by Tomi Adeyemi
I can almost picture Mama Agba by his side, whispering the instructions he repeats now.
“Bàbá olójó,” he starts the incantation. “Se àfihàn àsìkò—”
Unlike before, his magic appears like silver sparks of flint striking a match. The hairs on my neck rise as the air cools around us, a chill traveling to the space between his hands.
The silver sparks writhe like smoke, giving birth to the swath of night that grows beyond Dakarai’s palms. I breathe in as hundreds of suspended stars fill the long hall.
“It’s so big,” I whisper to Zélie. “So much stronger than before.”
“It’s the temple,” she explains. “Our magic is stronger inside these walls.”
One by one, each speck of light expands, creating a window to the past. We watch with wide eyes and full hearts as the first star grows, showing two sêntaros hand in hand.
“Bàbá olójó, se àfihàn àsìkò—”
Dakarai’s magic pulls the memories out of thin air, creating a mosaic of the souls who have walked this very spot. Like ghosts, robed sêntaros pass by, white symbols traveling up their bare arms. Dakarai allows the other images to fade until there’s only one left.
We marvel at the mamaláwo distinguished by her ornate headdress. Unlike her brothers and sisters, her robes are cut from an elegant fabric that flows like liquid silver across her dark skin. I step closer to inspect the image, but it disappears into thin air. Dakarai continues to chant, summoning the mamaláwo meters ahead.
“This one will show us the path to the scroll room,” Zélie explains as we fall in line behind our Seer. We follow along as Dakarai’s magic forms bread crumbs out of the past, creating a trail that leads us through Chândomblé’s twisting halls.
“I recognize this.” Zélie places her palm against a heart-shaped indentation in the gray stone when we turn into a new hall.
“We’re close.” Dakarai points up the stairwell. “If this is right, it should be just around this corner—”
The clank of metal soles stops us in our tracks. We look up the stairwell to find three new shadows, silhouettes growing as they near.
“Retreat,” I hiss, backing down the stairs as fast as I can. The others rush to follow, but smack into each other. My stomach drops as Mâzeli pitches forward.
“Grab him!” I whisper.
Zélie extends her hand, but it’s too late. Mâzeli hits the stone with a low thud.
The clanking footsteps come to a sharp stop.
“General Jokôye?” a soldier calls. “Is that you?”
He moves down the steps, carrying a torch that lights all of our faces.
For a moment, we all stand still, frozen in shock. Then the soldier grabs his horn.
“Run!” I yell. I dash the other way, and the maji follow my path.
“Where are we going?” Zélie shouts.
“I don’t know! Away from them!”
My heart pounds as I break into the lead. The soldier’s horn echoes down the stone hall. It’s not long before more piercing tones bounce against the curved walls.
Every step we take brings us further away from those scrolls. If Mother and Inan knew we were coming, they might know what we’re here for, too. Our failure could lead them to the library’s very door—
Focus, Amari.
We descend another stairwell as the clanking footsteps behind us grow. I race forward when we turn the corner, but skid to a stop when a troop charges toward us.
A few of the soldiers wear golden tîtán armor and I see a flash of dark blue ashê. My skin tingles as the realization hits. The soldiers are Connector tîtáns like me.
“Get back!” I command the Iyika, and the maji clear the way as the blue light radiates from my hand. I only try to summon one strike, but a powerful wave washes over the hall.
My skin sizzles as the soldiers cry out, grabbing their heads when pain brings them to their knees. My magic seems stronger in the other tîtáns’ presence, but I can hardly grasp what’s going on as we run away.
We race up another stairwell, sprinting, though I don’t know where we’ll land. Dakarai leads us up another flight of stairs, his broad chest heaving when we enter a particularly long hall.
“Up here!” the Seer instructs. We turn past a sharp corner when I see it—a dead end in an unsuspecting wall.
“Wait!” I double back and put my hands against the metallic stone. I don’t need Dakarai’s magic to remember Lekan standing in this very spot moons ago.
“This is it!” I shout. “The scrolls are behind this wall!”
“We don’t have time—” Zélie reaches for my arm, but I pull away from her touch.
“We’re too close to leave them behind!” I yell.
The soldiers’ shouts near as Kâmarū reaches the dead end. He places his shaking hands against the stone, but despite the way his fingers glow, he can’t break through. I don’t know if it’s because he isn’t capable, or if all the magic he’s channeled thus far has taken its toll.
“We need to buy him time!” I whip around as the soldiers close in.
You can do this, I think to myself. You took down Ramaya. They’re just men.
Magic stirs in my chest, buzzing as it extends to my hands. I think of the needle and the hammer, not knowing which I’ll need to unleash.
“Ya èmí, ya ara!” The chant slips from my tongue. But my heart stops when the first soldier rounds the corner.
By the skies …
“Inan?”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
ZÉLIE
IT’S LIKE ALL THE AIR leaves the temple at once.
Sound bleeds from my ears.
All that’s left is him.
I fight to feel the rage I summoned in the dreamscape. To call forth the new blades embedded in my staff. But staring at the little prince is like breathing mud.
“Inan?” Amari’s question echoes through the vacuum in my mind. Her call draws her brother’s eyes to her.
Then his gaze falls on me.
Run, my threat echoes through my mind. Pray.
I reach for my staff, but this close to Inan I can almost feel the fluttering sensation of his nails brushing against my bare skin.
We stare at each other as time starts to slip, forcing us back into the present. The shouts of the armies around us bleed in. Soldiers’ swords break free of their hilts.
“Don’t attack!” Inan shouts, but behind him, darkness rises. A general with a white streak down the center of her braid holds back a cloud of majacite gas.
Every soldier stops, but then Nehanda bursts into the hall. She points at all of us as she screams.
“Eliminate the Iyika!” she yells.
“Mother, no!” Inan shouts, but he can’t stop their attack. Their general throws out her hands, creating a wall of dark air. It blows the majacite down the hall like a cannonball, the black cloud racing toward our heads.
“Atégùn Òrìsà!” Jahi dives forward, sky-blue light wrapping around both his arms. With a grunt he throws his hands out and a cyclone spins from his palms.
The wind howls as it blows away the gas, making the soldiers fly back. Inan’s feet thrash through the air. He grabs onto the mounted torch for dear life. Even the general slides away, unable to withstand the force of Jahi’s winds.
“Zélie, we need you!” Amari grabs my wrists, her hair whipping in every direction. She places my hands against the wall and the hazy memory of Lekan doing the same sinks back in.
Please. I try to concentrate in the chaos. Lekan, ràn mí lówó. We need to get inside!
The wall starts to vibrate under my fingers, but I can’t get it to do more. There’s still something missing. Something I can’t unlock alone.
“They’re gaining on me!” Jahi shouts from behind, and my hair blows in the shifting wind. More tîtáns join their general in the hall, each throwing another gust of air.
As they all attack, Jahi’s cyclone starts to die. My fingers shake when Inan plants a foot
back on the ground. Nehanda’s golden tîtáns round the corner, and the queen lifts her arms.
Lekan, please! I know you’re still with me. I press my forehead against the hot stone. Mo nílò ìrànlówó rẹ. Wá bá mi báyìí—
A sharp heat erupts along my neck. I gasp as my tattoos begin to glow. The golden light spreads to my fingers, searing into the wall until a seam breaks down the middle.
“Go!” I squeeze Mâzeli into the scroll room. The rest of the maji follow as the walls widen. Jahi backs in last when his cyclone dies for good.
“Stop them!” Nehanda shouts. All at once, the soldiers charge. My head spins as I place my palms on the stone. It vibrates as the wall starts to close.
One soldier breaks in front of the pack with his sword outstretched. Amari yanks me back when he lunges forward.
With a crunch, the closing wall cuts through his arm like wood.
We all flinch as the severed limb bounces against the scroll room floor. The hand still clenches the sword’s hilt, drops of blood raining down upon it.
My legs go numb and I fall to my knees. Sweat drips from every pore. We’ve made it in.
But how in Sky Mother’s name are we going to get out?
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
INAN
IT’S LIKE MY SPIRIT hangs above my body, suspended in a fragment of space. Seeing Zélie stops time.
Perhaps it always will.
I run my hand against the unassuming wall; there’s not even a crease to indicate where the slabs slid apart. But I can hardly wrap my head around the magic at work when everything inside me is still coming apart.
She’s here.…
That fact should fill me with fear. But with only a wall between us, all the words I want to say muddle in my chest: incomplete sentences within a mountain of unfinished letters.
I thought whatever connection Zélie and I shared was broken. Damaged beyond repair. But the way she looked at me …
Skies.
It’s been so long since I inhaled her sea-salt scent.
“Your Majesty!” General Jokôye runs down the hall, Mother and Ojore at her heels. The sight of them makes my scar burn. After this, they won’t want to hold back.
I was ready to attack, yet one look at Amari and Zélie and I could barely utter one command. I don’t know what to do next.
Who I need to protect.
“Are you alright?” Jokôye pants.
“I’m fine.” I nod. “But the Iyika got inside.”
“Surround the room.” Jokôye turns to the soldiers. “If they tunneled in, they may try to tunnel out. Chidi, take care of Emeka. Get him to a medic.”
I look away as two soldiers approach, lifting the soldier who lost his forearm. The poor boy’s screams hit my ears like knives. I squeeze the bronze piece tight.
With only seven fighters, the Iyika have left dozens of our best strewn across the floor. We only have forty soldiers left. I don’t even know if we can take them.
“Summon all of our forces,” Jokôye shouts. “I want every single tîtán stationed outside this door.”
“No holding back,” Mother yells. “Strike to kill!”
“General, wait.” I stop them both before their orders can hold. “I still want the Iyika taken in alive.”
“With all due respect, Your Majesty, we can’t afford to exercise restraint.” Jokôye gestures down the hall, and I’m forced to take in the blood of my soldiers. In the corner, a medic tends to the soldier whose arm was severed. Even with distance and sedation, the boy’s moans echo through the twisting halls.
“I empathize with your struggle,” she continues. “But the Iyika risked their lives to retrieve what’s in that room.”
“She’s right, Inan.” Mother grabs my shoulder. “We can’t allow them to obtain it. They may become unstoppable.”
My stomach throbs with a pain so sharp I have to lean against the wall. Deep down, I know they’re both right. I can’t allow the Iyika to leave this temple alive.
Duty over self. Father’s voice rings through my head. Duty above all else.
But last time, I chose him; him and Orïsha, when Amari and Zélie risked everything to choose me.
“If they die here, this war will only escalate, and we’ll never locate their base. Take them in alive.” I turn to Jokôye. “That’s an order, General. Not a suggestion.”
Jokôye’s eyes flutter close. I can almost hear the crunch of her biting her tongue.
“Soldiers, get the king to the back of the hall. I don’t want him here when the wall opens.” She fingers the white streak in her braid before placing her hand against the crooked wall.
“Be ready to apprehend the rebels at a moment’s notice. This was their only way in. That means it’s their only way out.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
ZÉLIE
KENYON’S FISTS SLAM against the walls of the scroll room, a thud reverberating through the metal shelves. The Burner hits it again and again until Kâmarū grabs his wrists and forces him to stop.
“Keep it together,” the Grounder shouts. “We’re never getting out of here if we fall apart now.”
Kenyon breaks free of his hold and slams the wall again. “We shouldn’t be in here at all!”
The Burner’s anger does little to hide the terror I know we all feel. I want to say something, but it’s hard to focus over the ringing in my ears. I don’t know if the noise is from seeing Inan or the chaos of making it into the scroll room. I reach back for the tattoos on my neck. The swirling marks are still hot to the touch.
“Jahi!” Dakarai shouts. I turn as the Winder falls to the floor, body shaking from the toll of his cyclone. Dakarai kneels to check him out.
“That tîtán,” Jahi pants. “The way she moved…”
Gods, I shake my head.
We’re doomed.
“Mâzeli, are you alright?” I turn to find my Second still standing in front of the spot where the wall slid apart. The soldier’s bloody forearm lies on the floor.
“Don’t worry.” I wipe the splatter of blood from his cheek and force him to turn around. “I’ll get us out of here. I promise.”
I place my fingers along the wall’s cool metal interior, temperature falling as my magic fades. A tingle erupts when I lay my palm flat. The same sensation used to crawl up my skin at Inan’s touch.
“Did you hear Inan?” Amari’s voice shakes. “He told them not to attack—”
“That bastard came here with half the godsforsaken military!” Kenyon snaps. “He’s not here to make peace!”
“Everyone shut up!” Mâzeli’s high-pitched voice rings over everyone else’s. His hands still shake, but he stands his ground, silencing us all. “We got in here despite the odds. We can figure a way out. But we need to stick together and collect these scrolls!”
He takes in the sacred library, prompting us all to do the same. The last time I was here, I was flung over Tzain’s shoulder; the rush of newly awakened magic masked my other senses. What I thought were walls of gold are actually a reflective substance I’ve never encountered. It lights the room with a soft orange glow, like the color of sunsets melted into a glassy stone.
“If my father could see this…” Kâmarū releases a low whistle, sitting on the ground. Shelves that stretch to the domed ceiling encircle us, each filled with thin, brightly colored scrolls.
Mâzeli inspects the case with the Reaper baajis, running his hands over the gaps that once housed the scrolls Lekan gifted me. But even with those gone, dozens of incantations fill the shelves.
With these scrolls, the Iyika could become an unstoppable force.
“Kâmarū.” Amari kneels by the Grounder’s side, concern creasing her forehead. His eyes drift in and out of focus as he presses a hand to his heaving chest. “If we wait for you to recover, could you break through this substance and tunnel us out?”
“It’s not earth or metal.” He shakes his head. “I’ve never felt anything like this.”
; Amari runs a hand through her disheveled hair before turning to Dakarai instead. “Can you use the same incantation to find a path out the front entrance?”
“I suppose.” Dakarai treads with care. “But it’d be hard to do with the soldiers—”
“Don’t worry about them,” she cuts him off. “Everyone, fill the bags with as many scrolls as you can. Kenyon, burn the rest.”
“Amari, you can’t!” I whip around, blinking as the ringing sensation in my ears grows louder. My tattoos hum at the sight of her. I shake my head as my vision blurs.
“These are sacred incantations,” I explain. “Histories of our people that will be lost to time!”
“This is war.” She meets my impassioned words with a cold stare. “These are weapons. Do you really want to leave these sacred incantations in the monarchy’s hands?”
Her words sting, though I know she’s right. A solemn air fills the room as we look at the hundreds of scrolls, silently calculating how many will have to burn.
“How do we know which ones to choose?” Mâzeli asks.
“Just make sure you take the same amount of scrolls for other clans,” Amari says. “No matter who’s present, all the maji need these weapons.”
She removes her leather sack and walks to the Connector shelf, but pauses when nobody moves.
“What are you waiting for?” Amari circles her hand. “Let’s get the scrolls and get out of here!”
Though a few bristle at her orders, Amari’s conviction brings a calm to the chaos. One by one, we all follow her, filling the bags as if troops weren’t waiting beyond the wall.
“Whatever you feel about Inan, don’t act on it today.” Amari comes to my side. “If not for me, then for Mâzeli’s sake. Getting out of here will require your full attention.”
I clench my jaw and brush past her, walking toward the center of the room. How dare she try to tell me what I can or can’t do?
It doesn’t matter if being this close to Inan makes my heart beat like a caged hummingbird. When these walls part, I have to thrust my new spear through his chest. I don’t have a choice.
