by Tomi Adeyemi
A soft knock raps against my door, forcing me to lift my head. I half expect to find Mâzeli’s oversized ears when the purple door creaks open, but a sweeping flash of silver peeks through instead.
“Mama Agba?”
I grin at the sight of the silver robe over her dark skin. The crimped garment flows behind her as she walks. It’s like she carries a breeze within the silk’s folds.
Before the Raid, past clan elders wore mantles like these, garments to mark their revered status. To wear this robe was as special as wearing the clan elder’s headdress.
“E kàárò ìyáawa.” I drag myself out of bed, kneeling before her despite how my thighs burn. As my nose touches the ground, I think of how many times I should’ve done this. How many times we all should’ve bowed in her presence.
As a former elder, Mama Agba was supposed to be celebrated. Revered by all. Instead she spent years hiding who she was, wearing nothing but muted kaftans, while she stitched beautiful garments for nobles until her fingers bled.
“Get up, child.” Mama Agba smacks her lips at me, but her mahogany eyes crinkle with emotion. She wraps me in a warm hug, and from the scent of cloves and súyà spices embedded into her silks, I know she’s already put in hours in the kitchen.
“I wanted to catch you before your first training.” She reaches into her bag and removes an imposing metal collar. The majestic piece stretches the full length of my neck with a base to cover my collarbone.
“It’s beautiful,” I breathe, touching its spectacular design. Dozens of triangular plates have been stitched together to form its skin, a unique mix of her seamstress skills and Tahir’s metalwork.
“I thought about making headdresses, but with all the battle you’re seeing, these felt more appropriate.” Mama Agba gestures for me to turn around, but I stay still.
“You don’t like it?” she asks.
I shake my head, running my toes over the mosaic tiles along the floor.
“I feel like I don’t deserve to wear it. I don’t think I’m meant to be their elder.”
“Is this because of what happened at the temple?” Mama Agba rests her hand on my shoulder, beckoning me toward her. “Being an elder does not mean you won’t make mistakes. It only means you keep fighting despite them.”
“You heard what happened to Mâzeli?” I ask.
“Child, word travels faster in these walls than a cheetanaire in high sprint. I know far more than I want to about all of you.” Mama Agba shakes her head as she turns me toward the mirror. “Apparently Kenyon’s set his sights on Na’imah, but Na’imah set her sights on Dakarai?”
“But Dakarai likes Imani!”
“I know,” Mama Agba sighs. “And that Cancer will eat him alive. It is one giant mess!”
I smile to myself as she reaches for the collar. I hope she hasn’t heard whispers about Inan. Or whispers about Roën.
A flutter spreads through my chest at the thought of the mercenary, one I wish I could erase. Without the constant threat of battle, I find myself thinking of his pink smirk. I remember his callused touch. At times, I catch myself staring at the sanctuary’s entrance, waiting for him to saunter back into my life on some half-baked mission.
But even he fades from my mind when Mama Agba places the collar over the golden marks on my throat. As I run my fingers through the thin grooves between each triangular plate, an unexpected swell fills my chest.
It reminds me of sitting in her reed ahéré after I completed my training, sipping tea before she placed the graduation staff in my hands. In a way, this feels exactly the same. Except everything and everyone in our world has changed.
“Zélie, if you were not meant to be an elder, your ascension would have been rejected,” Mama Agba says. “Oya gave you an ìsípayá to mark you as worthy. You wouldn’t have seen anything if she did not think you were the best person to lead this clan.”
I chew on her words, thinking of what Oya showed me. If I close my eyes, I can still see the purple ribbon of light spinning from my chest like a thread, intertwining with a ribbon of gold. The power they created felt just like the one I sensed in Amari.
Back at the temple, I was sure it was a symbol of the cênters. But all of Amari’s threads were only cobalt blue. If I looked at Nehanda’s, I’m sure I’d see only emerald greens. Where were the purples? The golds? The tangerines?
“Mama Agba.” I turn to face her. Even in my head, the question waiting on my lips sounds ridiculous. But I don’t know how to account for the colors of light I haven’t seen. “Is it possible to combine different magic?”
“Well, the very nature of the cênters—”
“Not like that,” I interrupt. “Is it possible to combine different types of magic? The magic of people not in the same clan?”
Mama Agba’s eyes go wide and she steps back, brows creasing in thought. “Why do you ask?”
“In my ìsípayá, I saw different colors. I saw purples mixing with golds. It was a rainbow of color,” I explain. “A rainbow of power.”
“I see.” Mama Agba purses her lips. “Combining the same magic is rare enough, but to mix different magics … to my knowledge, it has only been done once before. It is the very reason Orïsha has majacite at all.”
My mouth falls slack as Mama Agba tells me the tale of the Grounder and Cancer who combined their magic, a connection so powerful and explosive it created majacite deposits throughout the land.
“The two maji were killed on impact,” Mama Agba explains. “But we still feel the effect of their connection today. The deposits they created are what the monarchy have mined for over a century.”
“Could it happen again?” I ask.
“In theory.” Mama Agba shakes her head. “If a connection like that could be sustained, if its wielders could survive, there is no telling what could happen. A Grounder and a Burner could raise volcanoes from the earth. A Reaper and a Healer might even be able to raise the dead.”
I nod, thinking of the potential at hand. A power like that is difficult to comprehend. It feels even mightier than the gods.
“But Zélie, to go that route—”
“I know,” I assure her. “It’s still not the plan.”
A gentle chatter rises from below as the maji leave their dormitories, and Mama Agba and I move to my balcony. I watch as groups traverse the stone bridge to the third mountain, crossing over the natural baths to meet at their clan temples.
Mâzeli leads Bimpe and Mári, his large ears easy to spot in the crowd. Mama Agba smiles as we look down on them. She rubs her hand up and down my arm.
“Do you still remember your ìsípayá?” I ask, and Mama Agba exhales. A soft smile settles on her face, so bright it lights the room.
“I peeked into the beyond,” Mama Agba breathes. “I kneeled on the mountaintop. Sky Mother welcomed me with open arms.”
“It sounds beautiful,” I whisper.
“It was.” Mama Agba nods. “It’s been decades, but I can still remember that special warmth. That love.”
Mama Agba straightens my collar and removes my headwrap, shaking out my coils before leading me out the door.
“You are the person your Reapers need, Elder Zélie. The only person you need to prove it to is yourself.”
* * *
BY THE TIME I make my way to the third mountain, most clans are hard at work. With the exception of the Reapers, every other clan has at least a dozen maji who can fight.
The maji gather in front of their clan temples, training while divîners watch. As I pass them on my way to the Reaper tower at the top of the mountain, the little confidence Mama Agba instilled in me begins to melt.
“Not like that,” Na’imah instructs, shaking her head so hard that a shower of orange flower petals fall from her curls. Dragonflies orbit her head as she repositions a maji’s hands around her cheetanaire’s temples. “Feel the connection before you begin the incantation.”
The Tamer nods and closes his eyes, face stern with concentration.
Small monkeys skitter across his back as he chants, some hanging from his neck and ears.
“Èdá inú egàn, yá mi ní ojú rẹ—”
A soft pink light ignites behind the Tamer’s eyelids, growing in strength. When he opens his eyes, the cheetanaire does as well. The same pink light fills the ryder’s thin irises.
The Tamer’s mouth hangs open as he gazes at the world through the cheetanaire’s eyes. It’s like their heads are controlled by the same source. The two even blink in unison.
On the ledge above them, Folake leads a demonstration for the Lighters, her long white locs tied back. She stretches out her slender fingers, gathering something I can’t see.
“The trick is to feel the light like something you can hold in the palms of your hands. Once you can feel it, the incantation is easy. Ìbòrí òkùnkùn!”
Folake claps her hands together and in the blink of an eye, darkness descends over the Lighter Temple. She summons a blackness deeper than any I’ve ever experienced, like all the stars were plucked from a moonless night.
The blackout lasts only an instant, but when light reappears, every maji’s eyes are open wide.
That was amazing, I shake my head. I hope I can be half as good.
“Reapers ready!” Mâzeli’s high-pitched voice travels beyond the engraved stone of the Reaper Temple. He stands before our clan in the grassy terrain out back, making Bimpe and Mári chant in harmony.
“Ẹmí àwọn tí ó ti sùn—”
“Ẹmí àwọn tí ó ti sùn!”
“Mo ké pè yin ní òní—”
“Mo ké pè yin ní òní!”
My chest flutters with awe as my Reapers conjure animations in unison. Though each spirit holds a unique shape, the animations rise as one, blooming from the grass like a garden of calla lilies.
“Hold them steady,” Mâzeli calls. “Maintain size!”
Mári’s animation falls apart while Bimpe’s grows large, but the way they work together reminds me of the Reapers I knew before the Raid.
“Jagunjagun!” Mâzeli’s face lights when he spots me leaning against the temple. He drops to both knees, bowing as if I were the queen.
“What are we going to learn today?” he asks. “Soul ripping? Spirit tethers? What about—ow!” Mâzeli cries out when Mári punches his arm.
“Shut your mouth and let her answer!” she hisses.
“Mári, I’m your Second! You can’t hit me here!”
Bimpe giggles and I smile, remembering the laughter that would echo in Mama Agba’s ahéré. Though real problems awaited us outside her woven reed walls, she still allowed us to have fun.
Listening to my Reapers now, I realize that this training doesn’t have to be about the war. For once, we can celebrate our magic by practicing the incantations that have been passed on through generations. We can bask in the Reapers’ return.
“Today we’re going to learn an ancient and powerful technique.” I hand Mâzeli the scroll I’ve selected.
“Òjìjí ikú?” Mâzeli’s brows rise as he reads. “Shadows of death?”
“You can already conjure animations.” I nod. “This technique will allow you to strengthen that skill while building another.”
I step forward and cast in my head, bringing an animation to life with just a wave of my hand. As the spirit rises from the dirt, I remember training alone in the desert, trying to create an animation for the first time. A few moons ago I couldn’t even move one grain of sand.
“Creating shadows is just like creating animations. But instead of channeling a spirit into the nearest element, you wield it in its raw form. The shadows can take any shape, but the more complicated the vessel, the harder it is to mold.”
“Stories say your shadows are powerful enough to turn entire armies to ash.” Mári’s words make every Reaper light up, but the memory of wielding Baba’s spirit makes a pit open up in my chest. When he tore through my blood, the shadows that exploded from my skin were more than powerful. They were death incarnate.
“What I did at the ritual was fueled by the connection I had with my father,” I explain. “My magic was amplified from the sacred grounds and centennial solstice. It’d be difficult to wield that kind of strength again.”
“Can you try?” Mâzeli asks, a request the others echo. They all stare at me with hungry eyes. I know they’ll need a demonstration.
I brace myself for the memories of Baba that’ll hit with this incantation, but as I prepare to chant, the sun finally rises over our temple. As the rays and shadows move over the mountaintop, I’m reminded of the last time Mama used this incantation. It was years ago, back when I still lived in Ibadan.
Tzain dared me to climb a mountaintop and Mama screamed when I leapt from a cliff. Who knows what would’ve happened if she hadn’t conjured the shadows of death that carried me down into one of Ibadan’s ice cold lakes.
A smile comes to my face as I walk to the front of our temple. Just ahead lies the perfect cliff. It juts out over the waterfall baths meters below.
“Pay attention!” I shout before I take off, sprinting for the ledge. The others yell after me as I run. I lift my head to the whipping winds.
A freedom I haven’t felt since I was a girl wraps around me, propelling me on. Magic rises like a wave preparing to crest. With a final step, I leap from the ledge.
“Èmí òkú, gba ààyé nínú mi—”
My incantation falls away in the rush of air and I spread out every limb. For a moment, I get to soar.
“Jáde nínú àwon òjìjí re—”
As the water rushes toward me, it’s like I’m six years old again. Baba and Mama are still alive.
No one I love ever has to die.
“Yí padà láti owó mi!”
The final words of the incantation make the air ripple around me. Spirits of the dead explode from my back. The purple auras of the shadows are so dark, they’re almost black.
The shadows writhe through the air like sparks, coming together as my mold takes form. The cold spirits spread across my back and wrap around my arms, creating a glider that cuts through the sky.
Laughter erupts from deep inside me as I soar. For an instant, I rise above all my pain. I feel the freedom I’ve craved.
I soar until I land on the waterfall’s bank with a lurch. The shadows disappear in wisps of smoke. I turn to find every Reaper cheering from the cliff, joined by other maji who observed the feat.
“Alright.” I point up at Mâzeli. “Let’s see if you fly or make a splash.”
His face falls as he looks at the water. “But I can’t swim!”
My grin turns mischievous and I shrug.
“Then the greatest Reaper who ever lived better get it right on the first try.”
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
AMARI
I BREATHE A sigh of relief when the twinkling dinner chimes ring. After a week of training, I expected the ice to melt between me and the other Connectors, but if anything, it’s only thickened. I lift my chin as the maji stop mid-incantation, gathering their things to make their way down the mountain.
“We start at sunrise tomorrow,” I call at their backs.
No one even turns around.
A sour taste settles on my tongue as I clean up the scrolls, revealing the ceramic tiles that create a Connector baaji on the floor. It doesn’t matter what I do; as long as Ramaya lies in the infirmary, I’m still the enemy. If I wasn’t a cênter, they might even attack me in her name. Every time someone masters another incantation, I half expect them to “slip” and throw it in my direction.
Focus, Amari.
I attempt to shake the stench of disapproval as I close the door to the Connector Temple. I unravel the cobalt scroll in my hand, struggling to piece together the sênbaría transcribed inside.
“Èmí ni mò nwá,” I whisper the Yoruba. “Jé kí èmí re ṣi sí mi.”
My fingers spark with blue light as I close my eyes, trying to make the incantation come to life. When I first d
iscovered the scroll to create a dreamscape a few days ago, I nearly tossed it aside. I didn’t realize what I held.
I was searching for incantations that would help the Connectors in battle. The ability to create a special plane and meld with someone else’s mind wasn’t something we could use. But as I pondered the incantation, I realized the gods had given me exactly what I needed.
If I can create my own dreamscape, I can make contact with Inan without anyone finding out. We can finally talk without our armies at our backs and evaluate our chances for peace.
“Èmí ni mò nwá, jé kí èmí re ṣi sí mi,” I repeat. “Èmí ni mò nwá, jé kí èmí re ṣi sí mi!”
I try to picture the space in my mind, to push my magic through my hands once more. But even in the silence of the Connector Temple, the incantation won’t take. I throw my head back in frustration. I don’t know what I’m doing wrong. The other incantations have been difficult to master, but no matter how many times I try to cast this one, it never comes.
Every day that goes by is another day the monarchy could attack. A day the Iyika could decide to march on Lagos. If I’m going to figure this out in time to stop this war, I can’t do it alone.
I need Zélie’s help.
“Skies.” I struggle to swallow as I roll up the scroll. Despite our differences, Zélie’s helped me learn the Yoruba I needed to train the Connectors. By this point, I’ve taken dozens of scrolls to her for assistance.
But if she figures out why I want to learn this one …
I shake my head and exhale as I walk out the temple’s navy door. I just need help with an incantation.
That’s all she needs to know.
“Watch out!”
I throw myself back as Mâzeli zips past. His large ears practically flap in the wind. The end of an incantation flies from his lips as he leaps from the nearest cliff.
“Yí padà láti owó mi!”
A lavender cloud erupts from his back, engulfing him as he falls. He screams with delight as the cloud begins to solidify, forming wings around his arms.
