Beasts of Prey

by Ayana Gray

  “This is too much,” he said.

  “Move.” Shomari shoved past them none too gently, holding a goblet of wine. Judging by the way the wine sloshed, it wasn’t his first. He passed without looking at them.

  “What’s his problem?” Ekon asked.

  Fahim raised an eyebrow, incredulous. “He’s jealous, Ekon. A lot of people are. What you just did . . . it’ll probably never be topped.”

  Jealous. That word sounded strange. Not so long ago, Ekon had been jealous of Fahim and Shomari, wanted so badly to have what they did. Now things were reversed, another change.

  “I don’t want this,” he said, shaking his head.

  “Look, Ekon.” Fahim’s eyes weren’t on him anymore, but instead focused on a group of well-dressed Yaba girls. They were staring back, giggling behind their hands. “I know you prefer books over a bottle of wine, but trust me, this is definitely a night to enjoy the finer things. And speaking of finer things.” He gave the girls another meaningful look. “I think a few of our guests look lonely . . .”

  Ekon watched Fahim cross the room to join the giggling young women. It was a cruel kind of contrast, seeing everyone so happy. All around him people were feasting and celebrating because they thought they were finally safe, but he knew better. His mind recounted the things he’d learned in the Greater Jungle. Adiah may have been captured, but she wasn’t the one responsible for the attacks; something else was, something that was still out there, perhaps even at this moment.

  Tell them, a voice in his mind implored. Tell them the truth.

  He couldn’t, not now, not after all of this. If these people learned that there was still another monster out there—something worse than the Shetani—he wouldn’t just be expelled from the Sons of the Six, he’d be rejected by his people.

  He couldn’t stomach that.

  Ekon’s eyes shot across the worship hall and focused on two people huddled in one of its corners. Their heads were slightly bent as they whispered to each other; one was wearing a sky-blue kaftan, the other a deep blue agbada. Kamau and Father Olufemi. His mind was made up even before he reached them. He had to talk to one or both, and tell them that something else was out there. It wouldn’t be the complete truth, but it would be something. By the time he’d reached them, they were already moving apart. Father Olufemi gave him a kind smile before turning on his heels to head up the stairs to his office. Kamau extended a hand.

  “Congratulations, Warrior.”

  “Thank you . . . uh, Kapteni.” It felt odd, using the formal term for his own brother. He cleared his throat. “I was actually wondering if you had a minute, to talk?”

  “Ah . . .” Kamau’s eyes were on the stairs, following Father Olufemi. “This isn’t really the best time. I have some business to attend to.”

  A twinge of annoyance crept up Ekon’s body when Kamau tried to move around him, but he mirrored his footsteps and blocked him. “Kam. It’s important.”

  For the first time, Kamau met his gaze directly, and Ekon was surprised to see clear irritation in his brother’s eyes. “What is it, then? What’s wrong?”

  Ekon faltered, hating himself for it. He and his older brother were the same height, equal matches by all societal standards now, but Kamau still had a way of looking at him that could make him feel so small. “I—I want to talk to you about Brother Ugo.”

  Kamau’s brows rose. “What about him?”

  Ekon gestured around the hall for emphasis. “I was wondering why he’s not here. Surely, as a Brother of the Order, he’d attend a feast like this?”

  Kamau frowned. “I told you yesterday that Brother Ugo has been in isolation, praying.”

  “Praying, at a time like this?” Ekon frowned.

  “He’s a reverent man.”

  “The Shetani, the creature our people have hunted for nearly a century, has been captured, and he goes to pray?” Ekon asked. “Doesn’t that seem strange to—”

  “Brother Ugo has been briefed on the matter of the Shetani.” Kamau’s voice was suddenly uncharacteristically crisp and official. “If he leaves his isolation, I will let you know, but until then, I have other matters to attend to.” He gestured to the hall. “In the meantime, try to enjoy yourself, okay?”

  Ekon didn’t have a chance to say anything else. In a graceful swivel, Kamau moved around him and headed up the stairs. Ekon watched him go, perturbed, before he made the decision. What prompted it was inexplicable, but he followed. As he’d expected, the landing was pitch-black by the time he reached it, save for a single wedge of yellow light coming from the Kuhani’s study. That light tugged at Ekon; it beckoned him. He didn’t even realize he was holding his breath until his lungs began to ache in protest. He was within a foot of the slightly cracked door when the voices from within floated to him. He stilled.

  “Father, please.”

  A chill brushed Ekon’s skin, making the hairs on his arms stand on end. Never in all his life had he heard his brother like that. Kamau’s voice, strong and confident moments ago, was now thin with fatigue, desperation, and . . . and there was something else, a hint of an emotion it took Ekon a moment to recognize. Fear. Through the crack in the door, Ekon discerned two profiles. Kamau and Father Olufemi. The former was on his knees; the latter was sitting on a beautiful chaise, his hands folded carefully in his lap.

  “Speak plainly, Warrior Okojo.” Father Olufemi’s words were calm, as though they were discussing the weather. “What troubles you?”

  “It’s . . . it’s my head, Father.” Kamau looked up to meet Father Olufemi’s gaze, and Ekon saw his lower lip was trembling. “I’m . . . I’m seeing things, getting confused. The nightmares . . .”

  “Nightmares?” Father Olufemi’s eyebrow rose, curious. “What kind of nightmares?”

  Kamau dropped his gaze, fidgeting like a small child. “I don’t understand them, Father. Sometimes they feel like dreams, but other times the people feel real, and . . . I hurt them. I see the blood and want to stop, but . . . I can’t.” Fat tears rolled down Kamau’s face. “There are other Sons saying the same thing, Father. They’re having the nightmares too. Father, we don’t know what’s happening to us—”

  “Shh.” Father Olufemi leaned forward, cupping Kamau’s cheek like an indulgent father. At his touch, Kamau stilled. “Say no more, my child. Everything will be all right soon. Would you like some medicine?”

  “I . . .” Kamau hesitated, drawing back from the Kuhani’s hand. “I don’t know if I should.”

  “Nonsense.” There was a gentleness in Father Olufemi’s tone. He turned slightly, and for the first time Ekon noticed the object sitting on the chaise beside him. It was a small, dark wooden pipe no larger than his hand. Though it was difficult to see from far away, he made out something glittering and silver packed into its small chamber, bits of what looked like crushed leaf. It took Ekon a moment to remember why that color seemed familiar. Then he remembered.

  Hasira leaf.

  Slowly, Father Olufemi lifted a lit candle from one of the tables beside him and held it to the pipe until it began to smoke. At once, a sickly sweet aroma tanged the air. Ekon tensed. He realized he recognized that scent. Father Olufemi handed the lit pipe to Kamau and nodded.

  “Inhale.”

  Despite his previous protest, Kamau took the pipe from him eagerly, taking a long, practiced draw. Ekon stared, transfixed, as a violent shudder passed through his brother’s muscled frame, and then he relaxed. When he looked up from the pipe, his eyes had gone glassy, pupils dilated. Father Olufemi touched his cheek again, and this time Kamau leaned into his palm like a lover.

  “I know I have asked a great deal of you, Kamau,” Father Olufemi murmured softly. “I know that, at times, my orders have been challenging. But it will all be over soon. Once the Shetani is dead, you and your brothers will not have to kill anyone else.”

  White-hot shock se
ared through Ekon’s body. He waited for the vague, empty look to leave Kamau’s face as Father Olufemi’s words sank in. He waited for the disgust to show somewhere in his brother’s eyes. It did not.

  Father Olufemi touched the candle to the pipe again and nodded. “Have some more.”

  Kamau took the pipe again and inhaled, a small moan escaping him as another hit of the hallucinogenic leaf flooded through him. Father Olufemi looked on, amused.

  “How do you feel?”

  “I feel . . . good.”

  Father Olufemi nodded. “And you will continue to, so long as you remain obedient. Listen to me, boy.” He crooked his finger under Kamau’s chin, forcing their eyes to meet. “These are my orders: You will not speak of your nightmares to anyone else, and you will instruct your brothers to do the same. Do you understand?”

  “I . . . understand.” Kamau nodded, then gave Father Olufemi a sheepish look. “Father, can I . . . can I have more medicine?”

  Father Olufemi’s chuckle was mirthless as he lit the pipe a final time and handed it to Kamau. “Of course, my child. Of course.”

  Ekon didn’t know when he’d stood and backed away from the door, his heart thundering in his chest. Father Olufemi’s words reverberated against the walls of his mind.

  You and your brothers will not have to kill anyone else.

  Ribbons of memory returned to him, malformed. He remembered the last attack, the bodies that had littered the ground, and then . . . a conversation with Kamau.

  I . . . asked where you were last night.

  Father Olufemi had some work for me to do, confidential.

  Ekon shuddered. There was no other monster, there never had been.

  He moved away from the door slowly, praying Father Olufemi wouldn’t look up. The last thing he saw as he retreated into the darkness was Kamau taking a final draw from the pipe, lost to a madness Ekon did not know.

  CHAPTER 29

  The Terrible After

  Lkossa’s stars twinkled like diamonds against its obsidian-black night sky. Through her barred window, Koffi could not see them.

  It had taken her several minutes to understand where she was as pieces of consciousness seeped back into her, as her body self-assessed its damage. She was sore in places, cut, and never in her life had she felt so thoroughly drained. Slowly, she blinked away the grit in her eyes and tried to bring her unfamiliar setting into focus. She was on her back, staring up at the granite ceiling of a building she did not know, but the mildewy smell was vaguely familiar.

  The hard surface beneath her was strangely cool and damp, and the air she breathed slightly dank. Something small and hairy skittered over her foot, and she shot straight up.

  Alarm coursed through her as her head spun, sending her into absolute darkness for a moment, but her heartbeat steadied as her eyes adjusted. She was surrounded on three sides by walls of granite, perfect matches to the ceiling overhead. Before her, a set of thick blacksteel bars reached from ceiling to floor. She couldn’t make out much beyond them, but somewhere down the hallway, a dull orange light flickered. She was in some kind of prison, she realized, but where? How? The questions came in a sudden onslaught; she had no answers for them.

  Who had put her here, and why? Just like that, the sharp, horrible fragments of a memory returned to her like pieces of broken pottery. Each one hurt, and none of them made sense. The last thing she remembered was the Greater Jungle. She remembered a small pond, the sound of warriors whooping, and then a roar. She cringed. The memory was becoming clearer. There’d been an attack. Someone had—inconceivably—come after them in the jungle, someone had tried to take Adiah away, and . . .

  Ekon.

  It was the last piece of the broken pottery, and when Koffi placed it in her mind, fresh pain stabbed at her side as the rest of the memory came to her. It hadn’t been just anyone who’d attacked them, and it hadn’t been a surprise. They’d been ambushed, sabotaged, and Ekon had been behind it all. He’d betrayed their plans, betrayed Adiah, betrayed . . . her. A sour taste filled the back of her mouth that made her want to spit, but at the sound of approaching footsteps, she looked up.

  “Ah.” A gruff voice rang out from the darkness. “She’s awake.”

  Koffi jumped to her feet as someone else snickered just out of sight. She ran to her cell’s door and wrapped her fingers around the bars. They were cold to the touch, and stank of old metal, but she held on to them, looking up and down the corridor until the owners of the voices emerged from its shadows. One of them, a young man of stocky build, was carrying a small pot filled with a suspicious yellow-gray mush; the other boy was taller, with the saddest attempt at a beard Koffi had ever seen. He carried only a spear and a smirk.

  “Dinnertime for the daraja rat,” the first one said, holding out the bowl. “Here!” He stuck a hand through the bars and waited until Koffi reached to take the bowl from him before deliberately letting it slip from his fingers and shatter on the floor. At once, the slimy grayish goop—whatever it had been—splattered all over Koffi’s legs, and a new foul smell soured the air. She stepped back from the bars, disgusted, and the warriors snickered again in earnest.

  “Where am I?” Koffi tried to sound confident as she asked the question, but when she spoke, she found her voice was hoarse and scratchy, as though she hadn’t spoken in days. Panic flitted through her. How long had she been here?

  “Well, well, it speaks.” Peach Fuzz cocked his head, amused. “You’re exactly where you belong, Gede: in prison, which is where you’ll stay until you face your punishment tomorrow.”

  Punishment. Another shiver of panic rattled through her body at the ominous words, and more questions darted through her mind. What “punishment” was this warrior talking about?

  “What happened to A—um, the Shetani?” The question slipped from her mouth before she could stop herself, and at once she regretted asking it. The smiles fell from the warriors’ faces instantly as their eyes hardened.

  “That monster will be burned to a crisp,” Peach Fuzz said in a dangerously low voice. “Right after we deal with you.”

  They were words that should have scared Koffi, should have sent her into a deeper panic. Instead, she thought of Adiah. Her stomach roiled as she envisioned what the warrior had said. That monster will be burned to a crisp. With a terrible, twisting pang, she imagined Adiah being led to the city’s square like a sacrificial cow. She saw the masses of jeering faces, spitting, hissing, and booing as she was tortured. The thought of it made her want to retch, but her body had nothing to give. She steadied herself and met Peach Fuzz’s eyes again.

  “Sir.” She did her best to sound gracious. “Please, I need to speak to Father Olufemi. The Shetani isn’t what people think it is at all. It—”

  “Shut up.” Peach Fuzz’s eyes flashed dangerously, and at once, Koffi clamped her mouth shut. There was an unspoken foreboding in the warrior’s eyes as he leaned in as far the bars would let him. The other warrior watched, wary-eyed. “That abomination has killed people for years. Tomorrow, it will pay.”

  Koffi’s heart sank, but she couldn’t give up. “Please. Something else has been killing Lkossans, and it’s still out there. It could be—”

  “Enough!” Peach Fuzz’s voice cleaved the air, cutting off the rest of her words. “It’ll be killed tomorrow, right after your flogging. If I were you, I’d spend the rest of this night making your peace with the Six. You may not have another opportunity to do so.”

  Dread seeped into Koffi’s bones. Her mouth went dry as she tried to summon more words, anything to make the Yaba warriors listen, but it was too late. As quickly as they’d come, they shot her final derisive looks before leaving her in darkness again. In their absence, it was painfully quiet, and the creeping thoughts that had waited in the back of her cell seemed to crawl forth to meet her.

  You failed.

  The two words latche
d on to her like talons, clawing at her and digging in no matter how hard she tried to shake them off. They hung stale in the fetid air, choking her, making her head pound each time they echoed in her mind. She tried to send them away with a hard swallow, but they stayed lodged obstinately in her throat.

  You failed. You failed everyone.

  There was no way around it, no way to avoid it. The truth of those words rolled over her in tides, each one crashing against her. She wasn’t going to make good on her bargain. Mama and Jabir weren’t going to be free. Adiah was going to die.

  Her tailbone ached as she hugged her knees to her chest and rocked back and forth, considering plan after plan. Each one was like a bird, fluttering in and out of her mind too quickly to be logical, but she considered them just the same. She could beg the Kuhani for mercy, appeal for the clemency of the Six. But no, something told her that the old man would know. As soon as he laid eyes on her, saw the identical fear in her eyes, he’d recognize her from the temple. If her punishment was bad now, it would worsen tenfold when he pieced that together. There would be no mercy from him. Her eyes flitted again toward that tiny, barred cut-out window several feet above her. It wasn’t within easy reach, but maybe . . . A third idea slithered into her mind like a poisonous asp.

  You could run, it suggested. Use the splendor and break out. Leave, and never look back.

  The thought curdled in Koffi’s stomach, sickening, and she knew at once she couldn’t do that either. She couldn’t leave Mama and Jabir behind to suffer for her mistakes, or leave Adiah here to die after she’d promised to help her. She could neither help them nor leave them; she could do nothing. Slowly, she returned to the cell’s stone floor again, letting that familiar cold seep back into her bones and, with it, resignation. She wasn’t sure when she first heard the new set of footsteps, only that once she did, they echoed, hard and deliberate against the stone outside her cell. She sat up just as a figure appeared on the other side of the bars.

  “Koffi?” The voice that said her name was familiar. “Are you in there?”