by Ayana Gray
Koffi started. A scream rose in her throat as her attacker’s grip tightened, but it was muffled in the din of the crowds around her. Another large hand grabbed both her arms and pulled them behind her in a viselike grip, dragging her off the main roads. She winced as a low chuckle filled her ears, and when she took in the familiar smell of spicy cologne, her blood ran cold.
“Hello, Koffi,” said Baaz Mtombé.
CHAPTER 8
A Scholar of Destiny
By the time Ekon returned to the Temple of Lkossa, dawn had shrouded it in mist.
He stared at the old building, at the grand alabaster staircase gleaming in the morning light. It was composed of twenty-seven steps—in theory, a good number.
That was the only good thing he’d thought about in recent hours.
For the better part of the night, he’d wandered the city’s empty streets, letting the count of his footsteps numb his mind.
Seventy-five thousand, six hundred and twenty-one steps—at last count.
The walking had helped him delay the inevitable for a time, but now the sun was peeking over the eastern horizon. He could avoid the day no longer.
He eased through the same front doors he’d entered the night before, but instead of following the corridor that led to the worship hall, he took a narrower side stairway up to the dormitories. They were quiet at this hour, a line of closed doors muffling the sounds of his sleeping co-candidates. He padded down the passageway to the last door on the right, then opened it with a sigh.
In truth, it had never been much of a bedroom. Wall to wall, it was only seven feet long, and there was always a faint smell of mildew in its air. The furnishings were sparse: a narrow bed, a rickety nightstand, and a secondhand trunk for clothes and books. A tightness constricted in his chest as he looked around. After today, this wouldn’t be his bedroom anymore; he wouldn’t be allowed to stay in the temple. Sometime this morning, while Fahim and Shomari were moved to the larger and nicer chambers befitting anointed Sons of the Six, he’d be moved to . . . he realized he wasn’t sure. He and Kamau had essentially grown up in the temple. Their family home was gone, sold shortly after Baba’s death. That house belonged to a chapter in his life that was no more, the chapter his mother had lived in. White-hot pain seared through him at the thought of her. He couldn’t remember the details of her face anymore; he’d only been four years old when she’d left one night. In his memory, there were brief glimpses of her—a flash of copper eyes, short curly hair, a birthmark on her shoulder—but they never lingered. It forced him to cling tight to the things he could remember, like silver bangles catching in sunlight, a sweet scent he knew but couldn’t place. What would Mama have thought, if she’d stayed to see what became of him?
Again, he heard Father Olufemi’s voice.
Effective immediately, your candidacy for the Sons of the Six has ended. You are dismissed.
Each word struck like an arrow, piercing all the soft parts of his ego. He hadn’t merely failed; he’d been formally expelled in front of the entire warriorship. In a single night, he’d broken a generations-old legacy for his family. He wouldn’t follow in Baba’s and Kamau’s footsteps. He wouldn’t prove his manhood.
He flopped down on his mattress, letting its itchy stuffing feathers poke into his back as he glared at the ceiling and tried to figure out how it had all gone wrong so fast. Each moment of the night recounted itself in his mind, blurring together like pages in a book; one in particular stayed dog-eared.
The girl.
Even now, the thought of her made Ekon’s blood boil; last night’s disaster had been, after all, her fault. But then . . . there was another feeling—uncomfortable and harder to identify. Something plucked within him when he remembered her eyes, strangely bright against the night. They’d been brown like his, but . . . they’d held something within them, a glow like two embers cooling in a hearth. He’d tried for hours to forget them, but—
You let her go.
Shomari’s accusation curdled inside him like bad milk, leaving a sour taste in his mouth. Why? It was the one question he hadn’t been able to answer as he’d walked the city’s streets alone. Why did you let her go?
Thinking of the girl also made him think about the events that had unfolded just before he’d released her, when he’d found a very different set of eyes in the darkness. That pair hadn’t been brown or warm—they’d been cold, black, and utterly unfeeling. They’d belonged to something he knew.
The Shetani.
He shivered. It had been ten years since he’d last seen the creature, not that anyone else knew that. He remembered the fear he’d felt the moment he’d seen it again, the way it had dismantled him entirely. Unbidden, all the old images returned. He saw flashes of the Greater Jungle with blood on its leaves, envisioned vines covered in thorns. He saw a dead body that looked like . . .
No.
Ekon shook his head, barely noticing the way his fingers had automatically started their dancing.
One-two-three.
He saw Baba’s face.
One-two-three.
He saw the Shetani’s teeth.
One-two-three.
He saw the girl.
His eyes narrowed. That girl, whoever she’d been, had told the Shetani Go, and, without hesitation, it had obeyed. He’d never seen anything like it. The Shetani was a primordial monster, responsible for the deaths of countless people. It should have killed them both, but it hadn’t. It had done the opposite. The same persistent question ricocheted in his mind.
Why?
“Ekon?”
Someone gently rapped against the other side of his bedroom door, and Ekon sat up as it opened. A frail old man entered the room, the ghost of a smile on his withered face. His chestnut skin was wrinkled and thoroughly spotted, as though age had been welcomed as a friend instead of an adversary. Ekon flinched. In the chaos of last night, he’d forgotten all about Brother Ugo.
“I hoped I’d see you.” The elderly man offered a small nod of greeting. “Moved as fast as I could from my chambers after morning prayers, but these old legs just aren’t what they used to be.” He lifted the hem of his robe. It was deep blue, as finely made as Father Olufemi’s, but far looser on his bony frame. “You know, lately they’ve been mooing.”
“Mooing?” Ekon’s eyes narrowed. “Your legs have been mooing?”
“Yes.” Brother Ugo scratched his white beard, frowning as he examined them. “It’s a curious thing. You might say I have a . . . calf injury.” He looked up, grinning. “Do you get it? Because a baby cow is called a—”
“You can’t be serious.”
“Well, excuse me!” Brother Ugo pointed a gnarled finger at him, feigning hurt. Ekon noted with a pang that the slight tremor in the old man’s varicose-veined hand was getting worse. “I recall that you used to like my jokes when you were a little boy!”
Ekon tried to swallow the hard lump rising in his throat, the renewed pain. Brother Ugo was the oldest member of the temple’s fraternal order, and nothing at all like Father Olufemi. The old man had been a mentor to him all his life, a constant advocate. Ekon hung his head, embarrassed.
“I’d like a word,” said Brother Ugo, more softly now. “Walk with me, please.”
In silence, Ekon followed Brother Ugo out of his room and through the temple’s stone-walled hallways. Their steps were slow—Brother Ugo wasn’t as fast as he’d once been—but in time, they made their way to a corridor that led to the temple’s library. Ekon had thought that was where they were headed—most of his childhood lessons had been there—but a hint of mischief touched Brother Ugo’s eyes as he made an abrupt turn to the right instead.
“Perhaps we might try for a . . . loftier view, today,” he murmured. He approached a nondescript door and wrenched it open. Inside, Ekon was surprised to find that what he’d always assumed was just a broom closet actually contained a
set of narrow, inclining stairs. He was more startled when Brother Ugo marched up them without hesitation. He followed. They reached a trapdoor at the top of the steps, and the old man gave it a firm push with his shoulder. A sudden shaft of golden light poured in above them, and he wriggled through the opening with unexpected flexibility. Ekon copied the gesture and stuck his head through the door. Then he froze, stunned.
The circular garden that lay before him was like nothing he’d ever seen. It wasn’t large—he guessed he could lap its perimeter in under a minute—but almost every inch of it was blanketed with flowers. Lush roses, long-stemmed tulips, even a group of red-gold fire lilies in mid-bloom sprouted from the dark, shimmering soil like some piece of unworldly paradise. When he stared beyond the garden’s low walls, he saw the tops of every building in the city. From this vantage point, he guessed they were at one of the highest points of the temple.
“What . . . ?” He looked around. “What is this place?”
“It’s called a sky garden,” said Brother Ugo cheerfully. He closed his eyes a moment and smiled, the very image of contentment. “According to my readings, they were once quite popular among the upper classes, though I’m sad to say they’ve gone out of fashion in the last century or so.”
Ekon marveled at the place. When he looked closer at the ground, he saw that, despite the illusion, hundreds of tiny flower beds had been arranged to give the impression that the flowers grew straight from the stone, but it was still impressive landscaping. “I . . . had no idea this was here.”
“To be fair, most people don’t,” said Brother Ugo. He gave Ekon a meaningful look. “And I wouldn’t mind keeping it that way, actually. An old friend introduced this place to me many years ago, and it’s since become one of my favorites in the city, wonderful for meditations and bird-watching!”
He ambled over to a long stone bench in the garden’s center and patted a spot beside him. For several minutes, they sat in silence, side by side, before Ekon felt Brother Ugo’s gaze.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“Not really.”
“Last night did not go as you would have hoped, I presume.”
“It was a disaster.” Ekon massaged his temples. “An absolute, unmitigated nightmare.”
Brother Ugo’s eyes flitted to the thorned white rose before them. “Nightmares hunt like beasts of prey, vanquished in the light of day.” He looked up. “Do you know who said that?”
“You?”
“Good guess!” Brother Ugo smiled. “But no, those words come from a poem written by the esteemed poet and linguist Master Lumumba. Do you know what they mean?”
Ekon shook his head.
“It is an allegory. Those beasts of prey represent our worldly troubles,” Brother Ugo explained. “Often, we run from painful things and hope that they will tire of chasing us. But in truth, avoiding our troubles simply gives them more sustenance, allowing them to eventually consume us whole. Only when we cast light on them and acknowledge them can they truly be vanquished, allowing our spirits to be free.”
Ekon didn’t know exactly where the words came from, only that they rose from within him and left his mouth before he could stop them. “Brother, could I ask you about something?”
Brother Ugo smiled. “Of course.”
“I wonder what you know about . . . the Shetani.”
“The Shetani?” The old man’s voice sharpened, and at once Ekon regretted asking.
“Sorry, I—”
“No, no.” Brother Ugo shook his head, even as Ekon thought he saw something in the old man’s eyes imperceptibly change. “There is no need to apologize. I was merely surprised. Though, perhaps I shouldn’t be. You of all people would certainly have questions about the creature. I was grieved to hear of its latest attack, such senseless violence.” He leaned back slightly on the bench and interlaced his fingers. “What is it that you want to know?”
Ekon paused, considering. A part of him wanted to tell Brother Ugo everything he’d seen last night—about the old woman, the strange girl, and his actual encounter with the Shetani—but something held him back. Instead, he said: “I just wondered what’s factually known about it, where it came from.”
Brother Ugo gave him a measured look, as though evaluating, before he answered. “The Shetani’s attacks began nearly a century ago, right after the Rupture,” he said quietly. “In fact, much of the reason Yabas and Gedes don’t get along today is because of the creature; both blame the other side for its terror. Over the years, there have been many attempts to find it, thwart it, even bargain with it, but none have been successful. We at the temple have done our best to keep a record of its death toll, but even that is a sometimes difficult task. To my knowledge, no one who has seen the monster in person has lived to tell the tale.”
Except for me, Ekon thought. Me, and that girl.
Brother Ugo sighed. “It is certainly a fearsome beast, perhaps one of the most intelligent predators to ever walk these lands.”
Ekon tempered a sudden, inexplicable anger. It irritated him to hear his own mentor talk about the Shetani with any kind of respect or admiration. That beast, that monster, had taken so much away from him: first his father, and now his chance to be a warrior. If the Shetani hadn’t come to the Night Zoo at all, he would have arrested that girl without hesitation and solidified his place as a loyal Son of the Six. He’d thought everything led back to her, but he’d been wrong.
It all led back to the monster.
“I did not intend to upset you.” Brother Ugo was looking at him more carefully now, as though seeing something for the first time. “We do not have to speak any more of it, if you would prefer—”
“I hate it.” Ekon slammed his fists hard against the bench’s seat. “I wish it was dead.” He heard his own anger aloud and paused. “You probably think I should be more disciplined.”
“What I think,” the old man said gently, “is that I have no right to judge you, Ekon. I think you are hurting. And if you want to talk about it, I’ll always be here to listen.”
Ekon sighed. This hadn’t been what he’d expected this morning. If anyone had a right to be angry with him, it was Brother Ugo. His mentor had spent years molding him into the strongest possible candidate for the Sons of the Six; now it was all wasted. The words tumbled from him.
“My life is over.”
A hint of surprise, then of mirth touched Brother Ugo’s eyes. “Well, that seems generous, given your age—?”
“It’s done, Brother.” Ekon wanted to look anywhere else, but the old man’s gaze held his. “I had a chance to be something, the only thing I know how to be. Joining the Sons of the Six was what I was born to do. It was my destiny—”
“Funny.” Brother Ugo’s white brows came together like kissing caterpillars. “I didn’t know you were a scholar of destiny, able to divine the future?”
Ekon opened his mouth, but the old man continued.
“Destiny is not a single path, but many, Ekon. Some are as straight as an arrow, others twist and tangle like thread. Our duty is not to question them but to follow them.”
“Easy for you to say.”
The corners of the old man’s eyes crinkled, amused. “I follow a path too, Ekon, one that I believe will someday allow me to fulfill my most righteous work. The journey is long, but each day is a gift. And speaking of gifts . . .” He reached into the folds of his robe. To Ekon’s surprise, when Brother Ugo withdrew his hand, he was holding a leather-sheathed hanjari. It was a simple weapon, unadorned by any jewels or intricate designs on its wooden hilt, but Ekon’s breath still caught when he saw the name carved into it.
Asafa Okojo
“This . . .” Ekon’s throat tightened. He blinked hard, hating the tears that stung his eyes. “This was my—”
“Your father’s,” Brother Ugo confirmed. “Found on his person after
. . . the accident. I’ve kept it for many years. In traditional circumstances, it would have gone to your older brother when he came of age two years ago, but . . .” He gave Ekon a sad smile before pressing the hilt into his hand. “You must forgive an old man’s sentimentalities.”
Ekon stared at the blade, feeling its new weight in his palm. It was crafted in an older style, not as sophisticated as he was used to, but he instantly felt a deep attachment to it.
“Thank you, Brother.”
Brother Ugo nodded to the dagger. “A wise man keeps his weapons sharp, but his mind sharper.” He paused, thoughtful. “Those words were composed by a rather excitable master of this temple called Garvicus, curious fellow. I believe Father Olufemi has several of his works in his study; he keeps the oldest volumes there. I really must inquire . . .”
Ekon let the old man’s words fade to a faint buzz in the background. He was still staring at the hanjari, feeling the goose bumps on his skin. His baba had held this blade, and he’d kept it with him until the end. He didn’t know whether to be awed by that knowledge or terrified.
“Ekon?”
He looked up. Brother Ugo had stopped musing and was now staring at him again. “I wonder, was there a particular reason you wanted to know more about the Shetani?”
Ekon tried to sound offhand. After Kamau, he probably trusted Brother Ugo more than anyone else in the world, but he still wasn’t ready to talk about what had happened last night. So he made himself shrug. “I guess I was just . . . curious.”
“Ah,” Brother Ugo said sagely. “Curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back.”
Ekon massaged the bridge of his nose. “Is that another one of your terrible old-man jokes?”
Brother Ugo crossed his arms, indignant. “As a matter of fact, it is not.” He paused, stroking his beard. “Though, now that you mention it, I did hear a rather crude one recently about a pig, a farmer’s wife, and an eloko who walk into a tavern . . .”
* * *
