by Tomi Adeyemi
“What’s going on?”
Dakarai raises his hand, thick curls pasted to his forehead with sweat.
“We need to stop. I’m having a vision.”
* * *
NO ONE MAKES a sound as we all gather around Dakarai. Usually bare-chested, the boy looks out of place with the silver-tinted armor around his large frame.
“Give me some space.” He shifts, isolating himself by facing a tree. “I’m much better at seeing the past than the present. I can’t concentrate with all of you watching.”
Every maji turns away, seeming to understand his need for space. I do the same, but I can’t help glancing over my shoulder as he chants.
Sweat gathers above the Seer’s sparse brows as he summons his magic. The silver glow of his ashê spreads around his hands. A mystical window of stars forms between his palms.
Unlike Mama Agba’s vision of the future, Dakarai’s doesn’t show a clear fragment of time. Instead his window shows translucent images in brief flashes.
“Ní Sís1ntèlé—”
The Seer adjusts his hands like a compass finding its way north. The dense greens of the Funmilayo Jungle fade through his blanket of stars. Thick clouds of fog pass through the emerald trees. But by the time the window reaches Chândomblé’s temple, the images are so faint it’s difficult to make out the newly constructed bridge.
“Can you make the vision stronger?” I lean in, squinting to make out the soldiers on the battlefield.
“I can try, but the further away I am, the weaker the picture is.” A silver light glows around Dakarai’s hands as he increases the amount of ashê in his palms. With the surge in power, the image starts to crystallize, allowing us to see what’s ahead.
“Dammit.” Zélie curses at the iron bridge that sits where the old one fell. It connects the southern ledge of our mountain to the one holding Chândomblé’s sacred temple.
More than two dozen soldiers stand guard at the bridge’s base; nearly half of them are tîtáns. Battle tactics run through my mind, but they all crumble when I recognize the petite frame of the general who stands outside Chândomblé’s entrance.
“Zélie,” I warn.
“I know,” she replies.
Even under the golden mask, it’s impossible not to recognize the sharp angles of Mother’s face. I knew our paths would cross again. I just didn’t think it’d be so soon.
But if she’s here, there’s a chance Inan isn’t far behind.
“Can you see anyone else?” I ask.
Dakarai attempts to increase the range of his vision, but nothing else appears in his celestial field.
“I’m sorry.” He shakes his head. “But if there are that many on the bridge, it’s safe to assume there are soldiers surrounding the entire temple.”
“Then what are we waiting for?” Kenyon blows past us, putting his red-tinted helmet back on. “I don’t care how many there are. I’ll burn them all.”
“Last time we faced Nehanda, she sent an entire dome crashing down on our heads.” I run after him. “We might not be strong enough to defeat them.”
“Speak for yourself. I’m not weaker than some tîtán.”
“You’re definitely not stronger than my mother!” I grab Kenyon’s shoulder, forcing him to wait. “Besides, they knew we were coming. We don’t want to alert them that we’re here.”
“Then what do you propose, Princess?”
All eyes drift in my direction and I pause; this is the first time they’ve ever turned to me for answers. Maybe this is my chance.
Do this right, and I can prove myself to the Iyika while keeping the body toll down. And if Inan’s inside, getting into that temple could be our only way to speak.
“Soldiers on the bridge,” I mutter to myself. “Mostly likely, soldiers around the perimeter…”
I kneel down to the ground, sketching out different scenarios in the dirt.
“I have an idea,” I say.
“A good one?” Kenyon pries.
“It’s an idea.”
The Burner exhales a heavy sigh, but with no other options, he leans in.
“Okay, Princess. Let’s hear it.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
ZÉLIE
I RUN MY THUMB over the scars along my wrist as we wait for everyone to get in position. Amari’s plan requires a nimble team. Less than half of us can make the trip. But as everyone prepares to set off, only one thought fills my mind. There are dozens of soldiers on that mountain.
One of them could be Inan.
Oya, strengthen me. I exhale the quiet prayer, tightening my grip on the stiff leather of Nailah’s new reins. I try to remember how it felt to squeeze the breath from his throat, but all I can feel is how I don’t feel him.
This close to the temple, it’s impossible not to live in the past, to forget the days when Inan chased and I ran. With our connection, I used to feel his presence like the tang in the air before a summer’s rain.
Now, I don’t feel anything.
“Elder Zélie!” Tahir—our strongest Welder—calls out to me from afar. With light brown eyes and skin like pearls, his albinism makes him stand out from the crowd.
Though only fourteen, Tahir’s prodigious talents have made him Kâmarū’s Second. It’s because of him and Mama Agba the Iyika have their innovative armor.
“Before you go.” He expands my condensed staff, revealing its new and improved form. Instead of tarnished iron, the polished metal now shares the deep purple hues of my Reaper armor.
“It’s beautiful,” I breathe. “And you were able to make the alterations?”
Tahir nods, pressing a new button in the middle. I jump back when serrated blades extend from each end, piercing forward like daggers.
“You’re a genius!” I spin the staff, marveling at his Welder’s touch. Tahir beams and adjusts the rusted goggles that sit on his forehead.
“It’s my honor, Elder Zélie. Really!”
I press my thumb against the akofena engraved in the staff’s side, trying to draw strength from the swords of war. I stab one end into the dirt, imagining how it’ll feel to dig the blade right through Inan’s heart.
“You’re the Soldier of Death.” Mâzeli approaches from behind. “Why in Oya’s name do you need that?”
“Because someone stabbed me in the back,” I say. “If see him, I want to return the gift.”
The smile falls off Mâzeli’s face, pressing into a hard line. He picks at his ear as he looks down. “I’m sorry. I’ve never killed anyone.”
“Why would you apologize for that?”
Mâzeli sighs, scratching the back of his neck. “’Cause if I had, then I could help you. I wouldn’t be so afraid.”
“It’s okay to be afraid.” I collapse the staff and attach it to my belt. “Everyone’s afraid. I’m terrified.”
My Second studies me with his big brown eyes, squinting as if I’m feeding him lies. “But you’re the Soldier of Death.”
“Jagunjagun is a myth,” I say. “What you and I are about to do is real.” He stands a full head taller than me, but I place my hands on his shoulders.
“Just stick by my side. I’ll summon Oya herself before I let anything happen to you.”
Mâzeli’s smile lights up his round face. Though my words don’t take away all of his fear, his tense shoulders finally relax.
He exhales a deep breath as we make our way back to the others.
“Just know one day, it’ll be me protecting you.”
I smile at his resolve and pull at his large ears. “I look forward to it.”
Our conversation draws to a halt as we wait behind Nâo. She rolls out her wrists and pulls her shaved head to the side, stretching out the lagbara tattooed down the length of her neck.
“Must you put on a show?” Khani arches her brow. Nâo grins and kisses her girlfriend’s freckled cheek.
“Don’t pretend you don’t like to watch.” No one else speaks as Nâo closes her eyes and spreads her arms out wi
de. “Omi, tutù, omi mí. Omi wá bá mi—”
The chill starts from behind, like winter’s breath kissing the back of our necks. It creeps over my shoulders and crawls down my chest as the moisture in the air cools and expands.
Within seconds the thin layer of fog around us condenses into a thick cloud of white. It makes the hairs on my neck stand up, weaving itself into the dark night.
“Slow and steady,” Amari instructs. “It has to look natural.”
Nâo raises her hands and moves the blanket of fog east, spreading the white wall over the mountain’s ledge and across the bridge. I reach forward and part the trees, watching the wall of white swallow our enemies. When it’s spread far enough, Amari squeezes my shoulder.
“Let’s do this.”
* * *
TIME TICKS BY in an endless stretch. My breath hitches as I try to stay silent. By now, the fog is so thick we can’t see more than a few centimeters in front of our heads.
A small flame in Kenyon’s hand lights the path as eight of us make our way to the mountain’s edge. Kâmarū and Tahir walk in the front, while Jahi, Dakarai, and Amari bring up the rear.
“Are you okay?” I whisper to Mâzeli. He nods, but holds clenched fists by his sides. His eyes dart back and forth, as if at any moment a soldier will strike.
For his sake, I try to pretend every crumbling leaf and snapping branch around us doesn’t put me on edge. Jahi’s quiet incantation rings out as he manipulates the wind at our feet, creating a vacuum that allows us to walk in silence.
“Here?” Kâmarū whispers.
Amari starts to answer, but her mouth clamps shut. I hold Mâzeli’s hand tightly as footsteps groan along the iron bridge, only a few meters to our left.
“Go!” Amari hisses.
Kâmarū and Tahir join hands. A dull green light shines from the spaces beneath their palms.
“Se ìfé inú mi—”
The chant heats the ground beneath our feet. The footsteps near as the earth starts to vibrate. Mâzeli squeezes my hand and I hold him tight as we sink.
Our crooked ledge slides down the mountain in silence, a natural lift at Kâmarū’s command. The further we descend, the more the fog thins, allowing us to see the green light glowing through the earth.
“Skies.” Amari releases a sigh of relief when we come to a stop halfway down the mountainside. The soldier’s footsteps fade from above, but we’re still covered by the thick blanket of fog.
Tahir’s knees buckle and he struggles to stand. Kâmarū props him up, allowing his Second to lean against his iron prosthetic.
“You’re good.” Kâmarū pats his back. “I can handle this.”
The Grounder steps ahead, sweat gleaming off his dark skin. He chants under his breath, releasing a slow and steady rhythm.
As his magic builds, the mountain behind us erodes, glowing grains floating by our side. I almost scream when Kâmarū walks over the ledge of our cliff, but the grains swarm together, creating a step beneath his feet.
“No way…” Amari’s jaw drops when Kâmarū moves again. He walks out onto the open air, the grains of earth condensing under his feet each time he moves. The glowing dirt hovers in the air like lily pads floating above water. Bit by bit, he makes his way across the divide, the floating steps taking him all the way to the other side.
“You’re next,” Tahir instructs, making the color drain from Amari’s face.
“But I’m not a Grounder,” she says.
“You don’t have to be. We’re using the incantation.”
Tahir starts to chant behind her and Amari’s hand shakes. She tests the magic by dangling her foot over the ledge, but it still summons the glowing grains.
“Skies, help me,” she curses under her breath. Step by glowing step, she walks across the divide. The grains of rock rise to catch her every time.
Dakarai follows after her with his arms pressed to his side. Kenyon refuses to look down. When Jahi makes it across, I nudge Mâzeli forward.
“Let’s go together,” I offer.
I move toward the ledge, but Mâzeli’s feet stay frozen in place.
“What’d I tell you?” I pull him along. “I promise, you’ll be okay.”
Mâzeli swallows and balls his fists, tiptoeing over the ledge. I follow close behind him, keeping my hands on his shoulders as we step across the floating earth.
“Almost there…” My voice trails off when I make the mistake of looking down. I can still remember falling into this pit myself, saved only by Lekan’s magic. A giant skeleton lies between the sharp and pointed rocks. Gnats pick at the decomposing carcass.
My stomach reels when I recognize the horns. The memory of Lekan throwing Inan’s ryder off the mountain plays before my eyes.
I snap my head forward and push ahead, grip tightening on Mâzeli’s shoulders. I was powerless last time.
I won’t let that happen again.
“Thank Oya!” Mâzeli plasters himself against the new mountain ledge, kissing a tuft of moss. Behind him, Tahir falls to his knees, struggling to steady his shaking limbs.
“I’m sorry,” he pants. “I’m better with metal.”
“You did great.” Kâmarū helps him up. “You have nothing to apologize for.”
“Get back to the other side when you can,” Amari instructs. “If something happens and the troops try to cross that bridge, it’s up to you to destroy it.”
Tahir’s mouth falls open and he looks up, studying the iron bridge like an architect. “What if you’re not back?”
“Doesn’t matter,” Amari says. “If they catch the others, they could find the sanctuary. We have to protect it no matter the cost.”
Though conflicted, Tahir nods, bowing to show his respect. Kâmarū bumps his fist before facing the mountain with a new chant.
“O ṣubú lul1. O ṣubú lul1—”
An emerald glow lights from his fingertips and he presses them against the jagged rock. I inhale a sharp breath as the stone begins to crumble. Kâmarū’s magic erodes straight through the mountain.
The Grounder pushes forward until a tunnel begins to emerge, large enough for him to step inside. Amari nudges me and I follow after him, disappearing into the dark.
* * *
EVEN WITH KMARŪ’S MAGIC, tunneling through the mountain is slow and steady work. Eventually the others lag behind, preferring to walk with longer strides. Despite the temptation to hang back, I find myself drawn to Kâmarū’s side. There’s something calming in the way he works. Watching him, I can almost forget about the guards above.
“Do you even need to get inside this temple?” I ask.
Kâmarū glances back, thick brows knit in confusion.
“You’ve already mastered so many incantations.” I gesture to his glowing hands, watching as the mountain crumbles like sand.
“My father was our clan elder,” Kâmarū explains. “He wanted me to follow in his path. By the time I turned twelve, he’d already been training me for years.”
I smile at the thought, picturing a pint-size Kâmarū without the thick white dreads or silver nose ring. It’s easy to imagine him training through long days and cold nights, guided by a father who shared his angular eyes.
“You still remember what he taught you?” I ask. “Even after all this time?”
“After the Raid, practicing these incantations was the only part of him I had left.”
My heart sinks in the echo of his words. In my mind, Kâmarū still whispers these incantations, but without the father he loves. Without the magic that was meant to run through his veins.
“He’d be so proud of you.” I shake my head. “He is proud of you.”
Kâmarū’s dark brown eyes soften. “I like to think so, too.”
As we walk, I think of the other elders and maji, what their lives might’ve been like before the Raid. Mâzeli’s already told me how the monarchy took both his parents away. How his sister Arunima perished from grief.
The Grounder catches m
e staring and flashes me a smile, one so bright it knocks the wind from my chest. For the first time I realize that I could lose him, too.
“Does it scare you?” I whisper to Kâmarū. “Being responsible for so many?”
“Every day.” He nods. “But that terror pushes me to be stronger.”
I smile at his resolve, wishing I felt the same. But once we have these scrolls, I can teach my Reapers to defend themselves. I can teach them how to attack.
I tighten my grip on my staff, picturing Inan’s face. Maybe when he and his wretched mother are dead, the maji can all feel free.
“We’re here,” Kâmarū announces.
Amari pushes her way to the front as the final bits of gravel fall away. They reveal a metallic stone that can only be the walls of the temple.
My fingers tingle with anticipation as we wait to break through. Amari’s plan may have gotten us this far, but there’s no telling what will happen once we’re actually inside the temple walls.
“Everybody ready?” Amari turns back to the others, and they meet her with terse nods.
She closes her eyes and I can almost feel her prayer.
“Alright,” she sighs. “Let’s get those scrolls.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
AMARI
EVERY CHEST EXHALES as Kâmarū tunnels through the temple walls. Our footsteps echo against the cool stone when we enter Chândomblé’s long and narrow halls. The last time we were here, the temple felt alive; it was as if I could touch the magic oscillating through the air. But this time, the entire mountain shakes. It vibrates like the new power flowing through my veins.
“Amazing.” Mâzeli runs his hands along the gold-mounted torches fastened to the walls. They light as we approach, as if beckoning us to travel further. A steady drip still echoes through the halls. I can almost hear the rhythmic thud of Lekan’s staff. Thank you, I think to his spirit.
Without his sacrifice, we wouldn’t have magic at all.
“Which way?” I turn to Dakarai as he binds his frizzy curls.
“Relax your hands,” the Seer mutters to himself. “Feel the weight of time.”
