by Ayana Gray
An onslaught of smells assaulted her at once, a coppery tang thick in the air, but other smells too, ones she didn’t like. She took in wafts of homemade salves, healing herbs, the distinct smell of bandaging linen and ointments. None of the scents were particularly bad, but they felt too familiar; they reminded her of Baba. Her eyes searched the few beds lined up side by side. There were beastkeepers in every single one. Some nursed gashes and cuts, while others were so badly burned she didn’t recognize them. She flinched.
You did this, a voice said to her. They’re all hurt because of you, because of whatever you did with the candle . . .
She tempered the voice as her eyes adjusted to the darkness and settled on a bed at the end of the line. Jabir was sitting beside it with his head bowed. Blood roared in Koffi’s ears as she ran to it. Mama was lying on her back, eyes closed. A thin blanket had been pulled up to her bare shoulders, but it wasn’t long enough to cover her entirely, and her feet stuck out from the other end. Koffi noted with a pang the bandage near the base of her head. It was stained a dark reddish brown.
“She comes in and out,” Jabir explained. “But I think she’ll be okay, eventually. I’ve been making sure someone changes her bandages.”
She’ll be okay. Those were the only words Koffi heard. Okay. Mama would be okay. Her words came out choked.
“Thank you, Jabir. For everything.”
Neither of them spoke as they watched Mama’s chest rise and fall for a while.
“I was worried for you, Kof,” Jabir whispered to her. “I was worried that you . . . that you weren’t going to come back.”
Guilt pinched in Koffi’s chest. The truth was, she hadn’t planned to come back, but not for the reasons Jabir would have thought. She’d thought there was nothing left for her here, nothing to fight for. Now everything had changed. Not only did she have Mama and Jabir to fight for, but she had a chance to take back something she thought she’d never have again—freedom.
“Jabir,” she said quietly. “I’m not staying.”
“What?” There was a hardness in Jabir’s voice, but beneath it she heard the hurt. “Koffi, you can’t run away again. If Baaz catches you a second time—”
“I’m not running away. Baaz knows I’m going,” said Koffi in a lower voice. She leaned in. “I’ve made a deal with him.”
A momentary surprise flitted across Jabir’s face. He looked like he wanted to ask a thousand questions all at once. Instead, he nodded for her to go on, and Koffi did. She told him everything that had happened, from the fateful moment with the candle to what she’d seen on the other side of the Night Zoo’s wall. She told him about the old woman she’d met, and what she’d learned about magic in Lkossa. Finally, she told him about the deal.
“And I told him I wanted your debts cleared too,” she finished in a rush. “So we can all leave together—you, me, and Mama.”
Jabir didn’t say anything, but dropped his gaze.
Koffi paused. “What?”
“It’s just . . .” Jabir sighed. “I wish you’d talked to me first, before making that kind of deal.”
Koffi opened her mouth to answer, then didn’t. She’d thought including Jabir’s debt in her barter was the right thing to do, but . . . maybe it wasn’t. She hadn’t stopped to consider the implications of doing so, it had just felt right, and she hadn’t questioned it. At once, Mama’s words came back to her:
Sometimes, though, you can’t lead with your heart. You have to think with your head.
“I’m sorry,” she said in earnest. “I really am. But . . . I didn’t want you to feel forgotten. You’re as much my family as Mama.”
Jabir looked away from her a moment, blinking hard. “You’re my family too, Kof.” He seemed to gather his resolve. “You know, the Shetani’s never been found before, so if you’re going to find it, you’re going to need help.”
Koffi stiffened. “Jabir, you can’t come with—”
“I’m not talking about me.” He shook his head. “I mean you’ll need some sort of guide to the Greater Jungle, a map.”
“Right.” Koffi nodded. In truth, she hadn’t even begun to think about what she might need for this mission, but a map seemed most obvious. “Any idea where I might find one?”
“None that comes to mind.” Jabir massaged his temples. “Didn’t you say you were in the market earlier this morning?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, you should try there first,” he suggested. “There are merchants there selling almost anything you could—”
“Wait a minute.” Koffi stopped, eyes going wide. “That’s it.”
“What’s it?” asked Jabir.
“The merchant,” Koffi repeated. “Last night, do you remember what Bwana Mutunga told Baaz he traded in?”
“Actually . . . no.”
Koffi’s heart began to race. “He said his specialty was in administrative supplies, specifically for the temple. Papyrus, quills, and Baridian ink for books and—”
“Maps.” Jabir’s eyes widened with understanding. “There are maps in the Temple of Lkossa!”
“Which means that’s where I have to go,” Koffi determined. “That’s where I’ll find my map to the Greater Jungle.” She met his gaze, hopeful. “Think you can help me get in?”
Jabir rubbed his chin a moment, thoughtful. “It wouldn’t be easy, but . . . I think I know a way in.”
“Thank you.” She gave Jabir’s hand another squeeze before turning back to Mama’s sleeping form. For several seconds, neither of them said anything at all.
“I’m going to hunt it down, Jabir.” She didn’t know if the words were for him or for herself, but they felt good to say aloud nonetheless. “I’m going to find the Shetani and bring it back, and then I’m taking back our freedom.” She didn’t say the last words of her promise aloud:
Or I will die trying.
PART TWO
Even the elephant is entangled in a spider’s web.
A True Vessel
ADIAH
“Adiah!”
I pull my eyes from the glaring sun overhead and snap back to attention. A few feet away on the temple’s sparring lawns, Brother Lekan is glowering at me. Not a single one of his gray dreadlocks is out of place, and his mouth is pulled into a stern wrinkly frown. He looks sweaty, uncomfortable—I can’t imagine the heavy blue robes masters and brothers of the temple are required to wear are comfortable during the Zamani Region’s hot season—but I don’t dare to ask. He’s carrying his khaya wood staff in hand; my backside has had many unfortunate encounters with that stick, and I’d rather not get reacquainted with it today.
“If you’d prefer to dawdle and daydream . . .” The old master’s voice croaks like an old bullfrog. “I can have someone else lead the demonstration—”
“No!” At once, I stand straighter, shoulders back and feet firmly planted as I’ve been taught—the very picture of a well-trained daraja. “No, teacher, I am prepared.”
Brother Lekan’s shrewd eyes study me a second longer before, begrudgingly, he gestures for me to step forward. The sparring lawns are usually filled with visiting patrons—some coming to the temple to pray, others coming to watch us train—but today they’re closed to the public so that we can practice in privacy. It’s a shame, really. I love an audience.
“No showing off.” Brother Lekan hands me a short wooden shaft that, to the untrained eye, might look like a sword hilt missing its blade. “Demonstrate the assigned exercise, and only the assigned exercise, Adiah.”
I nod, needing no further prompting as Brother Lekan steps away and the other watching darajas give me space. This is my favorite part of the day, practical drills, getting to actually work with the splendor. I’m useless in the temple’s library, memorizing passage upon passage of boring scripture, but out here on these lawns, I come alive. My grip on the bladeless hilt tight
ens, and I summon the splendor from the earth. It comes to me as always, more than willing. I feel it hum through my fingers, snaking up my arms and into my hands until it reaches that wooden hilt. I focus my mind, envision what I want to happen, and then it does. Where a blade should be on the sword, an outpouring of iridescent light appears instead, shimmering. It starts out small and thin, like a rapier’s blade, but I push more of the splendor into it, until I’m holding what looks like a massive broadsword. Far away—too far away for me to care—someone tuts with disapproval, but I ignore it as the splendor builds in my core. I swing the illuminated blade and hear it sing. I know what I’m supposed to do next—I’m supposed to release the splendor back into the earth—but I can’t resist the temptation to hold on to it just a little longer. This energy, this power, feels good, like nothing else I’ve ever felt before. I will just a little more of it from the earth, and the light-sword starts to change form, the blade growing longer and longer. People gasp, but I’m amazed by it, curious. I wonder how far it will—
“Adiah Bolaji!”
The shout interrupts my concentration, and I falter. At once, I release the splendor as it erupts, thundering loudly before it separates from me and my blade to seep back into the earth. Slowly, I turn and find that the rest of my classmates are standing much farther back than they were before. Brother Lekan is charging toward me, looking apoplectic.
Uh-oh.
“Give me that!” He snatches the wooden sword hilt from my hand without ceremony.
“Hey!” I say before I can stop myself. “What was that for?”
“Undisciplined!” Brother Lekan jabs a finger inches from my nose. “Reckless! Irresponsible! What on earth were you thinking?”
Now it’s my temper rising. “I was fine.” I’m so annoyed, I forget to use the proper honorific when addressing a teacher. “I was in complete control.”
“You thought you were in complete control.” Brother Lekan shakes his head. “If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you three hundred thousand, four hundred and twelve times, girl: you must stop keeping the splendor within you for so long!”
“It was only for a few minutes—”
“It doesn’t matter!” He speaks over me. “The splendor is a powerful force of nature. It is not meant to stay inside a mortal body, even a daraja’s. It is meant to flow through you, in and out.”
“But I—”
“Enough. I will have a more suitable daraja demonstrate.” Brother Lekan dismisses me with a wave of his hand, looking to someone else. “Lesedi, front and center. I’d like you to show the class instead.” His eyes cut to me. “Pay attention to her form, Adiah. Watch her control.”
My face burns as Lesedi—a short, compact girl with pretty pink beads at the ends of her braids—steps forward. She gives me an apologetic look before taking the wooden hilt from Brother Lekan and moving into the center of the sparring lawns. I go stand among the other darajas to give her space. In truth, I don’t want to watch when she closes her eyes and summons a small shot of the splendor from the ground just as I did, but I find it impossible to look away. The blade Lesedi summons is thinner than mine, but looks sharper and more defined. With practiced steps, she twirls the sword through the air in graceful arcs, thrusting and parrying against an invisible foe. Her moves are elegant, choreographed, enviable. I see exactly what Brother Lekan means about her form. Lesedi truly lets the splendor move through her, in and out, like he said; she is a true vessel. It’s an admirable display, graceful. It’s also weak. I can tell, even from afar, that she’s not using the full extent of the splendor; she’s not allowing herself to take in as much I did. When she finishes her demonstration, she offers a neat bow, and several of the other darajas around me clap. Notably, none of them clapped for me.
“Well done, Lesedi.”
Jealousy pricks at my skin as Brother Lekan takes the wooden hilt—now devoid of light—from Lesedi and offers an approving nod. He saves his scowl for me. “You see, Adiah? That is how it’s done.”
* * *
“The old cow!”
Brother Lekan’s words have been echoing inside me all day, still taunting me hours later. I know I shouldn’t let them, but I do.
“Did you know that bovines have a typical gestation period of approximately two hundred and eighty-three days?” As usual, Tao, my best friend, is sitting on a bench with his nose in a book. He has a soft, chestnut-colored face and huge umber eyes that still hold an innocence even though we’re both fifteen. When I groan and make a face at him, he looks up, combing a hand through his short black dreadlocks.
“What?”
“You know, they’re going to make you cut those off soon.” I nod to his hair. “Only masters and brothers of the temple are allowed to grow locks.”
“Call it aspirational,” says Tao, going back to his book, which looks to be about beetles. “Someday, I’m going to be a famous scholar of the temple.”
“I don’t doubt it.”
It’s just the two of us here, hiding in our secret spot. Very technically speaking, this garden at the top of Lkossa is probably prohibited to us, but not a single one of the masters of the temple has the agility to shimmy up the trapdoor that leads to it, so it is our domain. This high up, songbirds glide through the breeze in blurs of red, chirping and trilling as they pass. Sometimes I sing back to them; today, I’m too annoyed.
“They never let me do anything.”
“Who?” Tao asks.
“Brother Lekan, Brother Isoke, Father Masego, all of them.” I pace, trying to temper the old frustration. “They never let me really try. They’re always holding me back.”
“Or they’re trying to teach you,” Tao suggests, pinching a hole in his threadbare tunic.
“Hey, whose side are you on?”
“Yours.” Finally, Tao closes his book, his expression softer. “I’m always on your side, Adiah.”
It’s true. Tao has been my best friend since we were ten, and a loyal one at that. Five years later, he’s probably my only real friend.
“I know.” I stop my pacing and sit beside him, resting a head on his shoulder. He smells like ink and leather. “I just don’t understand.”
I feel Tao stiffen against me for a moment, his heart pattering against my ear before he relaxes again. When he speaks, he sounds unusually nervous. “Uh, understand what?”
“How can I be taught to use the splendor well if no one wants me to ever use the full extent of it, to explore its true potential?”
“Maybe that’s the point.” Tao’s voice has changed, but I can’t put my finger on why. My head is still on his shoulder, so I can’t see his expression either. “Maybe you’re not supposed to know the full extent of the splendor. It could be dangerous.”
“Yeah,” I murmur against his tunic. The cotton is soft against my cheek, warm. “You’re probably right.”
“You’ll master all of this eventually, Adi.” Tao props his head against mine, sighing. “You just have to keep working at it, keep practicing. I believe in you.”
I offer a nod so he knows I’ve heard him, but I don’t say anything else. Tao has been my friend and confidant for so many years, but . . . he isn’t a daraja. It’s just one more thing that differentiates us. Tao is a boy, I am a girl. Tao is an orphan, I am not. Every year as we grow older, we grow a tiny bit further apart, the differences becoming more noticeable. When we were ten, I felt like there was nothing I could tell Tao that he wouldn’t understand. Five years later, there are lots of things about me that I don’t think my friend understands. Tao thinks my biggest fear is that I won’t master my power with the splendor, but in truth, that is not what I fear most.
My fear is that I’ll never get to use it.
CHAPTER 10
On the Subject of Monsters
Perhaps more than in any other place, Ekon found his home in books.
He i
nhaled, taking in the familiar smell of old books all around him, listening to the faint creak of his chair as he shifted in it. Around him, the leather-bound tomes of the Temple of Lkossa’s library seemed to reach into the heavens, stacked so high that some shelves required ladders to reach. In the time he’d been there, he’d counted one thousand nine hundred and eighty-six volumes. He knew there were thousands more, but he stopped there—best to leave things on a dividend of three.
He closed his eyes and listened. Distantly, he imagined he could hear the low hums of the temple’s brothers in the adjacent wing’s worship hall, the scuffle and slide of their sandals as they prepared for the day’s visiting patrons. It wouldn’t stay quiet much longer; eventually, he’d be called away. He opened his eyes again and sighed.
The table he was sitting at was surrounded by books of every size, color, and genre. There were yellow-paged dissertations like Master Kenyatta’s In Defense of East Eshōzan Dendrology, thicker-bound treatises like Master Azikiwe’s A Chronicle of Curious Creatures, even a somewhat-concerning old pamphlet on the varying benefits of carnivorous plant life written by a scholar simply called Nyerere. The published works around him were considered priceless treasures, the very history of his region and his home carefully recorded and preserved.
And yet, none of them were helpful.
Ekon inhaled again, but this time the exhale was more frustrated. He liked books, generally speaking, because they could be trusted to be consistent. A book could be read a thousand different times, a thousand different ways, but the words on the page would never change. Unlike people, books couldn’t be disappointed in you. They couldn’t abandon you; they couldn’t fail you.
Well, until now.
One-two-three.
He watched his fingers find that easy rhythm, a beat that felt steady.
One-two-three.
