by Ayana Gray
“Remind me why all of this is necessary.”
He started, and beside him Koffi’s eyes cut to him. She was wearing a pale blue dress, a gossamer veil, and a scowl, gesturing at herself. “It’s very uncomfortable.”
Ekon resisted rolling his eyes. “I told you before,” he said as they continued weaving through people. “Guests are required to cover themselves when visiting the—”
“You’re not covered up.”
“Men aren’t required to.”
Koffi made a rude sound before tripping on the hem of her dress. Ekon steadied her, but she still swore under her breath. Several nearby patrons looked around, visibly scandalized. Ekon stepped even closer to her so that their arms brushed.
“You have got to stop swearing.”
In answer, Koffi looked up at him. It was an uncanny recall back to the night they’d met. “Are you bothered?”
“In case you forgot, we are in a temple, not a tavern,” he said through his teeth. “Therefore, swearing is frowned upon. Besides, if you’re not careful, someone will hear you—and you have a Gede accent.”
Koffi’s scowl deepened further still. “I do not.”
“You also argue a lot,” Ekon muttered.
“No, I don’t.”
Ekon said nothing else as they neared the front of the worship hall. He’d thought finding appropriate clothes for Koffi would be the hardest part of their plan, but he’d been mistaken. As it happened, there was very little she did without some sort of commentary. He caught the way she was looking around at the temple and its gods with a shrewdness.
“What?”
“I don’t get it,” she said with a frown.
“Get what?”
“This.” She gestured widely. “The point of all . . . this.”
“The shukrani service is a daily ritual,” Ekon explained. “Each morning, Father Olufemi visits the worship hall to receive prayers and offerings from the temple’s patrons.”
Koffi rolled her eyes. “Sounds pretentious.”
For a moment, Ekon was mildly offended, but then curiosity got the best of him. “Don’t your people worship the same gods?”
“Of course we do,” she said brusquely. “We just do it with less pomp and circumstance.”
It was Ekon’s turn to frown. “If you don’t give your prayers and offerings to the Kuhani, then how do the gods receive them?”
A smile tugged at the corners of Koffi’s lips, wry but not unkind. “We pray to their familiars.” She pointed to the base of each god’s statue. Ekon knew what he would see, but looked anyway. Near the feet of each god or goddess was an animal meant to represent them—a heron, a crocodile, a jackal, a serpent, a dove, and a hippo.
“We send our prayers off in the night, and the familiars carry them on our behalf straight to the gods’ ears.”
“Interesting . . .”
She gave him a look. “Haven’t you ever heard expressions like ‘From the hippo’s tongue,’ or ‘By the heron’s beak’?”
“No.”
“Well, they come from that tradition. We revere the gods’ familiars,” she said. “I mean, it’s not like we’re allowed to come here to pray.” There was a touch of sadness in her voice. “The old faith was denied to us, so we found another way to be devout.”
Ekon shifted uncomfortably. In truth, despite spending most of his life in the Temple of Lkossa, he’d never really thought about the fact that Gedes weren’t allowed to worship there. Now that he did, it didn’t feel right, but he didn’t know what to say. He cleared his throat, changing the subject.
“Okay, so you remember the plan?”
Koffi nodded.
“Time is limited,” he murmured. They were mere yards from the front of the worship hall, the statues of the Six rising to meet them. “Father Olufemi will make some opening remarks before he begins the shukrani service, and then everyone will be trying to get to him. So right before that is your best chance to—”
“I know.” Koffi didn’t bother keeping her voice low. “You’ve said it three times.”
Ekon went on as though he hadn’t heard her. In honesty, he would have preferred to go into Father Olufemi’s study himself to get the journal, but some quick deliberating had put an end to that idea. He was big where Koffi was small, noticeable where she was not. Strategically, it was better for her to do this, but he still didn’t like it.
“I’ll be waiting here in the worship hall,” he said. “As soon as you’ve got the map, we’ll head down to the stable and leave through its exit.” He gave the stairs to their left a cursory glance. “You remember how to get to the—”
“Up those stairs, down the hall, third door on the right.”
“If the door’s locked, the spare key—”
“Is under the hallway rug,” Koffi finished for him with narrowed eyes. “How do you even know that?”
Ekon kept his expression inscrutable. “I grew up in the temple. My mentor, Brother Ugo, used to have me read—”
“Sounds boring.”
Ekon opened his mouth to argue, but his words were cut off by a long, sonorous toll. At once, they both straightened, and all around them the patrons looked up.
“That’s your cue.” Ekon didn’t look at her as he murmured the words. “You should go.”
“Right,” said Koffi brusquely. She drew her veil closer so that more of her face was obscured, then lost herself in the crowd. Ekon swallowed, tapping his fingers at his side and reviewing their plan in his head.
She’ll be fine, he reassured himself. His eyes cut back to the front of the temple, where others were looking and waiting. Father Olufemi hadn’t come yet, but their race against time had begun.
Twenty minutes.
Twenty. Not a great number, but that was how long Koffi had to get to the study and back again. She can do it, he reasoned. She’ll be back in no time.
Or she won’t, a shrewder voice in his head suggested. Maybe she’ll just take the journal and make a run for it.
No, you have a deal. She needs you to translate it, he argued back with himself, but within the words there was a hint of uncertainty. He remembered the way she’d looked at him down in the temple’s basements—untrusting, skeptical. He’d watched the way she assessed the terms of their deal, probably finding a dozen loopholes to get herself out of it if things went wrong. It was a gamble, but he’d have to take it.
“We will begin the shukrani service momentarily,” one of the brothers of the temple called out. “Please have your offerings ready so that as many prayer requests can be received as possible!”
Ekon jumped slightly as people around him began digging in their bags and peering over each other’s heads while they waited for Father Olufemi to emerge and lead the worship ceremony. Despite himself, despite everything coursing through his mind at the moment, he felt another pang of guilt. He was standing in the Temple of Lkossa, the oldest and most hallowed place in all the city. As a boy, he’d regarded this place as the physical representation of everything he held dear, everything he valued. Now he was plotting to steal from it, to desecrate it.
Again, his eyes were drawn to the gods and goddesses, arranged in birth order. It was said they were brethren and sistren, each tasked to watch over a particular piece of the world—the skies, seas, jungles, deserts, mountains, and realm of the dead. Gods and goddesses could not be bothered with hearing prayers from mortals; that was why Father Olufemi held shukrani services to receive and relay prayers on the people’s behalf. It was, technically speaking, against decorum to address one of the Six directly. Ekon found himself doing it anyway.
Please, he prayed to each one. Please let this plan work.
“Hey, Okojo! That you?”
Ekon turned, and at once his shoulders tensed. Shomari and Fahim were making their way toward him through the worship hall’s
crowd, the blue of their brand-new kaftans painfully bright even in the temple’s shadowed light. Seeing them hurt Ekon more than he’d expected.
“Hey.” He nodded as they stopped before him. “How are you?”
“It’s good to see you, Ekon.” Fahim was beaming. “We didn’t think you’d be around for a while!”
Ekon kept his tone even. “And why would that be?”
Fahim paused. When he spoke again, his words were more careful. “Well, it’s just that . . . we didn’t think . . .”
“He’s not going to say it, so I will.” The new haughtiness in Shomari’s stance was insufferable. “We didn’t think you’d dare show your face around here after that embarrassment at the Night Zoo.” He said the words loudly so that people in the vicinity would certainly hear them. Fahim looked away and Ekon shifted his weight from foot to foot. More than ever before, he wanted to disappear, to sink through the temple’s ancient stone floors and never be seen again. He had to work to keep his expression smooth.
“All Yabas are free to request blessings at a shukrani service,” said Ekon lightly. “Surely, holy warriors wouldn’t deny me that right?”
“It’s not a right.” Shomari’s voice lowered to a growl, his expression holding nothing but disgust. “Not for Gede sympathizers like you, Okojo.”
“As a matter of fact, it is.” Ekon pretended to inspect his fingernails.
“I could have you dragged out of here,” Shomari said, eyes growing dark. “I could do it myself.”
“I’d like to see you try.”
It happened without warning.
There was a guttural roar as Shomari lunged. Ekon stepped back, avoiding him by only inches. Several people in the crowd gasped as he spun on his heel and faced Ekon with a snarl.
Fahim’s brows rose in horror. “Shomari, what are you—?”
Ekon didn’t wait. Shomari was already barreling toward him again, nostrils flaring. Ekon feinted left, then turned on his heel. This time, Shomari nearly crashed to the floor before catching himself. Several patrons screamed and got out of the way.
“Coward!” Shomari yelled. “Fight me!”
Ekon steadied himself, bracing. His mind detached from his body as instinct took over, as a memory kicked in. Then he wasn’t in the temple anymore. His mind was back in the borderlands, remembering a night many years ago with Brother Ugo, walking side by side.
“Look, Ekon.”
It’d taken Ekon a moment to understand what he was seeing, a scuffle in the red dirt. His eyes had gone wide as the dust settled and he made out two figures in it: a long brown snake and a small, furry tan creature. Their eyes were locked on each other, completely still, oblivious to their audience.
“We are fortunate to witness one of nature’s oldest curiosities,” Brother Ugo had said. “Have you ever watched the dance of the mamba and the mongoose?”
“Dance?” Ekon asked incredulously. “Brother, they’re not dancing, they’re fighting.”
“Ah.” Brother Ugo’s eyes crinkled merrily. “But what is any fight if not simply a form of art in motion?” He gestured toward the black mamba and the mongoose again, and as if cued, the mongoose hissed, baring small, pointed teeth as its amber eyes flashed. “It is a peculiar thing,” Brother Ugo whispered. “More often than not, people assume that the mamba always will win—he is, after all, large, venomous, and quick.”
The mongoose swiped a paw through the air and the mamba lunged, striking at its paw with terrifying accuracy. The mongoose let out a small yelp of pain. Ekon winced on its behalf.
“What most people do not understand,” Brother Ugo continued, “is that the mongoose is far wiser than she looks. She is resilient, immune to the mamba’s venom, and . . .” He nodded one more time. “She is quicker.”
It happened fast, so impossibly fast that Ekon would have missed it if he’d blinked. The black mamba slithered forward, advancing on its prey. It struck a second time but never found its target. Instead, the mongoose snatched the snake from the air and sank its teeth into the serpent’s spine with a short, brutal crunch. The snake fell limp, blood pooling in the dirt. It was still alive but paralyzed, sentenced to a slow death. Ekon hadn’t realized he was holding his breath until Brother Ugo placed a hand on his shoulder.
“You do not have to be the largest or most dangerous fighter, Ekon,” he said quietly. “So long as you are fastest.”
So long as you are fastest.
Shomari was larger, probably a better fighter, but Ekon was quicker. The next time Shomari charged, Ekon was ready. His feet seemed to move of their own accord, pivoting him left as Shomari barreled forward and missed him like a charging bull. The momentum propelled the larger boy onward and he stumbled. Fahim grabbed him before he could stand again.
“You coward!” Shomari yelled. “You arrogant, smug piece of—”
“Warrior Mensah!”
All three of them looked up, as did several other watching patrons. Brother Ugo was weaving through the crowd calmly, but his face was stern. He looked among them all. “What is the meaning of this?”
At once, Shomari stopped struggling and stood at attention, grumbling something unintelligible.
“I am quite sure the Kuhani would not condone such conduct here,” said Brother Ugo. “You’ll come with me. As I understand it, you’ve been given certain new responsibilities from Father Olufemi, is that right?”
“Yes, Brother,” Shomari muttered.
“Then we best get you to see him. Honestly, acting that way in a place of the gods . . .”
Ekon and Fahim watched as he escorted Shomari away. Once he was out of sight, Fahim’s expression grew serious. “How are you, Ekon?”
Ekon’s heart hitched. There was such genuine concern in Fahim’s voice that it hurt. A bit too curtly, he said:
“I’m fine.”
Fahim met his gaze and held it a moment. When he spoke again, his voice was lower. “You didn’t deserve what happened to you.”
A hard lump rose in Ekon’s throat, making it hard to speak. “It’s okay, Fahim. I—”
“It’s not okay,” said Fahim. “It was one mistake. You worked harder than all of us; even Shomari knows that. You deserved warriorship most.”
The lump in Ekon’s throat was becoming unbearably tight, and his eyes were beginning to sting. He blinked hard until that feeling went away. He’d suffered more than enough embarrassment without crying like a little girl in front of Fahim. Quickly, he changed the subject.
“How have things been for you?” he asked. “How’s life as an official Yaba warrior?”
He hadn’t expected the shadow that suddenly fell over Fahim’s face. It was as though an invisible veil had been lifted, and beneath it a different truth flickered in his friend’s eyes. It had only been a day since they’d last seen each other, but Fahim looked strangely older, or perhaps just more fatigued. The skin under his eyes was puffy, and Ekon noticed that Fahim’s usually neat topknot of dreadlocks looked frizzy and slightly unkempt.
“It’s been . . . difficult.” Fahim massaged his closed eyelids. “Father Olufemi isn’t happy about the Shetani’s most recent killings.” He lowered his voice. “Between us, the public’s losing confidence. To reassure them, he’s increased patrolling in all the districts and the borderlands. The problem is, there aren’t enough of us. Since Shomari and I are the rookies, we get the worst shifts. Everyone’s exhausted. That’s probably why he was being . . .”
“More obnoxious than usual?”
“Yeah.”
Ekon was careful to keep his tone casual. “So, is there any new information? Any new sightings?”
“No.” Fahim frowned. “We think it’s gone back into the jungle, at least for the time being. Actually . . .” He paused. “There’s something you should probably know, Ekon. I’m not supposed to say, but you’re my friend and—”
Ekon worked to keep his face impassive. “I know about the hunting party.”
Relief flooded Fahim’s face for only a moment before his expression grew taut. “Father Olufemi’s asked me to join it. Shomari too.”
A distinct stab of jealousy pricked against Ekon’s skin. He couldn’t help but wonder if—in a different world—he would have been chosen for such an honor too. Surely he was just as qualified as Shomari and Fahim? He tried to keep the tension from his voice when he answered.
“Do you know when you’re going?”
“Not yet.” Fahim shook his head. “But I think it’ll be soon, probably in the next few days.”
Days. Ekon tried to calculate that in his mind. How much of a head start could he and Koffi get if they left tomorrow, or even tonight? If they kept an aggressive pace, how long would it take the Sons of the Six to catch up with them . . . ?
“In the meantime,” Fahim continued, “our patrol shifts are doubled, and every morning, one of us has to go to Father Olufemi’s study and give a status report.” He looked over his shoulder. “Shomari is supposed to be doing that right now.”
“Wait.” A bolt of panic lurched through Ekon as Fahim’s words sank in. “I thought Father Olufemi was leading the shukrani service this morning?”
“Usually he would be.” Fahim yawned. “But in light of these new attacks, he’s allocating more time to his direct duties with the Sons of the Six. Brother Lekan has been appointed to lead the service in Father Olufemi’s stead.” He gestured to one of the brothers emerging from the corridor. At once, people began pushing to get to him, and Ekon pressed his lips together. Fahim said something else, but he didn’t hear it. A dull roar filled his ears. His and Koffi’s plan had been predicated on the assured fact that Father Olufemi was not going to be in his study during the shukrani service. He’d told her it was safe, and she was on her way there at this moment or even already inside. If she was caught . . . how long would it take for her to name him? Panic lanced through him.
