Beasts of Prey

by Ayana Gray

  “How long do you think it takes to choke a demon?” One of them laughed.

  “No!” The warrior who had spoken first raised a hand. “Do not harm it, and stick to the plan. Our orders are to take it to Father Olufemi, let him deal with this beast.”

  The words twisted like a knife in Koffi’s side as she watched more ropes fly, watched Adiah struggle against them. The plan. Father Olufemi. Our orders. The Sons of the Six weren’t here by accident, this had been coordinated, which meant—

  “Ekon.” A cold fear gripped her. “You didn’t. Tell me you didn’t—”

  Ekon still wasn’t looking at her; it was as though he couldn’t hear her at all. He was staring at Adiah as she thrashed, eyes wide, but he didn’t move. He didn’t say a word.

  “Stop!” Koffi ran to Adiah before they could grab her, tugging as hard as she could at the ropes. Real tears were blurring her vision, and it was impossible to see where one rope started and another ended amid the complicated array of knots and loops. A large hand grabbed her upper arm and dragged her back.

  “Move!” The warrior who had snatched her looked down at her as though she were a bug. With his free hand, he jabbed his spear tip into Adiah’s side. The daraja screamed.

  “No!” Koffi struggled in the warrior’s grasp, and a fresh wave of rage tore from her. She reached for the splendor again, fingers physically outstretched as though it were something she could grab. She wasn’t at peace or calm, she was just angry, and she focused on that. This time it came greedily. It rose from the ground, traveling up her legs until she was filled to the brim with it.

  Let it go, a small voice inside of her pleaded. Let it go.

  She touched the warrior’s bare arm, relishing as he screamed in pain. The distinct smell of burnt flesh filled the air. He let go of her and stepped back.

  “She burned me!” he screamed. “She’s a daraja!”

  Fear collided with anger as her heartbeat quickened. She looked around, desperate for help from anywhere, anyone. Her eyes found Ekon’s again.

  “Help me!” she cried. “Ekon, please!”

  But Ekon didn’t move, and slowly she understood that he wasn’t going to. As that realization doused the heat in her chest, she felt the splendor leave her and knew it wouldn’t return. Instead, spots of black blurred her vision, as though the blood was rushing back to her head after being held upside down. Her fingertips and toes were losing their feeling, and she had the sense of falling into a deep, unending chasm. The world was getting farther and farther away.

  “We should kill her,” she heard someone say from that emptiness. “Before anyone else finds out.”

  “No.” Another voice, the warrior who’d addressed Ekon. “Don’t harm her either. Tie her up and take her with us. The Kuhani will . . .”

  Koffi didn’t hear the rest. Her mouth had filled with saliva, as though she was about to vomit, and her vision was fading fast. She could do nothing as hands found her wrists and bound them together with a rope that chafed against her skin. Someone grabbed her, dragging her across the dirt and bramble like a sack of yams.

  “Ekon . . .” She could barely form his name on her lips. “Ekon, please . . .”

  The last thing she saw, through her tunneled view, was Ekon’s blurred silhouette as he marched away.

  He did not look back.

  PART FOUR

  The cheetah dies once, the antelope a thousand times.

  The Sky Garden

  ADIAH

  “Try again, Songbird.”

  The stars are bright tonight, a thousand sparkling jewels sewn into a dress only fit for a goddess. Their silver light is ethereal, impossibly beautiful as it spills over every rose and blooming gardenia in the temple’s sky garden. I admire them, but I don’t have time to appreciate them for long.

  I hear a whoosh, feel the bite of the wind as it rushes toward me in a great gust. Instinctively, my hands fold like I’m praying, and then I extend my arms forward, cutting through the splendor as it diverts in either direction, barely avoiding me on either side. Across the garden, Dakari inclines his head. It’s still strange to see him here, in this place that’s been secret for so long. He knows all about the splendor now and loves watching me practice with it. The sight of him standing there, amid tangles of old flowers, is a peculiar juxtaposition. In a few strides, he closes the gap between us. His hands are warm as they rest on my shoulders.

  “You’re still holding back,” he says gently. “I can tell.”

  It’s true. I am holding back, but I don’t want Dakari to know why. He is a clean slate, something new in my life. I don’t want to scare him away, like I’ve scared almost everyone else away. A familiar guilt gnaws at my edges as I think about Tao, about the things he said to me in the temple’s kitchens. That was weeks ago, and he and I haven’t spoken since. It isn’t for lack of want—I’ve tried several times to look for him—but it seems my best friend has turned into a shadow, impossible to find. He’s avoiding me, presumably still angry at me for showing Dakari this garden. For the life of me, I don’t understand it. The way he looked at me in the temple’s kitchens still burns my conscience. I don’t ever want Dakari to look at me that way. I want Dakari to like me. His hands are still on my shoulders.

  “Sorry.”

  “Don’t apologize.” His words are firm but kind. He crooks a long finger under my chin, tilting my head up so that my eyes meet his, light brown flecked with gray. I have to work not to shiver at the touch; I have to work not to want more of it. His voice is deep, almost melodic.

  “You should never apologize for being who you are,” he murmurs. “Or make yourself small so that others feel big.”

  The words ignite something in me. No one has ever spoken to me like this before, with real respect. No one has ever encouraged me to push myself like this, to reach for more.

  “Try again.” Dakari steps back with a nod, and I already miss him. “This time, don’t hold back. Give me everything.”

  I ignore the heat on the back of my neck, try not to think about the way those words feel layered. Give me everything. I want to kiss Dakari, maybe more, but the Brothers of the Order say proper women should be chaste before marriage.

  I grow tired of being proper.

  Dakari swivels without warning, throwing three rocks into the air. I summon the splendor instantly. It crackles in the night, and I feel it moving through me in waves. This time, I let go of the inhibitions, the safeguards I’ve taught myself to always hold up. I push against it, imagine erecting a giant wall three times my own height. The rocks Dakari threw collide with it, then fall to the ground. I feel the power dissipate all around me, and then the earth settles. My skin tingles.

  “I . . .” I’m not sure how to read the expression on his face. His eyes are wide. “I don’t know how I did that. I’ve never—”

  “That was . . . incredible.”

  And then I’m in Dakari’s arms, spinning, and my world blurs. No boy has ever looked at me the way he is now. He sets me back on my feet and presses our foreheads together. My heart begins to race as his thumb traces along my jawline, as he leans closer to me.

  “There’s something I want to show you,” he says with a small smile. “Tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow?” For a moment, I’m pulled from the reverie of him, genuinely curious. “But the Bonding is tomorrow—”

  His arms snake around my waist, pulling me closer. “It’ll be worth it. I promise, Songbird.”

  Songbird. That’s what Dakari calls me, a nod to the fact that I love to sing. He made up that name just for me. I like the way it sounds on his lips. I like that it’s something private, something just for us.

  “Okay, then.” I nod. “Tomorrow.”

  Dakari’s eyes dance. “Meet me at the jungle’s edge just after midnight?”

  “Yeah, I will.”

  I say the
words like they’re an oath; in some ways they are. A grin tugs at the corner of Dakari’s mouth, and his lips brush mine. It’s a fleeting gesture, so quick that it ends before I even realize what’s happened. But it still sets my skin ablaze, it still makes me wish he’d do it again.

  “It’s going to be good, Songbird,” Dakari whispers. “I promise.”

  My smile mirrors his own.

  I trust Dakari. I think I love him. We haven’t known each other long, but I feel like we have. I would do anything for him.

  I would die for him.

  CHAPTER 28

  A Son of the Six

  Ekon watched the writhing bodies of six black mambas tangle in their basket, each one of their eyes locked on him in waiting.

  He moved without warning, snatching his scrap of parchment from them so fast that he didn’t have time to feel anything. They hissed but did not strike him.

  Sweat slicked his palm as he unfurled his fist and handed that scrap to Father Olufemi without looking at it. He didn’t need to, because he already knew what it said. The old man glanced down at the paper a moment, then nodded.

  “Well done.”

  They were alone in the chamber, the same chamber he’d once stood in with his co-candidates. The quiet was unsettling, but Ekon didn’t think about that either. He locked gazes with Father Olufemi for a moment, before the latter pointed to the ground.

  “Kneel.”

  Ekon obeyed, ignoring the sudden cold of the room’s stone tiles as he pressed one knee to them and bowed his head. It seemed to take years for the Kuhani to speak again.

  “Ekon Asafa Okojo, son of Asafa Lethabo Okojo and Ayesha Ndidi Okojo.”

  Ekon looked up and found Father Olufemi staring down at him, eyes intent.

  “You have demonstrated a true act of valor, and in doing so exhibited a righteousness, dedication, and loyalty far exceeding your years,” he murmured. “You have honored your people, your family, and your gods.”

  Ekon bowed his head again. He still remembered the way Father Olufemi had looked at him inside the Night Zoo as he’d pronounced that Ekon would never be a Yaba warrior. So much had changed.

  “Candidate Okojo.”

  Father Olufemi’s words dragged Ekon back to the present as the holy man placed a hand on his shoulder. “Do you swear to uphold the tenets so bestowed upon the warriors of our people?”

  Ekon nodded. “I do.”

  “Do you swear, for the rest of your days, to act with honor, courage, and integrity?”

  “I do.” In the back of his mind, he saw a girl’s face, and his stomach twisted slightly.

  “Look at me, Candidate Okojo.”

  Slowly, Ekon’s eyes met Father Olufemi’s. A small pang hit somewhere low in his gut as he reflected on how different those harsh eyes were from Brother Ugo’s.

  “Do you swear to always obey the Six and those through whom they speak, without hesitation?”

  Ekon swallowed again before he answered, and prayed his voice was loud enough. “Yes, Father. I do.”

  “Then, in the name of the Six true gods, I anoint you.”

  At his side, Ekon’s fingers tapped.

  One-two-three. One-two-three. One-two-three.

  “You are now a holy warrior, and a man of the Yabahari people,” Father Olufemi declared. “Rise, warrior.”

  Ekon stood. He waited for the moment to hit him. He knew this was the moment he should have felt something. He’d dreamed of being a Yaba warrior since he was a child, for over a decade. This was the moment he should have felt the thrum of power coursing through him, the same thrum he’d felt the night he’d first attempted his final rite of passage. He should have been terrified, or excited, or both. Instead, he felt like he’d drunk bad well water.

  Father Olufemi crossed the room to the door; the minute he did, a group of warriors rushed in. Sons of the Six were supposed to exhibit a constant decorum in the Temple of Lkossa, but they abandoned it as they swarmed him. The warriors roared their approval, stomping their feet and pounding the shafts of their longspears hard against the hallowed stone in triumph. Someone slapped him on the back, and another hand pressed something soft into his hands. When he looked down, Ekon saw that it was a sky-blue kaftan, embroidered in gold and folded into a neat square. He could tell, even at a touch, that this fabric was finely made, no doubt tailored by the city’s best. No expense was spared for a Son of the Six. It was real now.

  “Well, are you going to put it on?”

  Ekon looked over the heads of the other warriors and found Kamau. In all his life, he’d never seen his brother look so proud. Kamau wasn’t just smiling, he was beaming, a light all his own. A warmth emanated from him that Ekon swore he could almost feel, even feet away. He’s proud of you, he slowly realized. You’ve finally made him truly proud. That epiphany should have flooded Ekon with happiness. He waited for that joy, for the relief. Neither came.

  “You know . . .” A touch of merriment twinkled in Kamau’s eyes. “If you don’t want to wear it, I’ll happily take—”

  “Warrior Okojo, you will change into the attire befitting your new station,” said Father Olufemi, nodding to Ekon. “When you are done, please make your way to the temple’s worship hall.”

  Ekon nodded, grateful for an excuse to leave. He exhaled as soon as he left the room, as soon as he found a small room where he could change into his new clothes. He’d always admired the warrior blue on Kamau, even more so on Baba. As a boy, he’d imagined the day he’d wear it too.

  He hadn’t imagined it like this.

  “Just nerves,” he muttered to himself as he changed from his old kaftan to his new one. He cringed as the fabric slid over his head. This kaftan was sewn by the best tailors in Lkossa, made with the highest quality cotton, but . . . it felt wrong. It was slick against his skin like the scales of a snake, too cold. He swallowed, easing the nausea down his throat, and his fingers danced against his side.

  It had been a full day since he and the other Yaba warriors had emerged from the Greater Jungle, covered in dirt and brambles and debris. The memories of that moment were like an unfinished quilt, patched together with careless thread and always threatening to unravel. He remembered the cheers of the Sons of the Six all around him, whooping and tossing their spears high as the first hints of true, unfiltered sunlight began to dapple the ground before them. There’d been a sudden onslaught of light, and then a roar had torn through the air. It had taken Ekon a moment to register that the sound was no animal, but people, hundreds of them, standing in the borderlands and cheering their approval.

  Cheering for you, he’d gradually realized. They’re celebrating you.

  The rest of that day had been more difficult to remember. He knew—somehow—he’d gotten to the temple eventually. He’d bathed, changed into fresh clothes, and even shaved for good measure. By the time he’d gone outside again, the line of people waiting to see him stretched from the temple’s front doors all the way down to the Takatifu District’s golden-arched entrance. The Yaba warriors hadn’t even been able to enforce the usual dress code; people from all over the city had gathered to lay eyes on him, to touch him. The elderly had bowed their heads in quiet respect; children had come bearing wreaths of laurels and flowers to lay at his feet. Vendors from all over the city had come offering pottery, and jewels, and food from their shops. They’d treated him like a god. Over and over, they’d said the same words.

  Have made your family proud.

  Just like his father . . .

  A true hero.

  It had been overwhelming, a dream come true. All Ekon had ever wanted was the respect and approval of his people; he’d gotten it tenfold. But the joy had been short-lived. It hadn’t taken long for a nasty feeling to curdle in his belly, and a day later, it had continued to linger. He knew, somewhere in this temple, there was a beast locked away. The sickness inside
him grew, and at once, a whole slew of thoughts he’d been repressing sprang free. He remembered the warriors circling them in the jungle, jeering and whooping. He remembered the ropes tangling around Adiah like hemp serpents, twisting and knotting until she’d been brought low. Worst of all, he remembered the anger and shock on Koffi’s face when she’d understood the totality of his betrayal. Her eyes staring into his with that confusion, that hurt, cut into him like a blade.

  “Warrior Okojo?” Someone was knocking at the door. Ekon recognized Father Olufemi’s voice. “Are you ready?”

  Ekon jumped to attention. It still felt strange to hear that honorific. “Yes, Father.” He opened the door and followed the holy man down the hall; notably, the other Sons of the Six were gone. Ekon had started to ask where they were when Father Olufemi opened a door and he was suddenly cast into a flood of golden light and noise. It was so bright, Ekon had to cover his eyes for a moment. When they settled, he saw the temple’s worship hall had been transformed.

  The usually conservative room was festooned with sashes and streamers of blue, green, and gold, and several tables were filled to the brim with food. It was a feast. Upon realizing the guest of honor had arrived, the waiting crowd cheered. It looked like every important Yaba family was here.

  “What?” Ekon stopped short. “What’s this?”

  Father Olufemi was already stepping away, smiling, and in his place, several warriors came forward.

  “A feast!” Fahim threw an arm around his neck and steered him into the room as more people cheered. “In celebration of the Shetani’s capture!”

  Ekon felt nauseated. This room was filled with Lkossa’s elites, people dressed in their finest. They thought the thing that had menaced the city for years had been captured, that all would be well from hereon. He swallowed.