Children of Virtue and Vengeance

by Tomi Adeyemi

“Honestly?” Roën cups my chin, stopping me in my tracks. Though I don’t want to feel anything, his touch makes an ember flicker in my stomach. It’s like when he brushed my cheek after the rally. I can still remember the scratch of his callused fingers. There was so much said in that simple caress. I don’t know what to make of it now that he’s back.

  “When I heard what happened, I couldn’t take it.” He shakes his head. “I knew you liked me, but to ram yourself into a tree at the very thought of living another day without me?”

  Roën laughs as I shove him away, mischief twinkling in his stormy eyes.

  “You’re impossible.”

  “Don’t be embarrassed, love. You’re far from the first woman or man to lose the will to live in my absence—”

  “Zélie!”

  Our heads snap to the left as Tzain’s yell echoes through the mountains. The crack of splitting rocks fills the air. Hairs rise on the nape of my neck. Roën grabs my arm, but I take off in a sprint before he can hold me back. More shouts ring as my feet pound against the wild grass.

  “Up there!” Amari points when I skid around the bend.

  Almost a full kilometer up, a troop of guards looks down at us from the edge of a cliff. The sun glints off their golden armor. For a moment we all stand still.

  I scramble back when three of the guards jump, skidding down the towering mountain ledge. The tîtán Grounders move like lightning, pushing through the gravel as if it were snow.

  My pulse races as I take in their skill; they have far more control than the tîtáns who attacked us at the rally. They barrel toward us as the rest of Nehanda’s soldiers fasten ropes into the cliff’s side, holding tight as they slide to the ground.

  “I got this!” Amari runs forward, blue light sparking at her fingertips.

  “Amari, stop!” I think of the tîtán who perished before my eyes. “You don’t know how to use your magic!”

  Her skin sizzles as the blue light surrounds her hand. She shoots her palm forward, but instead of releasing her attack, it flares in her own face. Amari cries out in pain, falling to the ground.

  There’s no way out.

  If I don’t use my magic to attack, we die.

  “Ẹmí àwọn tí ó ti sùn—”

  Time seems to slow as the ashê erupts in my blood. Spirits condense in the air like grains of black sand. My arms shake from the magic that fights its way out.

  The spirits race through my bones, rising from the earth in droves. But as my animations take form, I realize that they’re not the only ones.

  “Ẹmí àwọn tí ó ti sùn—”

  My brows furrow as a gangly soldier in golden armor repeats my incantation. I feel the spirits that he calls into animations, but they don’t rise as individual soldiers. The souls weave themselves together, bringing one giant monster to life. My jaw drops as the gravelly beast rises from the earth. It’s so large its silhouette blocks out the sun.

  Frozen in our confusion, no one moves as our animations stand still. The soldier walks forward and pulls off his golden helmet, revealing a full head of white hair.

  “By the grace of Oya, it’s you!” The boy’s mouth hangs open as he stares at me. He can’t be more than fifteen. Like his massive animation, he has ears far too large for his head.

  “Your form could use some work,” another voice rings, its speaker limping toward me. “But I am impressed. That was quite the incantation.”

  As the soldier removes her helmet, all the breath leaves my lungs. The Seer inspects the work of my animations just like she used to inspect my form with a staff.

  “Mama Agba?” I whisper.

  A smile spreads across her brown lips. Tears brim in her mahogany eyes as she opens her arms.

  “I told you we would meet again.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  ZÉLIE

  I DON’T KNOW if I’ve ever cried as hard as I do in Mama Agba’s arms. The scent of fresh fabric bleeds through her suit of armor, wrapping me in the memories of home. Her embrace brings the crash of Ilorin’s waves, the sharp smack of two oak staffs. Another sob breaks free as I cling to her, terrified that if I let go, this dream will end.

  “Pèlé,” Mama Agba whispers into my coils, resting her chin on my head. She rubs my back and lets out a small laugh. “It’s okay, my child. I’m here.”

  I nod, but tighten my grip; as I hold her, the sensation of holding my own mother’s spirit in alâfia hits me like a wave. I barely got Mama back before she slipped through my arms. I won’t survive losing someone like that again.

  “Look at your hair!” I laugh through my tears and touch the small white coils now sprouting from her scalp.

  “A little warrior brought magic back.” She smiles. “I no longer wished to hide.”

  As she speaks, I take in the mole on her chin, the new spots and wrinkles along her dark brown skin. Her limp is more pronounced than I remember, but she’s real. She’s actually here.

  “Come along.” Mama Agba kisses my forehead before rising to embrace Amari and Tzain. I wipe away the rest of my tears and observe the soldiers behind her. Each maji shares my white coils. Their rich complexions cover a beautiful spectrum of dark and light browns.

  The young Reaper with the large ears and bright eyes steps forward, an incredulous grin on his face.

  “What was that incantation?” I ask. “I’ve never seen a giant animation.”

  “All the Reapers in my family could do it!” He beams with pride. “Instead of making a bunch of animations, we weave them together to form one.”

  “That’s amazing.”

  “You’re amazing!” His teeth clench, and I jerk back. He falls to his knees and bows. “Jagunjagun Ikú, I beg of you, take me as your Second!”

  “By the gods, Mâzeli.” A maji with beads woven through her white braids laughs. “She just got here. Give her a minute to rest.”

  “Ignore them.” Mâzeli grabs my hand, round eyes open wide. “I will serve you faithfully until I can take your place as elder of the Reaper clan. But by then, we will have fallen in love.” His grip tightens when I try to pull away. His voice rises in pitch. “You will be the mother of my children. I shall serve our family till my dying breath—”

  “Alright,” Mama Agba cuts in, patting Mâzeli on the head. “The military patrols will pass through soon. Why don’t we continue this conversation behind closed walls?”

  “Is he always like that?” I whisper to Mama Agba as we start walking.

  “Like all great Reapers in the making, Mâzeli is quite determined.”

  I smile, but stop when I see that Roën lags behind. A maji hands him a bag of gold, and something in my chest deflates when Roën doesn’t follow the others into the rain forest.

  “That’s it?” I hang back. “You’re leaving again?”

  “The job’s done. I need to meet up with my crew back in Lagos.”

  “Lagos?” I ask. “You’re working for the other side?”

  “There’s a lot of money to be made in a war, Zïtsōl. If you stop messing around with all this fighting, you can grab some for yourself.”

  I shake my head; I don’t know why I expected more. “Do you stand for anything besides gold?”

  “I’m standing in front of you, aren’t I?” Roën leans in, so close I can see the faint freckles over his cheekbone.

  “Don’t worry.” His lips graze my ear as he speaks. “Something tells me our paths will cross again.”

  * * *

  THE MAJI LEAD us off the main jungle trail, walking along a gushing river. The flowing water cuts the rain forest in half, dividing the dense greens. Beneath us, the hilly terrain slopes up and down as the scent of fresh earth and wildflowers grow. Mammoth trees fill our path, creating rich emerald canopies above.

  I keep my hand wrapped tight around Mama Agba’s as we dip under raised tree roots. Tzain, Amari, and I stay close, listening intently as she explains the Iyika’s origins to us.

  “I still don’t understand,” Tzai
n says. “You founded the rebellion?”

  “In a way.” Mama Agba nods. “But it started as a defense. Your father and I were halfway to Oron when I had a vision of the three of you at the divîner settlement. We didn’t arrive in time to stop the monarchy’s attack, but we were able to find the survivors.” Mama Agba leans on me as we step over a fallen log. “The two of us were leading them here when more soldiers attacked.”

  Her voice trails and I think back to the deaths of Zulaikha and Salim. Tzain and I exchange a glance as the pieces fall into place. This is the reason Baba ended up in Inan’s grasp. The reason Baba died.

  “I promise, we fought with everything we had,” Mama Agba sighs. “But your father didn’t want us to get hurt. He offered himself up to the guards and they agreed to spare our lives.”

  The flames of Baba’s casket burn in my mind as she speaks. Though we pass sunset blossoms, the stench of ash fills my nose.

  “I am so sorry.” Mama Agba shakes her head. “More than you could ever know.”

  “Don’t be.” I squeeze her hand. “It’s not your fault.”

  The memory of Inan walking Baba to his death reminds me why I’m here. With the Iyika’s help, we can take Inan and Nehanda down. I can wrap my hands around his throat.

  “After the camp fell, we realized that we had an opening.” Mâzeli picks up in Mama Agba’s silence. “No one else knew that magic was coming back. We used that knowledge to plan an attack.”

  “The night of the centennial solstice, we banded with other maji and crowded Lagos’s borders,” a petite maji jumps in. “The moment our gifts returned, we stormed the city. The monarchy didn’t know what hit them.”

  Amari’s face falls, but I can’t keep the wonder from my eyes. I can’t believe they trusted me to bring magic back; that my sacrifice actually allowed my people to fight.

  “What was it like?” I ask.

  “Brilliant,” Mâzeli whispers. “We would’ve taken the palace if it wasn’t for Nehanda. But now that you’re here, we’ll break through their defenses. With the Soldier of Death, this war is ours!”

  His words ignite a cheer among the maji that continues as we come face-to-face with a staggering cliff. A tall Grounder steps forward when we approach.

  “Elder Kâmarū,” Mama Agba gestures, introducing all of us. A silver nose ring glints against the Grounder’s dark skin. His thick white hair stands straight up in small free-form locs. One of his legs is sculpted from iron, attached halfway down his right thigh. I step back as he passes, but he stops to bow, iron knee touching the ground.

  “The stories don’t do you justice,” he says, making my cheeks flush. Mâzeli steps between us.

  “Kâmarū, I don’t care if you’re twice my size. Back off.”

  The Grounder smiles as he retreats, his nose ring glinting as he takes position. Kâmarū places his large palms against the mountainside, pressing hard into the rock.

  “Remember to breathe.” Mama Agba nods, a familiar tone of instruction in her voice. He closes his eyes and releases a deep breath. Then he begins to chant.

  “Se ìfé inú mi—”

  I don’t move as the incantation rings. It’s been years since I’ve heard the steady rhythms that mark all Grounder incantations.

  An emerald glow surrounds Kâmarū’s feet, traveling up to his hands. Sharp cracks ring as his fingers dig into the sturdy rock like hands digging through sand.

  “Widen your stance,” Mama Agba calls, and Kâmarū squares his legs. The plants covering the mountainside fall away as the thick tapestry unweaves vine by vine.

  Kâmarū steps back as pebbles and dust fall. With a groan, the mountain stone slides apart like a collection of tiles. I hold my breath as sunlight spills into the new, narrow opening, revealing the entrance of a never-ending stairwell. Hope flickers like an ember in my chest.

  The Iyika are far more powerful than we realized.

  “Excellent work.” Mama Agba pats him on the back. Her brown eyes shine with excitement, one I haven’t seen from her in years. She steps away, gesturing for us to enter first.

  “Go on.” She pushes me onto the first stair. “Welcome to the rebellion.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  AMARI

  “WHAT IN THE SKIES…”

  My mouth falls open as we exit the long tunnel. Three mountains stand in a triangle, their tops flattened into wide plateaus. They rise so high into the sky it looks like we float above a blanket of clouds. Each mountain holds an assortment of stunning temples and towers crafted from gleaming black stone.

  “You built this in a moon?” Tzain squints, and Mama Agba releases a hearty laugh.

  “The Ile Ijosin was created by the original elders centuries ago, the first leaders of the ten maji clans. I was first brought here when I served as elder of the Seers. This sanctuary is nearly as old as Orïsha itself.”

  I breathe in the lush vegetation, the sunset blossoms peppering the air. A gushing waterfall flows down the center of the three mountains, creating a natural bath where young divîners splash. In the distance, sharp cliffs rise like stone thorns, poking through the tapestry of clouds. The sight steals my breath. It’s like the war can’t reach us from the ground.

  “Over here.” Mama Agba gestures to the looming obsidian tower to our left. Its ten floors stack on top of one another like giant ornaments welded together. “We added a new infirmary, but it still holds the old meditation centers and gardens. But on the second mountain we’re in the process of converting old towers to dormitories.”

  She points across the stone bridge connecting the two mountaintops. The second mountain is larger than the first, peppered with half-finished structures. As we move toward the dormitories, I’m struck with the memory of Zulaikha walking us through the divîner camp. With its colorful tents and shoddy carts, it was easy to see man’s touch. This place looks like a kingdom crafted by the gods.

  “Imagine sanctuaries like this across Orïsha,” I whisper to Tzain. “Imagine cities built this way.”

  “When you’re on the throne, we won’t need to imagine anything at all.”

  His words make my heart swell, but they also remind me why I’m here. With the Iyika’s forces, I can take Mother down. Together, we can build a new Orïsha.

  “Before I forget.” Mama Agba grabs Tzain’s arm, turning him toward the third mountain. The tallest of the three, the mountain forms the waterfall’s base. Ten temples stagger along its spiraling cliffs, each one devoted to a different clan. “I was told if you arrived to send you to the Burner Temple. From what I understand, you played agbön against their elder?”

  “Kenyon?” Tzain’s face lights up. “He’s here?”

  We haven’t seen his old agbön friends since we parted ways after the ritual. If it hadn’t been for them, we wouldn’t have been able to rescue Zélie when she was captured by my father.

  “What about the twins?” Zélie asks. “Are Khani and Imani here?”

  “Khani’s the elder of the Healers.” Mama Agba nods. “Imani serves as her Second. They were the ones who set up the infirmary on the first mountain.”

  “Let’s go.” Tzain steers Mama Agba toward the third mountain before she can change her mind. He waves us on. “I’ll find you later!”

  I smile at his excitement as Mâzeli takes charge of our tour. But as we move, I start to count the Iyika soldiers we pass, my thoughts returning to Nehanda and the war. The soldiers stand out from the divîners in their brassy suits of armor, the sculpted metal reminiscent of Mama Agba’s tailored cuts. Metallic undertones shine through their sleek gauntlets and shoulder pads, ten colors showing each maji’s clan.

  Twelve, twenty-eight, forty-two … fifty-seven … seventy-nine. I always pictured a band of disorganized rebels behind the Iyika’s red mark, but the eighty soldiers are organized and ready for blood. This is far better than anything I could’ve hoped for. If I can get them on my side, I can end this war a lot faster than I anticipated.

  “Jagunjagun!
”

  We stop as a beautiful, dark-skinned maji struts toward us. She commands attention with her shaved head. Three silver hoops run up her right ear.

  “Kâmarū wasn’t lying,” she says. “You’re quite easy on the eyes.”

  Her smile turns mischievous, accentuating her wide-set nose and full lips. She bows and touches her knee to the ground, allowing us to see the ornate sleeve of tattoos covering her right arm.

  “Nâomi,” she introduces herself. “But my friends call me Nâo, so we might as well start there.” She slings her tattooed arm around Zélie’s neck, pulling her from Mâzeli’s grasp.

  “What’re you doing?” Mâzeli asks. “Mama Agba wanted me to take them on a tour.”

  “You can do that later. She needs to meet Ramaya and the other elders!”

  Nâo drags Zélie off and I start to follow after them, but Mâzeli grabs my arm, forcing me to stay back.

  “Are you sure you want to come?” he asks. “The elders aren’t exactly fans.”

  His gaze drifts to my white streak and blush rises to my cheeks. Sweat gathers along my temples as I think of facing the maji who stormed Lagos.

  “The elders run the sanctuary?” I ask.

  “And the Iyika.” Mâzeli nods.

  “Then I don’t have a choice. Take me to them.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  INAN

  DRUMS BEAT THROUGH the halls, loud, like rolling thunder. Their vibrations shudder through my skull as Mother, Ojore, and I wait outside the throne room doors. As I prepare to make my first public appearance as king, the great monarchs of the past watch from their portraits above.

  I try not to think about the fact that if it weren’t for this war, Father’s portrait would hang there, too.

  “You’ll be brilliant.” Mother smooths the creases along my shoulders and straightens my crown.

  “I don’t know about brilliant,” Ojore teases. “Probably mediocre at best.”

  We grin at each other, but stop when Mother glares. “This is no time to joke. Proving yourself to the people will be hard enough, but above all else, you must prove yourself to the advisors.”