Children of Virtue and Vengeance

by Tomi Adeyemi

  “I’m doing it!” Mâzeli stretches out his hands in triumph as he nears the landing at the waterfall’s bank. But right as he’s about land, the cloud disappears. He claws at the air before hitting the water with a loud splash.

  “Dammit!” Mâzeli breaks through the surface, glaring at all who laugh. He slaps the water with his hands. “I don’t understand. There were wings that time, I saw them!”

  “More like feathers than wings!” Mári calls out as she glides down on shadows from the ledge above him, a triumphant smile on her young face. She wields her shadows with a particular finesse, practically floating to the ground.

  “Mári, hush.” Zélie walks into the water, beckoning for her Reapers to follow after her. “You’re close, Mâzeli, but your ojiji are still too soft. Your shadows are light because the spirits are struggling to keep form.”

  I watch from my perch on the ledge above as the three Reapers form a circle around Zélie despite the setting sun. The two of us wear the same collar, but Zélie’s seems to fit like a second skin. With the way her golden tattoos shimmer beneath the rippling water, I am far from the only person who stares. What I wouldn’t give to have just one maji look at me that way.

  “Amari!” Zélie catches my eye, waving at me from below. I force a smile as she sends her Reapers ahead. “How’d today’s training go?”

  “Better,” I lie. “But I need your help. I was thinking of teaching this incantation tomorrow. Could you help me with the words?”

  I walk down to the bottom of the ledge and hand Zélie the scroll when she exits the water, but her smile fades as she reads the sênbaría. “You want to teach them about the dreamscapes?”

  “You say it like you’ve heard of that before.”

  “I have.” Her gaze grows distant. I’m surprised at the way her face softens. “Your brother took me into one a few times. I never knew if it existed in his mind or mine.”

  “How did he get you there?” I lean in. “Could you summon it as well?”

  Zélie starts to answer my question, but stops, pulling the scroll to her chest. “Why this incantation? What use will it be when we march on Lagos?”

  My ears heat as I scramble for a lie.

  “For gods’ sakes.” Zélie shakes her head. “Tell me you’re not this stupid!”

  “How is it stupid to want to contact my brother?” I ask. “To explore the possibility of peace? I know you hate him, but Inan saved your life—”

  “It’s what he does,” Zélie snarls. “He’ll do the right thing when it’s easy, but when it matters most, he’ll stab you in the back! You can’t trust him, Amari. All he leaves us with are scars!”

  “Is this because you don’t trust him, or because you don’t want to be honest with yourself?”

  Zélie’s eyes flash and she stiffens. “You’d better choose your words with care.”

  “You keep pretending all you want is to kill my brother, but I saw the way you two looked at each other at Chândomblé. I know there’s more in your heart than rage!” I point at her chest. “If you want to lie to yourself about how you really feel, fine. But if you damn us to this warpath, you’re putting innocent lives on the line!”

  I reach for the incantation, but Zélie pushes me back. As I stumble, she throws the scroll in the natural baths, stomping it out with her foot.

  “Stop!” I scream, running into the water. I try to rip the scroll from her foot, but I only rip it in half. Ancient ink bleeds into the water as I fumble with the fraying parchment. My hands shake as I look back up at her. “What’s wrong with you? That incantation could’ve ended this war!”

  “You said it yourself,” Zélie pants, walking back to the bank. “In the hands of an enemy, those scrolls are a weapon. Don’t try to communicate with your brother again.”

  Blue wisps of magic spark at my fingertips, burning my skin. How dare she do this to me? How dare she give me a command?

  “I’m starting to think the reason you don’t want peace is because you’re getting used to the idea of taking my throne,” I spit.

  Zélie stops in her tracks. The muscles tense in her back. I watch as her fingers clench, but she doesn’t turn around.

  “Get back to training,” she says through her teeth. “I don’t want to hear about this again.”

  She steps onto the stone bridge, abandoning me for the second mountain. I don’t understand why she can’t see beyond her rage. Why don’t any of the Iyika realize this is what’s best?

  My throat closes up as I reach down, attempting to salvage the soaked pieces of the scroll.

  “Do you need a hand, Elder Amari?”

  I look to the bank—Mama Agba greets me with a sad smile on her face. The tears I try to fight threaten to break free, so I stare at the rippling water until they disappear.

  “Why is everyone fighting against me?” I shake my head.

  “Come, child.” Mama Agba waves me forward. “I may be able to help you understand.”

  * * *

  I’M STILL SHAKING with anger as we make our way into the gardens on the first mountain. Mama Agba rubs her hand up and down my arm, forcing me to exhale.

  “Breathe, child.”

  I take a deep breath as Mama Agba leads me through the entryway of the gardens. Located at the top of the main tower, they shine with a wild beauty, banana leaves in perfect harmony with the sunset blossoms hanging over our heads.

  “Just ahead.” Mama Agba gestures to a weathered bench in the back ravaged by vegetation. “That one has always been my favorite. The moss forms an excellent cushion.”

  As we walk the lanternlit path, I think of how the broken stone and unkempt greenery are so different from the manicured lawns of the palace. Overgrown vines weave themselves around the surrounding stone fixtures, creating natural tapestries around the old benches and cracked gazebos. They’re nothing like the royal gardens where only the most perfect carnations were allowed to grow. Like everything else in the palace, they were strangled. Controlled.

  “I used to sit here all the time.” Mama Agba sinks into the moss as if it were a luxurious bath. “The temples were created for meditation, but somehow I always found the greatest peace right here.”

  I wait for her to release whatever scolding she must be holding back, but she allows the chorus of jungle cicadas to ring out in our silence. As it stretches, I realize she’s not waiting to speak. She’s waiting to listen.

  I open my mouth, but it’s hard to find the right words. It feels like I’m always fighting to be heard. I don’t remember the last time I was able to have a simple conversation about this war.

  “Is it wrong to fight for peace?” I ask.

  “I think life is more complicated than right and wrong,” Mama Agba answers. “I think you will never obtain peace trying to prove either one.”

  I sink back down and stare out at the gardens. Across from us, two Tiders sit in a stone gazebo. One kneels while the other uses a knife to shave her head. As thick tufts of white hair fall to the gazebo floor, I realize the girl’s motivation. She’s shaving her head to match Nâo’s. She respects her elder so much, she wants to mirror her.

  “I know my brother has made mistakes,” I say. “More mistakes than most. But no one will ever understand what it was like to grow up with my father. Inan bore the brunt of his torture.”

  “You empathize with him?” Mama Agba asks.

  “I understand him. All he’s ever wanted was to be a great king. Even when he’s wrong, he thinks he’s fighting for the right thing.” I pick at the moss beneath my arm and sigh. “I know if we talk, we can reach an agreement. We both want what’s best for Orïsha. It’s Zélie and the Iyika who refuse to listen.”

  Mama Agba purses her lips and I bite my tongue.

  “I’ve gone too far?” I ask.

  “I do not think you’ve gone far enough,” she says. “You speak of this war as if it is the start, but the maji and the monarchy have been fighting for decades. Centuries. Both sides have inflicte
d great pain on each other. Both sides are filled with mistrust.” Mama Agba runs her fingers along her wooden staff and closes her eyes. “You cannot blame Zélie for her actions any more than you can blame Inan for his past mistakes. You have to look beyond the surface if you truly want to achieve the peace you seek.”

  I nod slowly, meditating on Mama Agba’s words. Though my anger toward Zélie fades, my desire to get into the dreamscape only grows. If the monarchy and the maji have been at war for centuries, this could be our only chance to end this fight for good. But how can I broker peace between both sides when every attempt I make gets struck down?

  “Do you know the meaning of your name?” Mama Agba asks.

  “My name doesn’t mean anything.”

  “Every name means something, child. Yours means ‘possesses great strength.’” Mama Agba smiles, the skin crinkling at the corners of her large eyes. “A few moons ago you were a scared princess on the run. Now you’re an elder leading the maji through war. A queen poised to take her throne.”

  Her words force me to think of everything I’ve done, how far I’ve truly come. I thought victory would only be achieved once I sat on Orïsha’s throne, but I suppose there is another victory in what I’ve already become.

  “This all started the moment you stole that scroll. It was your courageous actions that brought us here at all. I know it’s difficult, but give it time. If anyone can bring about peace, I know it is you.”

  She cups my chin and looks at me with such a warmth, I can’t help but smile. I don’t know when it happened or why, but I feel genuine love in her eyes.

  “Thank you,” I whisper.

  “Thank you is unnecessary.” She pulls me into a hug. “Your courage has given so much back to me. I am as grateful to you as I am to Zélie.”

  She rises to her feet and I move to join her, but she sits me back down.

  “When I was younger, this was the best place in the sanctuary for me to explore the extent of my powers. It may help you, too.”

  “But I don’t have an incantation.” I scrunch my brows. “Zélie destroyed it.”

  “You’re a cênter, Amari. For better or worse, you’re not bound by incantations. You share a special connection with your brother. Clear your mind and focus on that.”

  I smile as she walks off. Her advice lifts a weight from my shoulders that I should have never tried to carry at all. I’m not a maji, and I never will be. I need to stop playing by their rules. Their incantations, their restrictions—they don’t apply to me.

  I stare at my hands, remembering the thrill that ran through me when I summoned my cênter powers and took Mother down in Chândomblé’s halls. That moment was the best I’ve felt in moons.

  The most I’ve felt like myself.

  My skin stings as I call on my power, focusing on my core. Though no tîtáns are around to fuel my magic, I can feel it swelling from a different source.

  Come on, Inan. I think of him as a faint blue light ignites in my chest. I need you now more than ever. We’re the only ones who can end this.

  As sunset turns to night, I settle on the bench, reaching for my brother in the dark. I don’t know if this will work, but I won’t give up.

  I’ll stay here for an eternity if it means I can finally end this war.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  INAN

  THOUGH I GRAB the polished table of the war room, the world keeps slipping away. The advisors’ faces blur around me. Mother’s whispers drown under the ringing in my ears.

  Reality slips from my hands like a dream coming to an end. I attempt to keep the confusion from my face as I hear the voice again.

  Inan—

  “Pay attention.” Mother nudges me, forcing me to sit up straight. I blink as I focus on Jokôye’s presentation, a report of all her progress. Though she’s never been one for smiles, a new venom has seeped into her words since our return from Chândomblé. She still struggles to move around the room with the iron brace around her leg.

  “I’ve been training my tîtáns,” Jokôye says. “All day. All night. The next time we face the Iyika, we’ll be ready for their games. We’ll annihilate those traitors where they stand.”

  She speaks the words I need to hear, yet they still make my fingers cold. Every day we get closer to the bloodbath I desperately want to avoid.

  “Have you located their base?” I ask.

  “We’re getting closer.” Jokôye marks a new oval on the map, zeroing in on the Iyika’s supposed location. “We tend to lose contact with our scouts once they enter this zone. But as we speak, my soldiers are finding new ways to scour the location. Our forces in Oron have been training a few tîtán Seers. When they have better control over their abilities, they may be able to give us the answers we need.”

  Once they do …

  I rub my thumb over the cheetanaire engraved onto the bronze piece. There’ll be no delaying Jokôye’s forces. We’ll throw everything we have at that attack.

  “Continue training your tîtáns and bolstering Lagos’s defenses,” I command. “Notify me immediately if there’s any more information on their location. Otherwise, you are dismissed.”

  Everyone rises, bowing before they exit through the door. Mother puts a hand on my shoulder.

  “Get some rest,” she whispers. “You look awful.”

  I nod, placing my hand over her own. Even as we speak, the world starts to blur again. That strange voice tickles my ear.

  Inan, I need you.…

  My lids start to close when Mother walks away. But then I feel a new presence at my back.

  “She’s right,” the presence speaks. “You look like dung.”

  My body tenses at Ojore’s dig. We haven’t been alone since we returned from Chândomblé, since I stopped him from attacking Zélie with my blade.

  I even sent him to oversee a special construction effort on Ilorin’s coast just to avoid this conversation. I thought I had a few more days until his return. I still don’t know what to say.

  “You’re back.” I lift my hands.

  “I am.” Ojore nods. “Your soldiers are hard at work. Construction should be complete by moon’s end.”

  “That’s good to hear.” I turn back to the table, sifting through the endless parchments. “There’s another effort that needs your attention up north—”

  “Are you going to send me all over Orïsha before you’re man enough to talk?”

  My cheeks burn and I clench the scroll in my hand. I don’t know how to respond. Ojore closes the war-room doors before sinking into the seat beside me.

  “Did you really think you could avoid facing me?” He tilts his head. “All this time I thought you were hesitating because of your sister. Family, I can understand. But a maji? The Soldier of Death?”

  I wrap my fingers around the bronze piece, wishing I had a good answer. How can I explain something to him that I barely understand myself?

  Even as he speaks Zélie’s terrifying title, I long for the scent of her soul. She could’ve killed me in that moment, but she didn’t. She held back despite all I’ve done.

  “Before magic came back, that girl was in my way,” I explain. “I wanted to kill her. I tried. But when I got the chance…” My chest falls as I recall that fateful moment in the forest after our siblings were taken. When my magic surged beyond my control, I saw every part of Zélie. I still remember the bitter taste of her terror. The warmth in her soul.

  “She taught me that there are more sides to every story,” I say. “She made me want to be a better king.”

  Ojore and I lock eyes and I feel the growing distance between us. Staring at the scars on his neck, I know he won’t understand. He wasn’t taught to fear the maji like me. They burned him themselves.

  He presses a fist to his lips as we stare at the war-room map. But as we sit, the low ringing builds in my ears again. I grip the table when the world around me starts to blur.

  “I know you’re not your father,” Ojore sighs. “I respect
that you’re trying to be a better man. But not everyone can be saved. You have to stop looking at these maji like they’re the ones who need protecting.”

  I reach into my pocket and squeeze the bronze piece. “You sound like Mother.”

  “Well, like your mother, I have a vested interest in keeping you alive,” he says. “On the battlefield, Amari’s not your sister. This girl isn’t someone you can love.” Ojore rises from his seat and pats me on the back. “They’re your enemies, Inan. They’re the soldiers on the other side of this war. When we face them, blood will spill. Don’t let it be yours.”

  He closes the door behind him and I rest my head on the table. I don’t want him to be right, but he speaks the words I’m too afraid to speak myself.

  For a moment, I long for the days of being a prince. Before magic. Before the throne. I may not have had power then, but things were simple. Now I fear those days will never return.

  Inan …

  The voice tickles my ear, louder now that no one else is here. The bronze piece falls from my palms as my fingers go limp. Sleep wraps its hands around me, pulling me into its blackness.

  When it hits, a cool breath of magic passes over my skin. The world swirls around me as clouds of white float in.

  It feels like I hang suspended in space, feet searching for ground that doesn’t exist. But when I finally find it, I don’t believe my eyes.

  An endless field of blue lilies brushes against my skin.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  AMARI

  “BROTHER?”

  I yearn to say more, but the words don’t come out. I’ve spent so long trying to get to this moment; I didn’t think about what would happen once I was actually here.

  With the rough beginnings of a beard around his jaw and the heavy bags under his eyes, my brother looks far older than his nineteen years. If it weren’t for the streak of white running through his unruly curls, I might even think he looked like Father.