Children of Virtue and Vengeance

by Tomi Adeyemi

  Mother’s face falls and she throws her arms around Ojore’s neck. “Skies, boy. How many times will we have to thank you for saving his life?”

  Ojore locks eyes with me, jaw clenching tight.

  “No thanks necessary,” he says. “I’d do it anytime.”

  I swallow and avoid his gaze. I don’t know how long he’ll let my lie stand, but at least my secret’s safe for now. I can’t explain what happened in the temple; I barely understand it myself. Zélie looked at that boy and somehow it was greater than my pain.

  I couldn’t stomach the thought of being the reason she lost someone else.

  “You need to get to safety.” Mother ushers us along. “The others are waiting across the bridge.”

  “What are you doing?” I ask.

  My fingers grow cold as she hooks her golden mask over her nose. “This place only serves our enemies.”

  “No!” I jerk up, wincing at the pain that shoots up my side. “This temple may be the oldest Orïsha has. It holds the stories of our past!”

  Though Chândomblé wasn’t created for me, I feel its pulse like the beating heart of this land. I remember wandering its hallowed grounds in search of Zélie’s path moons ago. Kneeling before the portrait of Ori. This temple was the one place that could quiet the noise in my head.

  “You can’t,” I say. “I forbid it.”

  Mother purses her lips. I can almost see her swallowing everything she wants to yell.

  “This is a den for rebellious maggots,” she hisses. “Not some historical site.”

  Ojore eyes me, but I don’t back down.

  “The Iyika came here for power,” I say. “We can use the temple to seize some for ourselves!”

  “Inan, look around you.” Mother shakes her head. “Look at what they’ve done.”

  She points behind me and I see the endless trail of bodies being carried out. Though most of the soldiers head for the Healers, there are those who no longer breathe. The sight of every new corpse that piles up before the bridge lands like a punch to the gut.

  Jokôye passes us on a medic’s stretcher, still unconscious. Someone’s reset her leg, but blood leaks through the bandages. My chin quivers at the sight.

  Would she have gotten hurt if I hadn’t wanted Zélie and Amari taken in alive?

  “You do not serve the maji,” Mother continues. “You do not even serve these lands. Your duty as king is to protect the throne. The throne and the people who bow before it.”

  I exhale, knowing I have no other choice.

  “Destroy it,” I order, though it hurts to speak the words.

  My chest falls as Mother marches forward with her tîtáns that still stand. As she walks past the carnage in her path, I know she’s right. Our enemies are gaining ground. We need to eliminate every asset they have. But how long can both sides keep going like this before we destroy Orïsha?

  Mother’s tîtáns form a circle around her as the last of the soldiers is carried away from the temple grounds. She opens her hands, igniting the emerald glow in her chest. Veins bulge against her neck and the ground begins to shake.

  Her tîtáns seize as she sucks the power from their veins.

  “More!” Mother shouts. The earth’s vibration rattles my teeth as her tîtáns fall to their knees. The green light shoots out of her eyes and she punches her fists into the dirt. The ground cracks on impact.

  The fissure speeds through the jungle, tearing up the earth in its path. Its rumble grows the closer it gets to the temple.

  When it reaches the hallowed grounds, it’s like a dozen bombs go off at once. The temple falls as the ground beneath it sinks into the earth.

  “Skies,” Ojore curses at Mother’s power, shielding his nose. I cover my eyes as the rock explodes, debris clouding up the sky. Up ahead, a tîtán cries out before his body falls limp. He’s dead before he hits the ground.

  Mother’s magic has taken everything from him.

  I have to end this war. The thought echoes through my mind as I grab the wound in my side. The battles are spinning out of control. If we continue at this rate, the entire kingdom will be destroyed in the process.

  I squeeze the bronze piece tight, searching for another way out of this fight.

  If Zélie won’t listen to me, I’ll find someone who will.

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  AMARI

  FOUR LONG DAYS pass before we make it back to the sanctuary. This high above the clouds the haven is at peace, ignorant of the chaos sweeping the lands at the mountain’s feet.

  By the time we step onto the first mountain, my legs drag like they’re made of marble. The sanctuary lies in a calm silence, majestic towers painted in dark silhouettes across the indigo sky.

  “Yemọja, ẹ ṣé o.” Nâo drops to her knees and kisses the wild grass with gratitude. I almost join her, but if I fall now, I won’t be able to rise again. It feels like a sin to enter these hallowed grounds with the blood, dirt, and grime coating our weary bodies. My legs sway and I stumble forward, resting against the obsidian wall of the main tower.

  “Need a hand?”

  I look up to find Tzain’s smile, and it warms me to my core.

  “Were you waiting for me?” I ask, and he shrugs.

  “I missed you too much.”

  I rest my head against his broad chest, finding refuge inside his arms.

  “I missed you, too,” I whisper. “It was strange being out there without you.”

  I don’t know the last time I went into battle without Tzain by my side. It used to be the two of us who didn’t have magic at our disposal, yet I always trusted him more than I trusted anyone else. I squeeze him tight, attempting to close the space that’s grown between us since I became a tîtán. I don’t want it to increase now that I know I’m a cênter.

  Behind me, Tzain catches Zélie’s eyes as she dismounts Nailah. She waves at him with a smile before turning back to Mâzeli.

  “Did you get what you wanted?” Tzain asks.

  “In a way.” I look back as the elders start unloading their scrolls, taking them to the council room. “After what we learned at Chândomblé, we have a fighting chance. I might even have enough power to face my mother and force the monarchy to surrender.”

  Tzain’s muscles relax at the news, and he pulls me closer to his chest. “Then you can take the throne?”

  I smile. “Then I can take the throne.”

  But as we stand wrapped up in each other’s arms, his touch erases all thoughts of the war; of cênters; of the throne. Breathing in his sandalwood scent, I realize how much I want him. How much I want more.

  “What is it?” Tzain pulls away, sensing my shift. I wrap my arms around his neck.

  “What’s it going to take for you to carry me to a bath?”

  Tzain purses his lips in false contemplation, scratching his chin. Then without warning, he sweeps me off my feet. I laugh as he carries me across the stone bridge.

  “It’s that easy?” I ask.

  “Of course.” Tzain grins. “I live to serve, my queen.”

  Though he jokes, his words heat my skin. He’s the only one who looks at me like I deserve that title. The one person who believes I can lead.

  I raise my hand to his stubbled cheek and my gaze settles on his lips. I imagine what a few hours with him might entail. How his kiss might feel.

  “Is there anything else I can help you with, my queen?”

  My smile widens as he leans in. My heart speeds up in my chest as I dig my nails into his neck.

  Our lips meet, and the rush is so strong it spreads through my entire body. A flutter erupts between my legs as I shift, pressing into him—

  “Where do you think you’re going?”

  Our heads snap apart to face Jahi. My cheeks flush at the Winder’s glare. I force Tzain to put me down.

  “We have work to do.” Jahi gestures to the line of elders making their way to the council room, and I groan.

  “Can’t we sleep?”


  “Don’t complain now,” he says. “You’re the one who wanted this job.”

  My shoulders slump and I turn to Tzain, wrapping my arms around him again. I feel his chest deflate as he slides his hands across my back.

  “Another time?” I ask.

  “Do what you need to do.” His lips meet mine once more and I sink into the safety of his kiss. He squeezes my waist, sending shivers along my skin.

  As I pull away, I wish I never had to leave his embrace. But Orïsha waits for no one. Not even him.

  Jahi eyes me when I pass, but I ignore his glare.

  “Wake Mama Agba,” I order. “If anyone can get us answers, it’s her.”

  * * *

  NO ONE SPEAKS as Mama Agba studies the golden script along Zélie’s skin. My shoulders burn from holding up the blanket that shields Zélie’s scars and bare back from the other elders. Mama Agba pauses to scribble more sênbaría translations onto a brown parchment, the scratch of her reed brush echoing against the stained glass windows of the council room. A full hour passes before Mama Agba sets her brush down, ready to share what she’s uncovered.

  “I haven’t seen markings like these since I studied with the sêntaros,” she says. “The tattoos are the mark of the moonstone, a sister to the sunstone you retrieved from Ibeji.”

  “But the sunstone was destroyed in the ritual.” Zélie tilts her head. “It shattered in my hands after I used it to bring our magic back.”

  “Unlike its sister stone, the moonstone is not one you can hold,” Mama Agba explains. “It is a power bestowed by the gods. They must have granted it to you during the solstice.”

  Mama Agba waits as Zélie slips into a sleeveless kaftan, its deep purple fabric shimmering like wine against her complexion. When dressed, Zélie takes her place at the table, sitting in front of a bronze statue with amethyst crystals for eyes.

  “The moonstone ignites by command,” Mama Agba continues. “Few can summon its power.” She rests her weathered fingers along Zélie’s sternum before reciting the sacred words. “Ẹ tọnná agbára yin.”

  Zélie inhales a sharp breath as the tattoos ignite along her skin. The delicate lines glow with golden light, so strong it shines through the wine-colored kaftan. Though not as bright as their shine in the scroll room, the sight still steals my words. Zélie looks like a goddess, bathing us in her golden glow.

  “The moonstone has the ability to bind the lifeforces inside all of us,” Mama Agba explains. “If you were granted this ability during the sacred ritual, it would explain the origin of Amari and Nehanda’s abilities. It may be possible to use the moonstone to make more cênters like them.”

  “Wait, what?” I lean forward, mouth falling slack. More cênters would give us more power. We would have more leverage to negotiate the end of this war. “Would they be as strong as my mother?”

  “The power might not exhibit itself the same way, but any maji who could hold that much ashê in her body would be able to perform great feats.” Mama Agba nods. “A Tider could generate a tsunami with just a wave of her hands. A Seer in her prime might be able to see through any point in time. But pursuing great power requires great sacrifice.” Mama Agba pauses, eyes settling on me. “You and your mother are cênters now, but didn’t you have to sacrifice someone you love?”

  My throat dries and I avert my gaze, back burning with the memories. “In a way,” I say. “I killed my father on the ritual grounds.”

  Mama Agba exhales a deep breath and purses her lips. She removes her hand from Zélie’s chest, and without her touch, the golden glow of the moonstone’s tattoos dies.

  “If you wish to create another cênter, you must be willing to make such a sacrifice,” Mama Agba says. “A loss of that magnitude is the only thing that can come close to the power used to create the cênters during the solstice.”

  “What if I could find another way?” Zélie asks. “Use the moonstone to bind our lifeforces without killing someone we love?”

  “Even if you could, the connection would not last,” Mama Agba shakes her head. “A power that volatile would consume anyone it touched, and binding yourself to someone’s lifeforce means binding yourself to their death.” Mama Agba’s eyes hang on Zélie as she grabs her staff and rises from her seat. “You are the elders now. It is not my place to tell you what to do. But you should know that there are weapons so great, they shouldn’t be used.”

  A heavy silence hangs over us as Mama Agba exits the council room. Around the table, everyone seems to weigh her words; the cost of what it would take to become a cênter.

  But in her explanation, I see our answer; our leverage; our peace. We have the power to win this war without losing one more soul. We can create the Orïsha we want to see.

  “We went to Chândomblé to gain power over Nehanda, and now we have it,” I address the room. “We could build an entire army with cênters as strong as my mother. With a threat like that, the monarchy would have no choice but to concede to us.” I rise from my seat, picturing my brother’s face when I tell him the power at our disposal. “Allow me to go to Lagos and meet with Inan. I know I can negotiate peace on our terms.”

  “Your terms,” Kenyon scoffs. “Not ours. Our future isn’t certain until we have a maji on the throne. No one in the palace will agree to that.” Kenyon stands up, slapping his palms against the table. “With Zélie’s ability, we have the power we need. Now it’s time to use it and take Lagos down for good.”

  “Idiot.” Nâo smacks her lips. “We’d have to sacrifice someone we love.”

  “Lives will be lost no matter what approach we take,” Kenyon pushes. “At least this way sacrifices won’t be made in vain.”

  “I refuse to spill maji blood.” Kâmarū’s voice shakes with a quiet rage. “If we can’t win this war as maji, then we deserve to lose.”

  One by one, heads drift to Zélie, looking to her for the final say. I lock eyes with her as we wait, but she avoids my gaze.

  “All I’m asking for is a chance to find out if peace is a viable option.” I rise from my seat, kneeling before Zélie. “I know you heard Inan when he told his soldiers not to attack. For skies’ sake, he risked his life so you and Mâzeli could escape!”

  Her muscles tense as I grab her hand, but I don’t back down.

  “He still cares for you,” I lower my voice. “I know you care, too—”

  “No.” She rips her hand away, balling her fingers into a fist. “We can’t trust him. We can’t trust any of them.”

  “Zélie—”

  “I only asked for one thing when I joined this fight,” she cuts me off. “All I wanted was to end Inan.”

  “He’s my blood.” I narrow my eyes. “You know I could never agree to that.”

  “Well this is my blood.” Zélie gestures around the stone table. “The maji won’t be safe until your brother’s gone.”

  Her words cut deeper than she could know. It was only a few moons ago when she grabbed my hand and claimed me as her family. She claimed me as her blood.

  “If you won’t spare his life, then I won’t fight for you.” I cross my arms. “You need me on your side. I’m the only cênter you have.”

  “We can make our own,” Na’imah glares.

  “No, we can’t.” Zélie shakes her head. “Mama Agba’s right. It’s too dangerous. We’re more likely to die trying to make the connection than to match their power, and it’s not worth sacrificing someone we love.”

  She stares at me, and I can feel something fracture between us. There’s no hiding it anymore.

  We don’t have the same plan to win this war.

  “We don’t need Amari.” Zélie turns back to the elders. “We don’t even need to become cênters. We went to Chândomblé to recover our scrolls and now we have them.” Zélie gestures to the incantations piled against the far wall. “We’ll train our maji until they’re strong enough to face Nehanda and her tîtáns. And when that day comes, we’ll end this war in the only way the monarchy will respect.
The way that would make our ancestors proud.”

  “That’s what I’m talking about!” Nâo claps, rising out of her seat. “Let’s finish this our way, led by the Soldier of Death!”

  My chest falls as the other elders jump in, enthralled by their future fight. I stare at Zélie and I know she can feel the heat of my gaze, but she doesn’t meet my eye.

  My chest slumps and I exit the room, unable to stomach the sight. I practically run out of the first tower, not stopping until I meet the cool night air.

  Orïsha waits for no one, Father’s whisper tickles my ear, reminding me of what I must do. I can’t keep waiting for Zélie and the Iyika to see reason. No matter what, they only fight for the maji. I must fight for the kingdom.

  “Orïsha waits for no one,” I whisper to myself, balling my fists.

  If the elders won’t support my plan to win this war, I’ll have to do it myself.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  ZÉLIE

  HIGH-PITCHED CHIMES BLEED into my ears, jarring me awake. Though I’ve only spent a short time swaddled within the mountain walls that cover the sanctuary, I already know what each unique tone means. Low bells commemorate the arrival of new maji. A twinkling melody signals each mealtime. But this piercing timbre is a recent addition. Chimes calling us to train.

  I peel my head up from the ankara print on my pillow; a sliver of yellow peeks out from my balcony’s ledge. I groan and bury myself under the covers. Only Mama Agba would make us rise before the sun.

  As the chimes ring, the pit of guilt that’s plagued me since Chândomblé settles like a brick in my stomach. How am I supposed to face my Reapers knowing I’m not fit to lead my clan?

  It’s been days, yet my mind won’t stop replaying the memory of Mâzeli running down the temple stairs. I promised to keep my Second safe. To protect him with my life. But as soon as I saw Inan, I abandoned my vow to get my revenge. I was in charge of only one Reaper then. What would’ve happened if I’d led the entire clan?

  There are so few Reapers to begin with; Oya doesn’t bless many with our gift. If we’re going to win this war and rebuild what the monarchy took, we can’t afford to lose any of them. They need an elder they can actually trust.