by Tomi Adeyemi
“How? We can’t get close!”
I press my fists to my head when the cênter’s eyes fill with silver light again. The steady hum ripples through the air. The winds begin to howl.
“There’s one thing we can do.” Mâzeli balls his fists, filling his chest with a confidence I know he doesn’t have. I step back, looking at the tattoos along my skin.
The power of that cênter is one we can’t face. But if we wielded that power ourselves …
“It’s too big of a risk.” I shake my head. “The connection could kill us!”
“If we don’t use it, that cênter will kill us! We have to protect the maji, no matter the cost!”
The conviction in his big brown eyes brings a calm to the chaos. He’s right. We don’t have a choice. Our people are behind those walls.
My body warms as the magic of the moonstone stirs in my chest. Mâzeli’s heartbeat starts to bleed into my ears. The violet light of the ashê beneath his skin appears before my eyes.
“Are you ready?”
He nods, lacing his fingers with mine. My tattoos glow with golden light as I whisper the ancient command.
“Ẹ tọnná agbára yin.”
It’s like a bolt of lightning crackling in the space between our palms. Mâzeli grunts as we’re both lifted into the air, chests arcing toward the sky. Violet light shines from our eyes and our mouths. The same particles of light materialize before our hearts.
They stretch forward like ribbons, weaving themselves together as our lifeforces tether together. The air continues to thin, but I feel the power of Oya in our breath.
“It’s coming!” Mâzeli shouts as our feet land back on the ground. The general’s wind swallows all sound in its deafening silence. Trees snap in half as the blade of wind rebuilds. But as the cênter prepares to release her attack, purple light crackles around our hands.
“Ẹmí àwọn tí ó ti sùn—”
Our incantation rings in the absence of sound.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
ZÉLIE
IT STARTS WITH A SHAKE.
A shift beneath the earth.
The first hill explodes as monstrous animations twist from the dirt.
They claw their way out of the ground, each as big as a gorillion. Even at my strongest, I can only summon dozens of animations. In seconds, Mâzeli and I create hundreds.
“—mo ké pè yin ní òní.”
Veins bulge against our necks as the tide of spirits rises. Dirt rains from their bodies when they charge, a tsunami of animations surging over the land.
The cênter releases her blade, blowing our monstrous animations to smithereens. But it’s not strong enough to take out the whole wave. Her wind dies half a kilometer away.
“Keep going!” I shout. I feel Mâzeli’s heart beating in my chest. My body burns as our ashê bleeds together.
The magic of the moonstone binds our souls, creating a force unlike any I’ve commanded before. Animations crawl onto the carts, ripping the soldiers apart. The tîtáns’ screams ring as our soldiers attack. But the longer we push, the greater the strain. The more I feel our pain.
“Zélie…” Mâzeli’s voice scratches through his clenched teeth. His screams turn sharp as strips of skin peel away from his arms.
The powerful ashê rips through our veins. It burns through us both. But despite how I want to let go, the Winder cênter still stands.
“Just once more!” I shout. “Ẹmí àwọn tí ó ti sùn—”
I grit my teeth against the pain. More hills explode into animations as we chant. The power of Oya races through our veins.
New spirits rise like mountains, closing the distance in mere seconds. The general wails as our animations descend upon her. An explosion of silver light flickers from beneath their earthly bodies as the general falls. When the animations move away, her corpse lies over the wreckage like a rag doll.
“We got them!”
I turn to Mâzeli, but he doesn’t move. Blood drips from the corners of his mouth. His fingers fall limp.
“Mâzeli?”
The deep purple glow fades from his gaze. His eyes roll as he stumbles back. I see the strain of our combined magic, the great power that’s eaten through his being.
His hands go to his chest and I feel his heart seize beneath my own ribs.
“Mâzeli!” I reach out for him when he falls.
But the moment his body collapses, my own legs crumble.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
ZÉLIE
“KHANI!”
My voice is little more than a shriek as Kâmarū carries us into the infirmary. The Healers clear the area at once, making space to set our bodies down on the netted hammocks. Though I can barely lift my arms, I squeeze Mâzeli’s hand with the strength I have.
The golden light of my tattoos flickers as his heartbeat slows, and my own slows with it. The moonstone still connects our spirits. Without a blood sacrifice, we can’t sustain the connection.
“Oh my gods…” Khani’s face falls when she runs over to us. Bloodstains coat her tangerine robes and white braids. She adjusts her spectacles before taking charge of the room. “Yameenah, water. Chibudo, fresh wraps. Obu, quick—I need all free hands!”
“Idán ti ẹjẹ, jí láti wo ọna rẹ láradá—”
“Ogbé inú, dáhùn ìpè wa—”
The swarm of Healers descends, their rhythmic chants bouncing against the ivy-covered columns. Khani and her Healers channel their ashê into us, placing their hands over our heads, our hearts, our stomachs.
But despite how hard they chant, our skin chills with every passing second. Our breaths turn slow.
“The connection,” Mâzeli croaks. “You have to break it.”
His waning lifeforce pulls on my own, an anchor dragging me under the surface. But despite the growing pressure in my chest, I won’t give in. I don’t care about the blood I cough up. I don’t care how much it hurts.
The connection that’s killing me is the only thing keeping him alive.
“We’ll be okay!” I fight to speak. “Just hold o—”
Mâzeli starts to seize, making my own body spasm. The Healers struggle to hold me down as I thrash in the hammock. Despite how hard I pull, I can’t draw breath.
“Mama Agba, I need you!” Khani shouts. The Seer’s silver-clad body runs into the infirmary as my vision blurs in and out. Her wrinkled hands press against my chest. An ancient command only she can summon rings out.
“E túu síl1!”
It’s like the same bolt of lightning that connected Mâzeli and me strikes my heart. My back arches as my tattoos shine bright. Then the light disappears for good.
My ears ring from the jolt. My stomach burns. But when I inhale again, my blood runs cold.
I can breathe, but I don’t feel him.
“Mâzeli!” I grip my heart, falling to the floor as I tumble out of the hammock. His body still spasms beyond his control. His skin feels so cold.
“Ẹ tọnná agbára yin!” I grab his hand. “Ignite! Connect!” But despite how hard I try to bind our lifeforces, my marks only flicker. My magic stays dead.
“You’re too weak!” Mama Agba grabs my shoulder, but I push her away. My vision goes black with rage. It’s so strong, I can’t see straight.
“What have you done?” My voice echoes through the infirmary. But then Mâzeli’s seizing stops. My heart falls as he moans.
“Jagunjagun…”
His voice is so weak. A scratch of his usual shout. I have to clasp a shaking hand to my mouth to hold back the sobs.
“I’m here.” I take his hands, kissing his cold fingertips. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”
As the moonstone’s marks flicker against my skin, I see the violet lifeforce around his limp body. Before it shone so brightly. Now it fades before my eyes. A star that can no longer burn.
Behind him, Khani lifts her hands and her face says it all. There’s no saving him.
The damag
e is already done.
“The others.” Mâzeli’s lids flutter. “Did I … are they…”
“They’re safe.” I fight the knife in my throat. “Because of you, everyone is.”
Shimmering tears pool in Mâzeli’s brown eyes. I can’t hold back my sob as he tries not to cry.
“I don’t … I don’t want…”
He starts to tremble and I can almost see the terror flooding in. I paw away my tears and force iron around my heart. I can’t cry when he needs me the most.
“This is just the beginning.” I stroke his head the way Mama used to when I was young. “You’ll see your mother on the other side. You and Arunima will laugh again.”
“Oya, too?” He squeezes my arm as tears spill onto his cheeks. I take his face into my hands and give him my brightest smile.
“She’ll welcome her bravest soldier home with open arms.”
He tries to nod, but his face twists with pain. He coughs up blood again.
“I’m not afraid.”
“Good.” I rest my forehead against his. “You’re a soldier of death. You have nothing to fear.”
Every word I speak is like a blade cutting me from within. It’s the arrow they shot into Baba’s chest. It’s being forced to rip out my heart and bury it all over again.
“The Reapers…” he speaks through his labored breath. “Don’t let them be sad.”
His round eyes start to lose focus despite how hard he fights to keep them open.
“Mâzeli!” I squeeze his hands tighter as his grip fades away.
“Don’t…” His eyes fall closed. “Be sad.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
AMARI
MY THIGHS BURN as I race up the steps to the maji sanctuary. All around, I see what damage I’ve caused. The scars left from trusting Inan.
Though the sanctuary remains intact, injured bodies lie across the first mountain’s stone paths and flat grass. Each elder’s Second struggles to keep people from crossing the bridges as Healers tend to everyone who was injured.
“For Yemọja’s sake!” Nâo curses when a Healer pulls a thick shard of bark from her thigh. Sweat pours down her shaved head. Bloodstains coat the lagbara tattoo on her neck.
In front of her, Kenyon lies unconscious, drawing slow but shallow breaths. Blood mats his white locs to his forehead as Na’imah shouts, struggling to revive him.
“Zélie?” I scan for her through the chaos, but she’s nowhere to be found. I can’t even find Mâzeli. None of her Reapers stand in the crowd.
“You.” I grab a Healer’s arm. “Have you seen Zélie?”
“They had to take her to the infirmary.…” His eyes go wide. “She and Mâzeli weren’t breathing—”
I take off, sprinting to the main tower. I race past the bodies at my feet. I push through all the Healers in my way. Blood stains the stone steps of the tower, leaving a grim trail to the infirmary. I pray it isn’t hers. If she’s not alright, I’ll never forgive myself—
“No!”
The howl stops me in my tracks. It doesn’t even sound human. My skin crawls as it echoes through the hall, leaving me frozen outside the infirmary’s swinging doors.
Everything in me wants to stay out, but I force myself to walk inside the ivy-covered room.
“Zélie?” My legs go weak when I spot her frame. But then I see the source of her pain.
Skies …
My hands fly to my mouth. Zélie hunches over Mâzeli’s battered body, her arms wrapped around his neck. The boy who’s usually bouncing off the walls lies completely still. Blood drips from the corners of his lips.
His gangly arms hang limp.
He’ll do the right thing when it’s easy, but when it matters most, he’ll stab you in the back. Zélie’s words echo through my head. You can’t trust him, Amari. All he leaves us with are scars.
Guilt eats me from within as I stare at a scar I know will never heal. She tried to get me to see the truth, but I chose to trust Inan.
“Zélie, you must rest.” Mama Agba approaches her, feet dragging with hesitation. Zélie’s sorrow forms a ring around her. No one else dares to get close as she howls.
Zélie doesn’t respond when Mama Agba calls her name again. But when our Seer lays a hand on Zélie’s shoulder, Zélie snaps.
“Don’t touch me!” Her shriek pierces my ears like shattered glass. She pushes Mama Agba so hard the elderly Seer stumbles into a column.
“He couldn’t be saved!” Tears well in Mama Agba’s eyes. “You would’ve died—”
“Then I die!” Zélie yells back. “I should’ve died!” Her hands fly to her chest as her face twists with pain. She digs her nails into her skin, clawing as if she could reach her own heart.
“I should’ve died.” Her voice goes quiet and she falls to her knees. “I should’ve died.”
The world feels like it’s falling out from under me. Because of me, Mâzeli’s dead. Because of me, we might have lost this war.
We may have chased Inan’s armies off today, but they’ll be back with stronger forces. There’s no place for us to hide. Every advantage we had is gone.
Zélie’s sobs grow feral, forcing Khani to step in.
“Sedate her!” the Healer orders. “Her body can’t handle the strain!”
Zélie thrashes like a wild animal as the Healers close in. I have to run out of the room as their incantations ring. I can’t take the sight of what I’ve caused.
I can’t stomach the sound of her screams.
Her shriek rings through the swinging doors, and I clasp a hand to my mouth to stifle my tears.
I’ve ruined everything.
And I don’t know if I can fix it again.
CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
INAN
IT’S NEVER ENOUGH.
The simple truth is a sword through my abdomen. A spear in my heart. As I stare at the carnage outside the Iyika’s base, my hand trembles around the bronze coin. This was supposed to be the place where we brokered peace. Instead, we can’t even count our dead.
“I thought we had them.” Ojore’s jaw quivers and he has to look away. Mother takes him in her arms, shielding him from the slaughter. Bodies lie in the remains of the jungle. The rolling hills are now battered mounds of dirt. Every colossal tree lies ripped from its roots. Jokôye’s body still hasn’t been recovered.
I’ve been training my tîtáns. The general’s last words to me return. The next time we face the Iyika, we’ll be ready for their games. We’ll annihilate those traitors where they stand.
I hang my head, crossing a fist to my chest to honor Jokôye’s spirit. She gave everything to this kingdom. Everything to protect its throne.
The general was supposed to be our secret weapon. A force even Zélie couldn’t beat. Her strength was the only reason I felt powerful enough to enforce peace, but what kind of peace could last when our enemy is capable of this?
“I don’t want to be crass,” Mother says to me. “But there is no time to mourn. We can’t give the Iyika a chance to regroup. If they retaliate in Lagos…”
Her voice trails off, but she doesn’t need to speak the words. It only took moments for the jungle to become a wasteland. If this had been a city, thousands of civilians would’ve died in our fight.
“Duty before self,” I whisper the vow. If Father were here, that’s what he would yell now. This war has spun out of control. Soon there won’t be an Orïsha left to protect.
I wanted to be a better king, but after all that’s passed, there are no more options. It doesn’t matter if I didn’t sanction this attack. Any hope of peace lies with my dead on this battlefield.
Duty before self. I squeeze the bronze coin. Duty before self. The next time we meet, there will be no reconciliation. Only complete annihilation.
One victor shall stand at the end of this war. One ruler shall sit on my throne. I can’t hold back anymore. I have to take out the Iyika no matter what it does to Amari and Zélie.
This war ends with me
.
“Summon the rest of our soldiers.” Mother turns to Ojore. “We’ll lead another assault while they’re down.”
“No.” I shake my head. “As long as they’re united, they’ll defeat us all. It doesn’t matter how many soldiers we have.” I close my eyes and try to visualize our next moves like pieces on a sênet board. “We need to weaken them beyond repair. Divide, conquer, and then force their surrender.”
“How do we do that?” Ojore asks.
I look down at the bronze piece, picturing Zélie’s face. For an instant, I thought we had a chance to move beyond all this pain. Now I know that day will never come.
“By using the one thing Amari and Zélie hate most,” I answer. “Me.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT
ZÉLIE
DON’T BE SAD.
Mâzeli’s voice still echoes in my head. Silent tears run down my face, falling onto the bathroom tiles of my elder quarters. My ribs ache as I cradle my chest, struggling to draw breath. After three days, the world has still lost its color. Mâzeli’s blood still stains my skin.
“Zélie?”
I freeze as Tzain’s voice bleeds through my bedroom door. I clasp a hand over my mouth, trying to stifle my strangled breaths.
“The sanctuary assembly’s starting,” he says softly. “The elders are asking for you.”
“I don’t care.” I look away. “Just go.”
With the sanctuary’s location exposed, everyone stays on high alert. But I can’t see or do anything beyond how much I hurt. All we do is fight and fight and fight.
What’s the point when our people only die?
“Don’t be sad.” I whisper Mâzeli’s last words. “Don’t be sad.” My legs shake as I drag myself to my feet to face the copper bathtub that’s spent hours waiting for me. I dip my fingers into the cool water, but the air around me thins. It happens every time I try to wash away the last remnants of him.
Dammit.
My hand flies to my throat as the guilt suffocates me. The bathroom starts to spin. It’s like all the air’s been sucked out of the room.
