by Tomi Adeyemi
I wait for Zélie to answer, but she doesn’t respond. Her face hardens with each passing second—she’s seeing more, something I can’t.
A soft lavender light begins to glow from her fingers, surfacing as she explores her powers for the first time. Watching her, my curiosity builds. What else can she see? Though the thought of magic still makes my pulse race, part of me wishes I could experience its rush just once. The rainbow that burst from Binta’s hand begins to fill my mind until I hear Tzain call.
“Check this out.”
We follow Tzain’s voice until we’re facing the only standing structure on the mountain. The temple towers into the sky, built against the ledge of the last rock’s incline. Unlike the stone bricks, this structure’s crafted from blackened metal, streaked with yellows and pinks that suggest it once shone gold. Vines and moss grow up the sides, obscuring endless rows of ancient runes carved into the temple’s frieze.
Zélie moves toward the doorless entrance, but Nailah lets out a small growl. “Okay, Nailah.” Zélie gives her nose a kiss. “Stay here, alright?”
Nailah grunts and collapses behind a pile of broken stone. With Nailah settled, we walk through the opening and greet a magical aura so thick even I can feel its weight in the room. Tzain scoots closer to Zélie as I run my hand against the air; the oscillations of magical energy slip through my fingers like grains of falling sand.
Rays of light peek through the cracked oculus above, illuminating the patterned dome ceiling. The designs feed into rows of pillars, decorated with colored glass and shimmering crystals.
Why didn’t they destroy this? I wonder as I run my fingers along the carvings. The temple is strangely untouched, a lone tree in a scorched forest.
“See any doors?” Tzain calls from the other side of the room.
“Nothing,” Zélie calls back. The only visible fixture is a large statue pressed against the back wall, collecting dust and overgrown vines. We walk over, and Tzain runs his hands over the weathered stone. The statue appears to be that of an elderly woman, cloaked in rich robes. A golden crown sits in her sculpted white coils, the only untarnished metal in sight.
“Is it a goddess?” I ask, inspecting the sculpture up close. In all my years, I’ve never seen a rendering of a single deity. No one would dare place one in the palace. I always assumed the first time I saw a god or goddess, it would be depicted like the royal portraits hanging in the main hall. But despite its tarnish, this statue holds a regal air even the most stunning painting couldn’t achieve.
“What’s this?” Tzain points to an object in the woman’s hand.
“It looks like a horn.” Zélie reaches up to inspect it. “It’s strange.…” She runs her hand across its rusted metal. “I can almost hear it in my head.”
“What’s it saying?” I ask.
“It’s a horn, Amari. It’s not saying anything.”
My cheeks flush. “Well, if it’s a sculpture, it shouldn’t be making sounds at all!”
“Just be quiet.” Zélie hushes me and places both hands on the metal. “I think it’s trying to tell me something.”
I hold my breath as her brows pinch. After a few long moments, her hands begin to glow with a glittering, silver light. The horn seems to feed on her ashê, glowing brighter as she strains.
“Be careful,” Tzain warns.
“I am.” Zélie nods, though she begins to shake. “It’s close. It just needs one more push—”
A slow creak rumbles under our feet. I yelp at the sound. We whip around in surprise as a large tile slides away from the floor. The opening reveals a staircase spiraling down into a room so dark it masks everything in blackness.
“Is it safe?” I whisper. The darkness makes my heartbeat spike. I lean down to get a better look, but there isn’t a source of light in sight.
“There’s no other door.” Zélie shrugs. “What choice do we have?”
Tzain runs outside, returning with a charred femur bone wrapped in a torn bit of his cloak. Zélie and I recoil, but he brushes past us and lights the cloth with our flint, creating a makeshift torch.
“Follow me,” he says, his commanding voice diminishing my fear.
We begin our descent with Tzain leading the way. Though the torch’s bubble of light illuminates our steps, it touches nothing more. I keep a hand on the jagged wall, counting my breaths until we finally reach the next floor. The moment my foot leaves the last step, the opening above us slams shut with a deafening crack.
“Skies!”
My shriek rings through the darkness. I fling myself into Zélie. “What do we do now?” I tremble. “How do we get out of here?”
Tzain turns to run back up the stairs but stops when we hear a hissing in the air. Within seconds, his torch blows out, leaving us in total blackness.
“Tzain!” Zélie shouts.
The hiss grows louder until a warm gust of air hits me like rain. When I inhale, it instantly slows my muscles then begins to cloud my mind.
“Poison,” Tzain manages to croak before I hear the thud of his body hitting the ground. I don’t even have a chance to feel afraid before the darkness takes hold.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
INAN
A HUSH CUTS THROUGH the air when my legion descends into Sokoto. It doesn’t take long to figure out why.
We’re the only guards in sight.
“Where’re the patrols?” I whisper to Kaea. The silence is deafening. It’s like these people have never laid eyes on the Orïshan seal. Skies only know what Father would do if he witnessed their complete lack of respect.
We dismount our ryders by a lake so clear it reflects the surrounding trees like a mirror. Lula gnashes her teeth at a group of children. They scamper away as she takes a drink.
“We don’t post guards at traveling settlements. It would be a waste when the residents change every few days.” Kaea unlatches her helmet and the wind runs through her hair. My scalp itches to feel the same, but I have to keep my white streak hidden.
Find her. I inhale the clean, brisk air, trying to forget about my streak, if only for a moment. Unlike the heat and smog of Lagos, the small settlement is fresh. Revitalizing. The cool breath dulls the burn in my chest as I try to keep my curse down, but my pulse races as I scan the surrounding divîners. I’ve been so focused on ending the girl.
I didn’t stop to think of how she could end me.
I grip the hilt of my sword as my eyes flick from divîner to divîner. I have yet to see the extent of the girl’s magic. How would I defend against her attack?
And what if she fights with her words? A prick of terror hits; the magic inside me spikes. All she’d have to do was point to my helmet, identify the curse hidden beneath. Kaea would see my white streak. My secret would be out for the world to see—
Focus, Inan. I close my eyes, holding the warm sênet pawn tight. I can’t keep spiraling. I have to fulfill my duty. Orïsha is still under attack.
As the numbers force order into my head, I reach for the curved handle of my throwing knife. Magic or not, the right throw will disarm her. A sharp blade will still cut through her chest.
But for all my plotting and maneuvering, it’s obvious the girl isn’t here. Though there’s no shortage of glaring divîners, her silver gaze is not among them.
I release the throwing knife as something I can’t place deflates in my chest. It sinks like disappointment.
It breathes like relief.
“Take these posters,” Kaea instructs the soldiers. She hands each of the ten men a roll of parchment inked with the girl’s smug face. “Find out if anyone has seen her or a bull-horned lionaire—you usually don’t find them so close to our coast.” Kaea turns to me, lips pursed in determination. “We’ll search the merchants. If they really came south, this would be the first place to gather supplies.”
I nod and try to relax, but being this close to Kaea makes it impossible. Every little movement catches her eye; each sound practically makes her ears twitch.
“What’re you doing?”
I snap up, ignoring how my curse spikes at the edge in Kaea’s voice. “Th-the tents.” I gesture at the natural shelters before me. “I was inspecting them.” Unlike the metal poles and leathery hippone hides we use to build our tents, these are made with branches and coated in moss. In fact, there’s a strange efficiency to their structure. Techniques the army could adapt.
“It’s hardly the time for rudimentary architecture.” Kaea narrows her eyes. “Focus on the task at hand.”
She turns on her heel, walking even faster now that I’ve wasted her time. I rush to follow, but as we near the carts and wagons, a stout woman catches my eye. Unlike the other campers, she isn’t glaring. She isn’t looking at us at all. Her attention is directed toward the bundle of blankets she cradles to her chest.
Like a suppressed sneeze, my curse jumps to the surface. The mother’s emotions hit like a smack to the face: sparks of rage, dull flashes of fear. But above all else, a protectiveness burns, snarling like a snow leopanaire guarding its only cub. I don’t understand why until the bundle pressed against her chest begins to cry.
A child …
My eyes travel down the woman’s chestnut skin to the jagged rock clasped in her hand. Her terror surges through my bones, but her resolve burns even stronger.
“Inan!”
I snap back to attention—I have to whenever Kaea calls my name. But as I reach the merchant wagons I glance back at the woman, shoving my curse down despite the way it makes my stomach burn. What does she have to fear? And what business would I have with her child?
“Wait.” I stop Kaea as we pass a merchant wagon pulled by one-horned cheetanaires. The spotted creatures gaze at me with orange eyes. Sharp fangs peek from behind their black-lined lips.
“What?”
A turquoise cloud hangs around the doorway, bigger than the ones that have been appearing. “This one has a wide selection.” I try to keep my voice light as we approach.
And the sea-salt scent of the girl’s soul.
Though I fight my magic, her smell surrounds me when I pass through the cloud. The divîner appears in my mind fully formed, dark skin almost luminescent in the Sokoto sun.
The image lasts only a moment, but even a flicker makes my insides churn. The magic feeds like a parasite in my blood. I straighten my helmet as we walk through the wagon’s door.
“Welcome, welcome!”
The wide smile of the elderly merchant drips from his dark face like wet paint. He stands, clenching the sides of the wagon for support.
Kaea shoves the scroll in his face. “Have you seen this girl?”
The merchant squints and cleans his spectacles against his shirt. Slowly. Buying time. He takes the sheet. “I can’t say I have.”
Droplets of sweat form on his brow. I glance at Kaea; she notices, too.
Doesn’t take magic to tell this fool’s lying.
I walk around the small wagon, searching, knocking over goods to get a rise. I spot a tear-shaped bottle of black dye and slip it into my pocket.
For a while the merchant stays still. Too still for someone with nothing to hide. He tenses when I near a crate, so I kick down with my foot. Wooden splinters fly. An iron safe is revealed.
“Don’t—”
Kaea pushes the merchant against the wall and searches him, tossing a ring of keys my way. I test each in the lock of the hidden safe. How dare he lie to me.
When the right key fits, I slam open the vault, expecting to find an incriminating clue. But then I spot the jewels of Amari’s headdress. My breath catches in my throat.
The sight takes me back, bringing me to the days when we were kids. The day she first wore this. The moment I hurt her …
I wrap myself in the curtains of the palace infirmary. It’s a fight to stifle my cries. As I cower, the physicians tending to Amari’s wounds expose her back. My stomach twists when I see the sword’s slash. Red and raw, the cut rips across her spine. More and more blood leaks by the second.
“I’m sorry,” I cry into the curtains, wincing every time the doctor’s needles make her scream. “I’m sorry.” I ache to shout, “I promise, I’ll never hurt you again!”
But no words leave my mouth.
She lies on the bed. Screaming.
Praying for the agony to end.
After hours, Amari lies numb. So drained, she can’t even speak. As she moans, her handmaiden Binta slips into her bed, whispering something that somehow draws a smile from Amari’s lips.
I listen and watch intently. Binta comforts Amari in a way none of us can. She sings her to sleep with her melodic voice, and when Amari slumbers, Binta takes Mother’s old dented tiara and places it on Amari’s head.…
Not a day passed when Amari didn’t wear that tiara. The only fight with Mother she ever won. It would take a gorillion to rip it off her head.
For this to be here, my sister would have to be dead.
I shove Kaea aside and thrust my blade against the merchant’s neck.
“Inan—”
I silence Kaea with my hand. This isn’t the time for rank or discretion. “Where did you get this?”
“Th-the girl gave it to me!” the merchant croaks. “Yesterday!”
I grab the parchment. “Her?”
“No.” The merchant shakes his head. “She was there, but it was another girl. She had copper skin. Bright eyes—eyes like yours!”
Amari.
That means she’s still alive.
“What did they buy?” Kaea interrupts.
“A sword … some canteens. It seemed like they were going on a trip, like they were heading into the jungle.”
Kaea’s eyes widen. She rips the parchment out of my hands. “It has to be the temple. Chândomblé.”
“How close is it?”
“A full day’s ride, but—”
“Let’s depart.” I grab the headdress and make for the door. “If we ride fast, we can catch them.”
“Wait,” Kaea calls. “What shall we do with him?”
“Please,” the merchant trembles. “I didn’t know it was stolen! I pay my taxes on time. I’m loyal to the king!”
I hesitate, staring at the pitiful man.
I know what I’m supposed to say.
I know what Father would do.
“Inan?” Kaea asks. She puts her hand on her blade. I need to give the order. I can’t show weakness. Duty before self.
“Please!” the merchant begs, latching onto my hesitation. “You can take my cart. You can take everything I have—”
“He’s seen too much—” Kaea cuts in.
“Just hold on,” I hiss, pulse pounding in my ears. The burnt corpses of Ilorin flash into my mind. The seared flesh. The crying child.
Do it, I push myself. One kingdom is worth more than one life.
But too much blood has already been spilled. So much of it by my hands—
Before I can say anything, the merchant sprints for the exit. One hand makes it to the door. Crimson explodes in the air.
Blood splatters across my chest.
The merchant tumbles to the ground, collapsing with a dense thud.
Kaea’s throwing knife sticks out of the back of his neck.
After a shuddered breath, the merchant bleeds in silence. Kaea eyes me as she bends down, extracting her knife as if pulling the perfect rose from a garden.
“You mustn’t tolerate those who get in your way, Inan.” Kaea steps over the corpse, wiping her blade clean. “Especially those who know too much.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
AMARI
A HAZE LIFTS from my mind as I blink into consciousness. My vision blurs the past and the present. For a moment,
the silver of Binta’s eyes shines.
But when the hallucination passes, the flicker of candle flames dances along jagged stone walls. A rodent scurries by my feet and I jolt back. It’s only then that I realize I’m bound, tied to Tzain and Zélie with unyielding ropes.
“Guys?” Zélie stirs at my back, sleep dripping from her voice. She twists and turns, but no matter how much she writhes, the ropes do not give.
“Wha’appened?” Tzain’s words slur together. He pulls, but even his considerable might doesn’t loosen the ropes’ hold. For a while his grunts are the only sounds in the cavern. But in time another sound grows louder; we freeze as footsteps near.
“Your sword,” Zélie hisses. “Can you reach it?”
My fingers brush against Zélie’s as I reach backward for my hilt, but I grasp only air.
“It’s gone,” I whisper back. “Everything is!”
We scan the dimly lit cave, searching for the brass of my hilt, the gleam of Zélie’s staff. Someone’s taken all our things. We don’t even have the—
“Scroll?” a deep voice booms.
I tense as a middle-aged man appears in the candlelight, dressed in a sleeveless suede robe. White swirls and patterns dot every inch of his dark skin.
Zélie sucks in a quick breath.
“A sêntaro…”
“A what?” I whisper.
“Who’s there?” Tzain growls, straining against the ropes to see. He bares his teeth in defiance.
The mysterious man doesn’t even blink.
He leans against a staff carved from stone, gripping the face sculpted into its handle. An undeniable fury burns behind his golden eyes. I begin to think he won’t move at all when suddenly he lurches forward; Zélie jumps as the man grasps a lock of her hair.
“Straight,” he mutters with a hint of disappointment. “Why?”
“Get your hands off her!” Tzain yells.
Though Tzain poses no threat, the man steps back, releasing Zélie’s hair. He pulls the scroll from the band of his robe, and his golden eyes narrow.
“This was taken from my people years ago.” His accent hums thick and heavy, different than the Orïshan dialects I’ve heard. I stare at the unraveled scroll in his hand, recognizing a few symbols on the parchment inked onto his skin. “They stole it from us.” His voice takes a violent turn. “I will not let you do the same.”