by Ayana Gray
“We need to find the thing that’s been really killing people.” Ekon grimaced, an entirely new resolve rising in him. “We need to find whatever Fedu’s been using to hurt Lkossans and put a stop to it.”
“No.” Koffi shook her head, frowning. “What we need to do is find Adiah, and help her.”
“There may be a way,” Badwa said quietly, “for you to do both.”
They looked up, but it was Ekon who spoke first. “What do you mean?”
“My brother is many things,” said the goddess. “Cunning, ambitious, and calculating, but above all else, he is deliberate. He has been facilitating the vicious killings in Lkossa all this time, but with purpose, with a constant goal in mind.”
“To try to get Adiah,” said Koffi.
“Because, with the splendor still inside her body, she is useful to him,” Badwa went on. “But if Adiah no longer had what my brother wanted . . .”
“Then she wouldn’t be useful to him,” Ekon finished.
“And he’d have no reason to kill people anymore,” said Koffi. “The murders would stop.”
Badwa said nothing, but her eyes twinkled. Ekon addressed her again directly. “How do we help Adiah get rid of the splendor in her body?”
The goddess steepled her fingers a moment, thoughtful. “Adiah was able to take that volume of splendor into her body nearly a hundred years ago, during the Bonding, when it rose to the earth’s surface in a greater magnitude than usual,” she said. “In order to put it back, she would need to do the opposite.”
“Could she release it in small quantities?” Ekon asked.
Badwa gave him a considering look. “Imagine you have held a heavy basin of water for a century,” she said. “Now imagine trying to pour that basin out slowly, drip by drip. It could be done, but it would require a great deal of control, an amount I don’t know that Adiah has anymore.” She sat back, thoughtful. “What she needs is another opportunity to get rid of it safely all at once, something like—”
“Another Bonding,” Koffi interjected. “That would allow her to deposit the splendor back into the earth safely, without another Rupture.”
“The next Bonding is in two months,” said Ekon. He actually stood and started to pace. “We’d have to find her before it starts, then get her to a place where it’s safe for her to deposit the splendor without hurting anyone. It would have to be remote, away from people . . .”
“The Kusonga Plains!” Koffi jumped to her feet too. “You said it yourself once, there’s nothing out there but open grassland. It would be a safe place for Adiah to get rid of the splendor still inside her.”
“According to the map in Nkrumah’s journal, the Kusonga Plains aren’t close,” said Ekon. “It would take weeks to get there on foot, more time if we had Adiah with us and had to keep her hidden from Fedu.”
“So we have to find her,” said Koffi. “Sooner rather than later.”
“And if Fedu figures out what we’re doing?” Ekon asked. “If he comes after her?” In the back of his head, another thought crossed his mind. Fedu wasn’t the only one who still wanted to find Adiah. He swallowed. The Kuhani’s hunting party was likely somewhere in this jungle by now, hunting and searching; perhaps they weren’t far off even at this moment . . .
“She won’t be alone.” Koffi’s eyes suddenly hardened. “I’m a daraja too. I can help protect her.” She faced Badwa. “You said you’d teach me how to use the splendor,” she said. “When do we start?”
The goddess of the jungle turned her gaze to the trees, and suddenly Ekon had the sense that the goddess was seeing far more than they ever would.
“Tomorrow,” she said after a moment. “Your first lesson begins at sunrise.”
CHAPTER 23
The Splendor
Koffi was awake by dawn.
She’d done her best to do as Badwa said, to eat dinner, then get as much rest as she could, but it was impossible. Her dreams had been brimful with all the things she’d learned the day before—Adiah, the Shetani, the splendor, the truth about the Rupture. When she woke up and remembered everything all over again, a fresh jolt passed through her being.
She rose from her bedroll as the first rays of dawn touched the still-dark sky. It was a modest thing, lent to her by the yumboes, but certainly more comfortable than anything she’d ever slept on before. Her eyes roamed around the makeshift campsite, looking for her courteous hosts, and she was surprised to find the grounds were empty except for herself, Ekon, who was still asleep a few feet away, and the hut where Badwa assumedly was. There was no sign of the yumboes. She quirked an eyebrow, curious. Did yumboes even need sleep? Where did spectral caretakers of a magical jungle go? What did they do? She realized she didn’t really know.
In silence, she crept away from the campsite and into the looming trees. At this hour of the day, the jungle was not yet awake, and she was more than happy to keep it that way. She stopped when she found the small pond Badwa had referenced the night before, and knelt down to look into its uninterrupted surface. She paused. It was the first time in gods-knew-when that she’d actually looked at herself. She didn’t know what to feel when she saw her reflection in the faint morning light. The girl staring back at her was barely recognizable; somehow she looked older. Her dark twists had unraveled partially into delicate spirals that stuck out in all directions. She looked the same but different. It took her a moment to pinpoint why.
You’re not alone, you’re not the only one.
When she’d made that candle burst in the Hema another lifetime ago, she’d thought she was alone. When the old woman in the market had told her about magic in Lkossa, she’d felt less alone, but now . . . now there was another person like her, a girl she had something in common with, maybe even a friend.
Not a friend, she reminded herself. A prodigy.
If what Badwa had told them the day before was true, Adiah wasn’t going to be a friend; she was a master of the splendor, with more skill than Koffi could ever hope to have. She thought again of the promise she’d made to both Badwa and Ekon yesterday; she’d said that she would protect Adiah if she had to, but the longer she considered the words, the more foolish they sounded in her head. She’d barely been able to protect herself in this jungle. With a stab she thought of her deal with Baaz, the implications of what this change in plans would mean for her bargain with him. If Adiah was really the Shetani, it meant she couldn’t be taken back to the Night Zoo, and she certainly couldn’t be turned over to Father Olufemi. A faint panic crept in the longer she thought about Jabir still trapped in the Night Zoo, about Mama still lying in that infirmary bed—
“Hey, you okay?”
Koffi jumped. Ekon was standing a few feet away, between two trees, looking guilty. Heat rose in her cheeks when she realized how alarmed she must have looked. Gods, he was good at not being heard.
“Sorry.” Ekon raised his hands. “I saw you get up, and I—”
“Thought something might try to eat me?”
“More or less.” He offered a stiff nod before dropping his gaze and letting his fingers tap against his side. Ekon looked strangely nervous. “I’m glad you’re okay.”
Koffi swallowed. “Thanks for checking.”
“Right.” Finally Ekon looked up, clasping his hands behind his back. “Well, in that case, I’ll head back to camp—”
“I wanted to thank you for saving my life too.” Koffi stood. “A lot of what happened before is still blurry, but . . . I know I wouldn’t be here without you.”
Ekon offered a small smile before shaking his head. “Don’t thank me, it’s what any decent person would have done.” As though he’d just thought of something, his expression changed. “You said a lot of what happened before is still blurry. So, you probably don’t remember . . .”
“I remember the story you told me,” said Koffi quickly. For some inexplicable reason, it
felt important to reassure him of that. “I wouldn’t forget that, Ekon.”
Ekon looked relieved, but only partially. “And, um, after you ate the umdhlebi tree’s fruit? Do you remember anything else from then?”
Koffi dropped her gaze. The truth was, those moments after she’d eaten the strange fruit were blurriest of all, sort of like a dream, but . . . there was one thing . . . Her cheeks burned. A piece of a memory had just returned to her. She remembered sitting beneath a tree and feeling Ekon’s eyes on her. She remembered the way he’d looked at her, the way he’d leaned in slightly at the same moment she had. The way she’d wanted to—
“Good morning, child.”
She and Ekon looked up abruptly. The sun had finally appeared over the jungle’s treetops, and with it so had the jungle’s goddess. Badwa, weaving quietly between the trees, as serene and powerful as she had been the day before. Koffi marveled at the sight of her.
“Good morning . . .” Koffi paused. “I’m not actually sure what to call you.”
“My name will do.” Badwa’s eyes twinkled. “Are you ready to begin your lessons?” She looked from Koffi to Ekon, a bit of knowing touching her features. “Or, if I have interrupted you, I can wait . . . ?”
“No need!” Ekon’s voice was at least one octave too high as he turned on his heels to make his way back to the camp. Maybe he’d seen that knowing in Badwa’s eyes too. “Please don’t let me delay you.”
He disappeared into the trees, leaving Koffi and Badwa alone. Koffi felt a distinct pluck of sadness in his absence, but when the goddess cleared her throat, she refocused. “Are you going to teach me how to use the splendor?” she asked.
The goddess gave her an unmistakably wry look. “Not just yet. There are a few practical lessons to be learned, the first of which is that the splendor is not a thing to be used, but rather an energy to be borrowed, transferred from one vessel to another, and then properly released. Think of water.” She gestured to the pond before them. “It is fluid, ever changing. A single drop of rain is inconsequential, but one million drops of rain creates . . .”
“A monsoon,” Koffi finished.
“Precisely,” said Badwa. “It is also important that you understand the relationship between the splendor and the darajas. I told you yesterday that the first darajas were handpicked by my brothers, sisters, and I, but do you know what the word daraja means?”
Koffi shook her head.
“Like the word splendor, it comes from the old tongues we gods gave to mankind. Its meaning is simple: bridge.”
“Bridge,” Koffi repeated. “As in, something you cross?”
“As in, something that connects,” said Badwa. “The splendor is a spiritual energy similar to the air you breathe—it is constant, pervasive, vital to all living things. As a daraja, your body is uniquely equipped to draw it from the earth itself and redirect it. In doing so, you act as a physical conduit between the mundane and the divine.”
“So, what can I do?”
Badwa shook her head, but her expression wasn’t unkind. “The splendor manifests for each daraja slightly differently. To discover how it manifests within you is one of our objectives today. Typically, you will feel it most noticeably in extremities like your hands and feet, so . . .” She sat down and patted a spot of dirt opposite her. “Please sit and press your hands to the earth. We are going to test the strength of your connection to the splendor.”
Koffi stiffened but obeyed nonetheless. Once she was seated with both palms flat against the ground, Badwa clasped her hands.
“Close your eyes.”
Koffi did, feeling foolish. She waited, each passing second like a century. When she finally cracked one eye open, she found the goddess was staring at her, visibly perplexed.
“You felt nothing at all just then?”
Embarrassment flooded Koffi’s cheeks. It felt as though she’d just failed a test she didn’t know she was taking, but she didn’t dare lie. She shook her head.
“Strange,” Badwa mused.
“Actually . . .” Koffi fidgeted. “I’ve been meaning to ask you about something you said yesterday.”
“Go on.”
“You said the first darajas passed their abilities on to their children,” she said. “So, does that mean it’s a, um, family thing?”
Badwa’s eyebrows arched. “It is an ability passed through families by blood, though not always consistently in each generation. Why do you ask?”
Koffi looked down at her hands. “It’s just that neither of my parents were darajas—at least, I’m pretty sure of it.”
“And their parents?”
“They all died before I was born, except for my mother’s mother,” said Koffi. “But then she died when I was really small. She lived with us for a little while I think, but I can’t remember her.”
Badwa’s expression turned thoughtful. “Well, you are certainly a daraja. I sense it within you. Have you ever deliberately tried channeling the splendor?”
Koffi didn’t meet the goddess’s eyes. “Not . . . on purpose,” she whispered. “But a little while ago, I got upset when someone threatened my mom and . . . I’m not sure if I consciously meant to do what I did, but it wasn’t good.”
“I see.”
There was new understanding in Badwa’s eyes. The goddess folded her hands before speaking again. “As I said, the splendor is a spiritual energy. When you draw it from the earth and channel it, it should move through your body like a river, but it can only do so if your mind and body are both at peace. If they are not”—she gave Koffi a meaningful look—“there can be complications.”
“Complications?”
“If your mind and body are not at peace when the splendor is moving through you, it can create an obstruction that keeps it inside of you,” Badwa explained. “It can build like a toxin, and if it remains, it can wreak havoc on the physical body. You now know what’s happened to Adiah, but in the worst scenario, keeping too much of the splendor within you could cost your very life.”
Koffi swallowed, remembering the Night Zoo. She remembered taking that breath and holding it in, feeling heady, before feeling a release. It scared her to think of some dangerous thing building inside her, something that could kill her. “How do I stop that from happening?”
“Before you try to draw and channel the splendor, you must relax your mind and body entirely. You must find inner peace,” said Badwa. “I want you to close your eyes again. This time, take slow, even breaths. Count each one as a beat, like a rhythm.”
Koffi did as she was told, closing her eyes to the world around her. In the darkness, she listened to the sound of her own breathing. It felt silly. She imagined what she must’ve looked like sitting there, hands in the dirt like a child.
It’s not going to work, said a ridiculing voice in her head. Not for someone like you. Your mind is never at peace.
She tried to imagine a fortress like the Night Zoo, high mud-brick walls all around her mind. The voice of doubt lapped against her, persistent and unabating, but she built her fortress up higher. Tentatively, she reached for that light she’d felt inside Badwa’s tent. Like an answering call, it came, warming her fingertips for the briefest of moments. Just as quickly, it vanished. Koffi opened her eyes.
“It comes, but it won’t stay.”
Badwa’s eyes were measured. “Your mind isn’t at peace.”
Koffi looked around. “Sure it is. I haven’t been this well rested in . . . well, ever.”
“Being well rested isn’t the same thing as being truly at peace,” said Badwa. “There is something inside you preventing the splendor from flowing properly, something you haven’t acknowledged. You have suppressed it, and so suppressed your channel.”
Koffi’s eyebrow rose. “I don’t feel . . . suppressed.” She paused, thoughtful. “If anything, I get myself in trouble for not
suppressing things enough.”
Badwa steepled her fingers. “Think back to a time in your life when you were truly upset about something, the last time you cried. How did you handle it?”
Koffi didn’t have to think far back to find a memory. “I don’t cry, really.” She realized as soon as she said the words how silly they sounded. “Well, I mean, I do cry, but not often. When I thought something had happened to my family, I sort of wanted to, but . . . I also didn’t.”
“Has your family ever upset you?” asked Badwa.
“No.” Koffi’s answer was immediate. “My mama is . . . well, she’s just good. She’s always sacrificing for me and putting me before herself. And technically Jabir isn’t related to me, but he’s as good as family too. All he wants to do is make people smile and—”
“What about your father?” Badwa’s voice was its softest yet. “Has he ever upset you?”
Koffi stiffened. “My baba is dead.”
“That is not what I asked.”
A beat passed between them before Koffi tried again. “It . . . wouldn’t be fair to be upset at my baba anymore. He’s gone.”
Badwa readjusted in the dirt. “Just because a person dies doesn’t mean their impact does. How do you feel when you think of him?”
“Bad.” Koffi wanted to close her eyes, but found she couldn’t. “He was . . . a kind man. He made my mama laugh, and he made us feel loved. I—we both miss him all the time.”
“But?”
Something tightened in Koffi’s chest. She forced herself to speak the words anyway.
“He didn’t always make good decisions,” she whispered. “He was irresponsible sometimes, and Mama and I paid for it.”
