by Tomi Adeyemi
“To rush into an attack would be a mistake. If I can contact my brother, I can see if he’s still open to peace—”
Ramaya pushes me so hard, I fall onto the stone. The mountain quiets at once. My cheeks burn as she gets in my face.
“Your brother just slaughtered our soldiers.” Her scar crinkles with her glare. “Interrupt us again, and I’ll send him your head!”
Zélie meets my eye, warning me to back down. But I can’t stay quiet. If they couldn’t take my mother down before, there’s no way they can take her down now. They’re plotting their own demise.
Tzain comes to my side, helping me onto my feet. Concern shines in his warm brown eyes as he guides me away from the circle of elders.
“Just tell Zélie what you want,” he says. “She’ll listen.”
“No, she won’t.” I shake my head. “None of them will.”
Watching them makes my chest grow tight. The elders are fighting for the maji. I have to fight for the entire kingdom.
“Where are you going?” Tzain asks when I step away from his touch.
“If they won’t listen to me, I have to make them.”
My legs shake as I walk back to the circle of elders. I take a deep breath to fortify my resolve.
This is for their own good. Even if they don’t know it.
Ramaya breaks away from the other elders as I approach, but I stop her with my words.
“I’m tired of fighting to be heard,” I say. “Ramaya, I challenge you to be the new Connector elder.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
AMARI
IF THE MOUNTAIN was abuzz with excitement before, it’s ablaze now. Reactions spread like wildfire, only dying down when Ramaya closes the distance between us.
“How dare you,” she snarls. “You don’t have a right to be in this sanctuary, let alone challenge to become an elder!”
“Am I not a Connector, too?”
“You’re not a maji!” she shouts. “You’re not anything!”
My skin grows hot as blue clouds of magic froth at my fingertips. Whispers travel through the crowd, a hum building against my challenge. I scan the faces of the twelve Connectors behind Ramaya; not one of them looks like they’ll back my leadership. But I already conceded to their ways once.
Because of them, we’ve lost our leverage in this war.
“The decisions we make today will not only affect the maji,” I declare. “Whether you like it or not, tîtáns have magic, too, and in this fight, you need as many as you can get. You don’t have to elect me.” I shake my head. “You don’t even have to listen. But I’ve been fighting for you and your magic just as long as the Soldier of Death. I deserve a chance to fight for this!”
“You want to fight?” Ramaya raises her fist, but Mama Agba blocks her path. Her brow creases and she releases a heavy sigh, surveying the rest of the crowd.
“Amari, the magic of Orí runs through your veins,” she says. “You have the right to challenge. But are you sure this is what you want?” The look in Mama Agba’s eyes warns me to concede. But I can’t back down now. The people of Orïsha need me.
“I’m sure.”
“Then let us begin.” Mama Agba turns to the crowd. “Clear the circle.”
Endless shoulders brush against me as the rest of the maji move to higher ground. People perch atop the mountain’s ledges, legs swinging over the cliffs in front of their clan temples. Looking up reminds me of being in the Ibeji arena, stranded on a boat, waiting to face my death.
Somehow back then it felt like I had more of a winning chance.
“What in Oya’s name do you think you’re doing?” Zélie says, breaking through the thinning crowd. She still looks like a vision in her glittering golds and red silks, a maji worthy of wearing her people’s crown.
“Our hold on Lagos is gone,” I say. “If no one listens to me, we’ll lose this war!”
“The maji are not defined by this war!” Zélie hisses. “Being an elder means you have to lead your clan. How do you expect to do that when you don’t know our ways? How can you fight for this when you don’t know anything about the maji at all?”
Her words give me pause; I don’t know how to convince her that I’m only doing what’s best. I’m fighting for her just as much as I’m fighting for everyone else.
“You may not have to concern yourself with the war, but as queen, I don’t have a choice. I have to put Orïsha first, no matter the cost.”
I ignore the hurt in Zélie’s face as I walk forward. From across the circle, Ramaya stands, face pinched with hatred.
Just strike first, I repeat to myself. Strike first and you’ll be one step closer to ending this war and taking the throne.
“The rules of ìjà mímó are simple.” Mama Agba’s voice echoes through the silent mountain. “The battle ends at concession or death, but we are in no place to senselessly lose our best.” She takes a moment, looking Ramaya and me square in the eyes. “Be fierce, but be restrained. Do I make myself clear?”
“Crystal.” Ramaya smiles. Her curly ringlets blow in the night wind as she cracks her knuckles.
I ignore the pit in my stomach and keep my face hard, forcing myself to nod as Mama Agba exits the bloodstone.
Strike, Amari, I think to myself. Prove them wrong.
“Begin!” Mama Agba shouts.
“Ya èmí, ya ara!” My skin stings as a vibrant blue light engulfs my entire arm. Though it doesn’t take away the pain, I feel the thread of ashê moving through the needle.
Gasps arise as I dart forward, my arm ablaze with magic. I fight with the way of the maji, but when I throw the comet of ashê, Ramaya leaps over it. I don’t have a chance to throw another when her palms slam against my head.
I cry out, vision flashing white. She yanks me by the curls, throwing me to the ground.
I shoot out my palm and try to chant again. “Ya èmí, ya—”
Her fist collides with my jaw before I can get the words out.
“I despise the sound of Yoruba from your mouth,” she hisses. She puts her other hand to my head, kneeling to the ground. “Let me show you what an incantation’s supposed to sound like. Iná a ti ara—”
I reach for my sword, but its metal does nothing to stop her attack. A cobalt cloud roars from Ramaya’s hand, searing into me. The cloud engulfs my mind like a match ignited in my skull. The scream that escapes my lips doesn’t feel like my own.
“You see that?” Ramaya laughs as I thrash, a malicious cackle that echoes through the mountains. “I strike with magic, and the tîtán reaches for her sword!”
The pain intensifies with her words, each one like another bomb exploding in my skull. It feels like an eternity passes before the white spots leave my vision and I can finally look up.
“Ready to concede?” Ramaya stares at me from a distance, a smug smile on her lips. I can barely finish a thought. She hasn’t even broken a sweat.
The look on her face says it all. For her, this isn’t about staying clan elder. She doesn’t just want me to concede.
She wants to see me crawl.
Strike, Amari.
Beads of perspiration drip down my temples as I push myself onto my knees. Though my limbs shake, I grit my teeth and rise to my feet. My heart pounds like thunder in my chest. My skin begins to heat. Blue wisps spark from my fingertips as I launch another attack.
“Ya èmí, ya ara!”
I lunge forward, arm outstretched. My fingers come within a breath of Ramaya’s neck before she spins out of my range.
“Ya èmí, ya ara!” I try again, but she ducks and slams another fist into my cheek. My jaw erupts as I fall to the ground.
Ramaya laughs before a new incantation spills from her lips. “Idá a ti okàn—”
This time her cobalt blaze hits me square in the chest. Within seconds, I’m on the ground writhing beneath the painful stabs erupting through my sternum.
It’s like my body’s being crushed between battering rams; like my fingernails
are being ripped from my hands. I cannot breathe under the agony she brings. I cannot even scream.
“Get up, Amari!” Tzain shouts from afar, but sound is muffled in my ears. I can hardly hear anything above the blinding pain.
All the while Ramaya stands back, watching the torture she inflicts. She doesn’t feel the need to bring this fight to an end.
A snow leopanaire playing with her food.
“For my father.” Ramaya’s next blast hits without warning. “For my mother!” Another cloud strikes my limbs. “For my sister!” This time her magic feels like thousands of nails drilling through my bones.
“Ramaya! Nìsó!” someone cheers from above, and others join in. Her torment isn’t enough for these people. Not when they want to see my blood spill.
“I don’t care what you’ve done.” Ramaya’s attacks subside, a brief reprieve as she catches her breath. “If you want to help the maji, kill your vile family. Kill yourself.”
She bends down so low her white hair brushes against my cheek.
“The maji will be better off without you. Orïsha will, too.”
Somehow her words cut deeper than her magic. It’s Father’s blade ripping through my back. Mother using my rally of peace to attack.
“Idá a ti okàn—”
My heart beats so loudly in my head it blocks the rest of her incantation out. I feel Ramaya’s hatred like the pain within me. A rage that will burn my kingdom to the ground.
I reach for the power in my blood, pushing though I don’t understand. The gods gave me this magic for a reason. I will use it to save Orïsha, even if the maji hate me for it.
I scream as I dig my hand into Ramaya’s hair and pull, driving my elbow into her temple. She stumbles back from the blow. I take advantage of the opening and knock her down.
I straddle her body as a cobalt blaze ignites in my hands.
The needle isn’t working.
So I release the hammer.
“RAH!”
Ramaya’s ear-splitting scream shakes through the mountaintops. My magic carves through her mind like a knife as I dig through her scars, opening them the way I opened mine on the warship.
I feel the rough hand of a guard around her neck. I see the father who died for pushing him back. I flinch from the crack of knuckles over her left eye. I feel the warm blood that spilled from the wound.
“Amari, stop!” Zélie shouts from afar, but I can’t release my hold. My eyes flash with blue light. The bones crack in my arm as my magic spins out of my control. A never-ending flood of Ramaya’s life fills my mind. Every shard of pain that rips into her being rips through mine.
I don’t feel the hands that pull me back. I barely see Ramaya seizing before she collapses. Shouts I can’t decipher ring out as Zélie’s face breaks through the madness, her voice muffled by the pain in my head.
Beyond her, Ramaya’s body lies unconscious.
I can’t tell if her chest still moves up and down.
“Khani, quick!” Mama Agba yells.
Khani, the elder of the Healer clan, runs onto the bloodstone. Her white braids swing as she presses her hands against Ramaya’s neck, feeling for a pulse though Ramaya’s eyes stay frozen in an empty gaze.
After a long moment, Khani exhales. Her lips turn to a frown.
“She’s alive.” The Healer shakes her head. “Barely.”
Tears come to my eyes. My hands start to shake. “I didn’t … I wasn’t—”
Zélie pulls me into a hug. She rubs her hand up and down my back, but I can hear the tremble in her breath.
“Don’t look.” She squeezes my shoulder. “Don’t do anything.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
ZÉLIE
MY FEET DRAG as I make my way to the elder quarters. The days since my ascension have blurred together. With all the new maji and divîners that’ve flooded the sanctuary since we lost Lagos, getting anywhere makes me feel like a salmon swimming upstream. We now have over two hundred mouths to feed, and most are still powerless divîners. Rations decrease as our dormitories swell.
Every day, new people arrive, sharing stories of the monarchy’s raids on the maji. I don’t know how we’re going to strike back. It feels like we’re constantly losing ground, ground the monarchy is hungry to take. Victory that once felt a battle away slips further away from our grasps.
“Z, you coming?” Nâo brushes my shoulder, distracting me from my concerns. The Tider’s blue-tinted armor glints in the sun, the right arm sculpted to show the waves tattooed along her dark skin.
The other elders stand under the vine-covered archway outside the dining hall, waiting for me to go to the council room. They seem to look to me more now that Ramaya’s in the infirmary.
“I’ll meet you there,” I call.
The scent of pounded yam and fried bean cakes fills the halls as I head up the spiraling steps of the elder tower. Eleven stories high, each new floor brings me to a different leader’s quarters. The only structure on this mountain built by the original clan elders, its sea glass tiles make me feel like I’m sleeping in a palace. I run my fingers through the hanging plants forming a canopy along the ceiling until I reach Amari’s new room on the fifth floor.
Stifled tears bleed through the obsidian door, but I force myself to knock. The tears quiet at once. The thud of heavy footsteps approach.
“Who is it?” Tzain calls.
“Me,” I say. “We have an elder meeting.”
The door cracks open and Tzain lowers his voice, leaning outside so Amari doesn’t hear.
“Where’ve you been?” he whispers. “She’s needed you.”
“So have my Reapers.” I push past him to enter Amari’s new quarters. “Don’t forget, she got herself in this mess.”
I pause to take in her room; like mine, turquoise tiles line the floor. A curved balcony opens outside, providing a view of the waterfall near the bathroom door.
“Be sensitive,” Tzain says. “She refuses to see a Healer.”
Amari sits in front of the cracked mirror, face puffy and red. Deep bruises line her temples and jaw. Her right arm hangs in a makeshift sling across her chest. She struggles with a canister of soft brown pigment, dotting it over her bruises to conceal them.
“You know a Healer can fix that,” I say.
“I already asked,” she keeps her voice flat. “After the fifth one refused, I gave up.”
My eyes widen, but I look away, pretending to inspect her brass tub. Healers are supposed to help everyone in need, regardless of their own feelings.
Amari continues to do what she can to cover her bruises, but she’s clumsy with her left hand. My anger still boils at the surface, but I sit her down and force myself to help.
“Thank you,” she says.
I stay silent, but nod in response. Amari glares at the wall, but every so often her armor cracks.
I see the sadness she holds inside. The loneliness she must feel.
She may have beaten Ramaya, but she’s isolated herself in the process.
“I tried to visit her.” Amari’s voice shakes. “Ramaya. I wanted to apologize, but she still hasn’t woken up.”
A bitter taste settles on my tongue, but I don’t speak. Ramaya’s been unconscious since their fight. Even Khani’s healing hasn’t been able to revive her.
“Do you hate me, too?” Amari asks, and my fingers freeze above her cheeks. I almost hate her for asking this of me. But I trained her that night. I taught her an incantation. In a way, I feel just as responsible for Ramaya’s coma.
“You promised me you wouldn’t use what I taught you against a maji,” I say.
“I know, but I didn’t have a choice—”
“You always have a choice,” I snap. “You just chose wrong.” I shake my head, putting the canister of pigment down. “You chose to win at any cost. Like your father. Like Inan.”
Anger sizzles in the air between us. It takes all my effort not to walk away. I try to block out the sight of her white streak, the r
eminder of her people and all the ways they continue to hurt those like me.
But before I can storm out, Amari hangs her head. New tears stream free, streaking through all the pigment on her face.
“I’m sorry, alright? I truly am.” She wipes her nose. “I know I messed up. I know I lost control. What I don’t know is how to make things right.”
Her heartbreak cools my rage. I exhale a deep breath and turn her to face me. Of course she doesn’t get it.
She’s a tîtán.
A monarch.
“If you’re going to be an elder, you need to understand that true magic isn’t about power,” I explain. “It’s something that’s a part of us, something that’s literally in our blood. Our people have suffered for this. Died for this. It’s not something you can just learn. You may have helped us get it back, but right now we’re still being hunted and killed for the very magic tîtáns like you use against us.”
Amari nods, wiping her tears as she digests my words. “I’ll find a way to apologize to the elders and the Connectors.”
“Good.” I pick up the pigment again, dabbing the streaks along her cheeks. “It’s bad out there. We need you.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
AMARI
A WALL OF SILENCE greets me when I stand before the gilded archway of the council room. I haven’t shown my face in days. I can only imagine the things they’ll say. But instead of focusing on the glaring elders around the teak wood table, I take in the sacred space. Stained-glass windows bathe the room in rainbow light. Glassy stones form spiraling patterns along the wall.
“Wow…” I breathe, pressing my hand against my chest. A jolt like lightning passes over my skin when I walk in. According to Zélie, the entrance is enchanted, only allowing the elders of the past and present through.
Ten bronze statues encircle the room, monuments to the original leaders of the maji clans. I begin to understand the gravity of these positions when I sit in front of the rusted figure with Connector-blue robes.
If you’re going to be an elder, you need to understand that true magic isn’t about power. I mull over Zélie’s words as we wait for the last elder to join us, studying the maji around the table. Some scrutinize me with a heavy gaze. Others refuse to meet my eyes.
