by Tomi Adeyemi
My chest rises and falls in the echo of his words. I think of Mâzeli’s triumphant smile. The hunger in Mári’s eyes. I imagine all the other Reapers I don’t even know outside the sanctuary walls, just waiting to be a part of a clan again.
“Please.” Amari lowers her hands. “At least allow the elders to read his treaty. That’s all I ask.”
I look back at Inan; to my hand against his chest. His heartbeat reverberates through my bones and I remember the times when that same pulse used to remind me of the tides. Of safety. Of home.
I exhale a deep breath and close my eyes, lowering my hands. The tears I’ve been holding inside break free as I step back.
“You’re doing the right thing.” Amari moves to embrace me, but I hold up my hand.
“I’m not letting either one of you past me until I see that treaty.”
Inan’s mouth falls slack, but he nods, reaching into the leather pack on his back. As he pulls out the parchment, something lifts in my chest.
For so long I’ve wanted to fight. To make him pay for everything he’s done. But somehow giving in feels right. Every chain around my heart starts to lift.
If this peace is real … if it allows me and my Reapers to be free …
Gods.
That would be everything.
“Here.” Inan hands me the parchment, and I start to read. I feel him and Amari holding their breath as I comb over the words.
“It won’t be enough to convince the others,” I say. “But it’ll be enough to bring you to the tab—”
A horn blares, catching me off guard. I whip around as it rises in pitch, ringing from the direction of the sanctuary.
“What’s that?” Amari turns around and Inan’s brows crease.
“I don’t know…” his voice trails off. “I swear, I came alone!”
Shadows extend from my arm, weaving around a branch above me. I let them raise me up through the trees, up through the canopy. I pray the alarm isn’t what I fear.
But as I rise, I see it: the black and gold of Nehanda’s seal. Over a hundred velvet banners flutter in the jungle winds, marking an endless line of military caravans.
An ice I haven’t felt since the night of the Raid chills me from my core.
The enemy’s at our gates.
The war has come to us.
CHAPTER FIFTY
AMARI
“YOU MONSTER!” ZÉLIE SHRIEKS as she unwinds her shadows and descends back to the ground. She lunges with her staff for Inan, but stops when the Iyika siren blares again. Her face falls as she turns around. She flees through the trees. When she disappears, I collapse to my knees.
After saving his life.
After fighting Father on his behalf.
After all the time I’ve spent pleading with Zélie to trust him.
Tears burn my eyes as I curl into myself. I can’t believe he did this to me. To Zélie!
“Amari, I swear.” Inan reaches out. “This wasn’t a part of my plan—”
His voice blacks in and out. I can’t hear him over the sounds of war. Hundreds of creaking wagons speed toward us. A sea of velvet seals flap in the wind. I brought Inan here to make peace with the maji.
Instead he brought our demise.
“You have to believe me!” Inan’s voice shakes. “Only Ojore knew! He promised he wouldn’t tell!”
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.
Zélie’s words return, destroying me from within. I wanted her to be wrong. I thought Inan was the one person in the world I could trust, the only other person who shared the vision of a united Orïsha.
But there’s no denying it now. No lie he can’t tell.
He’s truly Father’s son.
He’s been a monster all along.
“I-I’ll call it off,” Inan shouts over the blaring siren. “Just give me a chance!”
But staring at him is like staring into a void. I feel myself slipping away, losing the person I want to be to the person my family’s forced me to become.
Inan and Mother are just like Father.
Orïsha won’t be free of their tyranny until they both lie in the dirt.
“Amari—”
Inan’s eyes bulge when I open my palm. His heartbeat pulses through my ears. It vibrates through my bones.
Blue wisps of magic leach from his skin as I suck the ashê from his veins. His slowing pulse reverberates through my chest. It would take nothing for me to stop it for good. To drain every essence of his life and never look back.
Strike, Amari.
My breaths hitch as Father’s voice fills my head. I think of standing across from Inan in the palace cellar all those years ago. I held back and I got hurt.
I always get hurt.
Tîtán soldiers appear on the hilltop above, running through the jungle trees. I count almost three dozen among the first wave. More caravans pulled by panthenaires ride in behind them.
But the closer they get, the more heartbeats bleed into my ears. I feel the ashê of other Connector tîtáns like the rising heat of a flame. My power builds as I start to pull the lifeforce from their veins, too.
“We’re done.” I reach forward, putting my hand over my brother’s chest. More magic feeds into my hands, charging me up as the first wave of tîtáns descend down the hill.
“You’re not my brother anymore,” I speak through my teeth. “You’re dead to me.”
Tears stream down my face as I throw his shaking body to the ground. The ashê of other tîtáns rumbles within me as I lift my hands.
When the first soldiers attack, my heartbreak strikes them in an endless blue wave.
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
ZÉLIE
HOW COULD HE?
I hate myself for even asking the question. Twigs and vines scrape my skin as I sprint back to the sanctuary. My throat burns with hoarse breaths.
I think of the look in Inan’s eyes. The tenderness embedded in his words. He’s gotten so good.
It’s as if he believed his lies himself.
And Amari …
I can’t deal with her betrayal now. Even as I run, the rumbling caravans gain ground. Three dozen soldiers ride in on panthenaires. Though they’re still a kilometer out from the mountain barricading the sanctuary, I can’t let the military get close. If Nehanda’s with them, she’ll bring the entire mountain down. The sanctuary and the Iyika will be buried in the rubble.
“Jagunjagun!” Mâzeli calls out to me from the line of Reapers that stand half a kilometer from the sanctuary. As I charge closer, I can see the terror shining through their brown eyes. For their sake, I try to look calm.
“What do we do?” Bimpe asks. “No one from the sanctuary has made it out yet!”
I want to tell them to run, but we can’t just protect ourselves. All the elders are still behind that mountain. Right now, we’re all the Iyika have.
“Mári, summon the elders,” I command. “We need every maji who can fight to mount our defense. Bimpe and Mâzeli, stay close.” I point to my Reapers as Mári disappears through the trees. “It’s up to us to fend off the first wave.”
I don’t know where my calm comes from, but I don’t question its source. Mári and Bimpe fall in line as we turn back, facing the scourge of charging soldiers. Dozens of them wear golden armor, the ashê of their different powers blazing around their gauntlets. I see the reds of their Burners; the oranges of their Cancers. I even see tîtáns who glow with Reaper lavenders.
“Focus,” I shout when we enter the caravan’s path. “Everyone circle up! Prepare to unleash the shadows of death!”
“Oya, bò w3n,” I pray under my breath. “Protect them.”
My jaw clenches as we spread out along the dirt trail, three Reapers strong. I close my eyes and breathe deep, sensing when my Reapers do the same.
“Èmí òkú, gba ààyé nínú mi. Jáde nínú àwon òjìjí r
e—”
My body warms as the shadows swirl around me, twisting like ribbons of light. Different spirits circle my Reapers when they follow suit, their ashê fusing with mine.
“Yí padà láti owó mi!”
Our shadows bleed together like mixing paints, deep purples turning black with raw power. Our voices rise as the shadows take shape, condensing until they funnel into one giant arrowhead. With the final words of our incantation, we unleash our attack. The arrowhead shoots forward, a rush of wind blowing around us as it twists through the air.
“Look out!” a tîtán shouts. Time seems to slow as the caravan speeds toward us. Sound muffles to a low hum.
The first wagon skids to avoid the attack, sliding off the dirt trail as our shadows swarm. But the soldiers crouched inside don’t stand a chance. The moment they meet our shadows of death, they crumble into ash.
I hear the beginning of screams, but the cries of agony wither into nothing. Our shadows cut through their path, taking out three transports in one blow.
“Zélie, look!” Mâzeli points behind us as more maji run into the fight. The sight of them spurs me on. Together, we can defend the sanctuary.
Though my chest heaves up and down, I charge down the warpath.
“Come on!” I shout at my Reapers. “Let’s do it again!”
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
INAN
“STOP THE ATTACK!”
Though I shout, my voice is little more than a hoarse whisper. My head spins from Amari’s attack. I can barely stand.
As I stumble through the jungle, the world around me descends into a battlefield. Maji flee from their base in droves as my forces continue their attack.
“Wipe the rebels out!” a lieutenant shouts, sending another line of wagons speeding down the dirt trail.
A burly maji with a metal leg slaps his hands to the ground. Other maji in matching green armor follow his lead.
“Odi àwọn òrìṣà—”
Their magic seeps into the earth. Towering walls of dirt shoot into the air, hardening into stone. The wagons try to skid out of the way, but they’re not fast enough. Wood and metal fly as the transports crash and explode.
Skies!
I take cover, bracing myself against a tree. Majacite gas leaks into the air, but a twisting cyclone from the Iyika’s maji blows it all back.
Though my soldiers lead the charge, the maji overpower their every maneuver. This isn’t working.
Whoever mounted this attack is losing.
“Inan!”
Ojore’s voice is a lifeline and a curse. He runs to me through the madness, wrapping my arm around his shoulder. Troops cover our tracks as a Tamer runs forward, a large girl with sunflowers in her curls. Clouds of pink magic fly from her hands, turning our ryders rabid.
Soldiers scream as they’re flung from their panthenaires’ backs. The ryders foam at the mouth. I look away when a rabid panthenaire sinks its fangs into its soldier’s throat.
“How could you do this?” I shout. “I gave you a command!”
“I didn’t have a choice!” Ojore pulls me forward. “I couldn’t lie to your mother!”
“Mother ordered this?” My hands fall limp as realization takes hold.
“She said Amari would kill you the moment you met. She ordered us to save you from this trap—”
BOOM!
One of our wagons collides with a blinding gust of fire. The force of the blast knocks us to the ground.
“Get the king to safety!” Ojore orders as another round of soldiers descends. A tîtán lifts me onto a ryder, steering me away from the battle.
As we ride away from the front, I want to scream to call off the attack, but I know I can’t now that the battle’s begun. The Iyika hit us with everything they have. Even fighting at our strongest, we’ll never be able to break through their defense.
This is the end.
I clutch my chest as we flee. At this rate, we’re going to lose the war. All of Orïsha will burn.
A few kilometers away, Mother flags us down. She flings her arms around me when I dismount and squeezes me tight.
“Thank goodness you’re alright!”
“I wasn’t in danger until you attacked!” I pull away from her hug. “We need to retreat now! Or else we’re going to lose this war!”
“Don’t worry.” Mother points to another transport in the distance. “Jokôye’s forces are coming in. The Iyika end today.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
ZÉLIE
“ÈMÍ ÒKÚ, GBA ààyé nínú mi—”
My throat scratches raw as magic rattles from my core. Shadows twist from my hands like snakes, lunging toward the ten soldiers who charge. They go down in one wave, shadows binding them to the jungle’s mammoth trees. Mâzeli follows with an incantation of his own, raising a giant animation that knocks a dozen more tîtáns unconscious.
“We’re doing it!” he shouts, smile stretching between his large ears. Across the way, Nâo and her Tiders drag five tîtáns into the gushing river along the sanctuary’s trail. They create a whirlpool that drags the soldiers under the water’s surface, drowning them as they spin.
Mâzeli and I pivot, preparing to cast again. Then the monarchy’s horn blares.
Ha-woooooooooo!
The siren echoes through the rolling valleys, a blare that sounds like death. As the approaching troops come to a stop, the remaining soldiers fall back.
“They’re retreating!” Kenyon punches his hands up, shooting a stream of fire into the air. The rest of the maji cheer as the soldiers flee, abandoning their caravans and majacite bombs.
I grab onto a tree root and lift myself up, climbing higher to watch them run. I look past the maji and wreckage in my path, searching through the dense greens of the jungle. I’m ten meters off the ground when I feel it—the vibration building in the air.
My stomach clenches as I turn, peering into the distance. A single cart rides down the dirt path four kilometers away, pulled by three snow leopanaires. Two dozen soldiers stand on the wooden transport, arms clasped behind their backs. The general we faced in Chândomblé’s halls stands in front of them, thick braid falling to her waist.
Though each soldier wears golden tîtán armor, my tattoos hum at the sight of the general. When she and her tîtáns ride past the monarchy’s retreating soldiers, it all makes sense.
The enemy’s not running away from us.
They’re running away from them.
“Retreat!” I scream. “Get back to the sanctuary!”
The Iyika meet me with confused stares as the tîtáns stop their cart a full kilometer away. The soldiers riding on top of it dismount in waves.
“What’s going on?” Mâzeli shouts. I can’t speak when the general raises her hands. At her command, the tîtáns form a circle around her. Her eyes glow with silver light as she opens her palms.
“She’s a cênter!” I yell. “She’s harnessing the wind!”
The vibration in the air transforms to a violent shake. The wind sucks everything forward, pulling at my clothes and the dirt and the leaves.
Chaos descends as everyone scrambles back toward the sanctuary. Paws thunder all around us as wild ryders gallop, trying to escape the general’s attack. Na’imah uses an incantation to freeze a pack of wild tigenaires fleeing from the north, stopping them until the elders and maji can climb on.
“Go!” I shove Bimpe up the beast’s striped coat. I try to shout more instructions, but the whipping air swallows my voice. In seconds, I can’t even hear myself breathe.
A new terror grips my chest as I spur Bimpe’s tigenaire forward before motioning for Mâzeli to take cover. I can’t believe my eyes when I see the blade the cênter forms out of the sky.
The attack is unlike anything I’ve ever seen. Anything I knew could exist in this world.
The blade of air hurtles toward us, a massive scythe ripping through the sky.
It’s as if she flings a twisting tornado at us like a boomer
ang. The howling storm shakes the air as it twists toward us.
The blade of air tears up the earth beneath it as it flies. The dense jungle clears away. The air turns heavy in its presence. I lunge for Mâzeli as it nears the forest.
“Get down!”
Sound returns when the blade hits the first mammoth tree in its path. The world explodes around us, a whirlwind of splintered bark and clouds of debris. We crawl under the web of thick roots as massive trees rain from above. I can’t see beyond the cyclone of dirt. I can’t hear beyond the howling winds.
How is she doing this? My body shakes as I try to protect Mâzeli. I know cênters can absorb the magic of tîtáns around them, but this magnitude is beyond comprehension.
Giant trees lie ripped from their roots. The damaged wagons that littered the dirt path are blown to smithereens. The jungle is completely unrecognizable. A whole kilometer of land lies in ruins.
Mâzeli trembles in my arms as the wind abates with a vicious hiss. Only a quiet breeze blows through the destruction, passing over the thin stretch of battered land that lies between us and the tîtáns. It won’t be enough to shield us if the cênter can strike again. For all our scrolls and training, we can’t face this kind of power. The cênter doesn’t fight with the magic of mortals.
She fights with the might of a god.
“Is it over?” he asks.
“I don’t know.” From afar, I see the dozen tîtáns she drained for her first attack lying on the ground, their skin wrinkled and their cheeks hollow. They all lie around their general in a ring of death, skeletons protruding from their sunken forms.
But despite the fate that awaits them, a new wave of tîtáns circle around their general. The general loads them up like ammunition, preparing to absorb their magic.
“One more hit and she’ll blow through the sanctuary’s walls!” Mâzeli’s eyes bulge. “We have to take her out!”
