by Tomi Adeyemi
“A fraction of what I could do before. This scroll sparks the magic, but to bring it back to its full power, you must do more.”
“There has to be someone better.” I shake my head. “Someone with more experience. You can’t be the only maji to escape the Raid. We can use your power to find someone for the scroll.”
“Girls—”
“We can’t!” I cut in. “I can’t! Baba—”
“I’ll take care of your father.”
“But the guards!”
“Don’t forget who taught you how to fight.”
“We don’t even know what it says,” Amari interrupts. “We cannot even read it!”
Mama Agba’s eyes grow distant like an idea’s taken hold in her head. She scurries over to a collection of her belongings, returning with a faded map. “Here.” She gestures to a spot in the Funmilayo Jungle, a few days east of Ilorin’s coast. “In my vision you were traveling here. It must be where Chândomblé is.”
“Chândomblé?” Amari asks.
“A legendary temple,” Mama Agba answers. “Rumored to be the home of the sacred sêntaros, the protectors of magic and spiritual order. Before the Raid, only the newly elected leaders of the ten maji clans made the pilgrimage, but if my vision showed you traveling there, it must be your time. You must go. Chândomblé may hold the answers you seek.”
The more Mama Agba speaks, the more I lose feeling in my hands and feet. Why don’t you understand? I want to scream.
I’m not strong enough.
I look at Amari; for a moment, I almost forget she’s a princess. In the glow of Mama Agba’s candles she looks small, unsure of what to do next.
Mama Agba places a wrinkled hand on my face and grabs Amari’s wrist with the other. “I know you’re scared, girls, but I also know that you can do this. Of all the days to trade in Lagos, you went today. Of all the people you could’ve approached in that market, you chose her. The gods are at work. They are blessing us with our gifts after all this time. You have to trust that they wouldn’t gamble with the fate of the maji. Trust in yourselves.”
I release a deep breath and stare at the woven floor. The gods that once seemed so far away are closer now than I ever imagined they could be. I just wanted to graduate today.
I only needed to sell a fish.
“Mama—”
“Help!”
A scream breaks through the calm of the night. In an instant we’re all on our feet. I grab my rod as Mama runs to her window. When she rips open the curtains, my legs go weak.
Fire rages in the merchant quarter, every ahéré engulfed in the roaring blaze. Plumes of black smoke tower into the sky with villagers’ yells, cries for help as our world goes up in flames.
A line of burning arrows cuts through the darkness; each explodes as it makes contact with the reeds and wooden beams of the ahéré.
Blastpowder …
A powerful mix only the king’s guards could obtain.
You, the voice in my head whispers in disgust. You brought them here.
And now the guards won’t just kill everyone I love.
They’ll burn the whole village to the ground.
I’m out the door before another second passes, undeterred when Mama Agba shouts my name. I have to find my family. I have to make sure they’re okay.
With each step on the crumbling walkway, my home blazes into a living hell. The stench of burning flesh stings my throat. The fire’s only raged a few minutes, yet all of Ilorin fries in the flames.
“Help!”
I recognize the cries now. Little Bisi. Her screams cut through the darkness, desperate in their shrieks. My chest heaves as I sprint past Bisi’s ahéré. Will she even make it out of the blaze alive?
As I race home, villagers desperate to escape the flames jump into the ocean, their screams piercing the night sky. Coughing, they cling onto charred driftwood, fighting to stay afloat.
A strange sensation rushes through me, surging through my veins, trapping the breath in my chest. With it, warmth buzzes under my skin. A death …
A spirit.
Magic. I put the pieces together. My magic.
A magic I still don’t understand. A magic that’s brought us to this hell.
But even as embers burn my skin, I picture Tiders summoning streams of water to fight the flames. Burners keeping the blaze at bay.
If more maji were here, their gifts could stop this horror.
If we were trained and armed with incantations, the fire wouldn’t stand a chance.
A loud crack rings through the air. The wooden panels beneath my feet moan as I near the fishermen’s sector. I run for as long as the walkway holds before launching myself into the air.
Smoke sears my throat as I land on the teetering deck that supports my home. I can’t see through the blaze, but still I force myself to act.
“Baba!” I scream through my coughs, adding more cries to the chaos of the night. “Tzain!”
There’s not an ahéré in our sector that isn’t engulfed in flames, yet still I run forward, hoping mine won’t share the same fate.
The walkway wobbles beneath my feet and my lungs scream for air. I tumble to the ground before my home, burned from the heat radiating off the flames.
“Baba!” I shriek in horror, searching for any life in the blaze. “Tzain! Nailah!”
I scream till my throat rips raw, but no one answers my call. I can’t tell if they’re trapped inside.
I can’t see if they’re even alive.
I crawl to my feet and extend my rod, thrusting open our ahéré door. I’m about to run in when a hand clamps my shoulder, pulling me back with so much force I topple over.
Tears blur my vision. It’s difficult to make out the face of my assailant. But soon flickering flames illuminate copper skin. Amari.
“You can’t go in there!” she screams between her coughs. “It’s coming down!”
I shove Amari to the ground with half a mind to drown her in the sea. When she releases her grip, I crawl toward my ahéré.
“No!”
The reed walls we spent a full moon building collapse with a sharp crack. They burn through the walkway and into the sea, sinking to the bottom.
I wait for Tzain’s head to bob up from the waves, for Nailah to let out a roar of pain. But I only see blackness.
In one sweep, my family’s been wiped away.
“Zélie…”
Amari grips my shoulder again; my blood boils under her touch. I grab her arm and yank her forward, grief and rage fueling my strength.
I’ll kill you, I decide. If we die, you die, too.
Let your father feel this pain.
Let the king know unbearable loss.
“Don’t!” Amari screams as I drag her to the flames, but I can barely hear her over the blood pounding in my ears. When I look at her, I see her father’s face. Everything inside me twists with hate. “Please—”
“Zélie, stop!”
I release Amari and whip toward the open sea. Nailah paddles in the ocean water with Tzain on her back. Trailing behind him, Baba and Mama Agba sit safely inside a coconut boat attached to Nailah’s saddle. I’m so overwhelmed by the sight that it takes a moment to grasp that they’re actually alive.
“Tzain—”
The entire foundation of the fishermen’s sector slants. Before we can jump, it goes down, taking us with it. Ice-cold water engulfs our bodies in a rush, soothing the burns I’ve forgotten.
I allow myself to sink among the lumber and shattered homes. The darkness cleanses my pain, cooling the rage.
You can stay down here, a small thought whispers. You don’t have to continue this fight.…
I hold on to the words for a moment, grasping my only chance for escape. But when my lungs wheeze, I force my legs to kick, bringing me back to the broken world I know.
No matter how much I crave peace, the gods have other plans.
CHAPTER TEN
ZÉLIE
WE
FLOAT TO a small inlet across from the northern coast in silence, unable to speak after such horror. Though the crashing waves grow loud, the memory of Bisi’s screams crashes even louder in my head.
Four deaths. Four people who couldn’t escape the flames.
I brought the fire to Ilorin.
Their blood stains my hands.
I grip my shoulders to keep everything inside as Mama Agba dresses our injuries with cloth ripped from her skirt. Though we made it through the flames, small burns and blisters dot our skin. But that pain is welcome; almost deserved. The sears on my skin are nothing compared to the guilt that scalds my heart.
A sharp pressure clamps my stomach as the memory of a burnt corpse crystallizes behind my eyes. Charred skin peeling from every limb, the stench of burning flesh still coloring my every breath.
They’re in a better place, I try to ease my guilt. If their spirits have ascended to the peace of alâfia, death would almost be a gift. But if they suffered too much before they died …
I close my eyes and try to swallow the thought. If the trauma of their deaths was too much, their spirits won’t rise to the afterlife. They’ll stay in apâdi, an eternal hell, reliving the worst of their pain.
When we land on the rocky stretch of sand, Tzain helps Amari while I tend to Baba. I promised I wouldn’t mess this up. Now our entire village is in flames.
I stare at the jagged rocks, unable to meet my father’s eyes. Baba should’ve sold me to the stocks. If he had, he’d finally have peace. Baba’s silence only intensifies my misery, but when he bends down to meet my gaze, tears soften his eyes.
“You can’t run from this, Zélie. Not now.” He takes my hands. “This is the second time these monsters took our home. Let it be the last.”
“Baba?” I can’t believe his fury. Since the Raid, he hasn’t whispered a single curse against the monarchy. I thought he’d given up all fight.
“As long as we don’t have magic, they will never treat us with respect. They need to know we can hit them back. If they burn our homes, we burn theirs, too.”
Tzain’s mouth falls open and he locks eyes with me. We haven’t seen this man for eleven years. We didn’t know he was still alive.
“Baba—”
“Take Nailah,” he orders. “The guards are close. We don’t have much time.”
He points across the shore to the northern coast, where five figures in royal armor herd the survivors together. The flickering light of the flames illuminates the seal on one soldier’s helmet. The captain … the same one who chased me and Amari.
He burned my home to the ground.
“Come with us,” Tzain argues. “We can’t leave you behind.”
“I can’t. I’ll only slow you down.”
“But Baba—”
“No,” he cuts Tzain off, rising to place a hand on his shoulder. “Mama Agba told me about her vision. It’s you three who will lead the fight. You need to get to Chândomblé and figure out how to bring magic back.”
My throat tightens. I clutch Baba’s hand. “They already found us once. If they’re after us, they’ll come after you, too.”
“We’ll be long gone by then,” Mama Agba assures me. “Who better to evade the guards than a Seer?”
Tzain looks back and forth between Mama Agba and Baba, his jaw clenching as he fights to keep his face even. I don’t know if he can leave Baba behind. Tzain doesn’t know his place without keeping others safe.
“How’ll we find you?” I whisper.
“Bring magic back for good,” Mama Agba says. “As long as I have my visions, I’ll always know where to go.”
“You have to leave,” Baba presses, forceful as a new round of screams rings out. One guard grabs an elderly woman by her hair and holds a sword to her throat.
“Baba, no!”
I try to pull him forward, but he overpowers me, kneeling down to wrap his arms around my shaking frame. He holds me tighter than he has in years. “Your mother…” His voice cracks. A small sob escapes my throat. “She loved you fiercely. She would be so proud right now.”
I cling to Baba so hard that my nails dig into his skin. He squeezes me back before rising to embrace Tzain. Though Tzain towers over Baba in height and might, Baba matches the ferocity of his hug. They hold each other for a long moment, as if they never have to let go.
“I’m proud of you, son. No matter what. I’ll always be proud.”
Tzain hurriedly wipes his tears away. He’s not one to show his emotions. He saves his pain for the isolation of night.
“I love you,” Baba whispers to us both.
“We love you, too,” I croak.
He gestures at Tzain to mount Nailah. Amari follows, silent tears leaking onto her cheeks. Despite my grief, a prickle of anger flares. Why is she crying? Once again, her family is the reason mine is being torn apart.
Mama Agba kisses my forehead and wraps her arms around me tight.
“Be careful, but be strong.”
I sniffle and nod, though I feel everything but strength. I’m scared. Weak.
I’m going to let them down.
“Take care of your sister,” Baba reminds Tzain as I mount the saddle. “And Nailah, be good. Protect them.”
Nailah licks Baba’s face and nuzzles his head, a sign of a promise she’ll always keep. My chest seizes when she walks forward, traveling away from my heart and my home. When I turn back, Baba’s face shines with a rare smile.
I pray we’ll live to see that smile again.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
INAN
“COUNT TO TEN,” I whisper to myself. “Count. To. Ten.”
Because when I finish counting, this horror shall end.
The blood of the innocent will not stain my hands.
“One … two…” I grip Father’s sênet pawn with a shaking hand, so tight the metal stings. The numbers rise, but nothing changes.
Like Ilorin, all my plans have gone up in flames.
My throat tightens when the village falls in a fiery blaze, taking the homes of hundreds with it. My soldiers drag the corpses through the sand, bodies charred beyond recognition. The shrieks of the living and the injured fill my ears. My tongue tastes nothing but ash. So much waste. Death.
This was not my plan.
Amari should be in one hand, the divîner thief chained in the other. Kaea should’ve retrieved the scroll. Only the divîner’s hut need have burned.
If I had succeeded in returning the scroll, Father would’ve understood. He would’ve thanked me for my discretion, praised my shrewd judgment in sparing Ilorin. Our fish trade would be protected. The only threat to the monarchy would be crushed.
But I’ve failed. Again. After begging Father for another chance. The scroll is still missing. My sister at risk. An entire village wiped away. Yet I have nothing to show for it.
The people of Orïsha are not safe—
“Baba!”
I grab my blade as a small child hurls his body to the ground. His cries cut through the night. It’s only then I discover the sand-covered corpse at his feet.
“Baba!” He grasps at the body, willing it to wake. The blood of his father stains the skin of his small brown hands.
“Abeni!” A woman trudges through the wet sand. She gasps at the sight of the approaching guards. “Abeni, no, you must be quiet. B-baba wants you to be quiet!”
I turn away and squeeze my eyes shut, forcing my bile down. Duty before self. I hear Father’s voice. The safety of Orïsha before my conscience. But these villagers are Orïsha. They’re the very people I’m sworn to protect.
“This is a mess.” Admiral Kaea stomps to my side, knuckles bloody from beating the soldier who lit the fire too soon and started the blaze. I fight the urge to walk over and beat him myself as he lies moaning in the wet sand. “Get up and bind their wrists!” Kaea barks at the guard before lowering her voice again. “We don’t know if the fugitives are dead or alive. We don’t even know if they came back here.”
&nb
sp; “We’ll have to round up the survivors.” I release a frustrated breath. “Hope that one of them…”
My voice trails off as a vile sensation crawls up my skin. Like in the market, the heat prickles my scalp. It pulses as a thin wisp of air floats toward me. A strange turquoise cloud cutting through the black smoke.
“Do you see that?” I ask Kaea.
I point, stepping back as the smoke slithers near. The strange cloud carries the scent of the sea, overwhelming the bite of ash in the air.
“See what?” Kaea asks, but I don’t have a chance to respond. The turquoise cloud passes through my fingers. A foreign image of the divîner ignites in my head.…
The sound around me fades out, turning murky and muddled. The cold sea washes over me as the moonlight and fire fade from above. I see the girl who haunts my thoughts, sinking among the corpses and driftwood, falling into the blackness of the sea. She doesn’t fight the current that pulls her down. She relinquishes control. Sinking into death.
As my vision fades, I return to the screaming villagers and shifting sand. Something stings under my skin, the same bite that started when I last saw the divîner’s face.
Suddenly all the pieces come together. The thrashing. The vision.
I should’ve known all along.
Magic …
My stomach twists in knots. I rake my nails over my tingling arm. I have to get this virus out of me. I need to rip the treacherous sensation from my skin—
Inan, focus.
I squeeze Father’s sênet pawn so hard my knuckles crack. I swore to him I was prepared. But how in the skies could I have prepared for this?
“Count to ten,” I whisper again, gathering all the pieces like pawns. By the time I hiss “five,” a terrifying realization hits: the divîner girl has the scroll.
The spark I felt when she brushed against me. The electric energy that surged through my veins. And when our eyes locked …
Skies.
She must’ve infected me.
Nausea churns inside my stomach. Before I can stop myself, this morning’s roasted swordfish fights its way up. I double over as vomit burns my throat and hits the sand with a splash.
“Inan!” Kaea wrinkles her nose as I cough, a hint of concern eclipsed by her disgust. She probably thinks me weak. But better that than her discovering the truth.