I’ve ever known is Kos. As free as I might have felt, I was completely caged in by the Wall.

  Sade puts the map back on her desk. “There will be a raid there tonight. Lots of chaos. It should be easy to sneak through. I will be busy with the guards, bringing the prisoners back to Kos. The camp will be unguarded during that time.”

  “Why will there be a raid?” I ask her.

  “Camps like these are a haven for smugglers,” Sade replies. She takes a moment to gather herself, then lets out a sigh. She’s readying herself to go to work at a job she hates. “You’re safe hiding here for the night, Taj.” On her way to the tent’s entrance, she puts a hand on my shoulder. “I knew you were still alive.” Her smile is small and soft and a little mischievous. “Nobody’s as lucky as you.” Then she
walks past me and leaves.

  She was smiling when she said that, but the more I repeat her words in my head, the more they sound like an accusation. Nobody’s as lucky as you.

  * * *

  • • •

  Much of the camp is quiet by the time Aliya sneaks me out of the tent. It seems like everyone’s asleep. A few kids run around, trying to keep their voices down. All the bustle of the camp earlier in the night is gone. Older refugees, men from different tribes, it looks like, sit across from each other on wooden boxes and share a shisha pipe. From afar, it looks almost like they know each other. They both wear large keys around their necks. Aliya leads me through the winding paths, and we stick to the shadows. By the time we make it to the camp’s edge, the sky’s starting to turn blue over the mountains. The falling red flames have dimmed. It’ll be morning soon.

  We get to the crest of a hill, and Aliya’s eager to push on, but I take a moment at the top to look back at the camps spread out beneath us. All those displaced people brought together here, trying to find their families again or just trying to find safety. Just like me, they have to leave their city behind. I realize that the keys I saw those older men wearing must’ve been keys to their old homes. How many other people are wearing their keys around their necks or holding them in their pockets? I ball my fists at my sides.

  Then I hear the clanking.

  In the distance is a wide path, and I see a large, dark column rise over a ridge. From this far away, it looks like a centipede. But the sky brightens, revealing the mass to be a line of horses and wheels and what turn out to be men sitting on carts. First there’s one, then another, until I see all five rumble past us. Wheels roll against the ground, and the only other sound I can hear in the early morning is the rattling of chains. Sitting back to back in each car are men, grizzled and bearded. Around their necks are metal collars attached by chains to their wrists and, in another direction, to the collars of the prisoners behind them. At the front of each cart sits someone in the same outfit I saw Sade wear earlier. A new uniform, from the Palace.

  The carts all keep to the middle of the road, and Agha Sentries, the chief law enforcers of Kos, march alongside them, their cutlasses slapping against their thighs.

  I don’t notice how cold it’s gotten until I see the men on the carts shivering in the morning chill. It’s tough to say whether or not any of them were ever wealthy enough to own gemstones, but some of them probably had, at one time, a ring on every finger. Some of them probably had ears studded with gems. And now all they wear are torn linen tunics and threadbare trousers. They all jostle along in silence.

  The sun rises on the other side of the camp, and when the glare hits the caravan of prisoners, it makes the collars around their necks look like fire that swallows their heads. I raise my hand to shield my eyes. Aliya and I watch them pass. They look so mournful. I tell myself that Queen Karima did this. I can feel my heart hardening against her. Guilt seeps into my bones. This is happening because of me. Because I fled.

  “Taj, let’s go.” Aliya tugs my sleeve. I wrap my blanket tight over my shoulders and follow her down the other side of the hill.

  As the sun rises, people start to emerge from their tents in the camp. I can hear the place coming to life with water boiling for soup and mothers washing the children that might or might not be theirs. Families are coming together, readying themselves for the day. We’re going to survive this.

  That’s the thought that runs through my head as Aliya and I start out toward Osimiri.

  She holds my hand all the way down the hill.

  CHAPTER 7

  WE HAVEN’T GONE too far before we see it: a tiny town along the same long, winding river I almost drowned in. Then, suddenly, the river widens.

  At first, it looks like some of the shantytowns in Kos. But as we get closer, it looks like the houses are floating, moving and swaying in the breeze. The houses aren’t along the river—they’re on it. I squint, and we see that they’re all boats. So many of them and so close together that I can barely see the water underneath. I thought the part of the river I’d almost drowned in was the biggest body of water I’d ever seen, but it’s an alleyway stream compared to this. Past the town, the water stretches on forever. There’s no end to it.

  Small riverboats huddle close to the shore. They look like they’re made of bamboo, and some of them have two planks of wood overhead with covers rolled back. When it rains, I imagine they can just unroll them and stay dry. Some of the riverboats move back and forth across the small stretch of water to Osimiri. In many of them, gangly kids about my age hang out and joke and laugh. I can’t understand any of what they’re saying, even as we get closer.

  The whole place is buzzing with activity. Somebody’s making something that smells so good—peppery and a little sweet. The odor wafts all the way to where Aliya and I stand. I hear dogs barking and chickens clucking. I hear singing, pots sizzling, and people shouting at each other—not angry, just trying to be heard over all the rest of the noise.

  We inch closer, and I can see there are small lanes of water between some of the bigger boats for smaller ones to pass through. Planks of wood connect some of the bigger boats. People run and leap back and forth over them, some of them carrying heavy pots, some of them holding chickens by their legs; nobody seems to be worried about falling in. It’s like they’re running on any old street. As we get closer, I see a workshop of sorts. Someone making shoes. Another man hammering on bits of material. Metal? Gemstones?

  “We made it,” Aliya breathes.

  “It . . . it looks like the edge of the world.” A part of me is scared, but a bigger part of me is shaking with excitement. There’s so much world out there, so much to see. It’s like every single day promises a new thing, some wonder I couldn’t even have dreamed up. Cities floating on water. And boats that can go anywhere. This looks like the edge of the world. I can only imagine what lies beyond.

  Aliya squints at the shoreline. Then she gasps and leaps into the air, smiling and waving her arms. Before I can ask what she saw, she takes off toward Osmiri. I stumble to catch up to her, searching for what’s gotten her so excited.

  A small black speck silhouetted by the sun breaks away from the shoreline. The person gets closer. Aliya’s already halfway there. I squint to make out their features.

  It’s her.

  I let out a whoop and start running as fast as I can, faster than I ever thought I could run. I feel like I’m flying, practically gliding over rocks and brambles and weeds, knocking aside reeds, breathless until the three of us smash into one another and collapse onto the ground in a tangle of limbs and laughter.

  “Arzu,” I whisper through tears as we all hug one another as hard as we can.

  “You’re alive,” she says as tears run down her own face. We all lie on the ground, rolling around and trying to wrap our arms around too many people, all the while laughing and crying and looking like we’ve lost our minds.

  * * *

  • • •

  I know I’m eating too fast, but I can’t stop.

  Arzu has led us to one of the houseboats, and we sit around a steaming pot of food. The food is a little different here, but the spiciness is familiar. I taste pepper and cloves and coriander and mint and tomatoes and garlic. My tongue is alive with flavors. May I be struck dead by the Unnamed before I say anything tastes better than Mama’s jollof rice, but this . . . whatever rice and stew this is fills me with joy.

  Incense mixes with the smell of the food, and it sounds like someone’s praying nearby. This place buzzes with activity. There’s so much going on. It reminds me of the Forum in Kos. All this noise and all these smells and people. It’s the same. I take a huge bite of rice and chicken. The food is just as spicy too. I’m lost in thought but can still half hear what Aliya and Arzu are saying to each other over cups of hot tea. We’re on the second “floor” of the houseboat. It’
s more like a roof than anything else, with tarp hanging overhead to protect us from the sun. Over the railings of the boat, the sprawling city bustles underneath us. Osimiri surrounds us completely.

  I pause. My chest is on fire, and I let out a soft burp behind my fist. Let me at least try to be polite.

  “The inisisa are armored now,” Aliya says into her cup. She’s spent a lot of time staring into it, and I can only wonder at how fast her brain is moving, trying to put all the pieces together. I realize this is the first real chance we’ve had to settle down and catch our breath.

  “More of Karima’s new weapons, no doubt,” Arzu says, shaking her head.

  Aliya’s eyebrows draw together. “But how? It doesn’t seem possible—”

  I’m swirling my last piece of bread in the sauce on my plate, but I stop mid-motion. “The vision.”

  Both of their heads turn my way.

  “When I killed the sin-beast with the armor, the sin was. . . different. And I saw Mages. And people in brown robes. They were in a circle, chanting.” I stare at my plate, trying to remember it all amid the swirl of colors and muffled whisperings. The black band on my arm, the mark of that armored beast, itches. I try to flex feeling back into my fingers. “They were arranging tiles on the floor.”

  “Palace algebraists,” Arzu says. She still has that terseness I remember from our time in the Palace together. “Karima has made them part of the Palace order; they work with Mages to create new weapons.” She tips her cup back toward her mouth. As she raises her chin, her scarf slips, and I see a vivid scar around her neck. Pain pinches my heart. Where did that come from?