by Ayana Gray
Three. Three was a good number.
He shifted one of the stacks on the table just slightly so that they were even, arranged from thickest and largest to smallest and thinnest. He didn’t need to do that quite as much as he needed to count, but the exercise still brought him some comfort.
He’d been there for hours searching through books. The sun seemed to be mocking him, deliberately growing brighter to remind him of the time. A piece of his brother’s words echoed in his mind.
A hunting party is being assembled.
Kamau had said it would happen over the next few days, but he hadn’t said exactly when the warriors would then head into the Greater Jungle. That bought Ekon some time, but not much—he had to figure out a plan to hunt down the Shetani before then.
He had to beat them there.
He screwed his eyes shut, recalling the moment he’d last seen the Shetani. He remembered its teeth and eyes well enough, but the most vivid part of the memory was the fear. It had gripped him, then consumed him like a living thing, and it wasn’t the first time. He’d now seen the Shetani twice and lived to tell the tale; both times, he had been completely useless when it came time to face it. He hated himself for feeling that way, but it couldn’t be helped.
He needed a way to defeat that fear.
Behind closed lids, he reimagined the entire scene outside the Night Zoo’s walls. He saw the creature stalking forward, then stopping short as something distracted it. The girl. The thought of her still plagued his mind almost as much as the monster, but for an entirely different reason. That girl had single-handedly faced down the Shetani; more than that, she’d commanded it.
Go.
He heard her voice, the calm in it. She hadn’t even had to yell. She’d given the monster a simple order, and it had obeyed, returning to the jungle without a second glance. He gnashed his teeth. What he would give for that kind of ability, for that lack of fear. The girl’s face swam in his mind, and he groaned. It had been foolish to let her go. No doubt she’d left Lkossa entirely by now.
His eyes flitted to one book sitting on the very edge of the table, small and opened up so that its pages seemed to soak in the morning sunlight. He’d cast that particular book aside early in his browsing, but he picked it up again. It was brown, the binding was unraveling slightly, and its etched title was barely visible. Myths and Fables of the Eshōzan Continent. He turned to its index until he found the reference he needed—page 394. He flipped to it and let his eyes skim until he found what he was looking for, a single stanza, written in tight elegant calligraphy:
On the subject of monsters, those mundane and those divine, none is so wretched and feared as the Shetani. It is a vicious thing, and a cursed thing, surely to be cast away by gods and men alike. We the scholars of the Temple of Lkossa’s Great Library thusly deem that no literature about it shall be recorded or preserved, except for a simple record of those whose lives it takes.
He groaned. Useless. The words were useless. He already knew the Shetani was a vicious thing, knew that it had killed plenty of innocent people. What he needed was a book that gave him information about its origins, its diet, its weaknesses. He stared down at his baba’s hanjari, still looped into his belt. Could he kill the thing with a simple dagger? He thought of how big the creature had seemed and shook his head.
No, better to go with a longspear, or two—
“Okojo!”
Ekon jumped. He’d been so lost in his thoughts that he hadn’t even heard Brother Apunda enter the chamber. The old man had a stooped back, a sagging belly, and a concerning amount of white hair peeking out of his ears. He was regarding Ekon much the way one might regard a spider in their morning tea.
“Sir.” Ekon stood to attention at once. Brother Apunda’s eyes narrowed.
“You’re supposed to be shelving the medical journals for Brother Ifechi,” he croaked, voice full of disapproval. He pointed to the other side of the room, where the aforementioned journals were still stacked, notably untouched. “What are you doing in here?”
“Uh—uh—” Ekon stammered. “Well, I was . . .”
“Never mind.” Brother Apunda waved a dismissive hand. “You’re needed elsewhere. I’m afraid Brother Dansabe’s gout has gotten him again, so in his stead you’re going to supervise the apprentices while they muck out the stable this morning.”
“I—” Ekon barely hid his disbelief. He wanted to spend this morning in the library, not in the stable. “But, sir—”
“That is . . .” Brother Apunda raised one bushy gray eyebrow. “Unless you’d like to do the mucking yourself? It needs to be done quickly, as the temple will be opening to patrons in an hour.”
Ekon shut his mouth quickly. Two days ago, he’d lost a lifelong dream, his chance to prove his manhood, and his opportunity to fulfill a family tradition. He wasn’t interested in adding his personal dignity to this week’s losses.
“Sir.” He bowed his head and kept his voice level. “I’ll go immediately.”
* * *
If Ekon loved the Temple of Lkossa’s library, then he hated its stable.
He scrunched his nose on principle as he descended the last set of stairs and headed down the hall that opened up to it. Down here, in the temple’s literal bowels, there was no faint smell of ink and parchment, only the clashing smells of old wood, sweet hay, and mucked dung. It was a place of unending noise, of constant movement. There was no order here, no calm—it was just the opposite of a library.
He stepped onto the straw-swept floor and frowned. Wooden stalls contained under a thatched roof stretched for several yards in every direction, full of the temple’s varying livestock. There was no one else in here that he could see, and he noted that the broad shovels and pitchforks typically used for mucking were still propped against a wall to his right, untouched. It took exactly one more minute before he heard the distinct groan of a cow in distress on the other side of the stable. His eyes narrowed. By the time he turned a corner and found the three apprentice boys crowded around the poor creature’s udders and snickering as they sprayed each other with milk, he was in a foul mood.
“What are you three doing?” He almost winced at the sound of his own voice. He may not have been an anointed Son of the Six, but he could certainly talk like one. At once, all three boys whirled around. In different circumstances, the looks of terror on their faces might have almost been funny.
“Sir!” One of them, a scrawny boy no older than thirteen, spoke up first. His eyes stayed downcast. “We were . . . uh, just waiting on Brother Dansabe—”
“Brother Dansabe is indisposed today.” Ekon shook his head and crossed his arms. “So I’ll be supervising you this morning. First services of the day begin in less than an hour; is there a reason you haven’t started your work?”
“Uh . . .”
“What? Think you’re too good to do what every man in this temple has once done?”
All three of them bowed their heads, chastened. One at a time, they mumbled quiet apologies.
“Get to work, then, starting with the pigsty first.” He paused, then added: “And don’t touch the cow’s udders anymore. It’s immature and probably blasphemous.”
Ekon watched with a small pang as they bowed in respect, then scampered off without another word. In a sad way, he felt for those boys. Years and years ago, this had been one of his and Kamau’s jobs as temple apprentices. Technically, apprentices were supposed to start their work at age twelve and gradually matriculate into higher roles, but Kamau—ever charming, ever likable—had appealed to Father Olufemi. With the help of Brother Ugo, who’d unofficially taken them on as wards, they’d become two of the youngest apprentices in the temple’s history. Ekon sighed. Even from boyhood, Kamau had been saving him. He hadn’t appreciated at the age of seven how bad it was to have no parents, to be an orphan in a place like Lkossa. In any other circumstance, he
and Kamau would have been sent to one of the city’s orphanages, and perhaps they would have been separated, but his brother hadn’t let that happen. From the time they’d been little, Kamau had protected him from the worst things this world had to offer. He’d always tried to find a way for him. Yesterday, he’d done it again.
Promise me that, whatever you do, you won’t let trying to find that thing be more important than your life, he’d said yesterday. I can’t lose you too. You’re all I’ve got left.
You’re all I’ve got left.
Ekon sighed. By not telling Father Olufemi about his plans, Kamau was helping him, but also giving up the one thing he had fought so hard to hold on to—his younger brother. He was making a sacrifice, letting go of the one thing he had left.
Ekon couldn’t waste that kind of sacrifice.
With the apprentices off doing their work, he was alone, but that didn’t make him feel better. He didn’t want to be there; he wanted to be in the armory gathering weapons, in the kitchen grabbing food, and in the library collecting information. He thought of that stack of books he’d left. None of them had had what he’d needed, so he’d have to go back to the shelves as soon as possible. He’d mostly looked at academic papers, but maybe there were more encyclopedias behind the medical journals Brother Ifechi had asked him to shelve . . .
He stopped midthought, stunned. Journals. Journals. Of course.
There was a book that would have information on the Shetani, information about the Greater Jungle and everything he needed. Of course, why hadn’t he thought of it sooner? It had been obvious.
Master Nkrumah’s journal.
He’d only seen it once, many years ago, when Brother Ugo had shown it to him in passing, but he still remembered it vividly. A green hardback book with golden lettering on the cover and deckle-edge pages. He remembered the book because he thought it had looked beautiful, magical, like something cast from another world entirely. Goose bumps covered his arms the longer he thought about it. Yes, a journal like that of Satao Nkrumah—a famous scholar of Zamani natural history—would surely include vital information on the Shetani. After all, the man had probably been around when the Shetani’s attacks had first started all those years ago.
Yes.
His heart began to race. Where would a journal like that be kept? The temple’s library was plausible, but unlikely. Master Nkrumah’s journal would be considered invaluable because of its age, almost sacred. He suddenly recalled something Brother Ugo had said to him just yesterday.
I believe Father Olufemi has several of his works in his study; he keeps the oldest volumes there.
Of course, Father Olufemi kept the temple’s most treasured books in his study, which meant if he wanted Nkrumah’s journal, he’d have to find a way to—
His thoughts were interrupted by a whisper.
“This is as far as I can take you.”
Ekon stilled, not daring to move an inch. From his place leaning against one of the stable’s walls, he was partially obscured in shadow. He squinted between the partition’s wooden panels, curious, and noted that two people had just stopped mere feet away on its opposite side, a boy and a girl. He could see them, but they couldn’t see him. Both were wearing identical gray tunics that had seen better days. The boy was facing him and looked a few years his junior. He was the one who’d spoken before. He cleared his throat, then went on.
“You’re on your own from here.” His whisper sounded raspy, like someone getting over a sore throat. “You sure you want to do this? The penalty for trespassing in the temple—”
“I have to,” the girl replied quickly. Her back was turned away so that Ekon couldn’t see her face, but he was surprised to find her voice almost sounded familiar, like the tune of a song he’d heard before but couldn’t place. He leaned in slightly, trying to hear more without being noticed.
“Then, good luck,” said the boy. “I love you. We both do.”
Ekon tensed, and for a moment all thoughts of the Shetani and finding Nkrumah’s journal were abandoned. He didn’t fully understand what he was overhearing, but he didn’t like the sound of it at all.
There was a pause, and then the girl spoke again. “I love you too.”
Ekon watched the boy and girl hug, then pull apart. The boy offered a final nod before turning on his heel and heading toward the stable’s exit. The girl faced the opposite direction. She was eyeing the entryway that led into the temple, the very entry Ekon had come through just minutes before. He could still only make out a sliver of her profile, but yet again something plucked within him. A second passed in which the girl squared her shoulders, as if bracing herself. She cocked her head left and right, searching a moment, before she started for the entry. She didn’t run, but her steps were quick, lithe, and silent like a stalking cat’s. Ekon couldn’t believe what he was seeing. An intruder was trespassing in the temple before his own eyes. He watched the girl cast one final wary look over her shoulder as she reached the doorway; then she disappeared into the building’s shadows.
He waited a beat, then followed.
CHAPTER 11
A Fair Trade
Lkossa had been beautiful once.
Of course, Koffi had been born long after that golden age, but she still tried to imagine it as she traversed the city’s ancient streets. It didn’t help much, anxiety and nerves still clung to her insides like maize porridge, but she forced herself to appear relaxed as she walked, trying to remember to swing her arms with each step so she didn’t look stiff.
“We’re almost there.”
Beside her, Jabir’s face was a picture of calm. He pressed closer to her so that their shoulders were nearly brushing. “You ready?”
Koffi nodded but didn’t trust herself to speak. She’d been up since dawn, going over every detail of the plan in her head. With each step, her grip on the strap of her burlap shoulder bag reflexively tightened. There wasn’t much in it—two apples, a dented water gourd, and the small purse of copper shabas Baaz had begrudgingly given as a “stipend” for her venture—but she pulled the bag closer. That meager allowance was the most she’d ever had to call her own. Each clink of the coins at her side was a metallic reminder, a goading force driving her forward. She would succeed in this, she had to—the price of failure was too high.
She swallowed hard and tried not to even think about that possibility.
Her toe stubbed on a loose rock in the street, and she felt a jolt of pain. For one hopeful moment, she thought it might be that strange tingle she’d sensed in her feet before, but all too soon it subsided, utterly ordinary. She picked at her fingernails as she thought of yet another thing to add to her list of worries. Her magic. It still felt strange to acknowledge it, like answering to a name that didn’t belong or slipping into clothes that weren’t quite the right size, but she made herself say it in her head. Magic, she had some kind of magic in her body. She thought of the old woman at the market, of the things she’d said; then she thought of her mother. For whatever reason, Mama had chosen not to tell her about magic, but Koffi couldn’t dwell on that now. There was no time to think about where her magic came from; she needed to know what she could do with it. Could she find the Shetani with it, and if she did, could she order it to obey her again? The question went unanswered within the walls of her mind.
They turned onto a new road, and Koffi eyed the massive golden gates at its end, heralded by two Sons of the Six. Well-dressed people in flowing dashikis and wax-print dresses were passing through with no trouble . . . She resisted the urge to look down at her own clothes. She’d washed again before she left the Night Zoo, but that hadn’t drastically improved the state of her old beastkeeper tunic.
Nothing to see, she willed as they neared the gates. Just let us pass.
She dropped her gaze, listening to the easy rhythm of Jabir’s breathing. Her teeth ground together as she felt one of the warriors’
eyes on her, but just as quickly, he looked away. The corners of Jabir’s mouth quirked just slightly as they passed under the arch.
“Told you we’d be fine,” he murmured. “They recognize me.”
Koffi said nothing, but her shoulders relaxed just slightly. Phase one of the plan had been a success. Beside them, there was a loud, woeful bleating that made them both jump, and Koffi looked down at the goat staring indignantly back up at them with large brown eyes. Tied around its neck was a rope, which Jabir was holding on to. As though delighted to have their attention, the goat bleated again. In answer, Koffi frowned. It was best not to dwell on the fact that this entire plan hinged on the silly creature.
One of Jabir’s odd jobs at the Night Zoo was to deliver a Zamani goat to the temple every week for ritual sacrifice. Normal, common goats were easy enough to procure, but Baaz had convinced the Kuhani some time ago that purebred Zamani goats were better, thus creating a standing agreement and the perfect excuse for two beastkeepers to enter a temple they normally would never be permitted in. Not the most sophisticated plan ever contrived, but the only one they had.
The din of the city’s markets and vendors faded as they made their way up a well-manicured red dirt path lined with blue Zamani tulips and Lkossan fire roses. In the distance, the imposing grandeur of the temple came into view. Koffi gnawed her lip. From the vantage point of the Night Zoo, she’d only ever seen the barest glimpses of Lkossa’s namesake temple; up close, it seemed more than a little daunting. It was a complicated structure, all doors and windows and pillars and wings added on over the years, and also far too bright. Even in the pale early-morning sunlight, the white alabaster of its front gleamed painfully in her eyes. She squinted and just made out clusters of well-dressed people congregating on its beautiful front lawns. Some were gathered at the top of the stairs.
“They’re waiting for the morning shukrani service,” Jabir explained. “The stable is around back. This way.”
